Sept. 29: College Life: Wordsworth and Wolfe

After the Wolfe reading, I was convinced that Universities are simply ostentatious and pretentious wastes of space.  Unfortunately, it seems that some people can get caught up in the pomp of their collegiate surroundings.  Wolfe describes the reaction of one such student when he saw “the famous Grove…[that] made him feel Dupont in his bones, which made his bones infinitely superior” (356).  Although the University of Texas isn’t a private institution like Dupont, some of the architecture, landscaping, and ornamentation at UT surely go beyond mere aesthetics and tap into the feelings of superiority that Wolfe describes.  Thus far, in my college experience, I have sought to separate myself from the arrogance that the physical UT campus suggests.  
    Surprisingly, today’s test review for my art history class provided a piece of information that led me to think that the elitism present in University campuses might be admissible.  We discussed the Ancient Egyptians’ concept of the afterlife.  They believed that a person’s body and “Ka” (one’s life-force or spirit) were born simultaneously, but the Ka, unlike the body, was immortal.  Because of this belief, the Ancient Egyptians built grand tombs for the Ka to dwell in.  They also carved statues of pharaohs from strong stone because the Ka would search for a statue to inhabit.  The Egyptian’s funerary monuments were built to be permanent because of their belief in immortality.  The physical domain of Universities reflects a similar belief in immortality because the University is a place for various Ka to inhabit.
    The statue of Newton that Wordsworth describes as a “marble index of a mind for ever/ Voyaging through strange seas of Thought” certainly serves as a seat for Newton’s Ka (374).  Every time a student from Cambridge looks at the likeness of Newton his spirit is summoned from the collective unconscious to influence the living.  While Newton no longer lives, his mind and thoughts are even more vibrant than when he was living.  Furthermore, his immortal Ka is “for ever voyaging” because students use his ideas to innovate new ideas.  
    Just like Newton’s statue, the campuses of Universities can be inhabited by various Ka.  Wordsworth describes “turrets and pinnacles in answering files,/ extended high above a dusky grove.”  In his representation of Dupont, Wolfe describes “The towers, the turrets, the spires, the heavy slate roofs—all of it ineffably beautiful and ineffably grand….It was a stronghold!” (357)  He also places a strong emphasis on Dupont’s grove.  It is these allusions to Cambridge, the second-oldest University in the world, that give Dupont its sense of superiority.  The University of Texas, too, can be compared to Cambridge.  The UT tower is strikingly similar to “Trinity’s loquacious clock,/Who never let the quarters, night or day,/ Slip by him unproclaimed” (373).  These architectural likenesses of Cambridge University are places for Cambridge’s Ka to dwell.  
    While memory is also a place for spirits to dwell, statues or buildings are much more formidable funerary monuments.  Such physical objects are like permanent memories that constantly evoke the Ka.  What the “Ghosts” project and the Wolfe and Wordsworth readings have taught me is that my college experience is closely


Oct. 4 Joyce 6-65

The meaning of names is very important in the first chapter of Portrait, especially for little Stephen Dedalus.  His name is particularly meaningful.  The Christian name, Stephen, refers to St. Stephen, who was the first christian martyr.  The literal meaning of Daedalus in ancient Greek is "cunning artificer", but the name also recalls the myth of Daedalus and his son Icarus.  In the myth, Daedalus is exiled from Athens and goes to Crete to construct for King Minos the famous Labyrinth to house the Minotaur.  Then, King Minos imprisons Daedalus and his son, Icarus, in the Labyrinth.  Fortunately, Daedalus crafts wings out of feathers and wax for Icarus and himself, and they are able to escape.  However, the giddy Icarus's wings melt when he flies too close to the sun, and he plummets into the sea.  
    In the first chapter Stephen lives up to his name.   Like Daedalus, he is exiled from the rest of his peers because he finds it difficult to associate with them.  He is also exiled quite literally to the infermary.  He becomes a martyr when he unfairly punished by Father Dolan.  Furthermore, after his punishment, Stephen finds himself in a moral labyrinth especially because of the fact that "The prefect of studies was a priest but [his punishment] was cruel and unfair" (52).  Stephen discovers how to escape this labyrinth and attain justice when he appeals to the rector about Fr. Dolan's "pandying" incident.  At the end of the chapter, Stephen is a moral hero (which is interesting, because the first draft of Portrait is titled Stephen Hero) when his classmates "hoisted him up among them and carried him along till he struggled to get free" (58).  Finally, Stephen declares  that "he would not be anyway proud with Father Dolan.  He would be very quiet and obedient: and he wished that he could do something kind for him to show him that he was not proud" (59).  In her journal, Rachel points out that this is not due to Stephen's moral rectitude, but rather his namesake as a "cunning artificer".  Also, in this quote, Stephen implies that he knows to avoid the immature fault of Icarus.
    Stephen seems to realize the significance of his name.  When Nasty Roche asks him "What is your name?" Stephen quickly answers "Stephen Dedalus", but is unable to answer the question "What kind of a name is that?".  The stream of consciousness style of this book makes every thought of Stephen's significant.  The fact that he thinks of his inability to answer a question about his name implies that his name became important to him later.  By the end of the chapter, Stephen is offended that the prefect had to ask him his name twice.  "Why could he not remember the name when he was told the first time?" Stephen asks himself (55).  By now, Stephen seems to have at least partially discovered the meaning of his name.  Stephen's name is a source of his ego.  When he thinks of Father Dolan forgetting his name, Stephen is personally offended and insults Dolan's name, saying that "it was like the name of a woman that washed clothes" (55).  
    It seems that Stephen is slowly understanding the meaning of his name.  I am most interested with how Stephen will be a "cunning artificer".  He obviously will become an artist, but perhaps our awareness that he is also a cunning artificer will allow us to read into Stephen differently.  Maybe this whole book, this whole piece of "art" is the effort of another cunning artificer--Joyce.


Oct. 11 Joyce 65-135

I fortunately have never been told "Brian, you are going to Hell."  But, the same message has been implied.  Upon learning that I had decided not to attend a christian-youth retreat, my parish priest bowed his head and said, "Jesus, I pray for your poor lost souls..."  I'm still not entirely sure whether he was joking.  
    The idea of a "God-fearing man" seems to be misunderstood by the Hell-raising preachers like the rector at Steven's school or my parish priest (disclaimer: he's actually not that bad).  A fear of God implies a respect for God, not some inordinate terrifying feeling of "OR ELSE..."  Unfortunately, its much simpler (and more dramatic) to summon imagery of fiery pits and tormenting demons than to convince one to be good for the sake of being good.  The Catholic Church distinguishes between two types of contrition: "perfect" contrition and "imperfect" contrition which is also called "contrition of fear".  Contrition is called perfect "when it arises from a love by which God is loved above all else"  whereas imperfect contrition "is born of the consideration of sin's ugliness or the fear of eternal damnation and the other penalties threatening the sinner" (CCC 1452-1453).  By telling his young followers to "think only of the last things, death, judgement, hell and heaven," the rector encourages imperfect contrition of fear.  
    But, Stephen fails to even possess a desire to do good, perfect or imperfect.  He seems to feel that his mortal sin has won some sort of moral battle. He accepts his dismal fate and asks himself, "What did it avail to pray when he knew that his soul lusted after its own destruction?" (104).     Like St. Ignatius of Loyola, the founder of the Society of Jesus, Stephen becomes somewhat of an self-disciplining ascetic after his mortal sin.  However, Stephen is a perverse ascetic.  Instead of abstaining from his own indulgences, Stephen continues committing sin in an almost masochistic way.  He continues down a path of despair, but feels unworthy to ask for a way out.  Even when he identifies with the churchgoers and his thoughts might be construed as compassionate, Steven believes "he stooped to the evil of hypocrisy with others, sceptical of their innocence which he could cajole so easily" (104).
    Stephen's mercilessness for his own soul is actually slightly egotistical.  He seems to believe that his sin is more powerful than God's mercy.  He gives the Church's teachings a double standard. While he believes that he lives in mortal sin based on church teachings, he refuses to follow the doctrine that God is merciful.  Even the rector's grave sermon acknowledges that "His arms are open to receive you even though you have sinned against Him" (135).
    However, an enormous change in Stephen happens by the end of the retreat.  When the rector repeated the act of contrition, Stephen "bowed his head, praying with his heart" while the other students passively "answered [the rector] phrase by phrase" (135).  Stephen suddenly acquires a most perfect contrition in which he is "heartily sorry for having offended Thee...Who art so deserving of all my love" (135).


Oct. 18 Joyce 135-194

I know I have focused on this theme before, but I couldn't help but note that throughout his spiritual journey through the realm of Catholicism, Stephen subconsciously reveals his overweening egotism.  So many layers of Mr. Dedalus's self-centered fault shine through his actions, even when he is repentant.  Before his grand confession, Stephen is seen roaming the streets in shame because he believes he is such an awful person.  His despair gets so intense that after he sees a few "frowsy girls" on the corner "A wasting breath of humiliation blew bleakly over his soul to think of how he had fallen, to feel that those souls were dearer to God than his" (140).  It seems that through all of his theatrics, Stephen is attempting to set up the perfect Prodigal Son story.

If you don't know the prodigal son story, here it is (adapted from Luke 15:11-32):

A man had two sons.  The younger son, or prodigal son, asked for his share of his father's estate and goes away and squanders it while the older son remains to serve his father.  Then, when the younger son is dirt-poor, he comes back to his father and asks for forgiveness.  His father throws a big party and celebrates his younger son's return.  The older son feels short-changed because his father never threw a party for him, so he pouts.  

    Just like the prodigal son, Stephen has sinned against his father or, in this case, God.  Because of his ego, Stephen is certain that he is the absolute worst sinner in the world.  However, he seems to be exaggerating his own sin, shame and repentance so that, when he returns to his father through confession, God will throw a huge party, possibly with noisemakers.  Stephen fails to understand the human condition that everyone is a sinner and chooses to isolate himself from the rest of humanity.
    Even after his confession, Stephen is still stuck on himself (figuratively speaking, of course).  He believes that "The world for all its solid substance and complexity no longer existed for his soul save as a theorem of divine power and love and universality" (150).  When he says that the world is a "theorem of divine power and love and universality," he is referring to St. Thomas's idea that the physical world points to spiritual truths.  But, Stephen completely dismisses St. Thomas's conclusion that the physical world is important and exists for humans to abstract higher meaning from.   Mr. Dedalus, the cunning artificer, has manipulated the teachings of St. Thomas to support his isolationist way of life.  He places himself higher than the "solid substance and complexity" and into an entirely intellectual world where his ego can have free reign.
    Stephen really flaunts his ego when he speaks to the dean about possibly becoming a priest.  He proves that he is sharp enough to point out the stupidity of a priest who said "I believe that Lord Macaulay was a man who probably never committed a mortal sin in his life, that is to say, a deliberate mortal sin" (156).  In this case "the priest is 'giving himself away' as stupid or uninformed... Every mortal sin is by definition 'deliberate,' and Macaula's life was not spotless" (notes, 516).  However, when his ego takes over, Stephen plays right into the dean's enticements of power, and his pride is easily elicited.  Stephen ironically notes that after becoming a priest, "he would know then what was the sin of Simon Magus and what the sin against the Holy Ghost for which there was no forgiveness" (159).  Well, as a properly educated Catholic student, Stephen should know that the sin of Simon Magus was Simony, or the buying of priestly privileges.  This is exactly one of Stephen's faults because he is so enamored by the power of the priesthood that the dean promises.  The unforgivable sin against the Holy Ghost is blasphemy against the Holy Ghost which is the failure to ask for forgiveness (and is the only unforgivable sin).  This sin is attributed to pride, which Stephen is definitely guilty of.


Oct. 25 Joyce 194-253

Oh Lucifer, what have you done?!  Steven commits the sin of all sins when he says "I will not serve" (pg 239 AND pg 246--he really means it).  The last time I checked, these kind of words get you tossed out of Heaven faster than you can say "ego".  

Theology lesson for the day:
Sin, according to everybody's favorite Catechism, is primarily "an offense against reason, truth, and right conscious" (CCC 1849).  Class dismissed.

It might shock and appall some people that sin is not primary an offense against God (although it is that, by default).  Good old Catholic promulgation made us all sinners, whether you like it or not.  Although Steven is no longer a God-fearing man, he still is guilty of sin against reason, truth, and right consiousness when he rejects humanity for his aesthetic/elitist/isolationist/lame ideal.  

Steven believes that "when the soul of a man is born in this country there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight." and goes on to say, "You talk to me of nationality, language, religion.  I shall fly by those nets" (Joyce, 203).  Steven sees all of these institutions as barriers to his aesthetic actualization.  His casting off all of these "nets" is a desperate attempt to "discover the mode of life or of art whereby [his] sprit could express itself in unfettered freedom" (246).  Steven's venture for freedom is quite understandable.  He refuses to allow external ideologies affect his creativity and artistic endeavors.  However, it seems like Steven is simply avoiding the much more difficult task of expressing freedom within the cultural or social structures to which he, like all men, belong.   

Steven adheres to an impossibly broad definition of freedom.  One cannot be completely free, in the purest sense of the word.  Essentially, everyone is bound by certain universal truths like gravity or the temporal limits of human intellect.  Instead, freedom should be qualified as "the freedom to do what makes one happy" or, for religious people, "the freedom to do what leads one closer to God."  Steven's definition of freedom is exposed as being impossible when he refuses his mother's request to make his Easter duty.  Cranly asks Steven whether he would save his mother from suffering to which Steven replies "If I could" (241).  But, Steven does not "set her mind at rest" (241) because such an act would force him to comply with the religious net he has already casted off.  Another similar circumstance occurs when Cranly points out that Steven's new isolationist pursuit will leave him without "the noblest and truest friend a man ever had" (247).  These words "seemed to have struck some deep chord in his own nature" (247).  In this case, Steven prevents himself from experiencing friendship for the sake of his ideals.  Steven's aesthetic pursuit of freedom is a net within itself and prevents Steven from being truly free.


Nov. 1 College Idealism: Jude the Obscure part 1

Quite unlike Jude's "magnificent Christminster dream" (36), my expectations of university were hardly so romanticized.  Although I am technically only a second generation college student, I was raised with the understanding that higher education is the natural progression of life for someone of my particular place in society.  Part of this expectation came from my parents, who are living testaments of the value of education in America.  But, I feel that the very place I lived (suburbia) had much to do with my one-way street to college.  In a seemingly self-serving way, the public education system marked me at the first sign of a scholarly inclination.  Since then, I have been grouped with several other college-bound students who rarely or never have considered alternative lives-after-high-school.  In high school, my future became even more strictly predestined when I entered a College Prep school of which one hundred percent of the graduates enrolled in college.   
    Of course, I think that this social preference for college that I have been exposed to is a positive one.  But, I feel that I have somehow lost the opportunity to feel the intense joy that a college acceptance letter often brings to hopeful students.  Furthermore, I often find myself taking my educational opportunities for granted rather than cherishing them for their immense value.  Jude knows these feelings that I have allowed to pass by when he says that Christminster is a  "city of light" and that the "tree of knowledge grows there" (20).  
    Though I may not have had the same grand expectations of college as Jude had of Christminster, I can surely relate to the dual-value he places on education.  To Jude, a university education serves both romantic and pragmatic purposes.  Jude becomes "romantically attached to Christminster," and when he hears the wind from the city he believes "it was the sound of bells, the voice of the city; faint and musical, calling to him, 'We are happy here.'" (17). In the more romantic sense, he values education as a means of being happy and personally fulfilled. He also exclaims "I'll be the D.D. [Doctor of Divinity] before I have done! (32).    This reveals that he acknowledges and is driven by the more practical purpose of procuring a lucrative profession.  
    I have primarily been driven toward college by the so-called pragmatic purposes of education.  This pragmatic goal was instilled in me during my early pubic education which rarely focused on the more idealized aspects of learning.  I remember the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" was frequently asked by elementary school teachers, eager to prepare for "career day" when children would dress up as spacemen, archeologists, or doctors.  In fact, everything about my public education seemed to be somehow linked to my becoming a successful doctor.  For example, I would ask "Why should I read books?"  The answer was usually something along the lines of "So that you will learn vocabulary in order to score high on the SAT and get into a good college and become a successful doctor!"
    Fortunately, during high school, I realized the more romanticized value of an education and began to acknowledge a higher purpose in my educational pursuit.  Like Jude, I enjoyed the idea that education brought some sort of enlightenment.  However, I also began to realize that my education can be used to serve society.  This romantic idea of education led me to pursue a more liberal arts based education rather than a strictly science-based doctor-training-camp.


Nov. 8 : Outsiders Jude Part II; Zuleika, 4-6, 18-20, 116, 119-123, 125-8, 130, 132-9, 227-8

I hesitate to label myself an "insider" or an "outsider".  While Jude certainly would call himself an outsider, and the Duke would admit to being an insider, I think these classifications are more self-imposed attitudes than actual realities.  
    Furthermore, the origins of these classifications seems to be at fault.  The "insider" is defined by the insider himself (or insiders themselves), leaving the "outsiders" to aspire toward and usually romanticize a specific standard.  However, the insiders, when defining themselves, usually appear fatuously elitist.  In Zuleika  the Duke has clearly classified himself as an intellectual insider in the subject of love.  Oh so insightfully, the Duke  claims to know "that ecstasy of self-sacrifice which he himself had felt to-day and would feel to-morrow" after being "enslaved to Miss Dobson since yesterday evening" (127, 135).  The Duke reinforces his superior understanding of love when he points out that the others knew her "only since this afternoon...at a respectful distance" (135-136).  His great love for Zuleika even drives him to commit suicide.
    The other men, the outsiders, aspire toward the Duke's superior understanding of love when they shout "I love [Zuleika], and shall, and will" (133). After the Duke announces he will kill himself for Zuleika, the men decide that they must follow suit.  These men do not really love Zuleika in the same way that the Duke does.  They are merely infatuated with her.  However, they resist being intellectual outsiders by mimicking the Duke's reactions.  The only person who realizes how ridiculous all of the men are being is the uneducated wine merchant. When hearing the men proclaim their love and willingness to die for Zuleika, the merchant "smiled pensively" and murmered "Youth, youth!".   He is neither an insider or an outsider in the situation because he has not defined himself as such.  Instead, he is a man who has real experiential knowledge of love and life that the men inside the exclusive club do not have.  The man exposes both the Duke and the other men for their silliness and immaturity.  The Duke claims he understands love, but really does not; the others claim to understand love, but only to appear intellectual.  
    In Jude, our favorite Christminster outsider is exposed in a similar way.  He has been aspiring to be quite literally inside the walls of Oxford.  He has romanticized the idea of obtaining a university education.  However, the university man is an insider, and therefore defines his own place in society.  Unfortunately for Jude, that place is not one he can enter.  The head of Biblioll College Mr. Tetuphenay wrote Jude in a letter, "I venture to think that you will have a much better chance of success in life by remaining in your own sphere and sticking to your trade than by adopting any other course" (110).  This, of course, shatters Jude's dreams, and influences him to turn to alcohol, lots of alcohol.  During his trip to the bar, a man named Tinker Taylor tells the inebriated Jude "I always saw there was more to be learnt outside a book than in" (114).  Tinker provides Jude with the viable alternative to a university education--education through experience.  He exposes Jude for his immature pursuit of a university education when it does not provide a reasonable livelihood.  
    In both novels, its seems that the person even further outside than the outsider has the best understanding of reality.  The merchant in Zuleika and Tinker Taylor in Jude are both "commoners" who do not define themselves as insiders or outsiders.  Outside of this world of definitions, they are able to learn from their real experiences.  The merchant really knows love, and Tinker really knows what type of learning is more valuable.  It is from this perspective that I think I should live my life.  I do not claim to be an insider or an outsider.  Instead, I intend to find my much more specific place in reality and society.  By resisting the urge to be an "insider" I will not limit myself in what I can learn.  I will be open to experiential knowledge rather than simply the knowledge certain insiders have defined to be superior.  

Nov. 15: Jude Part 6 :College Life and Ritual

In the sixth part of Jude which they try to reject.  This is tragic and ironic because they initially reject aspects of society which they find oppressive.  For example, Jude rejects the notion that he must "follow uncritically the track he finds himself in" (316).  Instead, he chooses to "consider what his aptness or bent may be, and reshape his course accordingly" (316).  Also, Jude and Sue do not get married because they were "terrified at the thought of a second irrevocable union...[and] had literally not found the courage to repeat it".  
    In the case of Jude's education, he attempts to follow a self-made course rather than follow the course society has laid for him.  Instead of simply becoming a stone mason he aspires toward the towers of Christminster.  Unfortunately, society does not support this aspiration.  Poverty-stricken Jude does not have the means to enter the university easily and he must teach himself the basic skills needed to enter the university.  By toiling over Latin books at night, Jude tries to overcome society's oppression.  When he goes to Christminster with Sue and his children, Judes failure to become a scholar is contrasted with the ritual of Remembrance Day, when honorary degrees are given.  This grand ceremony is certainly not created with people of Jude's circumstance in mind.  However, Jude shines among the scholarly festivities he once dreamed of.  He holds his own lecture for the audience about the architecture around Christminster.  He certainly seems apt enough to have been a student at the university, but he is nonetheless "an outsider to the end of [his] days" because of society's oppression(318).  
    The grief-stricken affair of Jude and Sue is another example of a rejection of society's rules and rituals.  The two lovers choose not to get married because they have both lived through the negative effects of such an "irrevocable union."  However, society is unwilling to accept their rejection of convention.  In Christminster, landlords will not provide them with housing because of their situation.  Even Jude's son acknowledges the unacceptable nature of Jude and Sue's union and realizes that it has caused their rejection from society.  Jude and Sue's sons become victims of their parent's rejection of convention when they all die in the oldest son's attempt to save the family.   Society is portrayed as an oppressive force that is unjust by nature.  Jude and Sue seem to enjoy a truly loving relationship, but are forced to return to their terrible marriages.  
    Despite the failed attempts of Jude to gain an education and a loving relationship, he does not dwell on his failure.  He does not regret his attempts to escape his current situation, but he realizes that he had to eventually succumb to society's expectations.
Nov. 22: Distractions of College Life, Zuleika pp. 268-313
The real distractions are those which we convince ourselves are not distracting, but meaningful. Odysseus's crew decides to indulge in the "sweet music" of the new island because "There is no joy but calm!" (Lotos-eaters, 853). The hundreds of Oxford undergraduates end their lives in the river in order to express and actualize their love for Zuleika. These pursuits of ideals mark the downfall of the intellectual who is not self-reflective. At a certain point, a so-called intellectual pursuit is only an excuse for escaping reality.
        I certainly fall (or allow myself to fall?) for various temptations and try to rationalize them as "intellectual pursuits". For example, I have convinced myself that socializing is actually the ultimate learning experience. I ask myself, "Self, why do I need classes when I can learn so much from my peers?" Once convinced that I can learn everything I need to know from May Flam, I go about my day confident that my social life has a higher purpose...even if that project was a bit late.
        Unfortunately, I tend to be a self-reflective kind of guy which precludes the blissful ignorance that I so desire. Oh, how I would love to agree that "slumber is more sweet than toil"! (especially when I am rowing at 5:15 in the morning) (Lotos-eaters, 856). It seems to make sense that idleness is completely justified because, after all, "What is it that will last?" (Lotos-eaters, 854). Taking into consideration our impact on the universe (which is equal to zero, if you know calculus well enough to take the limit of a life-span), it is difficult to oppose the seafarer's reasonable request: "Let us alone" (Lotos-eaters, 854). The lotos-eaters resist Adam's punishment of a life of toil. They abandon the external reality and embrace "a land where all things always seem'd the same!" (Lotos-eaters, 852).
        But, what the lotos-lovers also abandon are the sources of substantive meaning in life such as challenges, accomplishments, or the "courage!" that their captain calls for at the beginning of the poem (852). Similarly, the men in Zuleika give up their educational pursuits for their "love" of Zuleika. The satirical style of the novel clearly exposes these men as immature and unreasonable, since their "love" is merely infatuation. The men's professed love for the woman is merely a means of avoiding more meaningful pursuits of true love. In order to avoid distractions, one must realize that the toil which one seeks to overcome is actually the source of a meaningful life.