In Scene IV of Antigone, the Chorus and Antigone herself make mention of several other myths of Greek lore. These stories, which would have been part of the common knowledge of the original Greek audience, add new ways to look at and interpret Antigone’s position, mostly in negative ways. In this scene, composed entirely of the conversation between the chorus and the protagonist, the listener/reader is forced to weigh Antigone’s heroism and moral strength with her potential for perhaps too much rigidity and self-righteousness. The similarities and differences between these myths and Antigone’s position can help with this interpretation.
The first comparison is brought up by Antigone herself. She matches her moribund situation with that of Niobe, who died bereft of family. She says, “I feel the loneliness of her death in mine,” noting that her family is either dead or forbidden to her (in the case of her sister and fiancé) (Scene IV line 20). The other part of the legend of Niobe is the reason she was punished: her hubris in boasting that she was greater than the gods (at least, that her children were). Antigone does not really relate to this part of the myth – however, both Creon and Oedipus can be seen as claiming to have more power than the gods over the city’s and their families’ affairs. The Chorus recognizes this, responding to Antigone that “I cannot tell / What shape of your father’s guilt appears in this.” This seems to be more a plea for pity by Antigone than any realization of hubris or self-righteousness.
The second myth that Antifone is compared to is that of Danae. In this story, Danae is prophesied to bear a son that would kill her father; in order to avoid this, her father locks her up and prevents suitors from seeing her. But, like any who try to avoid their fate, Danae does indeed bear a son (Perseus) who eventually and accidentally kills her father. The parallels to Oedipus’s story are clear; the lessons for Perseus’s grandfather and for Oedipus’s parents were learned too late for fixing them. The part of Danae’s myth that Antigone is paralleled with is her imprisonment in a room with no doors; this is similar to the sepulcher that Antigone will die in. However, Danae was paid a visit by Zeus, and there will be no respite for Antigone; furthermore, Danae is really portrayed as a passive person who lets her father and son boss her around – clearly, Antigone is not similar.
The last two myths that are briefly made reference to by the Chorus are that of King Lycurgus and King Phineas. King Lycurgus was a king of Thrace, struck by madness as a punishment for pride and the death of Dionysis’s nursemaid who then killed his family and himself. Oedipus is really a more likely comparison for the family-destruction part; however, Antigone can be seen as prideful in some regards. King Phineas cast off his wife Cleopatra and imprisoned her in a cave, then allowing his second wife to be cruel to Cleopatra’s children. Perhaps the lesson here is that even being nobly born cannot save you from your fate and from death. These two comparisons are not very favorable for Antigone.
Although I set out to analyze the myths made reference to in this passage because I thought they might add clarity to an interpretation of Antigone, in the end I am left with more questions than before. Why are these myths mentioned, when they are difficult to use to interpret Antigone’s position? How can she be a helpless princess, a cruel king, and an evil king? I am not sure what the reader should take from these passages – perhaps the average play attendee in the original audience would have gotten more out of these references. (639)
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Love and Loss
Prompt: “[Love] could have rescued Ivan Ilyich from all the fright and despair which terorized him during the final two weeks had he allowed it to. . . Love masters death [only at the end].”
Throughout the anti-epic of Ivan Ilych, Tolstoy reinforces over and over the shallowness and vapidity of the Russian’s life. His schooling, his work, his relationships; everything is based off of what it should be. There is no soul-searching in his life, since he is never faced with any true crises or anything that would make him question his motives or aspirations. Instead, Ivan’s family, friends, and social position allow him to coast through life, never dipping below the surface of any experience or emotion. It is not until the end, when Ivan is literally on his deathbed, that he is forced to reflect on the validity of the choices he has made.
Although his entire life is a tragedy, the saddest part of Ivan’s commonplace and ordinary existence is the lack of true emotion he feels for other people. The other judges and magistrates that Ivan works with feel no pity for him when he is getting sicker and sicker; instead, he notices them eyeing his position as a method of their own advancement. Nobody in his high level of polite society has a sincerely kind word or even tiny moment of compassion for Ivan. Just as he had used others to get ahead (as when he moved and his salary almost doubled), now he feels the flip side of a society that values only fun and frivolity.
In a small way, this is demonstrated through his relationships with his “closest acquaintances,” Tolstoy’s tongue-in-cheek way of referring to those supposed to be of Ivan’s inner circle. From the very first chapter, where Peter is used to illustrate the feelings others had for Ivan at his funeral, a time when people should be mourning and reflecting over the wealth and depth of one’s contributions to life. Instead, those at the funeral want nothing more than to get the formalities (ie, the insincere motions that seem appropriate) over and go play a simple, thought-free game of cards. Even this man who has known Ivan since childhood – supposedly one of his closest confidantes – cannot bear to spend a moment in the room with the coffin, in the presence of a reminder of his own mortality. Like Ivan before his mysterious demise, all the others prefer to think of death as something that happens to other people. This lack of connection between all the people in his life is a sad comment on the lack of access to emotion that pervades Ivan’s life.
The biggest loss of true connection that doesn’t hit Ivan until it’s too late is the sour nature of the relationships in his family. His daughter is a perfect socialite, beautiful and engaged to a man with many prospects, but instead of wishing to take care of her father or even feeling sad that he is dying, she is merely disgruntled when his illness casts a pall over her night at the opera. Ivan’s wife shows only as much compassion as she needs to in order to get her way; at the funeral she cares more about how much money she can get than truly grieving for her husband. Only Ivan’s son, the youngest and most innocent, seems actually sad about his father’s death; his face is pale and drawn at the funeral and he cries at Ivan’s bedside. When Ivan finally passes, it is unclear whether anybody in this world truly cared about him at all.
However, even sadder than the lack of feeling the others have for Ivan is the lack of feeling he can muster for the others. Even when he finally understands that he has not lived well, Ivan cannot feel much more than pity for himself. He cannot reach out to his wife and family; he does not wish to forgive and love them, but only to be forgiven. This is the saddest part of the whole tale; Ivan does not ever experience love, the most redeeming and empowering experience a human can have. If only he had been able to connect with those he is supposed to care and feel for at the very end, perhaps he could have reclaimed some meaning for his life. This is not to be.
The only true beacon of hope for humanity in the story is Ivan’s servant Gerasim, whose simple ministrations and honest, strong face tell the tale of a life lived with honesty and love. He tells his employer that he does not mind helping him, because Gerasim truly does feel pity for and an empathy with the bitter, dying old man. In the end, Ivan cannot crack the artificial façade of his life, although he does recognize its worthlessness. If Tolstoy had written in such a happy ending for his unheroic hero, the warning effect of the tale would not have been so strong; also, this sudden opening to love and light would have been very unrealistic. Clearly, though, Tolstoy believes that deep relationships with others and a true sense of love and compassion (completely absent from Ivan and his circle) are imperative for a well-lived life. (843)
Throughout the anti-epic of Ivan Ilych, Tolstoy reinforces over and over the shallowness and vapidity of the Russian’s life. His schooling, his work, his relationships; everything is based off of what it should be. There is no soul-searching in his life, since he is never faced with any true crises or anything that would make him question his motives or aspirations. Instead, Ivan’s family, friends, and social position allow him to coast through life, never dipping below the surface of any experience or emotion. It is not until the end, when Ivan is literally on his deathbed, that he is forced to reflect on the validity of the choices he has made.
Although his entire life is a tragedy, the saddest part of Ivan’s commonplace and ordinary existence is the lack of true emotion he feels for other people. The other judges and magistrates that Ivan works with feel no pity for him when he is getting sicker and sicker; instead, he notices them eyeing his position as a method of their own advancement. Nobody in his high level of polite society has a sincerely kind word or even tiny moment of compassion for Ivan. Just as he had used others to get ahead (as when he moved and his salary almost doubled), now he feels the flip side of a society that values only fun and frivolity.
In a small way, this is demonstrated through his relationships with his “closest acquaintances,” Tolstoy’s tongue-in-cheek way of referring to those supposed to be of Ivan’s inner circle. From the very first chapter, where Peter is used to illustrate the feelings others had for Ivan at his funeral, a time when people should be mourning and reflecting over the wealth and depth of one’s contributions to life. Instead, those at the funeral want nothing more than to get the formalities (ie, the insincere motions that seem appropriate) over and go play a simple, thought-free game of cards. Even this man who has known Ivan since childhood – supposedly one of his closest confidantes – cannot bear to spend a moment in the room with the coffin, in the presence of a reminder of his own mortality. Like Ivan before his mysterious demise, all the others prefer to think of death as something that happens to other people. This lack of connection between all the people in his life is a sad comment on the lack of access to emotion that pervades Ivan’s life.
The biggest loss of true connection that doesn’t hit Ivan until it’s too late is the sour nature of the relationships in his family. His daughter is a perfect socialite, beautiful and engaged to a man with many prospects, but instead of wishing to take care of her father or even feeling sad that he is dying, she is merely disgruntled when his illness casts a pall over her night at the opera. Ivan’s wife shows only as much compassion as she needs to in order to get her way; at the funeral she cares more about how much money she can get than truly grieving for her husband. Only Ivan’s son, the youngest and most innocent, seems actually sad about his father’s death; his face is pale and drawn at the funeral and he cries at Ivan’s bedside. When Ivan finally passes, it is unclear whether anybody in this world truly cared about him at all.
However, even sadder than the lack of feeling the others have for Ivan is the lack of feeling he can muster for the others. Even when he finally understands that he has not lived well, Ivan cannot feel much more than pity for himself. He cannot reach out to his wife and family; he does not wish to forgive and love them, but only to be forgiven. This is the saddest part of the whole tale; Ivan does not ever experience love, the most redeeming and empowering experience a human can have. If only he had been able to connect with those he is supposed to care and feel for at the very end, perhaps he could have reclaimed some meaning for his life. This is not to be.
The only true beacon of hope for humanity in the story is Ivan’s servant Gerasim, whose simple ministrations and honest, strong face tell the tale of a life lived with honesty and love. He tells his employer that he does not mind helping him, because Gerasim truly does feel pity for and an empathy with the bitter, dying old man. In the end, Ivan cannot crack the artificial façade of his life, although he does recognize its worthlessness. If Tolstoy had written in such a happy ending for his unheroic hero, the warning effect of the tale would not have been so strong; also, this sudden opening to love and light would have been very unrealistic. Clearly, though, Tolstoy believes that deep relationships with others and a true sense of love and compassion (completely absent from Ivan and his circle) are imperative for a well-lived life. (843)
Monday, December 8, 2008
Colonialism and Postcolonialism, Civilization and Barbarians, Male and Female Roles… Juxtaposition is Having a Heyday
This article, “Three Ways of Going Wrong” by Douglas Kerr, really helped me to understand more about how to compare Heart of Darkness and Waiting for the Barbarians. I had already drawn the most obvious conclusions; both are books about the effects an empire has on both the “civilizers” and the “barbarians.” Both books, also, have a figure of law and the strict codes of the Empire encountering a figure representing a collusion with the lawlessness of the barbarian hordes. Both books also seem to, in some respects, comment on the negative effects that the Empire has on the land it tries to civilize. Both are the personal journey of a man through an extended contact with the barbarian world. However, after reading this article, the different perspectives of the two books are much clearer to me.
We had already discussed several times in class how Waiting for the Barbarians had several modern elements to it, including the namelessness of the particular Empire that the Magistrate and Joll live in, the inability of the characters to connect, and the many similarities to George Orwell’s 1984. This article gave me the word “postcolonialism,” which appears to sum up everything we were trying to discover through our discussions about the novel. Heart of Darkness shows the barbarians as seen by the uncontaminated conqueror, the colonialist; Waiting for the Barbarians is the empire as seen by a conflicted man who sympathizes with the barbarians. The article brings up the point that both books have these two types of characters in them; in Heart of Darkness, Marlow is the first and Kurtz is the second; in Waiting for the Barbarians, the Magistrate is the second and Joll is the first. These two types of men provide two different ways to view the situation of the barbarian-civilizer relationship.
After reading this article, I also thought about the article I read in regards to Heart of Darkness. This article, while providing several points I did not agree with regarding the homosexual nature of the book, did bring up some interesting ideas about the importance of the barbarian woman that Kurtz takes as a lover. She represents the unnamed mysteries of the barbarian lands; in Heart of Darkness, knowledge and the known are represented by male figures and the unknown and ignorant by women. Similarly, in Waiting for the Barbarians, the Magistrate (the man contaminated by the Barbarian culture, Kurtz’s mirror) is obsessed with understanding a Barbarian woman. Until he actually goes into the wilderness, he is not interested in her sexually – instead, he longs to make an impression on her. His interest in her and the girl herself, like much of the rest of the book, can be viewed as a larger allegory for more abstract notions: the girl for all the Barbarians and his obsession with her as the futile attempt of any man of the Empire to own or understand the wilderness.
Clearly, these books are very complex. I would like to read some more criticism as well as more about the actual events of colonialism before I can feel that I completely understand all the topics presented in these intricate works.
(529)
We had already discussed several times in class how Waiting for the Barbarians had several modern elements to it, including the namelessness of the particular Empire that the Magistrate and Joll live in, the inability of the characters to connect, and the many similarities to George Orwell’s 1984. This article gave me the word “postcolonialism,” which appears to sum up everything we were trying to discover through our discussions about the novel. Heart of Darkness shows the barbarians as seen by the uncontaminated conqueror, the colonialist; Waiting for the Barbarians is the empire as seen by a conflicted man who sympathizes with the barbarians. The article brings up the point that both books have these two types of characters in them; in Heart of Darkness, Marlow is the first and Kurtz is the second; in Waiting for the Barbarians, the Magistrate is the second and Joll is the first. These two types of men provide two different ways to view the situation of the barbarian-civilizer relationship.
After reading this article, I also thought about the article I read in regards to Heart of Darkness. This article, while providing several points I did not agree with regarding the homosexual nature of the book, did bring up some interesting ideas about the importance of the barbarian woman that Kurtz takes as a lover. She represents the unnamed mysteries of the barbarian lands; in Heart of Darkness, knowledge and the known are represented by male figures and the unknown and ignorant by women. Similarly, in Waiting for the Barbarians, the Magistrate (the man contaminated by the Barbarian culture, Kurtz’s mirror) is obsessed with understanding a Barbarian woman. Until he actually goes into the wilderness, he is not interested in her sexually – instead, he longs to make an impression on her. His interest in her and the girl herself, like much of the rest of the book, can be viewed as a larger allegory for more abstract notions: the girl for all the Barbarians and his obsession with her as the futile attempt of any man of the Empire to own or understand the wilderness.
Clearly, these books are very complex. I would like to read some more criticism as well as more about the actual events of colonialism before I can feel that I completely understand all the topics presented in these intricate works.
(529)
Monday, November 24, 2008
I Am Too Tired to Think of a Clever Title
I am always a sucker for extending literary criticism methods to everyday realities. It is for this reason that I am truly enjoying reading Waiting for the Barbarians back to back with Heart of Darkness; I love the perfect juxtaposition of style with the parallelism of theme. Heart of Darkness, as discussed in many of the articles brought up last week, is a book much dictated by the time it was written. For today’s readers, is limited by its own verbosity, its familiar narrative structure, and perhaps even its unknowing racism or sexism. These lenses (normal for the time it was written) detract from the book’s meaning for a modern interpreter. Waiting for the Barbarians, on the other hand, is a book perfectly fitted to our times. The kind of modernist edge apparent throughout the book makes it appealing to modern readers. These details are apparent in the author’s tone and style and even in the details of plot and setting.
Whereas Heart of Darkness is set in a very concrete time and place (it masquerades as a true story, with all the details in place to make it a believable true-life experience), Waiting for the Barbarians is very deliberately not placed in any concrete time or place. This serves, in a rather blatant way, to make the lessons available to be learned from the book even more apparently universal. Although it is easy to apply the book to the same colonialism as in Heart of Darkness, the author wishes us to perhaps keep a broader mindset. This same universality is set in place for the characters as well; not many have names. The characters are not really all good or all bad, but they are very human. Everything that happens seems kind of bumbling and awkward; there are no real heroes (so far, at least). The narrator does not even really know what he wants! His interest in the barbarian girl seems a little too sick to be either altruistic or truly romantic, but at the same time he is not really a bad guy.
So far, this story set in no place and no time has been rather interesting. I hope that the plain prose, modern style of writing, and interesting plot will continue to develop throughout the rest of the book.
(384)
Whereas Heart of Darkness is set in a very concrete time and place (it masquerades as a true story, with all the details in place to make it a believable true-life experience), Waiting for the Barbarians is very deliberately not placed in any concrete time or place. This serves, in a rather blatant way, to make the lessons available to be learned from the book even more apparently universal. Although it is easy to apply the book to the same colonialism as in Heart of Darkness, the author wishes us to perhaps keep a broader mindset. This same universality is set in place for the characters as well; not many have names. The characters are not really all good or all bad, but they are very human. Everything that happens seems kind of bumbling and awkward; there are no real heroes (so far, at least). The narrator does not even really know what he wants! His interest in the barbarian girl seems a little too sick to be either altruistic or truly romantic, but at the same time he is not really a bad guy.
So far, this story set in no place and no time has been rather interesting. I hope that the plain prose, modern style of writing, and interesting plot will continue to develop throughout the rest of the book.
(384)
Saturday, November 15, 2008
A Homosexual Heart of Darkness?
“Masculinity, Modernity, and Homosexual Desire”
by Andrew Michael Roberts
p.455-462
A discourse concerning the contrast between male and female roles regarding power and knowledge runs through Conrad’s works.
- themes of “knowledge, truth, and ignorance” (455)
- men: “empowering knowledge”
- women: “symbolic, psychic, and social exploitation of women;” women as “symbols of a mysterious truth” but not the everyday, important one; “concept of femininity constructed as the Other of male knowledge” (455)
- this view is maintained by ignoring the clear counterexamples of certain women
- Conrad also uses some criticisms of this view by “inviting the reader to empathize with women characters” at certain points (455)
The pair of women and pair of men in Heart of Darkness are complementary figures.
- Kurtz, Marlow
- the African woman, the fiancée
- the men represent “the powerful, knowing, speaking male subject of knowledge” (456)
- the women represent “1. The ignorant; 2. The known, the object of knowledge; 3. The unknowable”
- the African woman does not talk
- the Intended is excluded from knowledge my Marlow
The author of this article does not think that the book is about colonialism; instead, he argues, the vague and never-specified truth at the center of the novel is an “empty signifier … representationally vacant.” (456) This means that the novel is actually about something never clearly stated – such as the “homophobic discourse which treats same-sex desire as something which cannot be spoken of.” (457)
Is there more meaning to the lie that Marlow makes to the Intended at the end of the story?
- Yes, according to “the linguistic, symbolic, and emotional excesses of the passage” (457)
- by telling her a lie, Marlow excludes the Intended from some important knowledge that seems almost a secret society
- “desire between men which excludes women from a secret knowledge” (458)
- further: the hierarchy of male-male and male-female relationships has functioned “through the setting up of powerful barriers between sexual and other forms of inter-male relationships” (458)
- women are “objects of exchange” that maintain the barrier mentioned above by channeling male desire (458)
- descriptions of Kurtz’s fiancée place her at the same level as Kurtz’s ivory, effectively making her an object and part of “an economy of repressed same-sex desire” (462)
- another argument: Marlow projects his love for Kurtz onto the Intended:
- “women are used to deny, distort, and censor men’s passionate love for one another” (457)
A homosexual interpretation of Heart of Darkness can be seen through the intense relationship between Kurtz and Marlow.
- Marlow thinks they share a “secret knowledge” (458)
- “metaphors of transgressing a boundary” (458)
- Marlow’s obsession with Kurtz and his “‘unspeakable rites’” (458); see quotes p. 459
- Kurtz’s actions are described in “distinctively sexual overtones.” (459)
- Kurtz is described with many adjectives and phrases that connote mystery, evil, hunger, lust, and finally horror.
- What is it that he has done that is so terrible? Most of his murdering and brutality can be written off as normal behavior for those colonizing Africa.
- Marlow is willing to discuss cannibalism, human sacrifice, and witch magic, but still leaves some mystery around Kurtz that implies things to horrible to discuss.
- “what Kurtz has done is precisely the non-specified or unspeakable” (460)
- In addition, Marlow’s description of “horror” towards dark Africa is masked horror for “Marlow’s own feelings for Kurtz” (460).
The entire story is centered on the bonds between men.
- Marlow tells the story to a group of trusted male friends.
- The story is about an “enduring intimacy” with another man and the “sharing of a disgraceful yet exciting knowledge” with that man that even his fiancée cannot know about (460).
The author of the article says that the text is not completely dominated by these homosexual themes; to ignore them, however, would be to oversimplify the book and take it merely at face value.
- idea of “doubling” (461)
- Marlow thinks he has almost become Kurtz
- seen especially in sections about how Kurtz has given everything up (see quotes p.461)
The author concludes that the homosexual undertones can be seen through the lens of the time’s horror of homosexuality and focus on staid, conservative values.
by Andrew Michael Roberts
p.455-462
A discourse concerning the contrast between male and female roles regarding power and knowledge runs through Conrad’s works.
- themes of “knowledge, truth, and ignorance” (455)
- men: “empowering knowledge”
- women: “symbolic, psychic, and social exploitation of women;” women as “symbols of a mysterious truth” but not the everyday, important one; “concept of femininity constructed as the Other of male knowledge” (455)
- this view is maintained by ignoring the clear counterexamples of certain women
- Conrad also uses some criticisms of this view by “inviting the reader to empathize with women characters” at certain points (455)
The pair of women and pair of men in Heart of Darkness are complementary figures.
- Kurtz, Marlow
- the African woman, the fiancée
- the men represent “the powerful, knowing, speaking male subject of knowledge” (456)
- the women represent “1. The ignorant; 2. The known, the object of knowledge; 3. The unknowable”
- the African woman does not talk
- the Intended is excluded from knowledge my Marlow
The author of this article does not think that the book is about colonialism; instead, he argues, the vague and never-specified truth at the center of the novel is an “empty signifier … representationally vacant.” (456) This means that the novel is actually about something never clearly stated – such as the “homophobic discourse which treats same-sex desire as something which cannot be spoken of.” (457)
Is there more meaning to the lie that Marlow makes to the Intended at the end of the story?
- Yes, according to “the linguistic, symbolic, and emotional excesses of the passage” (457)
- by telling her a lie, Marlow excludes the Intended from some important knowledge that seems almost a secret society
- “desire between men which excludes women from a secret knowledge” (458)
- further: the hierarchy of male-male and male-female relationships has functioned “through the setting up of powerful barriers between sexual and other forms of inter-male relationships” (458)
- women are “objects of exchange” that maintain the barrier mentioned above by channeling male desire (458)
- descriptions of Kurtz’s fiancée place her at the same level as Kurtz’s ivory, effectively making her an object and part of “an economy of repressed same-sex desire” (462)
- another argument: Marlow projects his love for Kurtz onto the Intended:
- “women are used to deny, distort, and censor men’s passionate love for one another” (457)
A homosexual interpretation of Heart of Darkness can be seen through the intense relationship between Kurtz and Marlow.
- Marlow thinks they share a “secret knowledge” (458)
- “metaphors of transgressing a boundary” (458)
- Marlow’s obsession with Kurtz and his “‘unspeakable rites’” (458); see quotes p. 459
- Kurtz’s actions are described in “distinctively sexual overtones.” (459)
- Kurtz is described with many adjectives and phrases that connote mystery, evil, hunger, lust, and finally horror.
- What is it that he has done that is so terrible? Most of his murdering and brutality can be written off as normal behavior for those colonizing Africa.
- Marlow is willing to discuss cannibalism, human sacrifice, and witch magic, but still leaves some mystery around Kurtz that implies things to horrible to discuss.
- “what Kurtz has done is precisely the non-specified or unspeakable” (460)
- In addition, Marlow’s description of “horror” towards dark Africa is masked horror for “Marlow’s own feelings for Kurtz” (460).
The entire story is centered on the bonds between men.
- Marlow tells the story to a group of trusted male friends.
- The story is about an “enduring intimacy” with another man and the “sharing of a disgraceful yet exciting knowledge” with that man that even his fiancée cannot know about (460).
The author of the article says that the text is not completely dominated by these homosexual themes; to ignore them, however, would be to oversimplify the book and take it merely at face value.
- idea of “doubling” (461)
- Marlow thinks he has almost become Kurtz
- seen especially in sections about how Kurtz has given everything up (see quotes p.461)
The author concludes that the homosexual undertones can be seen through the lens of the time’s horror of homosexuality and focus on staid, conservative values.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
A False Finality
The final section of The Sound and the Fury wraps up the novel in several ways. Most important to me, however, is the fact that Faulkner really does not wrap up the novel at all. At the end of the last section, we do not know what has happened to Caddie; we do not know what will happen to Quentin. The mirrored uncertainty of mother and daughter serve to highlight the also unresolved fate of the characters left behind. Jason has not developed as a character; he is the same selfish, mean-spirited child he was as a boy. Benjy is incapable of change; he is stuck forever in a whirling miasma of time and loss. Mrs. Compson, too, languishes away waiting for something to happen to her. None of the characters are active; they passively saunter through life, adding nothing to and gaining nothing from the world around them. Dilsey only is a beacon of hope and positivity; her constancy is a good thing instead of a handicap. The final section sums up the experiences portrayed in the other sections of the novel to show that there are no true happy endings in the new world of the twentieth century, only small hints of change. In this way, Faulkner clearly makes his point about the degeneration of modern life and the inability of most people in modern-day life to find a wholesome center or make true meaning out of their actions. (242)
Monday, October 27, 2008
Methods of Innocence in The Sound and the Fury
“Faulkner and the Theme of Innocence”
by Lawrence E. Bowling
The Kenyon Review, Vol. 20, No. 3 (Summer, 1958), pp. 466-487
Published by: Kenyon College
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4333892
In this fascinating article, Bowling explores the importance of the idea of innocence both to the novel’s creator, Faulkner, and to its important characters, Benjy, Quentin, Jason, Caddy, and on a smaller lever Miss Quentin and Mrs. Compson. The premise of the article is that Faulkner writes with a “point of view of a Christian feeling under the Southern experience,” and that he “presents his materials…in the form of a metaphor, which conveys its own kind of truth” (466). In this arena, Faulkner explores the “idea of innocence,” specifically “two traditional views of innocence which are in conflict with each other” (466). Bowling states that the two visions of innocence are the puritan view, which sees innocence as untainted moral purity and virtue, and the humanist view, which sees innocence as simplicity and silliness, a “neutral state before knowledge” (467). Both see the “opposite of innocence is knowledge:” but to puritan views knowledge is evil; to humanists, it is “ordinary knowledge and intelligence” (467). To Bowling, Faulkner is a humanist, and so his novel serves to illustrate the pointlessness of the puritan view of innocence and the failure of life when one cannot achieve the humanist view of knowledge.
Benjy is literally an innocent. “He cannot know…the world does not make sense but only sensation” (468). Benjy cannot distinguish between the present and the past. Although he can sense some things (death, Caddy’s actions), he cannot logically learn from and grow from his encounters. He experiences the past and the present all at the same time; he has no coherent knowledge of good and evil; he is unable to live life because of his complete and utter ignorance. In fact, he is trapped forever in personifying the humanist view of innocence; a being completely free of knowledge and experience.
Quentin, on the other hand, personifies the puritan view of innocence. He is “obsessed with the idea that the perfect state which one should strive to preserve or achieve is absolute purity” (468). This melancholy and futile mania of perfection shows up over and over again in Quentin’s section. He doesn’t like roses because they have a tint of color; he prefers the “virginal” white dogwood; he refuses the money that Herbert offers him because he sees it as tainted (469). Purity on a moral level is in fact reflected on the physical level for Quentin; this is displayed when he tries to stop Caddy from literally dirtying her clothes while they play in the stream and when he tries to stop Herbert, whom he sees as dirtying the family, from letting his cigar leave a mark on the mantel. He makes sure to remove the spots from his clothing; when he is preparing to commit suicide, he makes sure to brush his teeth.
The most obvious part of Quentin’s obsession with purity is embodied in Caddy. Quentin is constantly preoccupied with the “moral stain on Caddy’s character,” while he himself remains a virgin (470). He is desperate to erase the smirch on the family provided by Caddy’s promiscuity; he suggests that they both kill themselves or that they pretend to have committed incest. Quentin has trouble understanding that the real world will never live up to his moral expectations; this is shown through his obsession with shadows. These perhaps also show another layer of association with impurity; he watches shadows everywhere. This also connects with the passage in Macbeth that Faulkner draws the novel’s title and themes from; Shakespeare mentions that “life’s but a walking shadow” (473). Herbert provides a good parallel for Quentin’s character by calling him a “half-baked Galahad,” the “noblest and purest knight of the round table” (468). Galahad saw his duty as retrieving the Holy Grail, an almost impossible task, just as Quentin thinks it is his fate to “retrieve the family honor” (469). However, just as Galahad has no place in the modern world, neither does Quentin’s old-fashioned morality.
These attributes combine to place Quentin firmly in a useless state of innocence; the innocence of puritan morality. He cannot learn because he does nothing except live in fear of more stains on the family honor. Instead of working towards a better life or a more honorable future, he decides to kill himself. He has a “dedication to passivity” that does not allow him to grow or change, but to remain forever in a state of useless innocence (472).
The other characters in the sound and the fury also show the futility of innocence. Caddy, the obsession of all her brothers and arguably the most important character in the book, remains an innocent in Bowling’s eyes because she “acquires no spiritual depth” (478). Although she is a spirited, kindly girl who loves her brothers and attempts to help raise them, she never takes her place as the matriarch of the Compson clan. Caddy is clearly not an innocent to the puritan view. However, she is not guilty in the humanist sense even though she loses her virginity, becomes pregnant, and has an illegitimate daughter because she does not take many lessons away from her life. Jason is both guilty and innocent because he “willfully commits innumerable actions which he knows to be immoral and vicious; but he is innocent in the sense that he remains ignorant of basic human principles” (475). Although Jason certainly seems to think he has suffered and experienced, he has derived no knowledge from his life. He has no aspirations, no goals other than being an opportunist. He remains innocent of reality and goodness. Because of Jason, the Compson family has no future and he will constantly drag the family down. Mrs. Compson, too, is much like her son. She “holds the puritan view of innocence as virtue” and in fact thinks she is a perfect mother because she has never been sexually promiscuous and therefore has held by puritan virtue (478). Clearly, this is not true – Mrs. Compson is a horrible mother “thoroughly absorbed in petty bickering” and complaining (477). Because of her, the Compson family “has no center, no mother, no love” (478). Clearly, Faulkner does not support the puritan view of innocence.
The only character that Faulkner sees as having surpassed innocence through experience and reached knowledge is Dilsey. Instead of being passive and complaining, Dilsey faces her problems and searches for solutions; she is calm in the face of life’s difficulties and draws deep understanding from the world around her. Through her, Bowling believes, Faulkner shows “his conception of innocence [which] may be stated in the formula: Life is action, inaction is death” (480).
This article really served to help me understand more of the book as a whole, drawing together many small and confusing details to a broader picture. Although I believe that Faulkner’s message has a greater significance than simply a comment on the nature of innocence, the analysis of this concept was very helpful in classifying characters and drawing conclusions about different actions and results
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by Lawrence E. Bowling
The Kenyon Review, Vol. 20, No. 3 (Summer, 1958), pp. 466-487
Published by: Kenyon College
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4333892
In this fascinating article, Bowling explores the importance of the idea of innocence both to the novel’s creator, Faulkner, and to its important characters, Benjy, Quentin, Jason, Caddy, and on a smaller lever Miss Quentin and Mrs. Compson. The premise of the article is that Faulkner writes with a “point of view of a Christian feeling under the Southern experience,” and that he “presents his materials…in the form of a metaphor, which conveys its own kind of truth” (466). In this arena, Faulkner explores the “idea of innocence,” specifically “two traditional views of innocence which are in conflict with each other” (466). Bowling states that the two visions of innocence are the puritan view, which sees innocence as untainted moral purity and virtue, and the humanist view, which sees innocence as simplicity and silliness, a “neutral state before knowledge” (467). Both see the “opposite of innocence is knowledge:” but to puritan views knowledge is evil; to humanists, it is “ordinary knowledge and intelligence” (467). To Bowling, Faulkner is a humanist, and so his novel serves to illustrate the pointlessness of the puritan view of innocence and the failure of life when one cannot achieve the humanist view of knowledge.
Benjy is literally an innocent. “He cannot know…the world does not make sense but only sensation” (468). Benjy cannot distinguish between the present and the past. Although he can sense some things (death, Caddy’s actions), he cannot logically learn from and grow from his encounters. He experiences the past and the present all at the same time; he has no coherent knowledge of good and evil; he is unable to live life because of his complete and utter ignorance. In fact, he is trapped forever in personifying the humanist view of innocence; a being completely free of knowledge and experience.
Quentin, on the other hand, personifies the puritan view of innocence. He is “obsessed with the idea that the perfect state which one should strive to preserve or achieve is absolute purity” (468). This melancholy and futile mania of perfection shows up over and over again in Quentin’s section. He doesn’t like roses because they have a tint of color; he prefers the “virginal” white dogwood; he refuses the money that Herbert offers him because he sees it as tainted (469). Purity on a moral level is in fact reflected on the physical level for Quentin; this is displayed when he tries to stop Caddy from literally dirtying her clothes while they play in the stream and when he tries to stop Herbert, whom he sees as dirtying the family, from letting his cigar leave a mark on the mantel. He makes sure to remove the spots from his clothing; when he is preparing to commit suicide, he makes sure to brush his teeth.
The most obvious part of Quentin’s obsession with purity is embodied in Caddy. Quentin is constantly preoccupied with the “moral stain on Caddy’s character,” while he himself remains a virgin (470). He is desperate to erase the smirch on the family provided by Caddy’s promiscuity; he suggests that they both kill themselves or that they pretend to have committed incest. Quentin has trouble understanding that the real world will never live up to his moral expectations; this is shown through his obsession with shadows. These perhaps also show another layer of association with impurity; he watches shadows everywhere. This also connects with the passage in Macbeth that Faulkner draws the novel’s title and themes from; Shakespeare mentions that “life’s but a walking shadow” (473). Herbert provides a good parallel for Quentin’s character by calling him a “half-baked Galahad,” the “noblest and purest knight of the round table” (468). Galahad saw his duty as retrieving the Holy Grail, an almost impossible task, just as Quentin thinks it is his fate to “retrieve the family honor” (469). However, just as Galahad has no place in the modern world, neither does Quentin’s old-fashioned morality.
These attributes combine to place Quentin firmly in a useless state of innocence; the innocence of puritan morality. He cannot learn because he does nothing except live in fear of more stains on the family honor. Instead of working towards a better life or a more honorable future, he decides to kill himself. He has a “dedication to passivity” that does not allow him to grow or change, but to remain forever in a state of useless innocence (472).
The other characters in the sound and the fury also show the futility of innocence. Caddy, the obsession of all her brothers and arguably the most important character in the book, remains an innocent in Bowling’s eyes because she “acquires no spiritual depth” (478). Although she is a spirited, kindly girl who loves her brothers and attempts to help raise them, she never takes her place as the matriarch of the Compson clan. Caddy is clearly not an innocent to the puritan view. However, she is not guilty in the humanist sense even though she loses her virginity, becomes pregnant, and has an illegitimate daughter because she does not take many lessons away from her life. Jason is both guilty and innocent because he “willfully commits innumerable actions which he knows to be immoral and vicious; but he is innocent in the sense that he remains ignorant of basic human principles” (475). Although Jason certainly seems to think he has suffered and experienced, he has derived no knowledge from his life. He has no aspirations, no goals other than being an opportunist. He remains innocent of reality and goodness. Because of Jason, the Compson family has no future and he will constantly drag the family down. Mrs. Compson, too, is much like her son. She “holds the puritan view of innocence as virtue” and in fact thinks she is a perfect mother because she has never been sexually promiscuous and therefore has held by puritan virtue (478). Clearly, this is not true – Mrs. Compson is a horrible mother “thoroughly absorbed in petty bickering” and complaining (477). Because of her, the Compson family “has no center, no mother, no love” (478). Clearly, Faulkner does not support the puritan view of innocence.
The only character that Faulkner sees as having surpassed innocence through experience and reached knowledge is Dilsey. Instead of being passive and complaining, Dilsey faces her problems and searches for solutions; she is calm in the face of life’s difficulties and draws deep understanding from the world around her. Through her, Bowling believes, Faulkner shows “his conception of innocence [which] may be stated in the formula: Life is action, inaction is death” (480).
This article really served to help me understand more of the book as a whole, drawing together many small and confusing details to a broader picture. Although I believe that Faulkner’s message has a greater significance than simply a comment on the nature of innocence, the analysis of this concept was very helpful in classifying characters and drawing conclusions about different actions and results
(1,161)
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