FAULKNER UNIVERSITY THE DISSERTATION ABOUT NOTHING AND CHRISTIAN NIHILISM A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED TO THE FACULTY OF THE DEPARTMENT OF HUMANITIES IN CANDIDACY FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN HUMANITIES BY ANDREW R. JACOBS MONTGOMERY, ALABAMA MAY 2016
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© 2015 by Andrew R. Jacobs. All rights reserved.
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To Brandy, who has carried the burdens.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Every student owes a great deal of indebtedness to those longgone voices whose words made possible a contribution to the Great Conversation. The author would like to acknowledge a number of voices, though, who thoughtfully and graciously listened to such a young person spouting a bizarre opinion and ultimately helped him shape it into something meaningful. Dr. Lockerd, for his deep authority and insight, without which this project would be incomplete, thank you. Dr. Woods, who on at least two occasions has acted with God’s providence by stopping me at an intersection, handing me a book, and helping me find my way, you know how grateful I am. Special acknowledgement, too, must go to the longsuffering Dr. Redwing, who walked with me down a darkened path and helped me return with a map that might allow others to do the same.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS INTRODUCTION: THE UNDERLYING HISTORICAL STRUCTURE OF NIHILISM IN LITERATURE CHAPTER 1: THE VOCABULARY OF NIHILISM IN LITERATURE CHAPTER 2: JESUS, THE GOOD NIHILIST, THE GOOD 92 SHEPHERD CHAPTER 3: TOWARDS THE MEANINGFUL: REJECTED 118 NIHILISM IN THE DEATH OF IVAN ILYITCH CHAPTER 4: THE GOD WHO WAS AND WASN’T 148 THERE: A REFORMED NIHILISM IN FLANNERY O’CONNOR’S WISE BLOOD CHAPTER 5: N.I.C.E. INVENTION: C.S. LEWIS’ THAT HIDEOUS STRENGTH CONCLUSION: TRANSCENDENCE THROUGH FICTION: 232 THE IMPORTANCE OF THE INCARNATION IN REALITY FORMATION
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INTRODUCTION THE UNDERLYING HISTORICAL STRUCTURE OF NIHILISM IN LITERATURE In literature that features nihilism, one sees within the text, indeed, in the mere existence of the text, a quest for genuine meaning. Each engages in a similar discussion using similar language, key themes that highlight the process of the individual (or individuals) in shifting from a perceived state of reality to a state of uneasiness or doubt. Studying such terms represents a fruitful inquiry into the nature of nihilist characters, providing greater clarity concerning these particular works, but also the crisis of the modern and postmodern periods. Perhaps, too, in the end, it offers a potential solution. Underlying this structure, however, are those historical events that not only gave birth to nihilism but accompanied it as it developed over the years and seeped into the cultural consciousness and into its fiction. An investigation of nihilism’s history furnishes a clearer understanding of what it actually means when one encounters the phenomenon of nihilism, which proves more complex than first impressions suggest. The term “nihilism” walks about as one of those ideas one thinks one knows, but when pressed for a firmer explanation, one finds it refuses to admit itself clearly and concisely. Most agree the term suggests a negative connotation, that it represents something bad , but as for what exactly it is or why one considers it something to be feared or avoided, that becomes 7
more difficult to assess without paying special attention to context. Such differentiation no doubt accounts for the various emphases in certain reference works. One may focus on its characteristic rejection of those traditional institutions of authority within culture. Its volatile presence in nineteenth and early twentiethcentury Russia immediately comes to mind. In contrast, one may appeal to its philosophical implications, citing its rejection of moral authority and nasty suspicion that the world and all the people in it are ultimately devoid of meaning and purpose, a sort of nihilist snobbery that would draw distinction between itself and the revolutionary movements of the Russian anarchists. And so it goes, drifting from more terrestrial, national concerns to concerns of self and of ultimate existence or reality. At its simplest, the term means “nothing” (from the Latin nihil), but what kind of nothing depends, again, on the particular context in which it is being employed. To better explain these distinctions and effect an appropriate rebuttal to the conditions it describes, one must understand nihilism’s roots in Western culture, its identification with nineteenthcentury Russian revolutionary movements, and its later metamorphosis from a national to a more individual, internal concern. Indeed, one finds a clear and startling escalation unique in history and significant in its distinction. Essentially, nihilism transformed in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries as a result of an expanding, aggressive erosion of foundational elements (faith in community, cultural knowledge, and even self) whose presence helped maintain one’s confidence in one’s understanding of humane existence. Various elements contributed to and exacerbated the condition: the loss of a unified Christian church, political dissatisfaction and uncertainty,
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either with fledgling nationstates or oppressive monarchies, and significantly, Enlightenment thinking, which fixed humanity with the monocle of empiricism through which to see the world. Beginning as an ancient, ubiquitous unease about reality punctuated by a noncommittal attitude of meaninglessness, it morphed into a rational, empiricistbased philosophy, and finally, became a thing of existential fear, violence, and hopelessness. PrenineteenthCentury Nihilism Perhaps much of the confusion concerning nihilism stems from the mistaken belief that nihilism represents something new, that it somehow exists as a modernday invention. As Clyde E. Manschreck explains in “Nihilism in the Twentieth Century: A View from Here,” Western culture has long since hosted elements of nihilism and perhaps rarely been without it—he draws particular attention to its presence in Scripture.1 Note the statement, “Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity.”2 Such sentiments, hinting at absurdity, meaninglessness, would hardly feel out of place in works that deal with nihilism through characters or concepts. In fact, Mark Stanley Swift cites Old Testament Wisdom literature, Ecclesiastes especially, as representing an important factor in helping shape Russian thought.3 Nihilism, especially represented in literature, questions one’s ability to find meaning in existence, what one can know objectively and reasonably. It demands
Clyde L. Manschreck, “Nihilism in the Twentieth Century: a View from Here,” American Society of Church History 45, no. 1 (1976): 85. 2 Eccles. 1:2 ( ESV ). 3 Mark Stanley Swift, Biblical Subtexts and Religious Themes in Works of Anton Chekhov (New York: Peter Lang, 2004), 43. 1
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identifying the troublesome holes in reality, the limitation of knowledge, the deficiency of one’s self and the world. For this reason, it marks out those areas of false authority, locating in them a sort of smug, unreflective selfconfidence. Again, these concepts prove hardly new. As humanity struggles to find meaning, in anything, and entertains the possibility it might all prove bunk, one notes the tendrils of nihilist thought. One may easily draw back to Athens. Gorgias, for instance, in his On the Nonexistent , cites concerns with the difficulty inherent in the relationship between the thinking human, language, and their relationship to the physical world. In an extreme position, he states that "first, that nothing exists; secondly, that if anything exists it is unknowable; and thirdly, that if anything exists and is knowable, it cannot be demonstrated to others."4 Such comments could easily identify Gorgias as a nihilist, with their (impossible) total rejection or partial rejections of reality. Bruce McComiskey, in his work on Gorgias and new sophism, in fact, describes these assertions from Gorgias as "an effort to validate the study of language"5 and identifies them as a sign of the relationship between ancient and postmodern concerns regarding the nature of representation. However, whereas the Enlightenment and preEnlightenment periods assumed an important and genuine connection between language and the material world, such confidence no longer proves the case. He explains, "In relativistic postmodern theory, then, the formal properties of a signifier do not represent some reality or deep structure
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“Melissus, Xenophanes,and Gorgias,” in Aristotle. Minor Works: On Colours. On Things Heard. Physiognomics. On Plants. On Marvellous Things Heard. Mechanical Problems. On Indivisible Lines. The Situations and Names of Winds. On Melissus, Xenophanes, Gorgias, trans. W. S. Hett, Loeb Classical Library 307 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1936), 497. 5 Bruce McComiskey, Rhetorical Philosophy & Theory: Gorgias and the New Sophistic Rhetoric (Carbondale, IL, USA: Southern Illinois University Press, 2002), accessed November 26, 2015. ProQuest ebrary , 78.
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meaning transported unchanged from the signified; rather, these formal properties refer to the formal properties of other representations."6 Whereas the ancients still saw some correspondence between word and reality, one sees a harmful divorce from the world in postmodern thought and evidence that some few thousand years may seem at once distant but not altogether dissimilar. Consider, too, Plato’s allegory of the cave in Republic . In a conversation with Glaucon, Socrates attempts to explain “the effect of education and of the lack of it on our nature”7 by creating the image of humanity imprisoned within a cave: Imagine human beings living in an underground, cavelike dwelling, with an entrance a long way up, which is both open to the light and as wide as the cave itself. They’ve been there since childhood, fixed in the same place, with their necks and legs fettered, able to see only in front of them, because their bonds prevent them from turning their heads around. Light is provided by a fire burning far above and behind them. Also behind them, but on higher ground, there is a path stretching between them and the fire. Imagine that along this path a low wall has been built, like the screen in front of puppeteers above which they show their puppets.”8 In this position, then, the prisoners remain and see only the misshapen images of the shadows cast by the fire against the strange objects being carried along the wall. The image Plato describes presents a confusing scene, one in which the environment and its limitations, the immobility of the prisoners, the warped presence of light and sound, make it difficult for the individual to objectively account for all he or she experiences. What, then, may the imprisoned person accomplish, those to whom the “truth is nothing other than the shadows of those artifacts”9? Plato presents a scenario in which the prisoners
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Ibid., 79. Plato, Republic , trans. G.M.A. Grube, rev. C.D.C. Reeve (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc., 1992), 186. 8 Ibid., 186187. 9 Ibid., 186. 7
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escape their shackles and make a more proper investigation of their reality. He describes the process as painful, perplexing, but ultimately, beneficial, as “because he is a bit closer to the things that are and is turned towards things that are more—he sees more correctly?”10 Such perspective would prove more accurate, “more real” as Plato suggests, and more advantageous to those still imprisoned, though the news would no doubt startle and vex them, presented to them, as it were, by one of these strange, enlightened individuals. Thus, the image Plato creates highlights the difficulty of existence and the subjectivity of the individual unavoidably linked to his or her understanding and appraisal of reality. Without a proper sense of comfort, of certainty, for instance, the existence of the light, the ability of the prisoner to adequately speculate, to reason, and the possibility for escape and subsequent enlightenment, the whole situation might prove absurd, meaningless. It might tempt one to reject any sort of meaning at all, either here or there, on earth or in heaven—which goes to the heart of nihilism, this confession of unease, then the ellipses, with the final toss of reality left unrealized, but waiting. For Plato, however, one finds solace in the ability of the individual and in the external source of light. Philosophy functions as a means to more properly attain a rightful understanding of existence, leading one to the conclusion that “in the knowable realm, the form of the good is the last thing to be seen, and it is reached only with difficulty. Once one has seen it, however, one must conclude that it is the cause of all that is correct and beautiful in anything, that it produces both light and its source in the visible realm, and that in the intelligible realm, it controls and provides truth and understanding
Ibid..
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….”11 Here Plato does not dispute the difficulty of the process towards enlightenment or the rarity of the genuine philosopher, but he attests to the viability of the process, to its substantive reality. Despair and meaninglessness flee or are at least restrained in the presence of humanity’s ability to appropriately discern itself and reality and in the belief in the possibility of an external, Divine authority. Indeed, faith in a spiritual reality has long since existed as a means to not only understand the origin of humanity, but explain its current state, an existence caught between order and purpose and chaos and meaninglessness. Take, for instance, the example of Job. Faced with an incomplete understanding of humanity’s suffering and loss and their relation to Divine authority, Job rejects any explanation provided by his friends, and instead, he argues that he may only find solace in a response from his maker. He states, “Behold, my eye has seen all this, my ear has heard and understood it. What you know, I also know; I am not inferior to you. But I would speak to the Almighty, and I desire to argue my case with God.”12 Job, then, recognizes the use of reason intrinsically tied to the arguments presented by his friends, but seeks for understanding beyond the limited understanding of humanity, a Divine solution external to the tainted nature of the material world. And in the end, God turns out to be the answer. God does not unravel the difficulty inherent in existence and in the attempt to make sense of a world in which a wholly good, Divine creator exists while His creation suffers, but rather, that God does exist proves to be the point. Job states, “I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted. Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?
Ibid. Job, 13: 13 ( ESV ).
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Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.”13 Humanity’s ability to perceive order, in this case, order derived from God, provides the basis to deal not only with human suffering, but death as well. Such depictions, of humanity groping in the dark, of humanity toiling beneath the overarching purpose of a Divine reality, highlight the unease always in play given the internal and external factors present within reality and common to all terrestrial existence. They highlight, too, those supports necessary for humanity to sustain itself. Unfortunately, though, those restraints that kept nihilism in check gradually weakened as humanity, ironically enough, endeavored to progress. The confluence of events, national, scientific, religious, philosophical, etc., that combined to create this shift proves complex. Manschreck highlights a number of the more significant factors: increased dependence on and faith in science, its methods and results; greater emphasis on the “sovereignty” of the state over the church (and then eventually the individual over the state); and the emergence of “individual authority and subjectivism”14 stand among the more prevalent. Such elements contributed to the creation of an environment that left humanity vulnerable, for over and above these individual factors exists a consistent theme: the continuous and deepening removal of any sort of spiritual reality from daily consciousness, what Manschreck identifies as the “shift from an otherworldly to a thisworldly concern.”15 The statement sounds strikingly similar to arguments set forth by Christopher Dawson, who noted such sterilizations as a sign of failing culture: “The whole history of culture shows that man has a natural tendency to seek a religious Ibid., 42:23. Manschreck, 86. 15 Ibid. 13 14
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foundation for his social way of life and that when culture loses its spiritual basis it becomes unstable.”16 Again, unfortunately, a loss of spiritual insight undermined that foundation, though humanity still attempted to develop, growing in systems of investigation and technology that would allow the semblance of progress without contributing to any overall purpose. One may observe such thinking—a topheavy structure built with the keystone removed—in such writers as Thomas Reid. In Inquiry into the Human Mind , Reid advocates a philosophic model built on common sense. The need, he argues, comes from past philosophic thinkers who contributed to a philosophic dialogue that created a “system of skepticism that seems to triumph over all science and even over the dictates of common sense.”17 He states, “These philosophers ask philosophy to supply them with reasons for believing things that all mankind have believed without being able to given any reasons for doing so.” 18 The problem, as Reid sees it, is philosophers, while working diligently and intelligently, have unfortunately created a problem. He traces a trickle effect that finds its origin in Descartes and progresses to Hume. Descartes, of course, stressed the preeminence of the mind, the “thesis that our thoughts, our sensations and everything of which we are conscious has a real existence ; and everything else must be made evident by the light of reason.”19 Bishop Berkeley built from this emphasis and concluded that “things are mere ideas, and have no existence except in our minds.”20 And
Christopher Dawson, Religion and Culture ( London: Sheed and Ward, 1948), 217. Thomas Reid, An Inquiry into the Human Mind (in the version presented at www.earlymoderntexts.com , 2, Adobe PDF. 18 Ibid., 6. 19 Ibid., 132. (author’s emphasis) 20 Ibid., 133. 16 17
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finally, Hume made the last leap and allowed “nothing in nature but ideas and impressions, without any subject on which they may be impressed.”21 To put it another way, Descartes stressed the consciousness as preeminent, Berkeley wondered if consciousness was all there was (and thus no external reality existed), and Hume decided finally that we had no good reason for believing any of it. These ideas developed and formed to create an intellectual environment that conflicts with practical, everyday experience. For this reason, Reid states, “I despise philosophy and renounce its guidance; let my soul dwell with common sense.”22 The problem, as Manschreck argues, concerns the different “demands” of reason and reality: “Reason demands the categorical imperative, said Kant; it is necessary for life to make any sense at all. Reason also demands the postulates of freedom, immortality, and God as essential to the completion of the rational order; otherwise the universe is utterly chaotic and nonrational.”23 One may satisfy reason, then, temporarily, but only temporarily. Ultimately, reason alone (manifest supremely in the utility of empirical method) may govern the function of humanity, but cannot imbue its activity with any sense of greater purpose or meaning. Kant, then, as Manschreck explains, offered a system that satisfied reason and “gave science a much needed philosophical foundation.”24 Support for the spiritual foundation, however, remained vacant, leaving the system built without it vulnerable to further corruption. Humanity thus found itself as it approached modernity in a precarious position:
Ibid., 7. Ibid., 6. 23 Manschreck, 87. 24 Ibid. 21 22
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increasingly despiritualized, increasingly isolated, but equipped with tools and methods that delivered results. It had undermined those restraints that kept reality honest, meaningful. In such a climate, nihilism spread, with devastating effect. NineteenthCentury Nihilism Despite nihilism’s presence in antiquity, the modern conception of nihilism, which ultimately takes shape within the last few hundred years, distinguishes itself. Though it appears nothing new, modernity, as it has in so many other areas of thought, has pushed nihilism to its extreme: “… it has become pervasive, finding expression not only in a flood of literature but in virtually every phase of our existence.”25 Volume and potency increased, as those buffers that existed in previous periods, for various complex and slowmoving reasons occurring at opportune moments (or inopportune, as the case may be), disintegrated and allowed the full, destructive force of toomuch nothing to, as Manschreck says, infect “virtually every phase of our existence.” Humanity thus faced a multitude of symptoms within its various systems, hinting as some larger illness. Modern nihilism enters more directly on the scene in nineteenthcentury Russia, adopting certain characteristics whose influence still appears relevant today. With its eye black from a humbling experience in the Crimean War, Russia set about under the leadership of Alexander II attempting to make reforms designed to rectify its deficiencies and propel it forward. One of its first was its decision to free the serfs and begin a process that would
Manschreck, 85.
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enable them to own land and, ideally, grow in strength and power like the current landowners. As one would expect, though, the landowners proved wary of any reforms that might in any way harm their wealth, status, and power. In the end, the effect was to create a divide between the former serfs, the landowners, and the state, which perhaps benefited the most. The peasants, of course, resented the unfairness of their current position and the seeming inability to effect substantive change to fix what appeared to them an obviously disproportionate system of power. It was during this period that the term nihilism became associated with those individuals who recognized the arbitrary nature of their national structure and sought to destroy it for its failings by any means necessary: “These nihilists perceived the manmade bases of an oppressive establishment, and in desperation they struck at the entrenched hypocrisy.”26 They witnessed its creation and experienced its effects; they also observed the certainty, genuine or false, sincere or selfish, of its enactors in the rightness and the solidity of it as institution. The absurdity proved too much. The sentiment became characterized as a political nihilism, a violent means to overthrow systems of order. That such efforts must be violent did not immediately seem apparent though, and as Richard Peace explains, the leap from tearing down society’s artificial creations in a figurative sense to a literal sense was prompted more by those influenced by nihilism than those who initially popularized it, by the audience rather than the speaker. He cites a particular passage from Ivan Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons , a text that contributed to nihilism’s growing popularity in nineteenthcentury Russia, wherein one of Bazarov’s pupils implies that violent action
Ibid.
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serves as an appropriate response to society’s hollowness; Bazarov, his mentor, remains present but silent during the exchange.27 The potential for a nihilist revolution existed within these ideas, but it was the discontent, those poised for revolution, who realized the “practical [next] step”28 and began attempts to literally attack those institutions of authority. Still, these “nihilists’” motivation may appear somewhat practical, the implication being that perhaps out of the destruction of the old system, what remains might prove effective. Whether the revolutionaries thought this far ahead or this optimistically remains unlikely, but uncertain. Regardless, in its more philosophical sense, and as it eventually dominated in the twentieth century, a purer nihilism rejects that sort of optimistic outlook. The distinction no doubt accounts for those various statements concerning the misidentification of the Russian revolutionaries as nihilists. Nihilism as a philosophy and as a revolutionary movement may share a kinship in the rejection of authority, but while the revolutionaries focus their attentions primarily on national authority and/or related institutions, the philosophy denounces not only earthly authority, but any sort of claim to spiritual, metaphysical, or moral authority as well. Perhaps one reason for this unstated optimism in nineteenthcentury nihilism stems from its comfort with the utilitarian nature of scientific inquiry. When it materialized more solidly in the cultural consciousness in nineteenthcentury Russia, nihilism was influenced heavily, perhaps almost exclusively (some would say
Richard Peace, “Nihilism,” in A History of Russian Thought , ed. Derek Offord and William J. Leatherbarrow (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. eBook Collection (EBSCOhost), EBSCOhost (accessed March 14, 2014)), 124. 28 Ibid. 27
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erroneously), by its deference to rational, empirical means to ascertain and maintain confidence in knowledge. As Peace states, “Convictions needed to be verified in the crucible of scientific truth, and any that failed to measure up should be discarded.”29 At the same time, this nihilism rejected many of the more common institutional authorities within society, the political, the religious, and the familial. Thus, it created the image of the nihilist who thumbed his nose at convention, at history, at authority, but who respected the hard, objective minds of science. During the nineteenth century, for instance, critic Nikolai Nadezhin and economist V.V. BerviFlerovsky linked nihilism to skepticism, emphasizing again the uncertainty and doubt parasitically linked to epistemology, but arguing, almost implicitly, for one’s confidence in empirical models to provide the best means to satisfy these concerns. If it is possible for one to draw closer to an objective declaration of reality, to promote a “spirit of accuracy”30 as Hume might say, one will most likely do so through empirical means, as it provides the best tools and methods possible. Whether such progress will prove likely through such means, the nineteenthcentury nihilist leaves unanswered. One observes these subtleties of character inherent in the rational, empirical nihilist in the person of Bazarov in Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons . The text identifies Bazarov as a “a nihilist,” a person “who approaches everything from a critical point of view,” a person “who doesn’t acknowledge any authorities, who doesn’t accept a single principle on faith, no matter how much that principle may be surrounded by respect.”31
Ibid., 116. th David Hume, An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding , in Classics of Western Philosophy , 7 ed (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc., 2006), 765. 31 Ivan Turgenev, Fathers and Sons , trans. Richard Freeborn (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991; reissued as an Oxford World’s Classics paperback 2008), 2223. 29 30
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Having essentially renounced, or at least placed in a position of uncertainty, those avenues of knowledge built primarily on the acceptance of certain ideas over a period of time and perpetuated through various institutions, Bazarov and other nihilists find themselves forced to work at a baser, more primary level, hence their reliance on information gained through empirical methodology. “A good chemist’s twenty times more useful than a poet,”32 Bazarov explains. At the same time he demonstrates his preference for the natural sciences, which lend themselves more readily to scientific inquiry, he exhibits his distaste for any sort of assumed confidence in other areas of knowledge, again, those present in politics or faith or family. The nihilists’ “condemnation” applies to “everything.”33 Hence, he feels no compunction in advocating opinions that upset traditional mores and set one generation in conflict with the previous. He also feels comfortable rejecting political and religious institutions, again, because he and other nihilists have observed the hollowness of their principles through their conduct and the questionable results of their efforts, again, the “chattering” that leads to the “banal and doctrinaire.”34 The reformative process becomes ridiculous and repetitive. For this reason, they “condemn” and “swear at everything,” and they “[pull] everything down”35 but build nothing in its place. Within this context, one observes the revolutionary attitude that became synonymous with nihilism during this period. One gets the impression that these nihilists believed a politician might prove more useful were he more like a scientist. As Richard
Ibid., 26. Ibid., 50. 34 Ibid., 52. 35 Ibid., 50. 32 33
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Freeborn states, citing the influence of N.G. Chernyshevsky in shaping “a whole generation of intelligent young Russians in the need to criticize and reject everything—social institutions, the church, the political status quo and so on—which did not conform to the laws of the natural science,” this negative attitude appeared to suggest the “belief that, if only society were changed on rational, socialist lines, human beings could be changed also and a ‘new man’ could be created.”36 In addition, while this conception of nihilism explains its association with revolutionary movements, it also explains why, fundamentally, it represents an inferior or false nihilism. Such nihilism proves by all appearances too practical, too purposeful, too hopeful, and too drawn to the inherent goodness of relationship. Such nihilists leave room for radicalization. Perhaps such potential accounts for efforts made by men like Turgenev and Dostoevsky. When Turgenev created the "new man," he "portrayed him from life,"37 as Freeborn explains, drawing upon a type of man and culture that he observed. He envisioned in Bazarov "a new type of hero": " . . . as a heroic type he offers a vision of human selfreliability and potential that has a modern appeal to it and suggests both the power of a man when armed with scientific understanding and the Frankensteinlike fate awaiting him if the power is abused."38 Bazarov, in fact, became the inspiration for a number of characters, notably, Dostoevsky’s Raskolnikov and Ivan Karamazov.39 Joseph Frank, in Between Religion and Rationality , identifies many of Dostoevsky’s characters as building from his criticism of Russian nihilism: “In the underground man and
Richard Freeborn, introduction to Fathers and Sons by Ivan Turgenev, trans. Richard Freeborn (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991; reissued as an Oxford World’s Classics paperback 2008), xi. 37 Ibid., xii. 38 Ibid., xxii. 39 Ibid., xii. 36
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Raskolnikov, as later in Stavrogin and Ivan Karamazov, he dramatized the disastrous consequences of such Nihilist ideas if taken to their ultimate limits in human behavior.”40 The potential for harm in such nihilist thinking in Russia and beyond appears very real and felt. Perhaps the hope was that these characters might provide adequate incentive to change. The desire for completeness might prove appealing. In the end of Fathers and Sons , Turgenev stresses a yearning and demand for “eternal reconciliation and of life everlasting”41 in the novel’s final lines following Bazarov’s death. Such optimism would prove difficult to maintain in the twentieth century, however, in the midst of the corrosive effects of a systematized view of reality void of anything spiritual. Here the precariousness of the structures built by reason but bereft of any sort of spiritual significance would become more pronounced and the effects much more debilitating. Humanity had managed to organize its workspace, but with no overarching purpose for work and no sort of love for activity. As David Levin puts it, the subject, wherein the individual within humanity represents the authority, attempted to construct its reality dominated by the objective, the actual, the factual. 42 “But in a world of objectivity,” Levin attests, “there is no place, no home, for the subject, whose subjectivity—that is to say, experience—is denied value, meaning, and ultimately any truth or reality.” 43 Reality based on empiricism failed to make the individual more humane, only more efficient, and revealed that the shift from something Higher to
Joseph Frank, Between Religion and Rationality: Essays in Russian Literature and Culture (Princeton, NJ, USA: Princeton University Press, 2010), accessed November 26, 2015, ProQuest ebrary , 44. 41 Turgenev, 201. 42 David M. Levin, Opening of Vision: Nihilism and the Postmodern Situation (Florence, KY: Routledge, 1988), 4. 43 Ibid. 40
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something lower had robbed humanity of its ability to perceive genuine reality and had in fact only “accelerated the spread of a latent culture of nihilism, cancer of the spirit, contagion of despair.”44 In no way did this nihilism become more apparent than in the events of the twentieth century, which fulfilled Friedrich Nietzsche’s dark perspective on the future. Espousing one of the most comprehensive views on nihilism, Nietzsche not only saw that "extreme form of nihilism" that would suggest that " every belief, every consideringsomethingtrue, is necessarily false because there simply is no true world, "45 he saw, too, its nature to harm: "Nihilism does not only contemplate the 'in vain!' nor is it merely the belief that everything deserves to perish: one helps to destroy."46 TwentiethCentury Nihilism Humanity hungered after meaningfulness through empiricism even as it found the results unsatisfactory. At the same time, it grew isolated. Thus, conditions in the twentieth century worsened, aggravated and fueled by the effects of its degradation. The manifestations of this more destructive nihilism, while varied, unique, and not without argument, are nonetheless flavored by those particular aspects of modernity that were meant, ideally, to represent its progressive development: World War I, World War II, and the Holocaust feature among the more prevalent examples. The Holocaust, for instance, demonstrated in grotesque fashion the destruction of a particular group of people through a systematized, almost empirical model: the height of technological
Ibid. Friedrich Nietzsche, The Will to Power , trans. by Walter Kaufmann and R.J. Hollingdale (New York: Vintage Books, 1968), 14. 46 Ibid., 18. 44
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achievement, the depth of human depravity. Yet, the influence need not appear on so large a scale as world war or genocide. In the arts, for instance, one ironically enough finds its expression in the Dada movement. Nihilism infiltrated every cultural activity: “Individuals living out this ethos consciously and unconsciously find it hard not to sense the emptiness of their lives.” 47 Forced to live or by selfwill end one’s existence, humanity finds itself locked into this continuous pattern of filling the hours of one’s life with activity without merit for a life devoid of any real significance or purpose. Manschreck describes this shift as creating “a mood of despair, a sense of emptiness and meaninglessness, a loss of transcendence, a feeling that life finally ends in the nothingness of death, that moral norms cannot be validated, that relativism and subjectivism render all statements about truth suspect and untenable.”48 Rather than effecting mere pessimism, this more potent nihilism implicitly suggests that reality is meaningless, without purpose, and any human attempt to prove otherwise becomes an absurd and pointless exercise. Yet, more often than not, he refrains from such direct declarations. He seems to agree, albeit reluctantly, on the certainty of life and death, and in such acceptance appears more existentialist than nihilist. The honest existentialist accepts existence and locates all meaning in the effort of the individual person. The wouldbe nihilist, with no control over his initial existence, can only effect nonexistence through selfdestruction or deceitfully in the willful avoidance of reality. True or pure nihilism, then, absolute nothingness, exists paradoxically as an idea only. Still, twentiethcentury nihilism saw a figure far more determined to accept
Manschreck, 95. Ibid., 86.
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nihilism in its ultimate form. It featured many of the same qualities its nineteenthcentury counterpart possessed, a rejection of authority, a distaste and dismissal of social convention—the suspicion the world might prove meaninglessness. Yet, while the Bazarovs proved less reluctant to resist relationship and found a scientist’s beaker a welcome antidote to anomy, the twentiethcentury nihilist saw himself increasingly isolated and a rational, empirical model no match for the overwhelming despair of life. The problem, as Manschreck puts it, a connection perfectly reasonable given the context of Bazarov’s death in Fathers and Sons , is that a rational, empirical model for establishing any type of order or meaning cannot withstand the reality of death: “With the loss of supernaturalism, an overpowering sense of the absurdity of living rendered meaningless by the finality of death surfaced.”49 Death, as Peter Berger explains, represents the “marginal situation par excellence ,”50 the single most powerful event to disturb an individual’s comfort with reality. He states, “Death presents society with a formidable problem not only because of its obvious threat to the continuity of human relationships, but because it threatens the basic assumptions of order on which society rests.”51 Having found the best science in the world still ends in death, and with no God or metaphysical power to support any sense of purpose or order or social responsibility, the nihilist can only wrestle with each individual existential crisis in the moment. The protagonist in JeanPaul Sartre’s Nausea provides a strong illustration of an individual dealing with such a crisis and one of the closest examples of a nihilist in his
Ibid., 88. Peter L. Berger, The Sacred Canopy: Elements of a Sociological Theory of Religion (New York: Doubleday, 1967; New York: Anchor Books, 1990), 23. (author’s emphasis) 51 Ibid. 49 50
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truest (non)form. Like other nihilist characters, he experiences an arrest of sorts, a “something” that he claims is “blossoming.”52 The text then follows his attempts to reorder his life in light of this event that throws his tenuous hold on reality into question, a reordering that allows insight into what appears to him the artificiality of the world and the varying degrees to which others apprehend it. His condition isolates him from most if not all community and highlights the severity of the isolationism in the twentieth century. He explains, “I live alone, entirely alone. I never speak to anyone, never; I receive nothing, I give nothing.”53 The isolation functions not only as a natural consequence of his arrest but also becomes necessary to allow him to assess his situation. The distance provides the opportunity to focus on the biological process of his being in time, a sensation that makes him nauseous . Thus, the narrator directs his consciousness towards this understanding of the process as it occurs, a greater and greater tightening that represents the final steps towards a rejection of self and meaning. Most if not all of these works that feature nihilism demonstrate a disinclination to advance to this point. How, in fact, does one narrate a story through a narrator who accepts his nonexistence? Nausea ’s narrator proves no exception. He describes how, initially, he would have described existence as “nothing, simply an empty form which was added to external things without changing anything in their nature.”54 Reality, however, proves too real , and in the end he accepts his existence. “I realized that there was no halfway house between nonexistence and this flaunting abundance,” he
Jean Paul Sartre, Nausea , trans. Lloyd Alexander (Paris: Éditions Gallimard, 1938; New York: New Directions, 1964), 4. 53 Ibid., 6. 54 Sartre, 127. 52
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explains. He continues, “If you existed, you had to exist all the way, as far as mouldiness, bloatedness, obscenity were concerned.”55 Such sentiment describes the tenor of the twentiethcentury nihilist, one who cannot deny his existence, but oh, the state of that existence! The twentiethcentury nihilist, then, traveled further along the road to nowhere than any of his fellow men. Having removed the source of any light that might guide his way, he walks in the dark, no longer trusting the fruit of his own senses or even his ability to discern direction at all. What, if anything, may be done? Certainly, the solution, if one may realize it, must restore humanity’s confidence in one’s self, in each other, and in the realism of a historical and divine greater purpose. Humanity must make a choice: reestablish the connection between one’s present existence and a greater purpose or accept the absurdity of life and its meaningless activity and engage in what one will, whatever that might be, to pass the time. The Solution to Nothing: Upon this Rock Hemingway’s “A Clean, WellLighted Place,” begins with two waiters discussing an old man who was “a little drunk.”56 The one waiter mentions that the old man attempted suicide. “Why?” the other asks, and he answers, “He was in despair.”57 About what did he despair? “Nothing,”58 it turns out. The two waiters argue about the appropriateness of letting the old man stay and
Ibid., 128. Ernest Hemingway, “A Clean, WellLighted Place,” The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway , Finca Vigia ed., (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1987), 288. 57 Ibid. 58 Ibid. 55 56
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drink, and eventually, the young waiter asks the old man to leave. The “unhurried waiter” laments, “Each night I am reluctant to close up because there may be some one who needs the café.”59 Yet, the young waiter is “of a different kind,”60 and they close the café. In Hemingway’s simple, strong style, one imagines the café and then the bar that appears, and one feels the difference between an establishment that isn’t clean or bright and one that is. The “nothing” permeates the text, infiltrates it: What did he fear? It was not a fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was a nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada . Our nada who art in nada , nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada . Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada ; pues nada . Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee.61 Certain features in this passage highlight the more significant aspects of nihilism, especially those that appear consistently in literature where nihilism appears. First of all, the presence of “nothing” blasts the reader and dominates the prayer. Often, “nothing” does not appear in full force within the texts, but waits, ready, dependent upon how much the individual concerned wishes to see or has the ability to see or perhaps even the courage to see the tremulous thread one holds on reality. Here the vocabulary of literature that deals with nihilist concerns, plays an important role, especially the concepts of “sudden arrest” and “invention.” Sudden arrest represents that point within a story when one can no longer ignore the “nothing” that underlies one’s awareness of reality, an awareness often dominated by
Ibid., 290. Ibid. 61 Ibid., 291. (author’s emphasis) 59 60
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convention. In order to preserve a sense of confidence, one maintains one’s invented view of reality. To do otherwise would be to willingly admit a truth (ironic, yes) that would cast many cultural conventions into doubt. Some persons appear so lost in convention that they accept that convention as the ultimate source of reality. This unquestionable acceptance explains why the conflict between those who sense nothing and those who do not, between those who recognize the falsity and those who embrace the false as truth, becomes so severe and appears in so many of the texts. In drawing closer to the nihilism more closely associated with revolutionary movements, this represents one of the primary motivations for why the nihilists (or “pseudonihilists”) want to “blow it up.” Sometimes the most effective and most satisfying way to show the flimsiness of a structure is to knock it down, and death represents a most powerful disturbance of one’s security in reality. Note, too, the introduction of the Lord’s Prayer. Its alteration demonstrates the insidious nature of destructive nihilism and its increased presence in the consciousness of humanity. “Nothing” has replaced the prayer’s significant elements, those words meant to represent “real” truths derived from an external, “real” Creator. Having killed God, humanity has replaced His presence with something a bit lower, finding, in the end, that he has replaced it with nothing. Still, despite such evidence, one might be tempted to ask why nihilism deserves such attention, such scrutiny. If Christians hope to speak to current humanity about Christ, they must understand nihilism’s presence within culture. One must possess the ability to speak “nothing” in order to communicate, or at least speak through nothing to
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discuss what’s real. What value exists in understanding nihilism, of reflecting upon its historical evolution and subsequent ripple effects in one’s daily consciousness? To ignore its importance would be to deny its presence, to deny its “pervasive”62 nature as stated earlier, and its destructive quality. Consider, for instance, something as innocuous as Napoleon Dynamite , a cult film that appears both hilarious and absurd depending upon the audience. Ernest Mathijs and Jamie Sexton define cult films as “a kind of cinema identified by remarkably unusual audience receptions that stress the phenomenal component of the viewing experience, that upset traditional viewing strategies, that are situated at the margin of the mainstream, and that display reception tactics that have become a synonym for an attitude of minority resistance and niche celebration within mass culture.”63 Such language highlights the clear separation that exists between those fully invested in their perception of reality, who may in fact accept many of the culture’s conventions as gospel truth, and those who sense something amiss with that culture’s “traditional” view, those who enjoy the film and “get it,” and those who hate it. “It was stupid,” one might say. “Nothing happened.” Or take a violent, loud book (and film) like Fight Club : “I was tired and crazy and rushed, and every time I boarded a plane, I wanted the plane to crash. I envied people dying of cancer. I hated my life. I was tired and bored with my job and my furniture, and I couldn’t see any way to change things.”64 Here the narrator identifies those products of one’s invention, conventional attitudes like the importance of one’s furniture and career, Manschreck, 85. Ernest Mathijs and Jamie Sexton, Cult Cinema, (Somerset, NJ: WileyBlackwell, 2012, 8. 64 Chuck Pahlaniuk, Fight Club, (New York: W.W. Norton and Company, Ltd., 1996), 172. 62 63
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and almost lusts after death, that one element a modern nihilist seems willing to concede as reality. Death, in this case, becomes an absolute preferable to a daily charade. Such sentiment exists within the consciousness of present culture. Whisper to certain individuals, “The first rule of fight club is …,” and they will immediately finish the line, whether they enjoyed the book (or film) or not. Those who enjoy it seem to sense in its violence and offensiveness a sort of revolutionary attitude that mocks the hollowness of various institutions. Whether they link Fight Club to nihilism or identify its kinship with works such as Nausea or The Trial or even “A Clean, Welllighted Place” seems less obvious. They flip their finger to authority without really understanding why or without appreciating the crucial point in nihilism when it no longer becomes fruitful, when its effectiveness in identifying convention disappears and it becomes destructive. At that point nihilism no longer realigns the manmade ornamentation that grows upon God’s truth like coral, obscuring that truth, but eats at those foundations rooted in that external, divine reality, making it less likely that humanity might realize its imperfect, fragile state and its salvation through Christ, and thus, the attainment of the ideal, the only way to restore humane activity. Nihilism presents a problem, yet, again, not a new problem. As stated earlier, nihilism, in fact, represents nothing new, but describes an unspoken rejection of the world that occurs as a result of the subjective existence of the individual: the limited knowledge of the individual in tangent with the conflict of two opposing forces, an apparent belief or hope in a universe that makes sense, one that supports the concept of goodness and of meaning, and our apparent inability to fully understand or attain or prevent ourselves
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from working against that goodness—what Lewis calls the “terrible fix we are in.”65 The difficulty, at this stage of humanity’s existence in time, proves unavoidable. Yet, that nihilism has always existed and will continue to exist in any foreseeable future does not suggest we may permit a certain laxity in our efforts to combat its negative effects or that nihilism has not in fact grown worse and taken an incredibly difficult shift that has harmed our ability to understand ourselves and our existence with others. Yes, it has always been with us, but it has never been this bad . Why? As stated earlier, the factors that led toward this nihilist state prove varied and complex and occurred at times propitious to each other, so that no one factor could account for the shift, but the combination of all them. Taken generally, however, the main culprits appear to be the loss of faith in any sort of transcendent, external, objective Creator—“… God can never be believed to have left the kingdoms of men, their dominations and servitudes, outside of the laws of His providence”66 and the ability of the human intellect to address the difficulties of existence—“Neither the bare hand nor the unaided intellect has much power; the work is done by tools and assistance, and the intellect needs them as much as the hand. As the hand's tools either prompt or guide its motions, so the mind's tools either prompt or warn the intellect.”67 In other words, having lost its faith in God, humanity turned to its intellectual abilities and its processes to
C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity , rev. and amp. ed. (N.p: C. S. Lewis Pte. Ltd., 1952; New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 2001), 31. 66 nd Augustine, The City of God , Great Books of the Western World , ed. Mortimer J. Adler, 2 ed, vol. 16 (Chicago: Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 1990), 259. 67 nd Francis Bacon, The New Organon , Great Books of the Western World , ed. Mortimer J. Adler, 2 ed, vol. 28 (Chicago: Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 1990), 107. 65
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address existence in a scientific manner, ultimately, finding such solace temporary and ineffective. These, then, or more pointedly, their weakened presence, encouraged nihilism’s growth at an unprecedented rate and allowed it to infiltrate humanity’s consciousness and activities in ways both obvious and subtle. Humanity, however, proves reluctant to accept nothing, which demands too much. Still, it managed its way into this mess, and by necessity, it must find its way out. If it does not make the attempt, if it decides the endeavor proves too hard or confusing, or if one simply accepts the absolute absurdity and meaninglessness of life and grows content to simply do what one does without apparent cause, then one need not concern oneself, as the whole show will selfdestruct. If one finds this choice repugnant, well, then, one must set about rebuilding the link to a better foundation, and ironically enough, the way back may be found in the meaningfulness of nihilism, as paradoxical as that seems. The solution to the problem of nihilism actually lies in its reclamation through the Incarnation as a type of fruitful or blessed nihilism whose ability to remove any false or weak perceptions of reality satisfies and bolsters the intellectual and spiritual barriers that prevent nihilism from drawing humanity towards anomy (as it will exist within humanity in time) and absolute void (which will exist paradoxically as an idea only and prove impossible as a reality). The Incarnation destroys the false in order to rebuild truly. Nihilism, reclaimed, might carry the key to reversing the damage already wrought. For these reasons, one must find value in nothing. A more comprehensive understanding might allow humanity to identify the “false … reasonings” that Dante
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warns “make you beat your wings in downward flight.”68 Must one appreciate the lesson of history? Knowledge aims to increase experience so that by that experience one might steer a truer course, so one might become “more prudent,” as Hobbes says, and become that person whose “expectations the seldomer fail him.”69 Pascal observes that “all men together make a continual progress as the universe grows old”; this “selfsame man” always has doubts, always feels the truth and danger of “nothing,”70 but he has wandered too far, become so lost in the tangle and dark that it blots out the light, and the dark becomes so pervasive, so complete, that he no longer recognizes up or down or left or right and doubts the need to investigate. Even the dark becomes meaningless. Lost and indifferent, a person finds it that much more difficult to recognize the “steadfast love [that] endures forever.”71 One easily returns to a “clean, welllighted place,” a place where individuals find refuge. Someone, however, must remember to keep the light on and keep the place clean. How terrible, to wander the streets in search of company, only to find the light out and the place shut up.
Dante, Paradiso , trans. Charles S. Singleton, Great Books of the Western World , ed. Mortimer J. Adler, nd 2 ed, vol. 19 (Chicago: Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 1990), 103. 69 Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan, or Matter, Form, and Power of a Commonwealth Ecclesiastical and Civil, nd Great Books of the Western World , ed. Mortimer J. Adler, 2 ed, vol. 21 (Chicago: Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 1990), 53. 70 nd Pascal, Scientific Treatises , Great Books of the Western World , ed. Mortimer J. Adler, 2 ed, vol. 30 (Chicago: Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 1990), 357. 71 Ps. 136:1 ( ESV ). 68
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CHAPTER ONE THE VOCABULARY OF NIHILISM IN LITERATURE Introduction A Christian, an atheist, and a nihilist walk into a bar. The owner is missing, and the Christian and the atheist begin to argue about whether he is present or not. Unable to agree, they turn to the nihilist, who says, “What bar?” The situation suggests something funny, and that means something, right? Line up a dozen or so nihilists or men or women who think they are nihilists and tell them jokes. The minute one of them cracks, the show is over. The irony of the word “nihilism” betrays its true problem. The term suggests “nothing,” but if it were truly nothing, it would be nothing, not letters spelling out nothing, as that represents something; not ellipses and then blank space, as blank space is still something … it’d be a void, more (or less) rather than an absence because people recognize an absence since an absence is something. Ralph Wood calls this the "exquisite contradiction entrapping the nihilist: the alleged worthlessness of life calls either for a sullen refusal of all action, or else for an ostentatious activism that displays the universal uselessness. In either case, the nihilist does something rather than nothing, since even the choice not to act is still an act."72 No one, if nihilism were sincere, would miss it because no one would know to miss it.
Ralph C. Wood, Making of Christian Imagination: Chesterton: The Nightmare Goodness of God (Waco, TX, USA: Baylor University Press, 2011), 200. 72
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Such difficulty waits, agitated, at the heart of literature that wrestles with nihilism, works that tangle with the notion of existence and meaning and meaninglessness through their fiction. Flannery O’Connor once remarked that nihilism proved so pervasive in modernity that one sucked it in and blew it out in each breath. And yet, again, nihilism proves nothing new. It reaches far back into antiquity, in Plato, in Scripture. A series of cultural transitions, degradations, and gross contortions, however, allowed humanity to draw closer and closer to putting on the brittle, false armor of nihilism, to forsaking confidence in the ability of the human person to discern and discern rightly, to forsaking imagination and its concepts, to forsaking created institutions, and indeed, to forsaking even the word itself. These conditions damaged culture, isolating individuals and hollowing their activities so that what meaning exists does so only at the level of the individual, if there. Culture yearns for renewal, a return from the road towards nothing it has set itself upon. Literature, perhaps more than most mediums, represents an ideal place for insight into the paradoxical nature of the quest to verify the meaninglessness of existence; one finds oneself flung into a text with the same apparent uncertainty one discovers in being thrown into existence. It stands to reason, then, that a foray into these works that confront the difficulties beset by a reality void of confidence might offer a means to rebuild confidence in reality. A primary method by which this may be accomplished is through key concepts that manifest themselves throughout these works and form a consistent vocabulary: terms such as “sudden arrest,” “invention,” “women helpers,” and the “ideal.” The terminology provides tremendous insight into the nature of such works and
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their concerns with meaningful existence. Still, this particular construction would remain nothing more than yet another instance of meaning imposed on reality rather than truth discerned from reality without the necessary authority to make such declarations of meaning possible, an authority only possible through something both immanent and transcendent, something here and there. In the end, these terms find rebirth and validation in the the perfection of reality found in the Incarnational Reality offered by Jesus Christ. Nihilism, again, appears in varying degrees in perhaps most literature, but it appears most explicitly in those that deal significantly with meaning or the meaningfulness of reality. Obviously, then, it would appear more during those periods suffused with greater doubt and uncertainty. Fiction such as Ivan Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons , Anton Chekhov's Three Sisters , Franz Kafka’s The Trial , Jean Paul Sartre’s Nausea , and Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club are each beneficial in the elucidation of these terms, approaching each with a distinctive voice and different emphases but nonetheless driving toward these more universal concerns. Of initial importance is the concept of “sudden arrest,” a catalyst for the reassessment of reality. Sudden Arrest The term “sudden arrest” refers to some type of mechanism that forces a character or characters within the text to question and investigate reality. Typically, the arrest features as an event that takes place explicitly within the particular narrative, often at the beginning, ironically enough, in order to draw in the reader. However, the arrest can take place at a time before the actual narration, as is the case in Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons ,
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or hover about the edges, poised to strike, as it does in Chekhov's Three Sisters . Regardless, once the sudden arrest takes place, the characters can no longer function as they once did, as their arrest has presented doubts in the world around them, and so they must set about inspecting reality, ostensibly in order to make sense of it. The term “sudden arrest” takes its name from an event represented in Franz Kafka’s The Trial , which begins with a problem: the protagonist, Josef K., has been arrested. But what a strange arrest. From the start of the narrative, something mysterious clearly takes place. One knows little about the narrator, who is only referred to as Josef K; one knows little about the trial, which never “appears” to take place and follows no logical proceedings or clearly defined authority; one knows little about the charges, which are never explicitly revealed; one even lacks confidence in the narration, at times confusing, illogical, and abstract. Indeed, from the first line of the text, with language such as “must have slandered” and “without having done anything wrong,”73 the reader knows a measure of doubt and uncertainty that will pervade the story and affect one’s understanding of it. And that uncertainty appears significant. Certain fundamental questions present themselves in the text. One of the first and primary is who or what is the nature of the office or authority that has orchestrated K.’s arrest. “What sort of men were they?” K. asks of the men who appear one morning in his apartment with orders to arrest him: “What were they talking about? What office did they represent? After all, K. lived in a state governed by law, there was universal peace, all
Franz Kafka, The Trial , trans. Breon Mitchell (Berlin: Verlag di Schmiede, 1925; New York: Schoken, 1998), 3. 73
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statutes were in force; who dared assault him in his own lodgings?”74 K.’s questions present a paradigm that will erode over the course of the narrative: the semblance of authority. K has up to this point accepted the basic system of law and order formulated by his state, itself governed by what he perceives as lawful, reasonable, qualified men. He assumes it is clear, fair, and reasonable and thus will treat him in a clear, fair, and reasonable way. As he investigates his apparent charge, however, he discovers a confusing network of lower and middle officials working within a flawed system they appear to barely understand and which always alludes to but never explicitly reveals any sort of higher governance. “We’re lowly employees. . . . ,” one of the arresting officers explains, “but we’re smart enough to realize that before ordering such an arrest the higher authorities who employ us inform themselves in great detail about the person they’re arresting and the grounds for the arrest.”75 And such is the nature of the system; those working within it and targeted by it assume order and justice, emanating, of course, from “higher authorities.” The reality, though, as K will discover, suggests otherwise. When the audience meets the main protagonist of Ivan Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons , however, the sudden arrest has already taken place. Turgenev’s work represents the earliest text addressed within this discussion, which has strong implications in terms of its link to Russian culture and its reliance on utility found in science. (Such activity will decrease in later periods at the same time that the presence of nihilism increases.) Nihilism is first introduced when Pavel Kirsanov inquires of his nephew’s traveling companion: “Well, this gentleman, this Bazarov, is what precisely?” 76 The 74
Ibid., 6. Ibid., 8. 76 Turgenev, 22. 75
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nature of what one “is” is important to Pavel, who represents a traditional, principled person of a definite Russian aristocracy. What is Bazarov? Is he a noble? Is he a merchant’s son? Is he of a certain class? Arkady responds: Bazarov is “a nihilist.”77 The text then sets about attempting to define what a nihilist is, for the most part, through Bazarov’s character, his interactions with his protégé, Arkady, and his debates/arguments with others, especially those reticent or downright antagonistic towards his arguments, namely, persons like Pavel. Arkady explains a nihilist is a person “who approaches everything from a critical point of view,” a person “who doesn’t acknowledge any authorities, who doesn’t accept a single principle on faith, no matter how much that principle may be surrounded by respect.”78 One begins, then, with a rejection of assumed truths, especially those built on precedent: institutions of any kind, religious, secular, or governmental, which were perhaps formed under a single purpose and may or may not have evolved into something new, and even ordered systems based on more anthropological foundations: love, honor, family, morality, etc. The text begins at the bottom, or actually, even without a bottom—no foundation exists. As Bazarov explains, a nihilist’s “condemnation” applies to “everything.”79 Nihilism, as Bazarov attempts to explain the movement, is born out a frustration with political and social reality and the tendency of the human person to invent and reinvent this type of human order. “And then we realized,” Bazarov explains, “that to chatter and simply go on chattering all the time about our running sores wasn’t worth the
77
Ibid. Ibid., 23. 79 Ibid., 50. 78
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effort and led only to being banal and doctrinaire.”80 Nihilists exist, it seems, through no specific mandate, to refute or identify these tendencies in humanity to project meaning wherein none actually exists. They “condemn,” as Bazarov explains, and “swear at everything”; they “[pull] everything down”81 but build nothing in its place. And if the reader finds this act of will too purposeful, too deliberate, that can be explained, as nihilists focus only on what is “useful,”82 what the individual deems good or at least sufficient for the moment. A nihilist, functioning according to his new nature, conflicts with everything, especially with what appears “banal and doctrinaire.”83 This conflict is a natural consequence of the rejection of any meaningful order. In the case of Fathers and Sons , then, the sudden arrest has already taken place by the time the story begins, and most of the narration provides observations of nihilist Bazarov as his new nature affects those around him, persons who, most importantly, have not shared in Bazarov’s experience and view it as outsiders. The contrast proves helpful in expressing Turgenev’s sympathy with the character while at the same time rejecting many of the character’s nihilist beliefs. Jean Paul Sartre’s Nausea features the most extreme nihilist within the group. It, perhaps more than any of the others, relates the fundamental flaw of nihilism: existence. In Fathers and Sons , Bazarov attempts to reduce existence empirically, to existence dominated by form and matter, which influence action directly, but he remains stuck with the “suitcase”84 of life: existence, personhood, self. A wouldbe nihilist must at some
80
Ibid., 52. Ibid., 50. 82 Ibid. 83 Ibid., 52. 84 Ibid., 180. 81
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point confront that real and definite problem, which is precisely what Sartre’s narrator attempts to do. Nausea begins, like The Trial , with an arrest, a sudden, dreadful realization: “Something has happened to me, I can't doubt it any more. … And now, it's blossoming.” 85
The nature of “it” is elusive, and our narrator spends much of the text attempting to
define the nature of what “it” is. Indeed, the text represents the narrator's attempt to objectively record his experience within the passage of time in order to understand this change: “The best thing would be to write down events from day to day. Keep a diary to see clearly—let none of the nuances or small happenings escape even though they might seem to mean nothing.”86 The narrator must attempt to remain objective. Thus, he records his daily activity so that he might have more material in which to study existence and understand the nature of his arrest and if it, or anything, proves real. While Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons represents the oldest text, Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club represents the newest, and not coincidentally, it is also the most violent. In this text, the sudden arrest takes the form of person(ality) Tyler Durden. Throughout the text Durden becomes the catalyst for change. At the beginning of the narrative, the narrator is caught in the ordinariness of his existence. Everything seems artificial, too orchestrated, and he senses something wrong: “I was tired and crazy and rushed, and every time I boarded a plane, I wanted the plane to crash. I envied people dying of cancer. I hated my life. I was tired and bored with my job and my furniture, and
Jean Paul Sartre, Nausea , trans. Lloyd Alexander (Paris: Éditions Gallimard, 1938; New York: New Directions, 1964), 4. 86 Ibid., 1. 85
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I couldn’t see any way to change things.”87 The narrator’s life has progressed to a dissatisfied, artificial state, and at this point, the need for something new, a sudden burst necessary to step out, proves necessary: enter Tyler Durden. Durden helps the narrator break out of his prisonlike experience. One says personality because for much of the text, the narrator is unaware he and Durden are the same person, or at least share the same body. The narrator follows Durden’s prompts, drawing closer to death and destruction, and in so doing is able to live without superficiality. “Deliver me, Tyler,” the narrator explains, “from being perfect and complete.”88 In this case what is “perfect and complete” is not genuine wholeness, but superficial, topical attempts to manage one’s life. Durden succeeds in forcing the narrator to analyze and evaluate reality. The cleverness of the text is that the narrator experiences the effects of the arrest without initially being able to identify it: “Marla says, ‘Tyler Durden. Your name is Tyler ButtWipeforBrains Durden. You live at 5123 NE Paper Street which is currently teeming with your little disciples shaving their heads and burning their skin off with lye.’”89 All the activities the narrator has attributed to Durden are now clearly his actions, and he begins to understand the nature of what has happened to him. And once he understands, he becomes alarmed: “Tyler Durden is a separate personality I’ve created, and now he’s threatening to take over my real life.”90 Tyler Durden, then, is the mechanism that prompts our narrator to begin his adventure in introspection. His
Chuck Pahlaniuk, Fight Club (New York: W.W. Norton and Company, Ltd., 1996), 172. Ibid., 46. 89 Ibid., 160. 90 Ibid., 173. 87 88
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personality begins the journey. Once our narrator meets his character, he will not, he cannot, be the same. The narrator has been arrested. Anton Chekhov’s Three Sister s differs in many respects from the other texts for a number of reasons. One of the primary is the distinction of the work as a play, a production meant to be performed on stage by actors in front of an audience. Theater limits the narrative to dialogue, brief descriptions of action, and then of course whatever design may be created for a particular stage production. More abstract concepts must be emphasized through these means. The other more significant difference is that the text presents a narrative that draws primarily from a woman’s experience. For the most part, nihilism in literature tends to flow primarily from a male perspective. Authors often represent women in their relation to men (in the form of women helpers) and the ideal, terms that will be explored later and take center stage in Chekhov’s work. One might argue that arrest takes the form of the death of the father of the Prozorov family who dies years before the actions of the play take place. Yet, his death does not bring about the intense introspection observed in typical nihilist protagonists; they do not question the construction of their existence, but struggle to find its meaning and attain satisfaction. Hovering mainly around the three sisters, the text presents character experience prearrest; these are characters who seem on the verge of some sort of arrest, characters struggling with the next term, invention. Invention Following a sudden arrest, “invention” becomes of paramount concern.
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Invention features in each of these works: it concerns the manner in which humanity orders its reality. After an arrest, that character begins to question—everything. He focuses on the world around him, the manner in which his culture approaches existence, what it deems significant as a part of daily human activity. What that character finds suggests that much of that culture's practices and ideas prove arbitrary and in some cases fail to correspond to the external world. The human person in large part invents his understanding of reality, and most follow familiar ruts without much reflection. Invention, then, represents a human process that shapes meaning and more often than not results in conventional attitudes about the world to which one belongs. The term draws its name, in fact, from Kafka's Trial , from two instances within the text associated with aesthetics. On these separate occasions, K. draws attention to painted images of judges. In one instance, K. notes that the judge sits upon a throne, which Leni identifies as mere "invention."91 The viewer only imagines the authority the image of the throne suggests. In the second instance, K. speaks to the painter directly: "'You've painted the figure the way it actually appears on the throne.' 'No,' said the painter, 'I've seen neither the figure nor the throne, that's all invention; but I was told what to paint.'"92 Aesthetics provide an ideal way to stress the concept, as the arts represent a distinctly human activity that generates meaning and requires perspective. Again, the power and prestige prove largely imaginary. In this case, certain persons desire a certain persona, and the system orchestrates the medium. The human person and his ability to adopt and further extend ideas takes it from there. Over time these concepts become
91
Kafka, 106. Ibid., 145146.
92
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conventional. They come to represent reality, that is, until something occurs that forces the person to take a closer look. In Fathers and Sons , Bazarov links invention to the meaningless prattle of large political bodies. One sees a similar illusion of authority and order as one saw in Kafka's judge paintings. Still, though focusing largely on political invention, Bazarov includes most of humanity’s everyday prattle, too. The “chattering all the time about our running sores”93 extends not only to civil governance. As he sees it, humanity’s vain attempts to correct itself, to impose meaning under and through false constructions, are pointless, and the result is only “being banal and doctrinaire.”94 Culture wallows in convention. Thus, many like Bazarov, rather than relying on any false authorities or having faith in any imposed meaning, reject everything and impose a heavy filter for what they do allow. According to Fathers and Sons , then, how does a nihilist function? How one draw the line between participating in convention and attending to the unavoidable (and natural) demands of existence? A nihilist cannot, for one, negate his own being. Bazarov makes this statement: “You see what I’m doing here—there’s an empty space in my trunk and I’m stuffing hay into it. It’s the same with the luggage of our own lives. It doesn’t matter what you fill it with so long as there’s no empty space.”95 Humanity lacks the power to lose one’s suitcase, one’s existence; certainly, one may forcibly remove one’s suitcase, but the suitcase exists, existed , nonetheless. Since a nihilist cannot negate his own being (be nothing), he must work according to certain conditions. Indeed, even if the individual chooses to reject neartotal existence, certain biological functions remain 93
Turgenev, 52. Ibid. 95 Ibid., 180. 94
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without the informed consent of personal consciousness, breathing, blinking, etc., and it is on this primary level Bazarov attempts to live. Consider, for instance, a statement Bazarov makes concerning language and the written word: “First of all you’ve got to learn the alphabet and then start on books, but we haven’t so much as clapped eyes on the letter ‘A’ so far!”96 If one rejects everything “on faith,”97 one rejects language and its assumed meaning. Therefore, one must start at a primary level: not the word but the letters that make up the word, and even then such allowances prove limited. Bazarov works with language because it is what he has. We also see this attempt to work at this basic, presenttime reality in Bazarov’s scientific inquiries. Once he arrives at Marino, he sets about examining frogs and conducting experiments, and he also admits to Pavel he concerns himself most with natural sciences, wherein he can attempt work through empirical, harddata means. This approach might also perhaps explain his declaration to Arkady concerning the importance of feelings when it comes to nihilism. He states, “In general there are no principles—to think you haven’t grasped that yet!—but there are feelings. Everything depends on them.”98 Bazarov then appears to link feelings with momentary biological responsiveness. Again, remembering that one cannot place faith in any authorities, past or future, one must rely on present reality, and what is present reality but what one is feeling at the moment? He explains, “Take me, for example, I advocate a negative point of view—on the strength of my feelings. I like being negative, that’s the way my brain works—and that’s all there is to it!”99 Bazarov attempts effective living by
96
Ibid., 27. Ibid., 23. 98 Ibid., 128. 99 Ibid., 128. 97
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responding to his body’s physiology. His “brain” is built towards negativity, which creates momentary, chemicallyinduced emotions to which he responds. Through these means, he approaches the world attempts to avoid conventional thinking. Herein, though, lies a problem. Having experienced a sudden arrest and adopted nihilism, he interacts with others (nonarrested persons) and in doing so must consistently defend his stance on existence. He must convince them that so much of what they consider important is truly nothing more than something they invent. The problem: Bazarov at his best appears inconsistent, and at his worst he fails at nihilism. Consider Bazarov’s attitude towards art: “‘A good chemist’s twenty times more useful than a poet,’ said Bazarov.”100 Now, perhaps his derisiveness derives from what he perceives as the lack of usefulness in art; any abstract notion of greater meaning is nonsense, so one must rely on the immediate effect, its emotional impact on the audience. This effect, one might say, proves to be too little (in his mind) to be of consequence. Still, while Bazarov rejects any larger external meaning in art, he ignores any tangible, positive effect. For if it is all about feelings, and one has a positive feeling as a direct result of one’s relationship to a piece of art, even if that person’s natural inclination tends towards negativity, is one not rejecting the only system available to his kind of nihilist—to test it empirically and by extension remain true to one’s self? One also sees this internal conflict in his relationship with Anna Sergeevna Odintsova. Bazarov rejects any sort of higher meaning ascribed to the “mysterious” relationship between men and women: “It’s all romanticism, nonsense, rubbish, artiness.”
100
Ibid., 26.
50
101
Still, if his feelings toward her are genuine, can he not accept his feelings about her
without shame or reservation? He tells her, “Then you should know that I love you, stupidly, madly ….”102 If nothing is truly nothing, neither positive nor negative, despite habit or proclivity, then one must above all else remain objective. Bazarov’s aversion to his love for Odintsova appears less about nihilism and more about an obstinate desire to maintain a consistent image, which, ironically, flies in the face of more extreme nihilism. One would think a supposed nihilist, of all people, would suffer less torment as a result of his own chemical composition. His demeanor smacks of willful avoidance. Yet, to remain true to the type of nihilism saw and hoped to depict, he must maintain a stance that saw a “repudiation of aesthetic feeling and everything ‘romantic.’”103 In addition, despite Bazarov’s constant rejection of everything, he appears, in many cases, to maintain a fairly moral existence. He heals the sick, notably, Fenichka’s baby at the beginning of the narrative, he loves his parents, and though he throws out many social niceties or arbitrary customs, he does not abuse anyone, not as one might expect someone who believes in nothing would. Yes, he takes liberties on at least two occasions, once with Anna Sergeevna and once with Fenichka, but he controls himself, and not simply because his physical response suddenly deadens. He struggles with a greater principle , something beyond convention. Thus, one might argue with him over politics, but one could generally leave one’s children with him and feel confident in their safety. Such inconsistencies continually demand reassessment, both in Bazarov and in the
101
Ibid., 34. Ibid., 103. 103 Freeborn, xii. 102
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reader, and as the novel progresses, Bazarov will continue to struggle with what he regards as meaningful and what proves to be empty cultural invention. In The Trial , once more, invention primarily represents the illusion of authority, the illusion that out there, somewhere, exists the perfect lawyer or judge who can promise and deliver an actual acquittal. Consider K.’s first real inquiry, for instance, which takes place in the upper reaches of an apartment building for the poor—a truly remarkable place for official proceedings. He arrives late, though the court has given him no specific appointment, and addresses an examining magistrate who at first believes (or states) K. is a house painter. 104
Following a laughable and and at times bizarre exchange between K. and the
examining magistrate—one would hope a court of justice would appear more competent—K. offers his assessment of what has taken place and what he considers an “extensive organization”: An organization that not only engages corrupt guards, inane inspectors, and examining magistrates who are at best mediocre, but that supports as well a system of judges of all ranks, including the highest, with their inevitable innumerable entourage of assistants, scribes, gendarmes, and other aides. . . . And the purpose of this extensive organization, gentlemen? It consists of arresting innocent people and introducing senseless proceedings against them, which for the most part, as in my case, go nowhere.105 His summation, excluding perhaps his innocence, and at least as far as the evidence in the text thus far suggests, appears accurate. No one, middle or low official, appears a competent architect of justice (and one can only speculate at the truly “high” authorities).
104
Kafka, 44. Kafka, 50.
105
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Indeed, during this initial inquiry, a woman is even assaulted.106 Who, one might ask, are these people, and what organization and system of law do they represent? K. suspects that much of what he encounters has been merely invented by humanity, and most individuals simply follow the conventions that have been become a part of the system. If this proves the case, to what extent is what he knows of the world then false? The nature of who “they” are is closely tied to the idea of law. The Trial suggests the existence of law, spiritual, social, etc., but the actual, hardonthebooks law remains elusive. One of the arresting officers, for instance, suggests his “department” is “attracted by guilt and has to send us guards out. That’s the Law.”107 And yet, despite lacking any knowledge of the charge, K. remains adamant (at least for appearance's sake) that he is innocent. Indeed, were the crime and law stated explicitly, the whole affair might end. Is it possible that humanity has invented the Law, perhaps in error, and if so is he then truly innocent? Yet, it’s clear the charge or law will remain unknown. Why? At this point one must question the nature of the tale and its narrator, for the information we receive largely filters through his perspective. Based on the cursory evidence the text provides, namely K.’s response to his arrest and the behavior of the judicial machine, one must ask a fundamental question: is K.’s narration accurate? One must feel some confidence to discern the meaningful versus the invented. Certain events in the story cast doubt upon the accuracy of K’s narration as it unfolds. Is his account trustworthy, or must one interpret the events through a faulty loudspeaker—or must one question the literal interpretation of the narrative entirely?
106
Ibid., 51. Ibid., 9.
107
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Certainly, one could argue against the completeness of the novel, as most of the Kafka’s works were “unfinished,” and the edition from which this analysis derives is crafted specifically to “present the text in a form that is as close as possible to the state in which the author left the manuscript” (Samuelson xiv). Still, despite any holes present, gaps inherent in most rough drafts, one could still argue various levels of interpretation based on the larger logic of the work as a whole. Take, for instance, the “signal” K. perceives during his first inquiry. He states, “The examining magistrate here beside me has just given one of you a secret signal. So there are those among you who are being directed from up here. I don’t know if the signal is meant to elicit hisses or applause, and I deliberately waive my opportunity to learn what the signal means by having revealed the matter prematurely.”108 During the course of his discussion with the magistrate, K. believes he witnesses some secret communication. However, note the particular care with which Kafka crafts the scene. The text introduces and then abandons the opportunity to discover the genuineness of the accusation; K. makes the accusation and then removes the opportunity to discover it further. Is this a sign of K’s paranoia, which taints the narration, or is the secret organization simply that clever (to conspire to control the crowd … to conspire to create the opportunity for K. to see the signal to control the crowd and thus control K.)? Kafka leaves the judgment to the reader. Like K. the reader must discover what is meaningful and what is nonsense. Kafka has involved the reader in the process.
108
Ibid., 4849.
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Perhaps one of the most troubling scenes involves the floggers. In a junk room in the bank where K. works, K. discovers a third man, the flogger, poised to inflict punishment on Franz and Willem, K.’s two arresting guards: “Sir! We’re to be flogged because you complained about us to the examining magistrate.”109 That the judicial system would punish its officials with flogging certainly speaks to the character of its institution. That it would carry out the punishment in the junk room of a public bank appears ridiculous. Even more, K. flees and then returns to the scene the next day: “Everything was unchanged, just as he had found it the previous evening when he opened the door. The printed forms and ink bottles just beyond the threshold, the flogger with the rod, the guards, still completely clothed, the candle on the shelf, and the guards began to wail, crying out: ‘Sir!’”110 Apparently, then, the guards somehow stole into the bank, flogged two men, and then returned the very next day to repeat the procedure on the off chance K. might again poke his head in the room? Even secret organizations would follow a more logical (and plausible) pattern of behavior. Is K. crazy then, or must we read the text on another level; is the text the text but also something else? The narrative’s progression suggests the text must be read at least in some respect on a figurative level. As K. learns more about the secret organization and the law with which he becomes entangled, Kafka adds a layer beyond a single person’s struggle with a large, coordinatedmessofasystem of legal governance. The reader must reflect on how he processes information and contributes to and perhaps slants meaning. To what extent does the reader invent a coherent understanding of the text? Is that throne really a stool?
109
Ibid., 81. Ibid., 8687.
110
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Again, consider K.’s discussion with Leni concerning the image of an examining magistrate in a painting. “He’s an examining magistrate,” Leni explains, and K. responds, “‘Just another examining magistrate,’ K. said in disappointment, ‘the higher judges stay in hiding. But yet he’s sitting on a throne.’”111 Here again we see the introduction of another middle official. The depiction of such an official on a throne suggests authority, power, which Leni reveals is all “invention.”112 It is imagined authority or power; it derives from somewhere, at least everyone thinks so, but it is all hearsay. The concept of “invention” is once again mentioned in K.’s interaction with the painter, a mysterious figure described as a “confidant of the court”113 who offers information about the court and at least three distinct courses of action. He, too, describes the image of a judge with real, perhaps even supernatural or divine authority as only an invented representation. Indeed, he depicts Justice and the goddess of Victory as one being, as a figure with “wings on her heels,”114 again emphasizing the elusiveness of justice. True justice remains out of reach. What one has are middle or lower officials attempting to work within a system “grounded from its very beginnings in secrecy.”115 Is it even possible to see through such invention toward the meaningful? Here, during the painter’s revelation of the court and those convicted under it, one rises above the narrative framework of a person struggling with a complex, corrupt, slippery system to a larger discussion of the human experience. The painter reveals,
111
Ibid., 106. Ibid. 113 Ibid., 147. 114 Ibid., 145. 115 Ibid., 117. 112
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“Everything belongs to the court.”116 The court is not simply a branch of government, and the trial is not merely an official proceeding for a single, discernible act of criminality. It’s a selfaware, cognizant creation asking fundamental questions: “Questions were the thing.”117 One of these questions concerns the nature of guilt. The painter asks him, “Are you innocent?,” and K. responds, “I am totally innocent.”118 Yet, the declaration proves hollow, especially since K. has no possible way of knowing if he is innocent, since no particular crime (or even the existence of said crime) has been introduced. What the text appears to allude to is a feeling or assumed notion of guilt. K. explains, “A number of subtle points are involved, in which the court loses its way. But then in the end it pulls out some profound guilt from somewhere where there was originally none at all.”119 K. is innocent, yes, but then, it is quite possible some event has taken place in his life that might qualify as criminal: “…his entire life, down to the smallest actions and events, would have to be called to mind, described, and examined from all sides.”120 Remember, too, the characters assume the court does not condemn in error, that “charges are never made frivolously.”121 If a charge exists, it must be reasonable, though no one truly knows why. The lower system does not deal with any sort of final result or verdict, and they only have the lower system. Thus, one must assume (if one assumes guilt at all) a reason for the charge, as perplexing as the idea may be. “‘It’s a mistake,’” K. exclaims: “‘How
116
Ibid., 150. Ibid., 112. 118 Ibid., 148. 119 Ibid., 149. 120 Ibid., 127. 121 Ibid., 149. 117
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can any person in general be guilty? We’re all human after all, each and every one of us.’ ‘That’s right,’ said the priest, ‘but that’s how guilty people always talk.’”122 K.’s sudden arrest has forced him to confront the nature of law and its human institutions, and in these he finds a chaotic system built on what seems to be the invented presumption that true authority exists in some place and some fashion. It becomes imperative that K. discover what is true. Invention also plays an important part in Nausea . Again, as previously stated, Nausea features the character that comes closest to the most extreme form of nihilism. Thus, the narrative describes what happens when one begins to identify and remove invented material—to the point the text toys with nonexistence; the further one cuts, the nearer one flies to the abyss, to extreme or real nihilism. Recall that Bazarov never questions his own existence. Thus, he deals with existence scientifically. The narrator in Nausea will not show his restraint. One way the narrator’s character differs from nihilist protagonists in the other works is his isolation. The other characters, too, experience various forms of isolation, but his proves the most extreme. He engages in little to no sense of community: “I live alone, entirely alone. I never speak to anyone, never; I receive nothing, I give nothing.”123 Such isolation, the character believes, allows increased and necessary introspection; he has few people to play against or that he might use to measure his intelligence, emotions, or behavior. Indeed, only at rare times within the text does he find any sort of connection to another person, and when he does, the connection appears connected to his strange
122
Ibid., 213. Sartre, 6.
123
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new awareness. “He is alone,” the narrator thinks, referring to a man sitting near him, “as I am, but more sunken in solitude than I. He must be waiting for his own Nausea or something of that sort.”124 He notes something different, perhaps disturbing in this person, and he links it to the strange and uncommon nature of his situation. He appears to sense others who may have broken beyond conventional thinking. Anny, too, whose relationship with him appears more significant than any within the text, appears punctuated by what the narrator perceives as a connected experience. “It would almost seem … There are surely similarities, in any case”125 he remarks, concerning statements Anny makes regarding her perception of “things.” The narrator is dominated, then, as his relationships are dominated, by this strange, seemingly internal transformation. If one is nothing (or if one is going to determine if one is nothing), one is not community, one is not one’s relationships. One must delve inside one’s self to discern invention. His situation, then, allows him to the freedom to pursue what troubles him, what he experiences, what he sometimes describes as nausea: “It was a sort of sweetish sickness. How unpleasant it was! It came from the stone, I'm sure of it, it passed from the stone to my hand. Yes, that's it, that's just it—a sort of nausea in my hands.”126 Here he describes the nausea in terms of physical objects. Indeed, his fascination with matter is significant. Consider: one has one’s hand, which is living, which is a part of one’s self, a self that appears to live, to reason. It is an existence rooted in the physical construction of matter, but it is drastically different than a chair or a table or even another person. And remember, if one questions everything, one will eventually reach this point: one’s 124
Ibid., 65. Ibid., 145. 126 Ibid., 11. 125
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physical person and the awareness of self in this physical form amid a physical setting. Note his reaction to a piece of paper on the ground: “I stayed bent down for a second, I read ‘Dictation: the White Owl,’ then I straightened up, emptyhanded. I am no longer free, I can no longer do what I will.”127 His reaction is strange, bizarre, unless one questions the nature of one’s existence and experience. Objects don’t talk—or at least, objects who are not people do not appear to talk, yet here he is, bent over a piece of paper that appears to address him, perhaps command him. What does it mean? Does it mean anything? Is matter real? Can one accept what one experiences through one’s senses, or is it yet another hollow invention? In this same way, he questions his physical person: “The grey thing appears in the mirror. I go over and look at it, I can no longer get away. It is the reflection of my face. Often in these lost days I study it. I can understand nothing of this face.”128 His “face” confuses him; it is matter, and decaying, fragile, and imperfect matter at that: the vehicle through which one lives. Here, then, is the actual, tangible suitcase: physical existence. He must confront existence at this level to truly discern the real. Closely tied to the dilemma of objects is the problem of time. Time, or the absolute passage of it, also appears connected to the narrator’s nausea. Again, if one digs as low as one possibly can, where does one end up? One ends with one’s physical person and its environment, and one also ends with the clock’s ticking. Five seconds is five seconds; the letters, language, and instruments we use to measure are arbitrary, but the unhurried, uninterrupted passage of time is absolute. The narrator appears to interact with
127
Ibid., 10. Ibid., 16.
128
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this phenomenon when he listens to music. He notes, “For the moment, the jazz is playing; there is no melody, only notes, a myriad of tiny jolts. They know no rest, an inflexible order gives birth to them and destroys them without even giving them time to recuperate and exist for themselves.”129 Music, once created, represents sequential order of meaning within time; the individual note played at a specific moment represents a definite “jolt” in time that takes place before and after other notes. Here, then, appears to be the nausea: the self’s response to physical presence in one’s physical surroundings punctuated by an unalterable progression of time. The question of one's bodily existence proves pivotal in a discussion of invention, as it is the human person at the heart of the inventing process. To evaluate conventional structures of meaning, one must evaluate the inventor. Here, the experience appears negative, sickening. Were it positive, perfect, whole, the narrator might respond differently. His negative response to existence appears linked to some flaw in existence, most likely connected to the tainted or flawed decomposition of matter. Something is wrong, which appears to be the conflict. It also explains why he sometimes draws close to nothingness. Were he and everything else nothing, there would be no conflict: “The nausea has stayed down there, in the yellow light. I am happy: this cold is so pure, this night so pure: am I myself not a wave of icy air? With neither blood, nor lymph, nor flesh. Flowing down this long canal towards the pallor down there. To be nothing but coldness.”130 He senses nothing, and for a moment he imagines he is nothing, which is bound by neither matter nor time.
129
Ibid., 21. Ibid., 26.
130
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Much of the novel, then, concerns his attempts to understand existence, flawed as it appears to be. Building upon the foundation of physical existence and existence in time, what, then, does one do with existence. (Bazarov, remember, declares that one must fill the empty space of life with something.) As with the other texts, the narrator here appears concerned with invention, assumed constructions about existence. One’s past represents a particular area where this becomes apparent. If a person’s past is behind that person, it can no longer be genuinely experienced. That time existed, but it does not exist now, so how does it exist? It exists, if it is possible to exist in this way, in one’s mind. The narrator recalls one time at a square in Meknes: “Undoubtedly, if I close my eyes or stare vaguely at the ceiling I can recreate the scene: a tree in the distance, a short dingy figure run towards me. But I am inventing all this to make out a case.”131 Existence ties to physical experience, and what he experiences in a memory is not the physical experience. He does not “see anything any more: I can search the past in vain, I can only find these scraps of images and I am not sure what they represent, whether they are memories or just fiction.”132 Whatever one does not experience directly (in time, through physical matter) is in question, and he notes how one tends to slant one’s perception. For him anything beyond the actual experience seems susceptible to invention. We see this also in his conversation with Anny when she explains there are “no more perfect moments.”133 Anny’s character is sometimes described as being obsessed with helping to create and then experience the perfect moment. “Perfect moments,” she
131
Ibid., 32. Ibid., 32. (author’s emphasis) 133 Ibid., 143. 132
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explains, come from “privileged situations.”134 A “privileged situation” is a situation with a “rare and precious quality, style, if you like.”135 She describes death, for example, as one of these instances and then explains how her father’s death was a privileged situation ruined by her aunt and mother crying. It was meant to be an important event, an instance in time unique among the rest, and in her estimation the weeping ruined it. These brief points in time occur infrequently, but it is possible to perceive their arrival and then “perfectly” embrace them: “They [the perfect moments] came afterwards. First there are annunciatory signs. Then the privileged situation, slowly, majestically, comes into people’s lives. Then the question whether you want to make a perfect moment out of it.” 136
Anny obsesses over these moments. However, at this point in the narrative, she has
abandoned these pursuits as fruitless: “No more perfect moments.”137 In order to successfully attain a perfect moment, she explains, one has to be a “man of action,” but she finds “one can’t be a man of action.”138 She finds these endeavors as pointless and artificial as those instances when she attempted to create perfect moments for her audiences in the theater; the perfect moment “ … didn’t exist; and yet everybody thought about it.”139 Anny advocates an intentional, skillful invention. If a person prepares well enough and takes initiative, one might coordinate events so as to align reality with how one wants it, to force the world to conform to one’s invention, assuming, of course, that reality does not interfere, which she seems to suggest is impossible to prevent.
134
Ibid., 148. Ibid., 147. 136 Ibid., 148. 137 Ibid., 143. 138 Ibid., 151. 139 Ibid., 152. 135
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All of this discussion, though, comes at the heels of the narrator’s most significant revelation of the text: he exists, and he accepts it. He states: If anyone had asked me what existence was, I would have answered, in good faith, that it was nothing, simply an empty form which was added to external things without changing anything in their nature. And all of a sudden, there it was, clear as day: existence had suddenly unveiled itself. It had lost the harmless look of an abstract category: it was the very paste of things, this root was kneaded into existence … This veneer had melted, leaving soft, monstrous masses, all in disorder—naked, in a frightful, obscene nakedness.140 Sitting on a bench in the park, his foot on a root, he recognizes definite existence. His struggle with objects has ended; he exists, and they exist. He states, “I realized that there was no halfway house between nonexistence and this flaunting abundance. If you existed, you had to exist all the way, as far as mouldiness, bloatedness, obscenity were concerned.”141 Things existed, and all one experienced in physical existence was absolutely real. His body, too, was real, and even if it was to be destroyed, change forms, even in changed form, it would exist; he was “in the way for eternity.”142 The primary conflict in the narrative, then, appears to end. He exists. Invention does not apparently extend thus far; one does not invent life itself. Fight Club represents a swift, terrible sock in the jaw hopefully hard enough to wake one up. Indeed, much of the text concerns itself with invention, the narrator’s own emergence from a dormant state and his (or their, depending on you want to view him … or them) attempts to wake up everybody else from the house of cards on which people have built their lives. The narrator states, “This howto stuff isn’t in any history book.”143
140
Ibid., 127. Ibid., 128, sic. 142 Ibid., 129. (author’s emphasis) 143 Pahlaniuk, 13. 141
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History, as we see in Nausea , seems inventionprone. How can it not be? It constitutes a person's attempt to represent a specific person or event or concept from the past. Such representations must always prove insufficient next to realtime experience, and as the narrator in Nausea has stressed, to remain as objective as possible, one must stick to the present. A perception of history may prove tainted by atpresent conventional thinking. The narrator’s attempt to escape such thinking guides him towards various support groups. The closer one comes to death, the closer one can actually comes to embracing existence, since, as the narrator says, “the first step to eternal life is you have to die.”144 We see the limited capability of doctors for instance. “I never went back to the doctor. I never chewed the valerian root,” the narrator explains after attending the support groups. “This was freedom,” he states: “Losing all hope was freedom.”145 As was the case with Ivan Ilyitch, reliance on modern medicine proves limited and confidence in it largely invented. Science lacks answers to all questions. To think it does is easier; to think that draws us away from death, and as the text states, the closer one becomes to death, the better one lives. When Bob and the narrator meet for the first time at the Remaining Men Together group, Bob shows a photo of himself in his bodybuilding heyday. Bodybuilders put much time, money, and energy into crafting their physical forms, yet it is impossible to prevent that form from decaying, from breaking down. It’s weak, any gain temporary, and to suggest otherwise represents an invented view of one’s physical body: “‘Extend your left arm, flex the bicep and hold.’ This is better than real life.”146 In the world of a
144
Ibid., 11. Ibid., 22. 146 Ibid. 145
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bodybuilding competition, one participates in a brief show, like a performance Anny from Nausea might have enacted. Perhaps one of the most striking examples of invention concerns the loss of the narrator’s apartment and all his valuables: “Everything, including your set of handblown green glass dishes with the tiny bubbles and imperfections, little bits of sand, proof they were crafted by the honest, simple, hardworking indigenous aboriginal peoples of wherever, well, these dishes all get blown out by the blast.”147 Here we see a sort of reductionism present in the other works, specifically, Nausea . Why would one want handblow glass? Is it better or stronger than other, perhaps machinemanufactured glass? Why does it have to be made by aboriginal people? Why do they have to be a “simple” and “hardworking” group, and how do we know they are? Such sentiments regarding such purchases constitute mere conventional attitudes about decoration, and the narrator identifies it. The narrator suggests that the consumers purchases the items not necessarily for the sake of the items, but because of what the items represent, for a certain affectation that the items evoke. Like the aura of power and authority perceived in the image of the judge, the meaning here proves largely assumed, invented. Much of the narrator and (yes, one must say and ) Tyler Durden’s crude and inappropriate behavior is designed to shock one out of stagnation, to pass on the sudden revelation that much of what guides one’s experiences is simply convention reinforced by habit. The pornographic slides spliced into a nonpornographic movie are an example of this shock effect. One pays money. One pays money to see a movie. One pays money to a
147
Ibid., 42.
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theater (to a movie company, to an actor, etc.) to see a certain movie without pornography in it. Someone splices in a pornographic slide: “This is one of those pet adventures, when the dog and cat are left behind by a traveling family and must find their way home. In reel three, just after the dog and cat, who have human voices and talk to each other, have eaten out of a garbage can, there’s the flash of an erection.”148 The lewd image is out of place. One goes to a movie and pays for a certain movie, and one expects to see that movie and to protect oneself and one’s family from pornographic material. In this case, the type of film, with one talking dogs and, one suspects, a happy ending, fits within a familiar cultural paradigm; this is the way things work. An outofplace image shakes one's confidence. Some folks don't follow the rules, and rulebreakers force one to question how "rules" are built. The theater example mirrors another example involving food; no one expects to see a waiter with his “last half inch hanging in the soup.”149 When one is faced with unexpected reality (in this case, a giant erection), one’s illusions begin to crack. The effect of this intrusion can be dramatic. Take, for instance, when Tyler and the narrator become “guerrilla terrorists.”150 The event takes place at a dinner party, and the text makes clear that a great deal of money is involved, as well as time and energy needed in order to orchestrate (invent) a certain ambiance. The text also stresses a divide between those at the event as guests and those who serve at the event, the "cockroaches"151 the text explains. Thus, Tyler anonymously suggests to the "Madam" that someone has urinated in one of her many perfume bottles: "The host comes in behind
148
Ibid., 30. Ibid., 79. 150 Ibid., 81. 151 Ibid. 149
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his wife in the kitchen doorway and takes the scrap of paper out of her shaking hand. 'This will be alright,' he says." The husband attempts to maintain the orchestration. He wants things to continue as they should: "'They are your guests,' he says, 'And this party is very important.'"152 The wife, however, cannot maintain the facade. She cannot pretend to ignore the artificiality of her rich life, and she ends up "crying and bleeding, curled against the toilet." Tyler acts as a "minimumwage despoiler,"153 taking away her pretty but false picture of her life. In another instance the narrator appears much more aggressive. Tyler instructs his disciples to collect driver’s licenses: “We each had to bring Tyler twelve driver’s licenses. This would prove we each made twelve human sacrifices.”154 A human sacrifice is one who has been so pushed close to death that he acknowledges his power to break from from conventional thinking. The narrator presents Raymond Hessel with mortality: “You were going to cool, the amazing miracle of death. One minute, you’re a person, the next minute, you’re an object, and Mom and Dad would have to call old doctor whoever and get your dental records because there wouldn’t be much left of your face, and Mom and Dad, they’d always expected so much more from you and, no, life wasn’t fair, and now it was come to this.”155 The narrator encourages (threatens) him to end his lifeend job and pursue something meaningful. Having faced death, he will now begin to live, perhaps less vulnerable to the dangers of invention: “Raymond K.K. Hessel, your dinner
152
Ibid., 8182. Ibid., 84. 154 Ibid., 151. 155 Ibid., 153. (sic) 153
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is going to taste better than any meal you’ve ever eaten, and tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of your entire life.”156 Death awakens the person to better existence. Such individual cases mirror what Project Mayhem attempts to do on a larger scale: “Tyler didn’t care if other people got hurt or not. The goal was to teach each man in the project that he had the power to control history. We, each of us, can take control of the world.”157 In order to overcome convention, in order to take real control, everything must “hit bottom.”158 Hitting bottom prompts one to question invented constraints. The goal, then, is to draw close to death, and the device used in this book appears to be violence. Even the violence, though, is limited; the violence isn’t the end in itself. If it was, it would be pointless, and that would be a step closer to genuine nihilism. The rules of fight club, for instance, are designed to impose some order and allow a learning process. No one is allowed to discuss fight club; this functions in part because not everyone knows about it, but the rule is also repeatedly broken, or else no one would know about it. It fosters controlled individualism. Another rule states any participant can stop the fight if he wants or is unable to continue … real death, apparently, is prohibited. Only two men are allowed to fight; one cannot learn in too much chaos, so the violence, so all can witness, is limited. In addition, if there are multiple fights, one might miss something revelatory, so only one fight takes place at a time. Shoes and shirts are also prohibited, perhaps because they symbolically conceal, and the goal here is revelation. Perhaps, too, they are too dangerous: some shoes may increase the damage. Lastly, the
156
Ibid., 155. Ibid., 122. 158 Ibid., 123. 157
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fights continue “as long as they have to,”159 which is quite broad but also suggests limitation. Such rules allow participants to inflict harm upon one another and benefit in whatever way they may but also preserve life. Actual potential nothingness is not the goal. The goal is to wake up: to wake up from the products of bad invention. The texts, then, suggest a general process. A sudden arrest occurs, which forces a character or characters to reassess the nature of their reality in an effort to locate meaning. Unfortunately, much of what they find constitutes invented reality, constructs humanity forms along with and as a consequence of lived experienced. To what extent reality represents inventedness is tied up with the degree to which the character struggles with the nature of his or her physical being; the more person doubts existence, the more that person questions whether what makes up everyday activity represents arbitrary filler, Yet, in the midst of all this dissection, this discernment of this and that and real and unreal, the characters appear increasingly driven by a ghostlike suspicion that somewhere, somehow, one may find a notion of rightness, an ideal solution to the problems of existence that plague the living. Closely linked to the ideal are women helpers, female characters who often appear in these often masculine texts and offer additional perspective on the nature of reality, a perspective both similar and distinct from the male perception of reality. Women Helpers
159
Ibid., 49.
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Women feature prominently within these texts. These “women helpers,” so named in The Trial , are women who bear some significant connection to our male protagonists. In these typically maledriven narratives, the women often act as foils to the men; the men interact with these women in the course of their investigations, appear to look to them for support, and evaluate the female perspective against their own. Such malefemale significance is by no means novel. Men have always looked to women for support, shared meaning. Yet, in the same way that nihilism proves nothing new but takes on greater significance when the supports that kept it in check dissolve, so, too, does the relationship between men and women become that much more significant. Consider Wood's emphasis on Nietzsche's view that "the human race is ennobled by the victory of such falsifying slave institutions as marriage," which can help the Overman produce discipline and demonstrate his power.160 Marriage then becomes not a means to glorify God or love another person, but a means to exert dominance. When one mistrusts culture, its institutions or traditions, and one begins to doubt even language and oneself, one clings to any bastion of hope, and for these men, women possess enough mystery to demand attention, whatever that attention may inspire. Recall, for instance, that much of the narrative of The Trial concerns K.’s assumed guilt as he attempts to navigate the disorder of the order of law. Despite the lack of any specific charge, in many respects, K. acts guilty, and one of the more visible areas is his interaction with women. The narration, though not exclusive to women, appears very deliberately told in a man’s voice. Women, as represented in the text, at times act as
160
Wood, 199.
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a sort of effect from which to gauge the cause of sin. K. notes early on he gathers “women helpers,” women he attempts to enlist in his cause, and who, in almost every instance, he sexualizes and in many respects abuses. Fraulein Burstner he assaults, the court usher’s wife he lusts after, and he engages in sexual activity with Leni almost immediately upon meeting her. Even Elsa, a woman referenced but never actually introduced in the story, appears sexually connected to the main character. During K.’s interaction with women, this assumed guilt appears to tighten—sex, though, does not represent the root cause of this assumed guilt, but rather, a consequence of deficiency of personhood, an indication of perversion of correctness, completeness. As a man K. seeks help from these women, who differ from men but prove connected by shared existence. Over the course of the text, his interaction eventually degrades and becomes something insubstantial, save for the harm he inflicts upon others. The priest, later, attests to as much: “Haven’t you noticed that it [the help these women offer] isn’t true help.”161 Despite K.’s insistence on the “great power” of women, they appear in no position to help men or themselves; indeed, they suffer greatly from the abuse and corruption of the world: “Their faces as well as the guard of honor they formed conveyed a mixture of childishness and depravity.”162 The image of the women suggests both innocence and corruption. At least two female characters present deformities. Something, it seems, seems wrong, and one of the most visible means to discern this problem is by watching the effect the world and men have on women.
161
Kafka, 213. Kafka, 141.
162
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Consider Bazarov’s struggle with his feelings for Odintsova. Early in the text, he argues against anything beyond natural in the relationship between men and women. He states, “And what’s all this about the mysterious relationship between a man and a woman? We physiologists know all about these relationships.”163 Again, the crux of human experience lies in the emotive response of the physical person, a biological process. Yet, Bazarov appears to struggle mightily with the mere biological processes that occur as a result of his interaction with Odintsova. It is during his conversation with Odintsova that the discussion of a “limitless happiness” first appears. She states, “Tell me why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for example or a fine evening or conversation with people we like, why does it all seem to be a hint of some limitless happiness existing somewhere else rather than a real happiness, the kind, that is, we possess ourselves.”164 As she explains, the happiness humanity experiences does not fully meet the ideal notion of happiness that experience appears to suggest. Her interaction with him presses him to contemplate this notion. At one point he suggests “a distance” exists between them, and Odintsova wonders whether it bears some connection to their differences in rank, an invented concept that Bazarov, as a nihilist, should denounce. Odintsova attempts to move beyond the idea of rank and “chatter” and closer to more genuine relationship, perhaps something more in tune with feelings in the moment, again, something that Bazarov should embrace. And yet, he struggles against this intimacy. “You call a friendly conversation chatter …”165 she asks. Their conversation, she thinks, is not “chatter,” but meaningful. Likewise, she draws 163
Turgenev, 34. Ibid., 101. 165 Ibid., 102. 164
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attention to Bazarov’s inner turmoil, the “something ‘occurring’ inside him.”166Finally, he relents and explains this “something”: “Then you should know that I love you, stupidly, madly ….”167 The text then explains, “It was passion that beat within him, strong and laboured, passion that resembled anger and was probably akin to it.”168 One sees here, then, this inner reaction toward women, both strong and somewhat violent. The women stirs something within him difficult to identify and expresses itself in unexpected ways. Likewise, whatever prompts her to pursue him so appears rather mysterious, but inspires within her a certain feeling of “blame”: “Under the influence of various vague feelings—an awareness of life slipping away, a desire for novelty—she had made herself go as far as a certain point and even forced herself to look beyond it and glimpsed there not even a bottomless pit but no more than emptiness … or sheer ugliness.”169 In the end, rather than attempt a relationship with Bazarov, she refrains. She remains “serious” and maintains a “peace of mind,”170 for any kind of experiment with a romantic relationship with Bazarov would, she fears, draw her too close to some sort of base nothingness Bazarov purports to represent. She cannot assist him in his activities, and so she limits herself in this way. Fight Club , too, is no exception to the phenomenon of women helpers and the ideal. The narrator engages in a relationship with Marla, though he remains unaware of it early in the narrative. The narrator first meets Marla in one of the support groups he has been attending in order to draw close to death and cope with life. Marla, like the narrator,
166
Ibid. Ibid., 103. 168 Ibid. 169 Ibid., 104. 170 Ibid.. 167
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has been attending these meetings to shift the nature of how she perceives existence: “There was no real sense of life because she had nothing to contrast it with. Oh, but now there was dying and death and loss and grief. Weeping and shuddering, terror and remorse. Now that she knows where we’re all going, Marla feels every moment of her life.”171 Death provides the necessary contrast to life she needs. The only problem is her presence appears to disturb the narrator: “ … Marla’s lie reflects my lie, and all I can see are lies. In the middle of all their [the support group’s] truth.”172 Later, the text suggests that perhaps Tyler was created in order to create an avenue toward Marla. (In this case, then, Tyler is a mechanism to break one out of convention, but perhaps Marla is the reason.) “Tyler loved Marla,” the narrator explains: “From the first night I met her, Tyler or some part of me had needed a way to be with Marla.”173 The two, then, begin their interaction, and their relationship is more firmly solidified when the narrator (in Tyler’s form) saves Marla from accidentally killing herself. He explains, “Now, according to the ancient Chinese custom we all learned from television, Tyler is responsible for Marla, forever, because Tyler saved Marla’s life.”174 Perhaps, then, what is significant about her character is that in order to attain Marla, and in order for it to really mean anything, because the breaking away from convention is more than about simply one person for one person’s sake, the narrator must destroy himself to draw closer to life and perhaps her. Her attraction to him, too, is important. Much like The Trial’s Leni, who is drawn to defendants, Marla is drawn to the tragic, the harmed, a sensitivity to flawed existence
171
Pahlaniuk, 38. Ibid. 23. 173 Ibid., 198. 174 Ibid., 60. 172
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particular to many of the women in these texts: “What Marla loves, she says, is all the things that people love intensely and then dump an hour or a day after.”175 A person loves something, treats it as the ideal, perhaps with tremendous invention, but then throws it out. One would think actual love would last longer. Something, it seems, is wrong with a system like this, and Marla, like many of these women, bears a strong relationship to it. Indeed, her declaration at the end of the narrative draws us to the final and perhaps most hopeful term: the ideal . As the narrator stands poised to kill himself (to kill Tyler), she hopes to draw him back by expressing her feelings for him: “‘It’s not love or anything,’ Marla shouts, ‘but I think I like you too.’”176 Now, at first a person might be put off by her use of like and not love, but it is clearly intentional. To paint the relationship as love would be too strong, too close to romantic invention, something Bazarov would have recognized and denounced. It’s too easy, too shiny and perfect, and remember, one must suspect what appears too shiny. The word “like” is more honest and perhaps more promising. It is hopeful. It very nearly, perhaps as close as one is able to do so, throws a dart at the ideal. The Ideal The ideal plays a pivotal role in each of the texts. It factors greatly, however, in Chekhov's Three Sisters , where invention concerns one’s relationship with the ideal. A person wants the ideal so badly, that person invents it, or that person postpones it, keeps it suspended, because the moment the person touches it, he knows the ideal will fall apart, dissolve as nothing more than something created, something hoped for but never attained.
175
Ibid., 67. Ibid., 205.
176
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Swift notes the "awareness of and longing for an ideal, noted in Chekhov's work," as "an aspect of the innate religiosity of human beings,"177 if not a direct indication of a Divine God. It expresses a very real human need. Three Sisters suggests a snippet of human experience. It’s the “chattering,” the “banal and doctrinaire.” Such attention to the mundane was, in fact, partly responsible for many initially labeling Chekhov's technique as bearing "defects," rather than an intention choice to encourage readers to "think for themselves."178 The experiences of the characters within this fouract play demonstrate the reason so many struggle with life and meaning and gravitate ever closer to extreme nihilism. The conflict within the text centers on the ideal, represented as a type of completeness, or wholeness, or realization of the perfect, what C.S. Lewis described as Joy and what is represented in Fathers and Sons as that “limitless happiness existing somewhere else.”179 For each character the ideal appears different, and each character attempts to grasp the ideal (or avoid it in order to preserve it) in different ways. Irina, for instance, the youngest and most innocent Prozorov, targets the ideal in at least three key areas, most noticeably Moscow. “Oh, my god,” she says, “I dream of Moscow every night.”180 For her Moscow becomes the idealized place where her existence will finally assume its perfect proportions. Indeed, her second ideal, love, is directly rooted in her perfect existence in Moscow. She states, “I was always waiting until we should be settled in Moscow, there I should meet my true love; I used to think about him, and love him.”181 Notice the emphasis on “true love,” the ideal. Irina also
177
Swift, 9. Ibid., 26, 31. 179 Turgenev, 101. 180 Anton Chekhov, Three Sisters , trans. by Julius West (Stilwell, KS: Digireads.com, 2008), 33. 181 Ibid., 58. 178
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places a great deal of emphasis on work, as a number of the characters do. Work represents what one does with his or her time (and one cannot do without one’s time because one cannot remove it unless by force), but it also represents, at least for some characters, the only avenue towards the ideal. She states, “… I know everything. A man must work, toil in the sweat of his brow, whoever he may be, for that is the meaning and object of his life, his happiness, his enthusiasm.”182 Happiness, then, true happiness, is the ideal, and the ideal must be reached, it seems, if it is to be reached at all, through work. Bazarov suggested one must stuff one’s life with something; Irina suggests one stuff it with work. Swift underscores a similar Ecclesiastical emphasis on “purpose and pleasure in work, enjoyment, companionship, and love”: “Chekhov works also underscore the value of these facets of life, often by portraying the lack of these needs, or by showing them to be less satisfying than they should be.”183 Tuzenbach, in fact, actually pairs work with his love for Irina, and they become his ideal. A military man, Tuzenbach claims he has never labored and suggests that activity, withheld from him because of his occupation, would be ideal and fulfill him. He states, “I’ve a great thirst for life, struggle, and work, and this thirst has united with my love for you, Irina, and you’re so beautiful, and life seems so beautiful!”184 On this side of the experience, he perceives the sublime ready and waiting for him. All he need do is attain it. He hopes to satisfy this “thirst,” and once he consumes this long draught, when he works and has married Irina, he will be complete. He endeavors to this end, and by the end of the play, Tuzenbach has quit the service, proposed to Irina, and seems poised to 182
Ibid., 8. Swift, 163. 184 Ibid., 22. 183
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finally take hold of his ideal: “We shall work,” he tells Irina, “we shall be rich, my dreams will come true. You will be happy.”185 At long last, with the realization of the ideal, life will be as it always seems it should have been, and that “limitless happiness” will become reality, or so Tuzenbach hopes. Here one notes a rhythm: an ideal and a character’s relationship to that ideal. Vershinin’s ideal is in his hope for the future and his love for Masha. In Andrey it is his career (and perhaps his wife, too). In Natasha it is her children. In Chebutikin it is his love for the sisters’ mother. Each character has at least one. However, each character has a problem. The happiness remains unattainable, even upon consummation. The world fates the characters to disappointment. They either grasp hold of their ideal and it turns to sand, or else it is withheld from them. Consider the latter part of Tuzenbach’s statement above: “We shall work, we shall be rich, my dreams will come true. You will be happy” … and observe the following, “There’s only one thing, one thing only: you don’t love me!” Each character ultimately fails to attain the ideal. Tuzenbach loves Irina, and she agrees to marry him, and he quits soldiering and will work, but she does not love him. Ideal incomplete. Andrey, too, ultimately fails to attain his ideal, and he becomes warped and frustrated because of it. At the beginning of the play, the text describes him as the “learned member of the family,”186 and they hope he will one day become a university professor, his ideal career. However, following his marriage to Natasha, his grand plans fall apart. Irina states, “Yes, really, our Andrey has grown smaller; how he’s snuffed out
185
Ibid., 71. Ibid., 15.
186
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and aged with that woman! He used to want to be a professor, and yesterday he was boasting that at last he had been made a member of the district council. He is a member, and Protopopov is chairman.”187 Rather than succeed in his dreams, he accepts a local position, little and with little prestige, and he suffers his wife’s adulterous relationship with his superior. Ideal incomplete and then kicked when it’s down. Still, the previous examples include ideals withheld from characters. Certainly, hopefully, at least one individual manages to grab hold of what he or she wants. Therein lies another rub. Experience suggests, even should one successfully manage one’s life in the way one wants, the ideal will prove false and empty. Take Masha for instance. She states, “I was given in marriage when I was eighteen, and I was afraid of my husband because he was a teacher and I’d only just left school. He then seemed to me frightfully wise and learned and important. And now, unfortunately, that has changed.”188 Masha has learned the supposed ideal, when attained, will not satisfy. In one way or another, it will not stand up to the “limitless happiness” one imagines exists. Here, then, one observes the conflict. One imagines something better, and one tries to attain it, but one can never attain it. It proves impossible. Circumstance will prevent it, or it will prove inferior to the ideal one imagined. And the question is, “Why?” The question plagues the text. It is why the characters struggle so.
187
Ibid., 57. Ibid., 30.
188
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It is what the characters struggle to understand and why so many of them waver between meaning and meaninglessness. Consider Vershinin’s ruminations on why “some” Russian husbands disdain their families: “Why is a Russian sick of his children, sick of his wife? And why are his wife and children sick of him?”189 Vershinin avoids his family during the course of the play. In fact, they are not even featured, only discussed. He spends most of his time with the Prozorovs, in an adulterous relationship with Masha, and leaves only when his wife threatens suicide or, in the end, when transferred. Really, truly, then, it is Vershinin who is disgusted with his family and his family who, presumably, is disgusted with him. And he does not understand why. Why is that so? They are not even his first family; he has married into the family and children—another frustrated ideal. Masha emphasizes this conflict when she cannot perceive the meaning to the verses constantly playing in her head. She states, “Life is dull … I don’t want anything more now … I’ll be all right in a moment. …It doesn’t matter. … What do those lines mean/? Why do they run in my head? My thoughts are all tangled.”190 She thinks, at times, the words “mean” something, but she is unable to figure them out, much like, at times, experience appears to mean something, but one cannot quite understand what. Such frustration encourages many of the characters to denounce knowledge or cast aside meaning. Chebutikin, for example, often makes such statements as “It doesn’t matter”191 or “It’s all bunkum.”192 One flies between the two extremes. One either
189
Ibid., 31. Ibid., 76. 191 Ibid., 7. 192 Ibid., 65. 190
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attempts to understand meaning, which can be frustrating and more often than not ambiguous, or one can reject everything, which makes it all much, much easier. Note the instance when Chebutikin appears inebriated and describes the death of one of his patients: “ … I don’t remember anything now. Nothing. Perhaps I’m not really a man, and am only pretending that I’ve got arms and legs and a head; perhaps I don’t exist at all, and only imagine that I walk, and eat, and sleep. [Cries] Oh, if only I didn’t exist!”193 To exist and exist meaningfully is painful. When it becomes too painful, it is much easier to simply renounce it all, and this becomes much more tempting when one does not understand or does not believe in any sort of higher meaning. Masha explains: “It seems to me that a man must have faith, or must search for a faith, or his life will be empty, empty.”194 One must believe one’s life and the work one does has meaning. In practice, though, this proves difficult, Certainly, the characters in Three Sisters would agree. Again, to summarize the general process, a character experiences a sudden arrest that encourages the reader to set about inspecting his or reality, whereupon the character discovers levels of convention invented by humanity. Possibly or impossibly out of reach during their investigation is the ideal, a human sentiment that longs for some type of completeness or wholeness. The ideal concerns both men and women, who experience reality as men and women and who at times appear to suggest that the distinctly feminine person shares in a mysterious relationship with the ideal that differs in some way from the male person. The question then concerns what becomes of the investigation. How does the particular author craft the end of the work in order to effect a certain response
193
Ibid., 51. Ibid., 35.
194
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from the reader; by virtue of its existence, the end must comment in some way on the nature of the work as a whole. Of chief significance in this is how the end relates to the overall question of meaningful and meaningless reality. Each of the works discussed here ends somewhat ambiguously. Still, such responses prove honest in the face of reality’s need for sharp discernment and the ultimate subjectivity of the human person. What is more, however, is the hopeful quality each ending appears to beg. Each text suggests the notion that reality should, hopefully, be otherwise than it is, that reality would be better if it offered a solution to what appears a deficient state. Consider, for instance, the end to Fathers and Sons , which ends on a positive note, and its last few words appear as far from nihilism as one can imagine: Can their [Bazarov’s grieving parents] prayers and their tears be fruitless? Can love, sacred, devoted love, not be allpowerful? Oh, no! No matter how passionate, sinning, rebellious is the heart hidden in the grave, the flowers growing on it look at us serenely with their innocent faces; they speak to us not only of that eternal peace, of that great peace of ‘impassive’ nature; they speak to us also of eternal reconciliation and of life everlasting . . .195 Bazarov has died, his parents mourning his loss at his grave, and the rest of the characters continue their lives, happier, apparently, for having known the man. Ironically, the person who suggests he believes in nothing appears to create a tangible, positive, lasting presence. And here, in the last lines of the text, the narrator suggests the benefits of love, an ideal love always just beyond the characters’ reach, and an existence free from pain or suffering, one in which humanity is restored and reunited with the Divine. The text ends, not with nothing, but with something: something meaningful.
195
Turgenev, 201.
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The Trial presents a much bleaker end. In a conversation with the painter, K. listens as the painter offers at least three distinct courses of action in order to effect release: “actual acquittal,” “apparent acquittal,” and “protraction.”196 In the actual acquittal, one has nothing to fear if one is innocent; justice, if True justice, need not be feared. The problem, of course, as outlined above, is no one appears innocent, or at least, no one within the story can attest to the acquittal of an innocent individual: “… from the moment I was allowed to go to court I attended constantly, heard the crucial stages of innumerable trials, followed them insofar as they could be followed, and—I must admit—I never saw a single actual acquittal.”197 Innocence, then, is quite obviously the best avenue to freedom. The major criterion, however, is innocence, and as the painter explains, any actual acquittals have become the stuff of “legends.”198 “Nevertheless,” he continues, “they shouldn’t be entirely ignored; they surely contain a certain degree of truth, and they are very beautiful; I may have painted a few pictures based on such legends.”199 Here again we have evidence of a just system of law, but any real evidence is withheld; that someone, somehow, somewhere, was innocent is a lovely thought, but who knows? And again, based on K.’s conduct, it is unlikely he is innocent. The second option is “apparent acquittal,” and in this course the painter will create a “certification of … innocence”200 and then submit it to various judges who will either accept or reject the certificate. Upon acceptance, the signatures will then be submitted to the judge over the person’s case. Then the person will most likely be
Kafka, 152. Ibid., 154. 198 Ibid. 199 Ibid. 200 Ibid., 157. 196 197
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acquitted. The person will then be “free,” but only “apparently free,” as the painter explains, “Judges on the lowest level, and those are the only ones I know, don’t have the power to grant a final acquittal, that power resides only in the highest court, which is totally inaccessible to you and me and everyone else.”201 The second course presents certain attractions. One, the person is considered no longer “under trial.” There is an illusion of freedom. However, the actual problem itself remains; one is not completely free. The final verdict remains outstanding because the lower judges can “release” a person but not “free”202 that person. The records remain; only actual acquittal removes these completely: “…everything is destroyed.”203 Furthermore, a single apparent acquittal is no guarantee the person will not be arrested again, and then the process begins all over. It represents a temporary fix, but clearly, not the ideal. The final method of release is “protraction”: “‘Protraction,’ said the painter … is when the trial is constantly kept at the lowest stage.’”204 In order to accomplish this, the trial must be extended, or lengthened, as the definition suggests: “The trial must be kept constantly spinning within the tight circle to which it’s artificially restricted.”205 The effort, of course, is spread out over a period of time, which some might find beneficial, some not. The problem, however, much like in apparent acquittal, remains unresolved. No one is innocent, and without innocence, there appears no way to remove the stain present upon an arrested individual. K., in short, appears without help.
201
Ibid., 158. Ibid. 203 Ibid. 204 Ibid., 160. 205 Ibid., 161. 202
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Clearly, though, readers might take his predicament and extract a person’s reaction to human existence. It may happen one day (for K. on his thirtieth birthday), a person becomes convinced that he or she has been condemned by a Higher Authority. A person reacts, then, according to certain degrees of sense: discover the crime, approach the authority, plead one’s case in sight of the law. A person cannot approach these higher authorities, though, so one is left to muddle along with the lower and middle officials, who even if they are genuine, can only help so much. Complete absolution of whatever crimes are charged to a person is impossible without direct access to this Higher Authority. How, then, does one reach this Higher Authority, the Law so to speak. One such connection is made during the priest’s tale; a gate barring entrance to the Law is protected by various doorkeepers, and at this first gate, a man is prohibited from entering. The man waits, until “finally his eyes grow dim and he no longer knows whether it’s really getting darker around him or if his eyes are merely deceiving him. And yet in the darkness he now sees a radiance that streams forth inextinguishably from the door of the Law.”206 The Law here, if one is to believe the archetypes, represents something divine: God/Law/Higher Authority. (And it is of course a tale told by the priest, so it bears limitations in that respect; to what extent does the tale correspond to reality?) The man attempts through every means possible (with the exception, it seems, of force) to enter the gate, but to no avail. Finally, dying, he asks one last question, and the doorkeeper answers, “No one else could gain admittance here, because this entrance was meant solely for you. I’m going to go and shut it now.”207 The tale ends, with the fate of
206
Ibid., 216. Ibid., 217.
207
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the man and his connection to the Law in question. Yet, as the priest relates, two fundamentals points are clear, that the doorkeeper was unable to allow him entrance at that point in the narrative, and the entrance was specific to that individual. 208 What can this mean for K. (or the reader)? The dialogue following the tale discusses the nature of the argument: of the tale, of existence, of the system set in place that one must follow because one exists. Though the outcome is uncertain, it appears one must meet one’s fate individually, and it is only upon death that one will discover the, if any, trial. “Where was the judge he’d never seen?” K. contemplates moments before his death, “Where was the high court he’d never reached?”209 These questions remain as K. dies, the final words “Like a dog!” a possible reference to his forced subservience to the system of existence. He dies, ostensibly, awaiting the Law. The Trial asks certain fundamental questions about the nature of existence, an existence apparently flawed (though we do not know if it truly is or how) and one in which we have indications of order, of law, but nothing definite, only rumors and semblances: “Lies … made into a universal system.”210 We exist, we feel guilty/accused, but we have no way to determine the charge. Thus, we seek Law, but we are left with a finite number of options: actual acquittal, which appears impossible; apparent acquittal, temporary and based on limited authority; or protraction, which does nothing but delay the inevitable. Someone might help, but who? Everyone appears in the same fix. The reader is left, then, where K. is left: to play the system, live existence, and approach whatever it is that awaits through the gate alone. And yet, note the earnestness 208
Ibid. Ibid., 231. 210 Ibid., 223. 209
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with which the text ends. K. dies, not staring at the stone at his feet or at nothing, but looking for support, for connection. The other texts, too, end with some measure of hope. In Nausea , the text ends with music, with the narrator’s hope to create something as meaningful as the music he often listened to in the café, something, perhaps a book, that would make the audience “have to guess, behind the printed words, behind the pages, at something which would not exist, which would be above existence.”211 The narrator relates: “Perhaps one day, thinking precisely of this hour, of this gloomy hour in which I wait, stopping, for it to be time to get on the train, perhaps I shall feel my heart beat faster and say to myself: ‘That was the day, that was the hour, when it all started.’ And I might succeed—in the past, nothing but the past—in accepting myself.”212 The narrator looks forward to some better apprehension of completeness. Three Sisters , too, ends with music. With the battery leaving the town and the Baron dead, the three sisters huddle together as the band plays. Masha states, “Oh, how the music plays! They are leaving us, one has quite left us, quite and forever. We remain alone, to begin our life over again. We must live … we must live. …”213 Irina adds, “There will come a time when everybody will know why, for what purpose, there is all this suffering, and there will be no more mysteries. But now we must live … we must work, just work!”214 Olga, too, makes a final statement. She describes how well the band plays and looks forward to a time in the future when, though the sisters will have been
211
Sartre, 178. Ibid. 213 Chekhov, 78. 214 Ibid., 79. 212
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forgotten, their “sufferings will turn into joy for those who will live after us, happiness and peace will reign on earth, and people will remember with kindly words, and bless those who are living now.”215 She finishes, “Let us live. The music is so gay, so joyful, and, it seems that in a little while we shall know why we are living, why we are suffering. … If we could only know, if we could only know!”216 The sisters remain adamant that they should continue living, that some future happiness might be attained, and that one day, “perhaps,” they might know the reason for it all. Swift sees in Olga’s final words an expression of “the existential crisis—the hope and thirst for ultimate knowledge, together with the inability to grasp the same.”217 The sentiment appears that same sort of despair noted in Ecclesiastes: the “Solomonic search.”218 Fight Club ends, not with music, but with a hospital room. In a chapter heavily laden with biblical language, the narrator sardonically suggests he (and Tyler) have died and gone to heaven, and he can rest there: “I can sleep in heaven.”219 In a conversation with a medical professional, whom he refers to as God, the narrator attempts to draw a balance between two extreme, “invented” views. He states that “we are not special,” and then states, “We are not crap or trash, either.”220 To view humanity in either extreme, as being totally void of flaws or being totally without virtue, conflicts with experience. Rather, he suggests, “We just are, and what happens just happens.”221 The character settles on existence but attempts (though ultimately fails) to avoid imposing any—in his
215
Ibid. Ibid. 217 Swift, 62. 218 Ibid., 40. 219 Pahlaniuk, 206. 220 Ibid., 207. 221 Ibid. 216
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mind—unfair projections on reality. Yet, a tension remains. Stuck in a holding pattern in the hospital, separated from the world to some extent and released from activity beyond healing and eating and drinking and carrying on with the mere mechanical functions of living, the narrator muses that there are still those “on Earth” who want to “break up civilization so we can make something better of the world.”222 His is a brief respite. The myth of the ideal endures.
Conclusion Nihilists betray a need for objectivity. They want honesty. They identify problems and strive to articulate them in all their complexity and frustration. Ironically, their endeavors attempt to look beyond invention and demonstrate reason to hope. Fathers and Sons ends with two loving parents above a grave and the hope of eternal reconciliation. The characters in Three Sisters , too, tormented by their inability to grasp the ideal, simply want to know why they suffer, why the pursuit seems impossible. Perhaps in knowing, one might accept one’s state. Acceptance is what the character in Nausea hopes to find. Having agreed with his existence, perhaps, then, he might make something of it. Joseph K., vainly attempting to discover Law, meets his end looking up at a nearby figure, hoping, straining for something good. The narrator in Fight Club rests while the world outside clamors for change. All of them, all of the texts, though they are reluctant to set it down with any sort of absoluteness, because, again, they must be honest, appear to truly hope for something more—please let there be something more.
222
Ibid., 208.
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The ideal cannot be ideal for nothing, right? Where, then, does one end? Perhaps one should end with the beginning, with bad humor, and as Wood asserts, the significant connection between “uproarious comedy and profound Christianity,” where the “deepest kind of Christianity, as well as the best kind of literature, is finally comic and joyful, gladspirited and selfsatirizing.”223 A Christian, an atheist, and a nihilist walk into a bar. The owner is missing, and the Christian and the atheist begin to argue about whether he is present or not. Unable to agree, they turn to the nihilist, who says, “What bar?” Near the heart of the joke lurks a very real fear, but not for the works themselves. These works are attractive, for the skill with which they were written, for their honesty in recognizing the invented nature of reality, for their dance with tragic existence: it means nothing; it means something. They suggest not nihilism but something about nihilism. Can one experience a true nihilist work? One may see the actual text degrade, for if one believes in nothing, one cannot believe in grammar, and Fight Club begins, deliberately, with a comma splice. One can only read a work about a nihilist person, not a nihilist work. Once the text exists, the show is over, remember. Each of the characters toys with nonexistence, but they do not embrace it. Perhaps they cannot. Existence was not their choice, so aside from suicide, nonexistence is not either … and even then, death does not necessarily mean nothing. If one cannot have nothing, then what does one have? It seems one has a troubled existence, and the question becomes what one does with existence. In
Ralph C. Wood, Flannery O’Connor and the ChristHaunted South (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2004, ix. 223
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Fathers and Sons , one lives and hopes. In Three Sisters one keeps flying and hopes to one day know why. In Trial one lives and waits for the real authority. In Fight Club one, apparently, destroys to live; it is the process of existence that is important. These are all understandable points. The doubts, the questions should not concern. One should like questions. What should one fear then? Again, the danger lies not in the atheist who does not believe in God (or says he does not believe in God) but believes in Good and Bad, even if he or she fails to connect those concepts to something Divine. No, one should fear most the one who claims he believes in nothing, the “pernicious thinkers . . . who seek to escape the categories of good and evil altogether.”224 Fear the one who grows fed up with the world’s invention and thinks one must burn it all to truly see but who enjoys the fire so much nothing remains in the end. These texts paint the picture of a person alone in a room in a city without community, of a creature beating its wings to escape from the ice the breath from its wings creates. And indeed, without the real ideal, one would have little reason to complain. Yet, the ideal exists, and now that one knows the complaint, one can locate the ideal and fuse it to the nihilist terminology and watch it bloom and grow fruitful. Two paths diverged, one towards something, one towards nothing. The closer one draws to nothing, the more one cuts away what is false, what is hollow. Yet, a limit exists. Down the darkened path lies one step too many. Beyond that point, one becomes less, one harms. One cannot laugh at the joke anymore.
224
Wood, 201.
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CHAPTER TWO JESUS, THE GOOD NIHILIST, THE GOOD SHEPHERD Nihilists take interest in tearing down the world. One sympathizes; so much falls so easily. Christopher Dawson makes an insightful observation when he discusses the “revolutionary attitude” in Dynamics of World History , an attitude that he describes as “but another symptom of the divorce between religion and social life.”225 The problem, as he explains, is these individuals who seek to break down civilizations and its institutions sense the institutions’ great “fraud,” and rather than attempting to correct the problem, to throw out yet another theory, which they suspect will prove as empty as the former, they prefer “escape, liberation —Nirvana.”226 Rather than live disingenuously, they would rather be nothing, the contradiction notwithstanding. Thus, they poke holes. Those who hope to defend the meaningful face a daunting task. Not only does the reality of one’s existence through its biological functions present challenges, but the process by which one distinguishes between fraud and genuine value finds itself subject to the interpretations of a multitude of various perspectives and various mediums, themselves subject to limitations. The system allows doubt. Perhaps one defense draws from the benefits of nihilism while rejecting its fatal flaw. It clears away the clutter unanchored by truth and reveals the essential foundation of order, order established in transcendent reality but linked to the material world. Precedent exists for fruitful nihilism, Christopher Dawson, Dynamics of World History , ed. John J. Mulloy (New York: Sheed and Ward, 1957), 126. 226 Ibid. 225
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a type of nihilism that clarifies meaning, establishes value. It announces, as Solomon does, “Then I considered all that my hands had done and the toil I had expended in doing it, and behold, all was vanity and a striving after wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun.”227 Ecclesiastes swings a heavy hammer, yet it finds meaning in God. If one imagines nihilism as a road, and one travels down that road, one breaks down all those artificial constructs one has created and into which one has put so much meaning. Walk too far, however, and one begins to deny reality, self, material, the Divine. What, then, represents the proper center? At what point does one stop in the road? Christ. Incarnate Jesus Christ represents the good nihilist. One may balk, but an understanding of works that feature nihilism and its concerns reveals the weight of the questions they pose and their redemptive qualities. One begins with a “sudden arrest,” which forces the character or characters within the text to question reality and identify “invention,” the humane proclivity to create structures of meaning and surround these structures with varying levels of insulation in order to protect the confidence of the individual in his or her reality. Again, such inventions lie at the heart of the problem, for if these outlying structures of meaning prove false or weak, the inner or base structures may also prove susceptible. These characters, then, engage in the disassembling of their reality and at various times come into contact and conflict with its members in an attempt to test meaning and resolve the question of the ideal, that selfsustaining joy immune to the hard knocks of the world. Nihilism's questions prove useful. The problem becomes, however, that this
Eccles. 2:11 ( ESV ).
227
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epistemological attack on the real, if it does not involve a reconstruction, leads to nothing. Ash instead of rebirth. What if, however, we allow the nihilist project its attacks on the real, but then offer a new ending, precisely through Christ. Christ unleashes the first half of nihilism—he, too, attacks our perceptions of the real. What if we use nihilism to help us understand the problems with the world and Christ to rebuild a more solid understanding of the real? This "bait and switch" allows us to develop both critical theory (from nihilism) and discernment (through Christ). The Gospels, for instance, provide a wondrous opportunity. Readers encounter, first and foremost, a narrative of a definite, a historical facticity that describes the annihilation of a perceived ordering of reality with another, this time preeminent ordering. But the inspired text rises above the mere physical in that it puts one in contact with the transcendent being of Jesus Christ. Readers read about others encountering Christ and so encounter him as well. The Gospel language, itself made possible the Incarnation, by the architect of all order, presents a story about God and humanity and His love for Humanity. Thus by (nihilistically) deconstructing the world the way it is, we can use the Gospels to reshape, birth, open the eyes of a new way of seeing the world that indeed does have these problems but can also be transformed. Consider, first, the problem of subjectivity. Most works that feature nihilism betray a need for objectivity. The arrested characters aggressively scrutinize self and reality and the establishment of meaning. In their search for answers, whatever the conclusion may be, the characters break down the pillars of reality. Thus, many record or observe their daily experiences with as much accuracy as possible. The problem, of
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course, comes from the unavoidably subjective nature of reality, language especially. “Words,” Joseph Conrad writes, “as is well known, are the great foes of reality.”228 The nature of language proves, not merely inadequate, but inadequate given its limitation in the elucidation of human experience. The closest one comes to objective reality appears in the experience of the moment within time, though even this finds itself subject to the subjective limitation of the individual. Subsequent levels of subjectivity compound the difficulty in understanding and establishing meaning. Peter Berger’s assertion that the “socially constructed world is, above all, an ordering of experience”229 may prove helpful. Berger emphasizes human experience with reality at its most fundamental level, its physical and mental presence in time. He identifies this process as externalization (the “ongoing outpouring of human being into the world”), objectivation (the “attainment by the products of this activity … of a reality that confronts its original producers as a facticity external to and other than themselves”), and internalization (the “reappropriation by men of this same reality, transforming it once again from structures of the objective world into structures of the subjective consciousness”).230 All of humanity confronts reality at this most basic level and through this process (with the addition of any physical or mental deficiencies) attempts to form a meaningful order, a “nomos,”231 which derives from the notion of law. Language connects closely to the physical presence of the individual.
Joseph Conrad, Under Western Eyes , ed. Stephen Donovan (London: Methuen, 1911; London: Penguin Books, 2007), 5. 229 Peter L. Berger, The Sacred Canopy: Elements of a Sociological Theory of Religion (New York: Doubleday, 1967; New York: Anchor Books, 1990), 19. 230 Ibid., 4. 231 Ibid., 19. 228
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Experiencing the world through one’s biological presence, one identifies something outside of one’s self, which one then reappropriates. This base experience constitutes a primary level of subjectivity, the subjectivity that exists in the individual personhood of each human being, itself subject to whatever conditions may exist within that person that will alter in any way the physical intake, assimilation, or expression of the material world. From this experience, one engages in discourse (particular to various mediums) and with its origin tied directly to the “plausibility structure”232 of the individual and the society in which the individual exists. Distinctions between the structures of the author and reader influence the reader’s comprehension and response to the material. Indeed, a key component in the acceptance of one text by another culture (of one plausibility structure by a different plausibility structure) rests in the confidence of the culture to engage the material, and here modernity presents its challenge, as James Hunter states, “The modern world, by its very nature, questions if not negates the trust that connects human discourse and the ‘reality’ of the world. In its mildest expressions, it questions the adequacy of language to make the world intelligible. In its more aggressive expressions, however, it fosters a doubt that words have anything to do with what exists ‘out there.’”233 This lack of confidence suggests an underlying factor for the progression in modern and postmodern literature from external reality to internal reality, fragile at best, and for the current culture’s difficulty in accepting any sort of overarching, supernatural ordering of experience. A certain level of subjectivity, then, must be accepted. In addition, other factors, 232
Ibid., 45. James Davison Hunter, To Change the World: The Irony, Tragedy, and Possibility of Christianity in the Late Modern World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 205. 233
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such a differences in time or culture, the skill of the reader, the difficulty of the author, will increase the burden upon the reader to engage the material confidently. But careful ordering will allow the reader to approach the text in a meaningful way. In doing so one will encounter another perspective, a metaphysical, allencompassing one ordered by and through a Divine Creator: perfect objectivity. Of course, the tough question lies in whether this Divine perspective exists and whether humanity can truly say with confidence that it exists by analyzing the reality of its experience at its level: I know my world because I am capable of knowing my world, and based on what I know of my world, I believe in the existence of another, other world. The Gospel of Matthew inserts itself into this conversation. Focusing on the text itself, which represents the primary interaction between the reader and the text (secondary sources themselves representing yet more plausibility structures, which compound the burden of subjectivity), one sees the Gospel account make its pitch . The author (or authors—again, approaching the text as it is) presents a straightforward narration of events. One is meant to pay attention to the characters and events within the narrative, understanding that the author presents himself as a reliable source and hopes to impart the knowledge of these characters and events with as much attention to objectivity as possible (with full understanding, of course, that complete objectivity, at least as far as concerns the reader, remains impossible—that “Scripture is breathed out by God”234 still allows the subjective reader to decide whether this point is true or not). For this reason the account begins with a genealogy: “The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son
2 Tim. 3:16 ( ESV ).
234
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of David, the son of Abraham.”235 By identifying Christ through his lineage, the author places the person of Christ in a historical context; more to the point, it aligns Christ with previous discourse within the Jewish nation, one that foreshadowed a national (to become a universal) savior. Reference to this interim period (“So all the generations from Abraham to David were fourteen generations, and from David to the deportation to Babylon Fourteen generations, and from the deportation to Babylon to the Christ fourteen generations”236 ) emphasizes not only this continuity but demonstrates authority, hinting at its origin in the supernatural. The genealogy represents an attempt to present an accurate record so the readers may feel a level of confidence. It orders, creates a meaningful nomos. For this reason, too, the author draws close to Jesus’ miraculous birth and his Divine origin and the fulfillment of various prophecies. The author relates, “But as he [Joseph] considered these things, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not fear to take Mary as your wife, for that which is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.’”237 The author then links Christ’s birth to a passage in Isaiah 7:14 and then again, with the visit of the wise men, to Micah 5:2. Subsequent events following the birth allude to yet more references to prophetic fulfillments (this time Hosea and Jeremiah), and indeed, any prophecy listed within Matthew functions in much the same capacity, to demonstrate the authority of the text and continuity of Divine interaction in historical reality. Readers must trust not only Matt. 1:1 ( ESV ). Matt. 1:17 ( ESV ). 237 Matt. 1:2021 ( ESV ). 235 236
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their ability to engage and understand the text, and thus accept or reject evidence for these fulfillments, but various references to other passages of Scripture, the integrity of the texts themselves, and the author’s ability to successfully translate purportedly objective experience to literary form. All these factor into the reader’s ability to successfully embrace a shift in his or her plausibility structure, one that may accept a supernatural reality. The underlying power, however, relies upon the reader’s connection between his or her experience with the material world and the Divine order, that same order present within the Gospel accounts and that the recorded narratives prompt within the reader. This power manifests in the sudden arrests described within the narrative, which demonstrate various individuals’ confrontation with this Divine reality in the form of Christ and their consequent response. In this way, the readers participate in the process; the Gospels’ teeth derive from Christ’s ability to illuminate the world’s fraud and reveal an immutable and metaphysical ordering. The concept of sudden arrest in literature that wrestles with nihilism represents that initial shock to the perceived ordering of reality within the individual. Having lived under the assumption that the world exists in some particular way, nonetheless, something takes place that causes the individual to question the solidity of this reality. In Matthew’s account, such arrests primarily surround Christ’s ministry and his declaration that the “kingdom of heaven is at hand.”238 Here Christ will introduce people to his person and divinity, his Incarnation, and depending upon one’s understanding of God and humanity under God, the arrest’s severity may increase or decrease correlative to the
Matt. 4:17 ( ESV ).
238
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ability of the person to adopt this new spiritual and material structure. The arrests in Matthew, interestingly enough, begin with John the Baptist: “In those days John the Baptist came preaching in the wilderness of Judea, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.’”239 John’s ministry here functions as a preparation, an early warning before Christ’s ministry, for certainly, Christ’s introduction to the scene represents an event of immense magnitude. The concept of repentance, too, suggests an ordering of reality distinct from that implied by the direct presence of a spiritual authority, which John alludes to before Christ’s baptism: “I baptize you with water for repentance, but he who is coming after me is mightier than I, whose sandals I am not worth to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and gather his wheat into the barn, but the chaff he will burn with unquenching fire.”240 John identifies two key elements in the future introduction to Christ, first, the authority of Christ, demonstrated by his ability to impart the Holy Spirit, a direct reference to a transcendent presence, in this case inserted into the material world, and second, the distinction between wheat and chaff, those who will be able to accept this new nomos and those who will not. With the introduction of Christ’s ministry begins a series of arrests. These exhibit themselves in two fashions, his interaction with a closeknit group of individuals and his interaction with large crowds. In the end of chapter four, the text reveals that he begins to travel “throughout all of Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom ….”241 Christ begins by speaking in these places of Jewish worship and Matt. 3:12 ( ESV ). Matt. 3:1112 ( ESV ). 241 Matt. 4:23 ( ESV ). 239 240
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instruction, which again, using Berger’s language, represent a key element of the plausibility structure for these particular people. Based on the account, this powerful nomos draws the attention of many people, who flock to hear his teaching: “And great crowds followed him from Galilee and the Decapolis, and from Jerusalem and Judea, and from beyond the Jordan.” 242 The nature of his ministry, then, is enigmatic enough, but more importantly, buttressed by a sacred ordering, such that it prompts large groups of individuals to travel to hear him speak. In contrast to these large crowds, however, Christ also begins to adopt a smaller, more intimate community. In chapter ten, the text identifies twelve apostles, a close group of individuals whom Jesus brings under his teaching. Rather than a short period of instruction, as will be common with the large groups, these apostles will be with him for a significant period of time, which will be necessary to reveal the kingdom of heaven, the hard, fixed Truth mixed in with invented reality. For instance, when he calls Peter and Andrew, he states, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.”243 Inasmuch as fishing builds on knowledge and experience, both typically gained over a period of time rather than immediately, so, too, apparently, will Christ instruct these men in what it means to be “fishers of men.” Thus, Christ will prompt the sudden arrests of these individuals, who will then, in the fullness of time, adopt his ministry and set about making arrests in other individuals. Indeed, the presence of the text itself, again, represents an extension of these initial arrests. The power of John’s warning and the attraction garnered by Christ’s initial preaching suggest the magnitude of Christ’s reordering, or correcting, of an individual
Matt. 4:25 ( ESV ). Matt. 4:19 ( ESV ).
242 243
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and communal understanding of reality. Yet, an arrest by its nature proves difficult; the process must challenge. Consider, again, what Berger states concerning the danger represented in an individual confronting anything that poses a danger to the construction of his or her reality within a larger societal construction: “The ultimate danger of such separation, however, is the danger of meaninglessness. This danger is the nightmare par excellence , in which the individual is submerged in a world of disorder, senselessness and madness.”244 Inasmuch as the crowds greet Christ with enthusiasm and expectation, the transformation that begins after their arrest will not prove without difficulty or cost. Note the nature of the adoption of these intimate disciples. When Christ calls Peter, Andrew, James, and John, Christ’s invitation to follow him comes at the cost of their occupations and family: “Immediately they left their nets and followed him”245 and “Immediately they [James and John] left the boat and their father and followed him.”246 Later, too, the reader will observe similar decisions made by those who decide to follow Christ. His teaching will force individuals into uncomfortable territory and break down many of the false expectations prompted and sustained within their understanding of reality. This difficulty becomes apparent, especially, with the description of the controversy surrounding Christ’s calling of Matthew, a tax collector, and Christ’s association with individuals deemed inferior and subversive by the community. The text states, “And as Jesus reclined at table in the house, behold, many tax collectors and sinners came and were reclining with Jesus and his disciples. And when the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, ‘Why does your teacher sit with tax collectors and 244
Berger, 22. (author’s emphasis) Matt. 4:20 ( ESV ). 246 Matt. 4:22 ( ESV ). 245
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sinners.’”247 Clearly, Christ’s decision to take on a tax collector as a pupil and surround himself with “sinners,” as identified by the community, goes against certain frameworks within the communal structure; a religious teacher should not eat with such evil persons, and he should definitely not accept one as a disciple. Yet, Christ’s response reveals the hollowness of such societal constructions and suggests the nature of his mission. He replies, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.’ For I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.”248 Christ’s emphasis on illness and sin suggests he will make them well, that he will in some way address the problem of sin. Ironically, in the Pharisees’ attempt to draw a distinction between themselves (and other good, proper believers) and the tax collectors and sinners, between health and righteousness and illness and evil respectively, they in fact demonstrate their similarity; they are just as sick and sinful as the rest. The Pharisees’ inability to identify this shared illness suggests the power of their confidence in their invented reality, which has resulted in religious convention. The concept of “invention” proves one of the most important to nihilist characters. It refers to the various constructions present within one’s life and perpetuated by the people and institutions of his or her own time. Again, as Berger explains, humanity attempts to create a nomos through its plausibility structures, social, political, economical, etc. Now, such ordering represents a fundamental part of humanity’s nature and in itself a hint or signal of transcendence.249 The difficulty arises when the nature of
Matt. 9:1011 ( ESV ). Matt. 9:1213 ( ESV ). 249 Peter Berger, A Rumor of Angels: Modern Society and the Rediscovery of the Supernatural , (Garden City, NY: Anchor Books, 1970), 53. 247 248
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the structure in some way departs from God and His sacred ordering, which will inevitably take place given the imperfect nature of humanity and its (for now) fixed residency in imperfect creation. The individual will, then, participate in a system that rejects this eternal order and the seemingly inherent tendency within humanity to seek after this order. In such cases an individual has the power to reject this system or an aspect of this system given his or her free moral agency. The problem, however, represents invention’s more subtle and destructive aspect: its tendency to impede this free moral agency of humanity. Here Berger’s explanation of “bad faith” might prove beneficial: “One way of defining bad faith is to say that it replaces choice with fictitious necessities. In other words, the individual, who in fact has a choice between different courses of action, posits one of these courses as necessary.”250 Thus, instead of evaluating a particular ordering of reality based on the merit of the individual case, the person accepts it as if he or she has no other alternative. An arrest rattles this understanding of reality, and following the arrest, individuals must observe and learn from their “new” environment to successfully identify the nature of their culture’s invention. Much if not most of the Gospel of Matthew concerns this process of successfully identifying individual and societal invention and correcting it with order derived from Divine order. One of the most visible instances of this instruction appears in the Sermon on the Mount, where Christ outlines his ministry. Here he observes the crowd, goes up upon the mountain, and begins to teach. It’s important to note the large numbers of people who attend his lessons and the ardor with which they listen. Indeed, recall an early point
Berger, Sacred , 93.
250
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within this discussion that nihilism functions in part because of its adherents’ sense for the artificial. The nature of life, the conflict between joy and suffering, will drive individuals to shape reality and illicit confidence from societybuilt structures, and how poorly or well these structures connect to a greater universal cosmic order determines the extent of the fraud perceived. The crowd’s response to Christ suggests their perception of an artificiality or fraud within their current system, at the least an intense dissatisfaction. Christ’s teaching proves revolutionary. For instance, he begins his discourse with a series of blessings, ones that at first portray a worldly sense of status and wellbeing and then shift to ones perceived through a spiritual lens colored by the reality of the Incarnation. Thus, “poor in spirit” and “those who mourn” become inheritors of the “kingdom of heaven” and those who “will be comforted.”251 What Christ proposes transforms lack and despair and dissatisfaction to abundance and joy and contentment. In addition, the need for Christ has in its origin the underlying implications of their current structures, namely the Law. For this reason the people are “astonished at his teaching, for he was teaching them as one who had authority, and not as their scribes.”252 Near the beginning, Christ explains, “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them.”253 The Law and the Prophets represents a previous historical Divine insertion of Truth, something that originates from the Divine and provides a framework for humanity with which to live individually and communally. Christ’s ministry reengages this insertion and by his presence reveals the natural extension of the Law, what C.S. Lewis highlights as the Matt. 5:34 ( ESV ). Matt. 7:2829 ( ESV ). 253 Matt. 5:17 ( ESV ). 251 252
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foundation of “clear thinking about ourselves and the universe we live in”: “First, that human beings, all over the earth, have this curious idea that they ought to behave in a certain way, and cannot really get rid of it. Secondly, that they do not in fact behave in that way.”254 Furthermore, various levels of human invention have grown up around this Divine Truth, making it more difficult to ascertain and confidently embrace. Again, much of Christ’s sermon focuses on this distinction between invented, false constructions and the immutable absolute at the heart of moral behavior and spiritual existence. He begins with a discussion of anger: “You have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not murder; and whoever murders will be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother will be liable to the council; and whoever says, ‘You fool’ will be liable to the hell of fire.”255 Here Christ references a societal construction that originates from an earlier Divine command that has now become a part of their ordered reality. The initial proclamation prohibiting murder remains unchanged; to murder another human being remains an evil act. Yet, Christ draws closer to the absolute by digging below mere criminal behavior, below the criminal act itself. What proves more important is the relationship between one individual and another. Christ stresses this by offering two examples; both stress the need of the individual to work with potential antagonists to achieve peace. To avoid murder because one has been told not to proves inadequate. Such clarifications would have made the Divine more visible to the people and drawn material activity closer to proper spiritual activity within a material reality. C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity , rev. and amp. ed. (N.p: C. S. Lewis Pte. Ltd., 1952; New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 2001), 8. 255 Matt. 5:2122 ( ESV ). 254
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Christ follows a similar patterns with issues of lust, divorce, and the taking of oaths. The point, he explains, is not to remain genuine in one context only, but in all contexts. In terms of language, for example, One can remain more objective and in so doing project a more objective sense of reality and structure by making language simple and direct and, more importantly, attempting to utilize language that remains as accurate as possible to the inner reality of one’s person. Deviations complicate and mislead. Certain points in Christ’s sermon represent a (seemingly) much more difficult realignment of one’s construction of reality: an eye for an eye, loving one’s enemies, and putting oneself on display in terms of giving, prayer, and fasting. His corrections focus on the importance of relationship, but demand a willful lowering of one’s self for the sake of relationship. What proves more important, the honor one gains or the love one individual shows to another, a person who does not understand or cannot embrace this transcendent truth? Humanity must drop such worldly inventions by attempting to emulate the heavenly Father, the origin for perfect order. Here as elsewhere, Christ draws them closer to this perfection, which some shall realize in his death and resurrection. In all these points, then, Christ takes the crowd’s understanding of reality that has been built upon and reinforced through their individual and communal structures and essentially wipes away anything invented that has obscured what should be a more objective perspective of reality. This takes powerful form in his interpretation of the Law: “So whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and Prophets.”256 Here we see a sort of distillation of the Law (which does not suffer, or
Matt. 7:12 ( ESV ).
256
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become inferior, in the process). Christ takes the powerful selfserving aspect of invention and uses that understanding to point towards a more godly understanding of human relationships, which must first and foremost derive from and come second to one’s relationship with the Divine and His ordering of reality. Christ states, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”257 The second, then, builds upon the first. The second, being fixed within flawed reality that surrounds and interacts with a flawed creation, cannot, by itself, successfully create a structure that will eclipse these flaws. Only when the structure comes from the first, being absolute, perfect, and immutable, will the second stand any chance of successful incorporation. Christ explains this by yet another powerful illustration between the human invented reality and human reality derived from God: “Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock.” Only those constructions built upon the “rock” will last. Should humanity rely upon
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invented constructions, that view of reality will fail, “like a foolish man who built his house on the sand.”259 Christ then ends his sermon after having taken what constitutes their reality of themselves and the world and presenting them with a transcendent view that by its nature demolishes anything not anchored by His truth. What that sermon should have instilled in Matt. 22:3739 ( ESV ). Matt. 7:2425 ( ESV ). 259 Matt. 7:26 ( ESV ). 257 258
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the crowds was not only a glimpse into transcendent reality, but a conviction that their ability to contact that reality proves dependent on the governing force of that reality to manifest itself within and make itself approachable to humanity. The question finds its answer in the Incarnation of Jesus Christ. Christ asks his disciples, “‘Who do people say that the Son of Man is?’ And they said, ‘Some say John the Baptist, others say Elijah, and others Jeremiah or one of the prophets. He said to them, ‘But who do you say that I am?’ Simon Peter replied, ‘You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.’”260 The truth Peter confesses makes possible the view of reality Christ has been preaching. Without it, the reality remains manmade, weighed down by this material reality and subject to its inherentlyflawed fabrication. Christ explains, “Blessed are you, Simon BarJonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”261 As Christ’s sermon demonstrates, however, the process of deconstructing one’s invented reality and rebuilding it with this “rock” will be challenging. Even Christ’s apostles, those who travel with him and learn under his discipleship, must be constantly reminded and reorder their reality to better match their teacher’s. This difficulty accounts for many of the miraculous signs Christ performs, specifically, those concerning nature, illness, and death. Such acts would have driven to the heart of their ordering of reality, as their physical presence in reality exists at the mercy of natural elements, physical defects and illnesses, and most importantly, death. In overcoming these acts of disorder, Christ
Matt. 16:1316 ( ESV ). Matt. 16:1718 ( ESV ).
260 261
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authenticates his authority and the power of his (and by association His) order by the conformation of the natural world. Note the disciples’ reaction when the disciples come to him in fear of a storm: “And he said to them, ‘Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?’ Then he rose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm. And the men marveled, saying, ‘What sort of man is this, that even winds and sea obey him?’” Their “little faith” hinders their understanding and order of reality in which physical
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forces obey, as they should, an authority existing in the natural world but anchored in the supernatural. While the “dumb” natural forces respond naturally , humanity proves more difficult to convince. We observe similar incredulousness when we observe Christ feeding crowds of five thousand and four thousand people (although the number was probably much higher given the presence of women and children). “We have only five loaves here and two fish,” his disciples say. The author describes Christ’s response, “Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass, and taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven and said a blessing. Then he broke the loaves and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. And they all ate and were satisfied.” 263 Clearly, at least as concerns the experience of those present given their understanding of reality and the numbers of consumers and the amount being consumed, the amount of food amounts to too little. They do not reasonably have enough. Yet, Christ’s presence and the reality of a higher reality reshape what they should know and expect. Peter’s attempt to emulate Christ’s power over the elements provides yet another
Matt. 8:2627 ( ESV ). Matt. 14:1720 ( ESV ).
262 263
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illustration of the power of faith in this new ordering of reality. His disciples observe Christ “walking on the sea,” and Peter asks, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.”264 With Christ’s “command,” Peter should then be able to perform the same miraculous feat. However, the strength of their old, invented view of reality, one in which they cannot participate in a powerful supernatural reality, shakes his confidence, and “when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, ‘Lord, save me.’ Jesus immediately reached out his hand and took hold of him, saying to him, ‘O you of little faith, why did you doubt?’”265 Again, their previous view of reality, specifically, their vulnerability to nature, still exhibits a strong influence. They must have confidence in their new reality, even amidst the prospect of personal injury and death. Perhaps even more than demonstrations of authority over nature, demonstrations of Christ’s authority over one’s physical person prove most significant, as they not only affect the medium for human experience but also address one of humanity’s greatest threats to perceived order, death. Berger identifies death as supreme in its ability to prompt “situations in which … [an individual] is driven close to or beyond the boundaries of the order that determines his routine, everyday existence.”266 The onset of illness or observable death can force the individual to question the genuine stability of his or her created order. Christ’s Incarnation and inherent perfect order represents the solution to the terror and problem of death. Those instances described within the text when Christ heals a sickness or disease demonstrate a strong connection between a person’s ability to be healed and that person’s willingness to accept this transcendent reality. For instance, a Matt. 14:25, 28 ( ESV ). Matt. 14:3032 ( ESV ). 266 Berger, Sacred , 23 ( ESV ). 264 265
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leper appeals to him, “Lord, if you will , you can make me clean.”267 In another instance, Christ asks, “Do you believe that I am able to do this?” The two respond yes, and then he “touched their eyes, saying, ‘According to your faith be it done to you.’”268 In a few instances, we actually observe individuals whom Christ applauds for their faith; they perceive, beyond his prompting, the larger significance of what he represents. In one instance, a centurion states, “Lord, my servant is lying paralyzed at home, suffering terribly.” Christ agrees to heal the servant, and the centurion responds, “Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof, but only say the word, and my servant will be healed. For I too am a man under authority, with soldiers under me. And I say to one, ‘Go,’ and he goes, and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes, and to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.”269 The centurion clearly perceives this nature of higher authority. In fact, rather than an invented view of reality, he rightly builds upon this higher sense of order. For this reason, Christ responds to him, “Truly, I tell you, with no one in Israel have I found such faith.”270 The centurion leaps beyond the mere question of whether Christ can heal and instead recognizes that someone with such authority can not only heal, but time and distance present no obstacles. We can observe this again in the woman who knows she can be healed if she simply touches his clothes271 and in the Canaanite woman who recognizes the universal nature of this higher order: “She said, ‘Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.’”272 Christ, of course, recognizes
Matt. 8:2 ( ESV ). (my emphasis) Matt. 9:2829 ( ESV ). 269 Matt. 8:69 ( ESV ). 270 Matt. 8:10 ( ESV ). 271 Matt. 9:21 ( ESV ). 272 Matt. 15:27 ( ESV ). 267 268
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her faith and says, “Be it done for you as you desire.”273 Though those who still linger under the sway of invented reality think this woman and others like her foolish, these believers perceive, as they cannot, a more objective understanding of the nature of existence. All this, of course, rests upon the presupposition that Christ represents both humanity (which they accept) and the divinity (which many reject). Christ has demonstrated his divinity through his sound reason and in the conformation of the natural world under his direction; outside agents, too, angels and Moses and Elijah for instance, appear in various instances. His ministry, however, prompts a question. How can they participate in this Divine order? Sheer force of will has proven inadequate. In addition, the invented reality of various groups within the society appears so strong that they refuse to accept Christ or the order of reality he represents. Indeed, they hope to destroy him, for in destroying him, they can again regain confidence in the world they have built and understand. This road inevitably leads to Golgotha: “… Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things from the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.” The disciples, of course, cannot yet understand this. Peter states, “‘Far be it from you, Lord! This shall never happen to you.’ But he turned and said to Peter, ‘Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me. For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.”274 In Christ’s death, Peter and the others cannot yet fully perceive what the new reality will encompass, and they will not, until Christ completes the task set before him. In the end,
Matt. 15:28 ( ESV ). Matt. 16:2123 ( ESV ).
273 274
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those who work to crucify Christ will succeed , Christ’s disciples will at last understand victory in Jesus. Christ will overcome death and achieve salvation for humanity. The fact and manner of Christ’s death represents perhaps a final knock against culture’s conventional views on life and death. The religious leaders, Roman representatives, and even Peter, Christ’s disciple, cannot yet see (or embrace to the extent that the awareness guides action) that in the Lord’s death, the ultimate reality of His kingdom will come to fruition. The high priest demands, “‘I adjure you by the living God, tell us if you are the Christ, the Son of God.’ Jesus said to him, ‘You have said so. But I tell you, from now on you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power and coming on the clouds of heaven.’”275 The religious officials then act violently, scorning and abusing him, and deliver him over to the Roman authorities; the theological and physical evidence of the authority of Christ’s reality cannot sway them, and they maintain their invented reality. The soldiers, too, abuse him, and hang a sign above his head: “This is Jesus, the King of the Jews,”276 a sign that they intend should suggest the reality of their invention; if Christ were king, they would most likely not be hanging him. The sign does, in fact, represent a reality they cannot recognize. The Jewish authorities, too, as well as the robbers being executed with Christ, cannot see how close they come to the truth, as they say, “He saved others; he cannot save himself. He is the King of Israel; let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God; let God deliver him now, if he desires him. For he said, ‘I am the Son of God.’”277 Their reality suggests that if Christ were actually the Son of God, he would employ the power Matt. 26: 6364 (ESV). Matt. 27:37 ( ESV ). 277 Matt. 27:4243 ( ESV ). 275 276
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granted him by God to save himself (what the world would do) and demonstrate his authority (also what the world would do). Christ’s reality, however, builds from its Divine source, which proposes that the only way in which humanity will overcome its flawed nature and its subordination to chaos and decay will be in the willing, perfect sacrifice of Jesus Christ for the “forgiveness of sins.”278 This path to salvation appears unusual, not the path humanity might have expected; were humanity to rely upon its invention, its invented view of reality, it would not look like the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. It represents one of those instances that led Lewis to recognize reality, true reality, as “odd”: “Reality, in fact, is usually something you could not have guessed. That is one of the reasons I believe Christianity. It is a religion you could not have guessed. If it offered us just the kind of universe we had always expected, I should feel we were making it up.” 279
The Matthew account ends with the death and resurrection of Christ, who appears to his disciples and explains, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”280 Christ proposes that his disciples engage in the process he has utilized in his ministry and has made possible through his death and resurrection. They are to disturb the invented realities of those whom they encounter and build within them a view of reality built upon Divine order made possible through one both human and Divine.
Matt. 26:28 ( ESV ). Lewis, 4142. 280 Matt. 28:1820 ( ESV ). 278 279
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From this perspective, one sees the nihilist as a stranger in a strange land, as a person who questions the motives and meaning in the community around him. Perhaps most “nihilists” at heart come from a good place. They want to tear down the system because they perceive the fraud, invention that wanders away from the Divine order (they have yet to identify). Hence, they rebel: "Chekhov's exacting skepticism . . . is not a nihilistic rejection of all notions, but rather an effect of his aversion for lies; a means, grounded in intellectual integrity and reason, of eliminating falsehoods."281 Proper nihilism builds from the individual’s physical experience and relies upon the evidence of this existence to build meaning that not only allows the individual to function, but draws upon a good, superior, infinite, and immutable source (whose effects bear an immutable quality), in a word, the ideal. The “ideal” in literature that features nihilism represents a type of completeness, or wholeness, or realization of the perfect. In most cases, the ideal never fully materializes. It remains distant, out of reach from the characters. They sense they cannot, as they and the world currently exist, grasp hold of it. They long for it, and not recognizing even a narrow path to it, they court meaninglessness. And without the Incarnation, they would be right. The Son of God, also the Son of Man, represents the only means an individual can embrace to attain the ideal and create an ordered reality, a perfect nomos. Christ, the good nihilist, the good shepherd. Once more, imagine a road. The nihilist, having wandered too far to and fro and up and down upon the earth, finds himself alone in a room and staring at nothing through
281
Swift, 177.
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the wall. The room sits on the road amid a maze of other structures, ramshackle things built and rebuilt, new on top old, jutting out, up, down, at times haphazard, at times with an attempt at order, like a runaway maze. He exits the room. The structure collapses. He knocks on another door. It falls. He begins clearing the road so he can see, more and more, pushing down the fragile frames. They fall with a sigh like the sigh from an angry old man, so he keeps knocking them down. Then he reaches a fork. On one side the broad path yawns wide. It slopes down, and beyond a few feet he sees nothing. On the other side lies a narrow path. It ascends. It looks painfully real. The nihilist turns to the broad path and longs to throw himself down. "Turn," Christ says, his hand on the nihilist's back. "That takes it too far." One road, at the fork of distrusting the world, leads to nothing. The other road is the WAY. A nihilist takes the road to nothing. Christ points to the way—the way out of the world (like a nihilist) and into love (like a shepherd). The Christ of the Gospels, on good authority, annihilates the world and replaces it with the Kingdom of Heaven, allowing one to trust life experiences when one encounters the core value of love.
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CHAPTER THREE TOWARDS THE MEANINGFUL: REJECTED NIHILISM IN THE DEATH OF IVAN ILYITCH Christ and nihilist remain at the fork in the road. "Love," the nihilist snorts, and so Christ tells him a parable. It reads like something the nihilist might write, and the nihilist nods as Christ tears down superficiality after superficiality and demonstrates the meaninglessness of a world built with flawed hands. "Wait," Christ says, when the nihilist seems ready to fling himself into nothing once again. The story ends, not with a whimper, but with a brave affirmation in the sanctity of love. Published in 1862, Fathers and Sons by Ivan Turgenev introduced literary audiences to the nihilist Evgeny Bazarov and thus increased the dissemination of a particularly Russian nihilism on its culture and politics, further forming and shaping the concept during the latter half of the nineteenth century. During this period Leo Tolstoy wrote much of his work and was thus aware and in some sense influenced by the movement. Donna Orwin, for instance, in her work discusses a number of important early critics of Tolstoy’s work and their connection between Tolstoy and the movement; one of the first saw Tolstoy “as a divided man, who exposed the false idols of others yet long to replace them with true gods who could withstand his analysis.”282 Or As Richard Pevear
Donna Tussing.Orwin, Tolstoy's Art and Thought, 18471880 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1993), 3. 282
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explains, Tolstoy bears "certain traits of the Russian nihilists of the 1860s," the "heavy rationalism and moralism of the nihilists, their defiant manner, their deliberately crude and emphatic prose style."283 Some of his characters thus think and behave rather like other Russian nihilists. However, beginning in 1869, Tolstoy experienced an existential crisis. He emerged with a Christian faith: ". . . the absolute and revealed nature of the good, the identification of the good with God, the unity and unanimity of mankind in the service of the good—what Tolstoy came to call 'true Christianity.’"284 With his new faith, the repudiated the meaninglessness that nihilism demands in favor of concrete order in God. The Death of Ivan Ilyitch , then, features potentialnihilist Ivan Ilyitch dealing with nihilist concerns but rejecting the abyss in favor of something meaningful. The term “sudden arrest” derives from an idea represented in Franz Kafka’s The Trial . For Ivan Ilyitch in Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilyitch , the arrest comes while he decorates his new apartments and receives an injury: “… he slipped and fell; but, being a strong, dexterous man, he saved himself. He only hit his side on the edge of the frame. He received a bruise, but it quickly passed away. Ivan Ilyitch all this time felt perfectly happy and well.”285 Note specific elements within the citation that connect Ilyitch with his present understanding of life and reality. The text describes him as a “strong, dexterous man,” one who has the ability to control the events in his life, to shape his successes. Safely in the confidence that he can “save” himself, he enjoys a blissful state.
Richard Pevear, preface to What Is Art? by Leo Tolstoy (England: Penguin Books, 1995), xv. Ibid, xii. 285 Leo Tolstoy, The Death of Ivan Ilyitch , trans. Nathan Haskell Dole, in Gateway to the Great Books , ed. Robert M. Hutchins and Mortimer J. Adler, vol. 3 (Thomas Y. Crowell Company; Chicago: Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 1963), 664. 283 284
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The injury comes after a significant personal victory for Ilyitch. Prior to this incident, Ilyitch suffers what he considers a personal and professional slight; his expenses more than his annual salary, he bears the indignity of an inadequate salary and the apparent apathy of his friends and family concerning this. When he receives a new post, along with a new and more appropriate salary, Ilyitch feels redeemed and sets about furnishing his new home for his family. What is ironic, however, is that this incident, at the height of what he believes to be the epitome of his personal and professional career (at least up to this point), marks the beginning of an illness that will eventually claim his life. Tolstoy writes, “It was impossible to see any symptom of illhealth in the fact that Ivan Ilyitch sometimes spoke of a strange taste in his mouth and an uneasiness in the left side of his abdomen.”286 As simple as that, the injury will begin to break down Ilyitch’s understanding of reality. He will attempt to ignore it as long as he can, but the reality of his physical health will not allow him to ignore that “something terrible, novel, and significant, more significant than anything which had ever happened before to Ivan Ilyitch, was taking place in him. And he alone was conscious of it; those who surrounded him did not comprehend, or did not wish to comprehend it, and thought that everything in the world was going on as before.”287 As with other nihilists, the sudden arrest afflicts the individual, and the individual suddenly finds him or herself largely alone while most of the world carries on as before. Such solitude allows the character to more carefully observe and successfully identify various false constructions present within his past life and perpetuated by the people and institutions of his or her own time: invention.
286
Ibid., 667. Ibid., 672.
287
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The concept of invention appears as one of the more prolific elements common to nihilisttype characters. Humanity invents. It attempts to create meaning in manmade constructions, social, political, and economical, and in the end, many times, such constructions prove weak. Before these characters’ sudden arrest, the characters suffer from the illusions invented by their flawed understanding of reality, and following the arrest, the characters must observe and learn from their “new” environment to successfully identify the nature of their culture’s invention. A large portion of The Death of Ivan Ilyitch , in fact, concerns invention. Take, for instance, its opening paragraph, which explains that the narrative first begins at a “great building of the law courts” during a pause, a “standstill.”288 The concept of law and order and authority commonly appears throughout these works that deal with nihilism, standing as one of the more visible images of invention, and invention here does not necessarily suggest a complete nullification of humanity’s attempt to create order or resolve conflict. Rather, the emphasis rests on most of humanity’s mistaken understanding that such organizations always function rightly and in accordance with justice and are not in themselves simply the best (and in many instances, not even the best) method available to deal with flawed and finite humanity. The courts often prove, oddly enough, inhumane. The text will reveal a similar concept later when Ilyitch attempts to diagnose and cure his illness. Again, however, its inclusion at the beginning sets the stage for various struggles with invention throughout the text, for the most part centering on Ivan Ilyitch and how he imagines his world, how “life ought to run, smoothly, pleasantly, and decently.”289
288
Ibid., 646. Ibid., 665.
289
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Ilyitch’s career proves a great source of pride to him, and we observe, from the beginnings of his education to the final post he holds before he dies, a sort of expectancy on his part that his career and all his influences must fall along certain identifiable patterns, especially someone of his social class endowed with ideal characteristics. Attractive to those around him, he first and foremost applies all his talents to fulfilling his duty, and he understands duty, as the text explains, as “all that is considered to be such by men in the highest station.”290 While the text makes it a point to suggest that Ilyitch does not ingratiate himself into the company of the high class as a hangeron might, he nevertheless will attempt in all he does to emulate their example: “…he adopted their ways, their views of life, and entered into relationships of friendship with them.”291 Here we have Ilyitch, then, entering into what he considers his proper society and mimicking their modes of living, thereby adopting their conventional standards as the appropriate way to live. He views their lives as ideal and the natural course of action. As Ilyitch excels in his profession, one sees him conform to the expectations of his office. For instance, during his position as chinovnik and private secretary to the governor, he describes more of the superficial pleasures that coincide with his position of authority. He notes that he has purchased a Scharmer suit, a medal with the inscription “respice finem,”292 which must be for show, as Ilyitch gives no thought to the end of his life until he arrives there, eats dinner with his friends at Donon’s (the name must be important), and takes with him a “new and stylish trunk, linen, uniform, razors, and toilet
290
Ibid., 655. Ibid. 292 Ibid. 291
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articles, and a plaid, ordered or bought at the very best shops.”293 The emphasis here, as elsewhere, appears to be on appearance, on what is fashionable, expected, not what is necessary, useful, or functional. Ilyitch also describes the pleasure of his authority over others and his ability to make them feel inferior and grateful for his attention: “… he liked to make them feel that he, who had the power to crush them, treated them simply, and like friends.”294 All this exists, of course, on a superficial basis, and the good nature of his character lasts only so long as the course of his career proceeds as he feels it should, namely, with increasing title, money, and their accoutrements. One observes his consternation when his previously uninterrupted career suddenly shifts in a way he does not foresee, a slight rocking to his invented view of life: “He was already an old prokuror, having declined several transfers in the hope of a still more desirable place, when there occurred unexpectedly an unpleasant turn of affairs which was quite disturbing to his peaceful life.”295 In his view, he has managed to control his life in such a way that the outcome should be what he desires, and when it is anything but, an instance “far from normal,”296 he panics. Fortunately for him, through a turn of events somewhat reminiscent of the scene where Ilyitch’s colleagues learn of his death and mull ways they might benefit professionally, Ilyitch finds his good fortunes restored when he accepts a superior position. All points in his life once again align as he imagines they should: “All his grievances against his former rivals and against the whole ministry were forgotten, and Ivan Ilyitch was entirely happy.”297 This brief stall, however, reveals the 293
Ibid. Ibid., 657. 295 Ibid., 661. 296 Ibid. 297 Ibid., 662. 294
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weakness within the flawed construction Ilyitch has fashioned for himself, and he will soon discover, as the reader already knows, that his career, despite all his power, money, and influence, cannot save him in the end. Unfortunately, Ilyitch cannot rely on his marriage either. Ilyitch’s perception of “love” and marriage follow much the same line of thinking as his career. Events flow from a sense of expectancy more than genuine internal reflection. In the preamble to his professional ascension and his eventual marriage to Praskovia Feodorovna Mikhel, for instance, he notes a number of superficial dalliances, again linked to a general sort of system of social expectation and demeanor. The narrator explains that “he had maintained relations with one of those ladies who are ready to fling themselves into the arms of an elegant young lawyer.”298 Notice the emphasis on the recognized pattern of social behavior (social convention). This particular group is comprised of women who anticipate not a particular person but a particular office, which they find desirable, so they act upon this presumption, not giving any thought to the individual behind the office. The text continues, “There was also a dressmaker; and there were occasional sprees with visiting flugeladjutants, and visits to some of the outoftheway street after supper; he had also the favor of his chief and even of his chief’s wife, but everything of this sort was attended with such a high tone of good breeding that it could not be qualified by hard names.” All these superficial relationships appear to be unofficially officially recognized by members of each particular group and are thus couched within an acceptable standard of conduct. Even his relationship with his chief and his chief’s wife, elevated to a higher
298
Ibid., 656.
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position given their rank and status, falls along these lines, the discretion correlative to what is socially acceptable. All these descriptions, this history of premarriage behavior, exist within the construct that “squared with the rubric of the French expression, Il faut que jeunesse se passe” [“A man must sow his wild oats.”].299 The behavior and the system that fosters it, however, are nothing more than inventions and their worth illusory. Ilyitch’s attitude continues when he marries. The woman, Praskovia, in fact, appears as the female counterpart to his own station and personality. The text states, “Praskovia Feodorovna Mikhel was the most fascinating, witty, brilliant young girl in the circle where Ivan Ilyitch moved.”300 As the text has already made it clear that Ilyitch possesses certain personality traits that make him an attractive person to those around him, it stands to reason that his wife must also have many of the same qualities in order to fulfill the societal expectation. Again, as with his previous relations, his engagement to Praskovia does not truly present itself in any meaningful way. The text explains, “Ivan Ilyitch had no clearly decided intention of getting married; but when the girl fell in love with him, he asked himself this question: ‘In fact, why should I not get married?’ said he to himself.”301 Ilyitch gives no deep reflection to his interaction with this girl and does not broach the subject of marriage until the prospect of marriage presents itself. Furthermore, when he finally decides to marry her, the reasons for his decision to marry, as one might expect, do not appear meaningful or significant, but merely transitory and specific to the system created and accepted by his particular culture. For example, before the text reveals his decision to marry, he provides a list of information about her that would lend 299
Ibid. (author’s emphasis) Ibid., 657. 301 Ibid., 658. 300
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support to her meeting all the criteria for the culturallyconstructed view of a desirable wife. The text notes she had a “good family belonging to the nobility, far from illfavored, had a small fortune.”302 Essentially, she had money and status. He describes her not as a “brilliant match” but as an “excellent one,”303 failing to pursue any sort of meaningful evaluation. Ultimately, his decision to marry comes down to two primary reasons: that “he gave himself a pleasure in taking such a wife; and, at the same time, the people of the highest rank considered such an act proper.”304 Here, then, we have a particularly strong instance of invention, one that will presage a great deal of doubt and confusion later when obstacles appear that cast doubt on the depth of these artificial constructions upon which he’s built his life. He gives only thought to his pleasure, not the work, demand, and sacrifice that will become apparent when he must pleasure someone other than himself. He also deems the marriage act “proper,”305 not used here to denote any sort of higher act, a fitting act for example, but what his society deems appropriate through habit and group acceptance. One can also observe how the invention transforms when various obstacles present themselves; in this way, common reactions to certain stages of life experiences become invented responses. At first his marriage brings with it all the desirable attributes he had anticipated, a honeymoon indeed. The text states, “So that Ivan Ilyitch began to think that marriage not only was not going to disturb his easygoing, pleasant, gay, and always respectable life, so approved by society, and which Ivan Ilyitch considered a
302
Ibid. Ibid. 304 Ibid. 305 Ibid. 303
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perfectly natural characteristic of life in general, but was also going to add to it.”306 Notice the phrases “approved by society” and “considered a perfectly natural characteristic of life in general,” which stress the nature of the system supposedly in place that Ilyitch, his wife, and members of society must cater to in their decisions. Unfortunately, his marriage does not continue to meet his expectations, as difficulties present themselves when Praskovia becomes pregnant: “… there appeared something new, unexpected, disagreeable, hard, and trying, which he could not have foreseen, and from which it was impossible to escape.” 307 Here “something” takes places that casts doubt on the order with which he has viewed life, and yet, such surprises suggest delusion, as the attimes difficult nature of pregnancy is well documented in nature and human history. Yet, when events and Praskovia do not react as he expected they might, he becomes agitated. He attempts to force events into his previously triedandtrue system, but they fight him. Matters come to a head when the child dies as a result of “various attempts and failures to have it properly nursed, and the illnesses, real and imaginary, of both mother and child.” The child cannot “properly” nurse, meaning there is a prescribed method that infants
308
can and should follow. Yet, the inability on the part of the mother and child do not factor into Ilyitch’s view of life. The reference to illness, too, both “real and imaginary,” foreshadows the eventual physical crisis Ilyitch will face. The death here, however, does not appear to affect him. Indeed, he resolves to adapt his reaction to circumstances and in so doing shift from one invention to the next. The text states that Ilyitch eventually realizes “that married life, while affording certain advantages, was in reality a very 306
Ibid. Ibid. 308 Ibid., 659. 307
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complicated and burdensome thing, in relation to which, if one would fulfill his duty, that is, live respectably and with the approbation of society, one must work out a certain system, just as in public office.”309 Interestingly, the growth here the protagonist appears to undergo does not represent any significant spiritual or emotional maturity, but growth and maturity within the inherentlyflawed construct of society; he simply learns a new sort of invention to cope with changes in his reality. In this he plays upon his notion of professional duty. He isolates himself from any conflict that might crack his painstakinglyerected construct of life. It becomes his goal in “withdrawing as far as possible from these unpleasantnesses, or of giving them a character of innocence and respectability.”310 He conforms to a new, invented conception of reality. Even this, though, his new invention, will shift once his illness forces him to change his perception. Ivan Ilyitch’s illness proves to be the main vehicle to break Ilyitch out the invented lifestyle he has adopted as his own. As previously noted, when he suffers his injury, he shrugs it off as nothing. Recall, the text describes him as a “strong, dexterous man.”311 Once his illnesses progresses to a point where he can no longer ignore it, where it upsets the “pleasant, easygoing, decent life that had been characteristics of the Golovin family,”312 his state forces him to consult medical authorities, and here is where the allusion at the beginning of this discussion to legal authority unites with medical authority to reveal the sham of these organizations’ understanding of their business as a humane enterprise. Ilyitch, first of all, must be convinced that his erratic behavior is
309
Ibid. Ibid., 660. 311 Ibid., 664. 312 Ibid., 667. 310
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irregular: “After one scene in which Ivan Ilyitch was particularly unjust, and which he afterward explained on the ground of his irritability being the result of not being well, she told him that, if he was ill, then he ought to take some medicine; and she begged him to go to a famous physician.”313 A number of remarks within this particularly passage reveal the invented nature of the relationship and their understanding and faith in medical authority. For instance, the text uses the phrase “if he was ill.” Clearly, the nature of their relationship up to this point does not allow them the strength of relationship and communication necessary to truly understand one another. Had they not been so fixated on their invented understanding of life, marriage especially, they might have reached a conclusion that his health was not as it appeared in a much more efficient, heartfelt manner. She also recommends that he “take some medicine,” and of course, within their system of understanding, taking medicine is what one must to do get better, and one will get better if one takes medicine; the idea that medicine cannot address all problems has failed to enter their consciousness. She also recommends that he see a “famous” doctor. Now, what has fame to do with medical efficiency? The implication here appears to be (similarly linked in their perception that higher class denotes higher lifestyles denotes higher, or better, systems of living) that a “famous” doctor owes his repute to the outstanding success rate of his patients. Certainly, positive feedback presents a desirable inducement to seek out and continue to employ the services of a competent physician. The emphasis here, however, appears to be representative of certain attractive qualities within the physician, matters of style or significant personal ethos in the form of
313
Ibid., 668.
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acknowledgements from highly esteemed institutions, not unlike the attractive qualities that Ilyitch and his wife first find in each other. As with all matters invented, however, once pursued and studied, the illusion betrays the weakness of the created system. Consider the description that accompanies his first trip to the doctor: Everything was as he expected: everything was done according to the usual way—the delay; and the pompous doctorial air of importance, so familiar to him, the same as he himself assumed in court; and the tapping and the auscultation; and the leading questions requiring answers predetermined, and apparently not heard; and the look of superlative wisdom which seemed to say, “You, now, just trust yourself to us, and we will do everything; we understand without fail how to manage; everything is done in the same way for any man.”314 Ilyitch’s reaction betrays a possible inkling that his breaking away from convention must be effecting some change, as he perceives in others the same employment of invention as he has previously used in his practice. He “expected” the invented ritual. The “delay,” for instance, references a previous passage wherein he makes those subordinates he interacts with on a professional basis wait for no apparent reason other than to emphasize his power and superiority. Here, the tables reverse themselves. Notice, too, the derisive way Ilyitch takes notice of the “pompous doctorial air.” The pompousness appears ironic given the inadequacies of the person and office (medical office) and Ilyitch’s apparent recognition of this theatrical aspect of one’s profession. The use of “doctorial,” too, alludes to the system of authority that not only trained but granted the doctor the ability to perform as a physician. Now, this does not necessarily mean that doctors are without skill
314
Ibid. (author’s emphasis)
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or that it is not important for accrediting bodies to supervise physician training, but again, here, as elsewhere in the text, such institutions are not treated with the same mature, selfrealization one hopes to find in an individual who has an understanding of reality uncluttered by invention—even the most gifted physician, trained to understand and employ the most uptodate sciences, cannot cure the eventual death of every single individual. As the rest of the passage, suggests, however, the doctor neither recognizes this truth, nor will Ilyitch benefit as a result. The doctor does not appear to genuinely want to know or understand Ilyitch’s plight, as he asks questions he already has the answers to and doesn’t really care to hear anyway. The use of “superlative wisdom,” too, is key to the passage, as it succinctly wraps up the irony of the situation: Ilyitch has gone to the physician for care (not only medical), but the physician clearly lacks the training and knowledge to help Ilyitch in any meaningful way. Indeed, what Ilyitch most desperately wants is an answer to a single question: “Was his case dangerous, or not?”315 The doctor, however, appears unable or unwilling to answer what Ilyitch imagines the doctor considers an “inconvenient question.”316 The doctor pays no attention to the whole body, the person, but the individual parts, and again, Ilyitch notes in the doctor the same sort of insensitivity Ilyitch himself has displayed in the past. The doctor believes, as Ilyitch once believed, that death does not concern him: “From the doctor’s resume, Ivan Ilyitch came to the conclusion that, as far as he was concerned, it was bad; but as far as the doctor, and perhaps the rest of the world, was concerned, it made no difference; but for him it was bad!”317 The system, the 315
Ibid., 669. Ibid. 317 Ibid. 316
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system to which Ilyitch still yearns to prescribe to in his life but is prevented from doing so as a result of his illness, does not allow for the infiltration of death or deep, meaningful thoughts connected to death. Still, now finding himself in such a situation where the invented system no longer works, no longer brings him comfort, he cannot help but press the doctor for a more firm answer of his condition. The text states, “‘I have already told you what I considered necessary and suitable,’ said the doctor; ‘a further examination will complete the diagnosis’; and the doctor bowed out.”318 The doctor does not answer because he cannot answer. He either cannot give much thought to or proves incapable of cutting through the convention and providing an honest answer: he may suspect but does not know the cause of the illness, and Ilyitch may very well die. This same sort of holding on to convention presents itself in Ilyitch’s wife and daughter. The text states that the daughter “sat down with evident disrelish to listen to this wearisome tale, but she was not detained long; her mother did not hear him out.”319 Again, the condition of their marriage and family life make any sort of genuine communication difficult, and their responses clearly indicate that they do not view this illness as something truly significant that will alter their modes of life. (The wife does, in fact, muse earlier in the text that she might be happier should her husband die, but she cannot fully commit to this idea since his death would remove the benefit of his paycheck; she imagines a more pleasant scenario, but cannot remove security and luxury from her system.) The natural order (again, as the characters see it) suggests that if one goes to the doctor and takes one’s medicine as the doctor strictly allows, then one will
318
Ibid. Ibid., 670.
319
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improve—like Ilyitch’s career. “‘Well,’ said she,” the wife states, continuing, “‘I am very glad, for now you will be careful, and take your medicine properly. Give me the prescription, and I will send Gerasim to the apothecary’s.’”320 The text offers no indication that the wife has truly listened to his account at all; she has responded as unsatisfactorily as the doctor. The breakdown of medical authority continues as Ilyitch puts greater and greater attention on solving his medical dilemma and constantly comes up empty. Again, as stated previously, despite scientific advancement, humanity proved overconfident in what it believed science could provide; they could not fathom that it could not always furnish a solution. For instance, following his doctor’s appointment, Ilyitch begins following the doctor’s orders as closely as he can, again, to no effect. Reality does not follow the way he clearly imagines his invented reality would: “It was impossible to trace it back to the doctor, but the result was that what the doctor said to him did not take place. Either had had forgotten or neglected or concealed something from him.”321 Ilyitch appears so flabbergasted that the effect does not follow the cause (improvement upon taking one’s medicine), that he points to neglect or intentional concealment: invented health, firmly entrenched. Thus, despite “celebrity” upon “celebrity,”322 numerous doctor visits and diagnoses, and a substantial amount of medication, Ilyitch draws ever closer to the realization that nothing can prevent the illness he has succumbed to from killing him. As the narrative nears its end, Ilyitch moves closer to death, and the text reveals that the culture’s religious institutions have been affected by invention like everything 320
Ibid. Ibid. 322 Ibid., 671. 321
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else. This actually manifests at the very beginning of the text during Ivan Ilyitch’s funeral: “Piotr Ivanovitch entered, having that feeling of uncertainty, ever present under such circumstances, as to what would be the proper thing to do.”323 Ivanovitch’s “uncertainty” draws attention to the spotlight death has cast on the invented system. Ivanvitch does not know what to do because he does not feel connected to death, that it is “some accident peculiar to Ivan Ilyitch alone, and absolutely remote from himself.”324 He perceives a sort of ritual, not quite religious, not quite polite, so he makes a vaguely spirituallooking gesture while politely entering the room. The text describes his action thusly: “But he knew that in such circumstances the sign of the cross never came amiss. As to whether he ought to make a salutation or not, he was not quite sure; and he therefore took a middle course. As he went into the room, he began to cross himself, and, at the same time, he made an almost imperceptible inclination.”325 His awkwardness comes from his inability to react in a culture whose system doesn’t truly allow for death in everyday life. The religious gesture has no meaning; his motivation is based on what people might think, not his own mortality or concern for the dead. The description of a religious official, too, paints the religious authority present in the same light as medical and legal authorities: “A heartylooking, energetic sacristan in a frock was reading something in a loud voice, with an expression which forbade all objection.”326 The use of “sacristan” of course suggests ritual, and the text has clearly demonstrated a series of rituals without in substantive force, and the official’s demeanor, much like Ilyitch at law
323
Ibid., 648. Ibid., 652. 325 Ibid., 648. 326 Ibid. 324
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or the doctor at medicine, appears to suggest an authority distant from humanity. More significant than this instance, however, comes at the end near Ilyitch’s death when his wife impresses upon him the need for last rites. The text states, “His wife came to him, and said: ‘Jean, darling, do this for me (for me!). It cannot do any harm, and sometimes it helps. Why, it is a mere nothing. And often well people try it.’”327 His wife approaches him in a tender way, perhaps the most tender we have seen her within the text, but she does not appear to have a firm understanding of the connection between life and genuine faith, noting the sacrament is a “mere nothing” and other people “try it.” Perhaps one of the more suggestive elements is the repetition of the phrase “( for me! ),”328 which Tolstoy uses with particular emphasis, suggesting the sacrament may be more for her peace of mind than for the sake of his soul. Yet, whether it simply helps her create a religious scene or not remains unclear, though the text suggests the former. For instance, after he has taken the sacrament, the text notes how she comes to “congratulate him” and says the “customary words.”329 These terms, “customary” especially, resemble past allusions to conventional thinking, and indeed, her reaction to his answer suggests that she still firmly attaches herself to such conventions: “Her hope, her temperament, the expression of her face, the sound of her voice, all said to him one thing: ‘Wrong! All that for which thou hast lived, and thou livest, is falsehood, deception, hiding from thee life and death.’”330 Thus, in advising him to take the sacrament, his wife presents yet another instance of conforming to convention, and in addition, in his acceptance of it, Ilyitch once
327
Ibid., 696. Ibid. 329 Ibid. 330 Ibid., 697. 328
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again succumbs to the temptation to follow the crowd, the realization of which causes him again more distress and pain. Acquiescence to religious authority, without sincerity, proves as hollow as other conventions. Throughout the text, then, invention appears markedly in the forms of Ivan Ilyitch’s career, marriage, health, and official institutions. In the first half of the tale, excluding the introductory information concerning Piotr Ivanovitch, the text concerns itself with relating the course of Ilyitch’s life up to the point of the injury and subsequent illness in order to demonstrate his adhesion to many of the conventions of his society: he becomes deeply invested in his invented reality. The latter half of the story recounts the eventual breakdown of his dependence in greater and greater detail as the level of intensity escalates until, at last, he must face death, in both a figurative and literal sense. Eventually, the disease reaches such a state that Ilyitch can no longer ignore or honestly believe that any of the medications or treatments prescribed to him will have any sort of benefit whatsoever. The text states, “Yes, once there was life; but now it is passing way, passing away, and I cannot hold it back. Yes. Why deceive oneself? It is not evident to every one, except myself, that I am going to die? And it is only a question of weeks, of days … maybe instantly.”331 Such dialogue marks the beginning of his struggle to accept death. The prospect of it frightens him of course, and he wonders, “I shall not be, but what will be? There will be nothing. Then, where shall I be when I am no more?”332 His imminent death threatens him with nihilism; he will cease to exist, be nothing. Having lived his life superficially, such existence must cast doubt on the nature of his existence
331
Ibid., 676. Ibid.
332
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after his body dies, and again, recall that none of his relationships, either with his family or associates or with the institutions of his world, have prepared him to seriously answer with confidence any of these questions. In fact, the inability of those around him remains one of his foremost struggles. He states, “Yes, death! And they know nothing about it, and wish to know nothing about it; and they do not pity me. They are playing.”333 Much like his conversations with others during his legal work, and the doctor’s conversations with him during the physical examinations, and his interactions with his wife in discussing his illness, his burgeoning realization presents a problem in that he becomes separate from those around him, those who are mostly still firmly trapped within convention. Yet, Ilyitch recognizes, even if they do not, that they shall die. His reference to “playing” is also important, as it connects a type of invention within the text to Ilyitch and various other characters. In one particular instance (described before his illness begins), Ilyitch notes his fondness for card playing. He takes pleasure in such activity because it is a contained, controlled environment with easilyunderstood rules, and he successfully plays it. A comfortable ritual for him, he feels a sense of contentment before, during, and after he plays because it follows a certain pattern. He especially enjoys playing following “any disagreeable event,”334 anything that troubles the otherwise proper course of his life. They must have four players; too few and they cannot play; more than two appears an uncomfortable interruption wherein one is made to politely invite in the additional players. The game must be “reasonable” and “serious,”335 as anything that goes against the rules or would make the game taxing would 333
Ibid. Ibid., 667. 335 Ibid. 334
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ruin the purity of the game. The game must then end with something pleasant to eat and drink. He must also win “a little something,”336 again, because either extreme, truly bad or truly great luck, would be seen as a sort of malfunction in the system; the system is not running as it ought. Thus, the ritual comforts him and allows him to successfully spend a determinate amount of time, beginning to end, exercising reasonable, understandable rules. When the game ends, he can feel satisfied. Unfortunately, the satisfaction he feels before, during, and after the game proves artificial, and as soon as he can no longer play, the game becomes disagreeable. Thus, angry that he can no longer play, he rebels against those who can. Ilyitch’s illhealth forces him to realize his own mortality, and in recognizing his own mortality, he begins to slowly break down many of the assumption that have governed his life up to this point. He fights against this transformation, hoping to “restore the former current of feeling which put death out of sight,”337 until at last death arrives. He attempts to attend court, conducting business as he has in the past. The text states that his injury suddenly ignites, distracting the business of his work: “Ivan Ilyitch perceived it, tried to turn his thoughts from it; but it took its course, and DEATH came up and stood directly before him, and gazed at him: and he was stupefied; the fire died out in his eyes, and he began once more to ask himself; ‘Is there nothing true save IT?’”338 The appearance of death marks an important turn of events for Ilyitch. Following its introduction, the question no longer appears whether Ilyitch will die, but when. The question of truth, too, draws upon a special relationship between death and invention, as 336
Ibid. Ibid., 679. 338 Ibid., author’s capitalization. 337
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the presence of death suddenly dispels the desire for and the delusion under invented reality. Ilyitch finally recognizes invention as “the lie.”339 What Tolstoy identifies as the “the lie” functions on two intrinsicallylinked levels. First, the lie represents everyone’s inability to admit that he, Ivan Ilyitch, will die soon. Yet, the identification of this particular invention as “a lie” also encompasses to a greater extent all invention present throughout the text. Ilyitch not only denounces the lie, the invention that he will live, but also all invention, that for the greater extent of his life, he has not lived in a genuine, real way: Ivan Ilyitch’s chief torment was a lie—the lie somehow accepted by everyone, that he was only sick, but not dying, and that he needed only to be calm, and trust to the doctors, and then somehow he would come out all right. But he knew that, whatever was done, nothing would come of it, except still more excruciating anguish and death. And this lie tormented him; it tormented him that they were unwilling to acknowledge what all knew as well as he knew, but preferred to lie to him about his terrible situation, and made him also a party to this lie. This lie, this lie, it clung to him, even to the very evening of his death; this lie, tending to reduce the strange, solemn act of his death to the same level as visits, curtains, sturgeon for dinner—it was horribly painful for Ivan Ilyitch.340 In refusing to accept Ilyitch’s imminent demise, not only do they fail to recognize the obvious, ignoring him in a sense and reducing the value of his existence (at least as he must see it), increasing his discomfort, but, given the use of “solemn,” they also rob him of supremely important and dignified exit from this world. His death is not another legal case, doctor’s visit, decoration, or daily custom, but an important, unique, and personal event in the life of one individual, something opposing convention. Having finally identified invention for what it is, “the lie,” Ilyitch sets about 339
Ibid., 683. Ibid.
340
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moving backwards, dissecting his life and pinning down those elements of invented reality. The text states, “And he began to call up in his imagination the best moments of his pleasant life. But, strangely enough, all these best moments of his pleasant life seemed to him absolutely different from what they had seemed then—all, except the earliest remembrances of his childhood.”341 As he runs through his experiences, his introduction to law school, his time in the governor’s service, and his marriage, he realizes how much time, energy, and money he has wasted on superficial pursuits that now, under the shadow of death, reveal their diminished worth. He wonders, “What is this? Why? It cannot be! It cannot be that life has been so irrational, so disgusting.”342 The only element for which he finds any sort of significance is those experiences that take place in his youth. From his youth forward, he notes a continually decline into great and greater waste and meaninglessness, as we have clearly observed in the text’s description of his life: his ascent to power (his actual descent to worthlessness). For instance, he notes during law school that “there was still something even then which was truly good,” and he notes “gaiety,” “friendship,” and “hopes.”343 The higher up into society he reaches, however, the less these appear in frequency. He thinks back to “recollections of love for a woman,” but then explains that “all this became confused, and the happy time grew less.” Eventually, almost totally void of anything good or valuable, he ends in his present
344
state. His musings coalesce into one significant question: “Can it be that I did not live as I ought?”345 Such a simple question, and yet, the question never occurs to him throughout 341
Ibid., 691. Ibid., 692. 343 Ibid. 344 Ibid. 345 Ibid. 342
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his life, except when it is ending. This question, too, he fights in answering, until at last, unable to mount a defense, he accepts the truth, that “there was nothing to defend.”346 He accepts that much of his life has been dominated by bad invention. At this point it becomes beneficial to discuss invention as it concerns those around him and focus upon yet another nihilist concern, the presence of female companions. These “women helpers,”347 so named in The Trial , are women who bear some significant connection to the typicallymale protagonists, though they vary distinctly from work to work. Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilyitch follows a similar pattern, as the narrative primarily centers on its male protagonist. Indeed, even to a lesser extent, the work appears directed mainly towards men (the inclusion of Piotr Ivanovitch for example). Women have a definite place in Ilyitch’s journey, most notably in the person of his wife, Praskovia. but interestingly, Tolstoy appears to locate the ideal more within Gerasim, the simple peasant who lives in a concrete, genuine manner. Again, though the tale devotes itself almost totally to his perspective, we have at various times indications that she also experiences invention, its characterization more in tune with the cultural conventions specific to her sex. Consider the context in which Ilyitch makes what he describes as the “conquest of Praskovia Feodorovna.”348 Given his position at the time he meets Praskovia, he deliberately chooses special occasions in which to dance. In this way he conjoins to popular sentiment but also exhibits a sort of superiority and distinctiveness from those around him. Praskovia becomes his frequent
346
Ibid., 696. Kafka, 107. 348 Tolstoy, 658. 347
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dance partner. The text then notes: “She fell in love with him.”349 She participates in this social ritual, choosing a partner, first in dance and then in marriage, that she finds agreeable: what she considers a proper course. Yet, much as Ilyitch eventually discovers, what she imagines and the reality of what takes place conflict. We have knowledge of this from his perspective: “His wife, without any motive, as it seemed to Ivan Ilyitch, de gaite de coeur , as he said to himself, began to interfere with the pleasant and decent current of his life; without any cause she grew jealous of him, demanded attentions from him, found fault with everything, and caused him disagreeable and stormy scenes.”350 Firmly trapped within his own invention, he cannot see her plight either, and though he notes he cannot find any apparent motive for her strange behavior, the above statement follows a description of severe complications in her pregnancy, complications that will eventually continue after the birth of the child and lead to its death. Her response, her turmoil, suggests that she, too, suffers from invention and appears as ignorant of her husband’s struggle as he is of hers. Yet, as his ignorant conformance degrades and the closer he comes to death, the more cognizant he becomes of his past failures and, integrally linked to these, his failed relationships with other people. Here Tolstoy’s use of invention, beginning in Ilyitch but reaching out to the other characters, meets the final and perhaps most important concept particular to nihilist characters: the ideal. For much of The Death of Ivan Ilyitch , the characters work and plan under the mistaken assumption that what they invent represents the ideal. Ilyitch discovers, as the
349
Ibid. Ibid., 658659.
350
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women in Three Sisters know, that all these pursuits, his work, his marriage, and his status (as he sees them), will prove fruitless in the end: not the ideal. Yet, each of these works attempts to draw close to the ideal. The characters chase after it, fight to nail it down, and often what happens, what takes place, is the text ends or leaves the reader in such a state that he or she must make the final determination. Still, almost universally, we see this straining after the ideal. We observe this in the death of Ivan Ilyitch. Near death, having finally accepted that most of his life has been ignorantly constructed, he experiences what it means to physically die: “He fought as one condemned to death fights in the hands of the hangman, knowing that he cannot save himself, and at every moment he felt that, notwithstanding all the violence of his struggle, he was nearer and nearer to that which terrified him.”351 Ilyitch begins to die, envisioning a “black hole,” 352 a void, a nothingness, but he feels he cannot finish his course because of the wrongful confession he makes during the sacrament his wife presses upon him. Then “some force knocked him in the breast,”353 and he enters the hole, where he makes a realization: “‘Yes, all was wrong,’ he said to himself; ‘but that is nothing. I might, I might have done right. What is right?’ he asked himself, and suddenly stopped.’”354 He enters the hole, and admits he has not lived life well. At this time an important incident takes place. His youngest child enters the room (and the reader should remember the importance Ilyitch has placed upon his youth) and grieves for his father’s death, something Ilyitch has wanted throughout his experience and has only received from one
351
Ibid., 697. Ibid. 353 Ibid. 354 Ibid., 698. 352
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other person, Gerasim. Tolstoy's Gerasim embodies characteristics of the ideal within these works as perhaps no other one does, with the exception of Lewis' That Hideous Strength . Tolstoy describes Gerasim, who "always came to set things to rights," as a "clean, ruddy young muzhik, who had grown stout in waiting on the table in the city houses. He was always festive, always serene. From the very first, the sight of this man, always so neatly attired in his Russian costume, engaged in this repulsive task, made Ivan Ilyitch ashamed."355 Gerasim is always characterized as clean and robust in health and spirit, with the implication that his wholeness stems from his appropriate relationship between himself, the real world, and the Divine, and the contrast bothers Ilyitch because it reveals the artificiality of his life and how it has affected his family. The text reads, “The little student seized it [Ilyitch’s hand], pressed it to his lips, and burst into tears,”356 perhaps one of the few instances of genuine, loving, humane emotion. As a result of the boy’s presence and behavior, Ilyitch responds: “It was at this very same time that Ivan Ilyitch fell through, saw the light, and it was revealed to him that his life had not been as it ought, but that still it was possible to repair it.”357 The text then notes that Ilyitch observes his son and then his wife when she enters, and that he “felt sorry”358 for both of them. He then attempts to say “Prosti—Forgive”359 to them. Now, he makes a mistake, saying the wrong word, but that shows little effect to him. He means to say forgiveness: “He felt sorry for them; he felt that he must do something to
355
Ibid., 681. Ibid. 357 Ibid. 358 Ibid. 359 Ibid. 356
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make it less painful for them. To free them, and free himself, from these torments, ‘How good and how simple!’ he thought.”360 Once he utters forgiveness, the text then describes a remarkable experience. Having absolutely been terrified of death throughout the narrative, he no longer fears death. The text states, “There was no fear, because there was no death. In place of death was light! ‘Here is something like!’ he suddenly said aloud. ‘What joy!’”361 Certainly, light and joy appear far removed from the ghastly image of death that has haunted Ilyitch throughout the narrative. What he appears to experience, whatever it is (as what it is exactly remains veiled from the reader), appears a good, warm, and noninvented experience: the ideal. Light replaces the nothing he once feared. Still, the text ends ambiguously; the audience cannot determine what Ilyitch experiences for certain, but must reason it out with the knowledge gained through learning about Ilyitch’s failures. The other characters, too, must do this. They must understand what Ilyitch now knows, what Gerasim, who is immune to the lie,362 seems to already know: “We shall all die. Then, why should I not serve you?”363 For this reason, Tolstoy begins the narrative with Piotr Ivanovitch’s experience at Ivan Ilyitch’s funeral when he observes the body: “On his [Ilyitch’s] face was an expression signifying that what was necessary to do, that had been done, and had been done in due form. Besides this, there was in his expression a reproach or warning to the living.”364 Ivan Ilyitch has died, as all men and women must do. In knowing and understanding this, then, men and women should alter their lives to avoid as much invented reality as possible. Will they
360
Ibid. Ibid., 699. 362 Ibid., 683. 363 Ibid., 684. 364 Ibid., 649. 361
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fail, perhaps in many ways, but clearly, to live well in the knowledge of this realization proves better than to live poorly without it. Leo Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilyitch features many of the same elements specific to works featuring nihilist concerns. Like them it observes a pattern for a reassessment of reality that results in identifying if not casting out delusional, weak, or superficial concepts, with the need to reconcile the problem of the ideal suffusing the activity. Where many of the other texts remain silent, however, Ivan Ilyitch more clearly suggests a paradigm wherein an ultimate reality rectifies and offers rebirth to human activity. That paradigm largely finds presence in the character of Gerasim. Tolstoy's decision to tie the ideal so closely to the peasant likely connects to the shift his crisis took shortly after his conversion. He found within the Orthodox Church certain falsities that unfortunately created a real conflict with him and organized Christianity and contributed to what Pevear identifies as a "form of Christian anarchism." Pevear explains, "The good, he believed, would lead mankind eventually to a stateless, egalitarian, agrarian society of nonsmoking, teetotal vegetarians dressed as peasants and practicing chastity before and after marriage. This would be the Kingdom of God on earth." 365 One can see in Gerasim the seeds of such a society. Tolstoy thus rejects the nihilism that would destroy all meaning, but his hesitancy in adopting a fullon, naturalsupernatural Christ perhaps links to the limited view of Christianity that would characterize his later views. "Tolstoy's reason rejected the mystical structure of reality embodied in what he called 'Church Christianity,’"366 Pevear states. In this refutation of
Pevear, xiv. Ibid., xxi.
365 366
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the mystical, Pevear sees in Tolstoy the reason that Tolstoy "goes further than the nihilists dared to go. He negates more," and also the reason that his views on aesthetics prove more radical since he "conceived his mission in religious terms."367 Pevear emphasizes, "Tolstoy's heaven is empty."368 The Death of Ivan Ilyitch draws close, then, toward the meaningful, but it remains incomplete because it does not fully realize True authority, one immanent and transcendent, particular and universal, one that remains solely possible through the existence of the Word, God Incarnate.
367
Ibid., xvixvii. Ibid., xxii.
368
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CHAPTER FOUR THE GOD WHO WAS AND WASN’T THERE: CHRISTIAN NIHILISM IN FLANNERY O’CONNOR’S WISE BLOOD The nihilist remains unconvinced. "I prefer nothing." And Christ explains; he really wouldn't. And so Christ tells him another story. He puts his arm around the nihilist's shoulder and points at nothing down the road. The nihilist looks and attempts to see. "This," Christ says, "is what lies at the end of the road. This is what you'll find, not at the very end, but right before the end, if you decide to take this path without me." Wise Blood , written by the faithful Flannery O'Connor, ironically enough presents one of the bleakest narratives within the texts discussed here, at least in terms of the explicit, literal material that makes up the narrative. Generally filled with fat, ugly, uncharitable characters seemingly dominated by their limited perceptions of reality, the wonderfully grotesque novel offers an explicit, powerful example of a work of Christian nihilism, a posture that remains fully aware of the void but ultimately finds meaning in Christ. As Wood argues: “. . . Flannery O’Connor’s work constitutes a massive assault on Christian presumption, even as it serves as a splendid summons to skeptics, halfbelievers, and unbelievers alike to join the glad way of the gospel.”369 The “comic novel,” as O'Connor identifies it, a text heavy laden with biblical imagery, follows
Wood, FOCS , x.
369
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wouldbe nihilist Hazel Motes, a man whose “integrity” stems from his inability to “get rid of the ragged figure [of Christ] who moves from tree to tree in the back of his mind,” 370
as he attempts to remove the keystone that makes any sort of meaning possible. The
genius behind and within the text is the absolute certainty assumed by its author (and to some extent apprehended if not acknowledged by the reader) in the Incarnation as a historical, natural, and supernatural fact, a supreme reality. The importance of the Incarnation as the dominating factor in O’Connor’s work is the focus of Christina Bieber Lake in her book The Incarnational Art of Flannery O’Connor , where she explains that O’Connor “both desired and expected to produce work that would offend.”371 To do so represented a deliberate attempt to meet the limitations of secularized culture and watereddown Christianity in a truly artistic fashion. Lake quotes a letter from The Habit of Being on the unfortunate dependence of American faith on “words” instead of “presence”372: “One of the effects of modern liberal Protestantism has been gradually to turn religion into poetry and therapy, to make truth vaguer and vaguer and more and more relative, to banish intellectual distinctions, to depend on feeling instead of thought, and gradually to come to believe that God has no power, that he cannot communicate with us, cannot reveal himself to us, indeed has not done so, and that religion is our own sweet invention.”373 The sort of environment, or invention, O’Connor describes she depicts in Wise Blood , and through such a depiction,
Flannery O'Connor, author's note to the second edition, Wise Blood (New York: Harcourt, Brace & Co., 1952; New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1990), 6. 371 Christina Bieber Lake, The Incarnational Art of Flannery O’Connor (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 2005) , 2. 372 Ibid., 4. 373 Flannery O’Conner, The Habit of Being , Vintage Books edition (New York: Random House, 1980), 469. 370
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she hopes to emphasize its failings. Lake makes the important declaration about O’Connor: “She leveled that attack [on the “religion of the self”] by always insisting on the Incarnation as a factual reality that lies not in the stories, as if artificially inserted, bust as a fixed point outside of them, upon which everything turns.”374 Thus, Lake identifies the Incarnation within her work as something real “in space and time”375 that acts not as a “balancing fulcrum but a displacing one, and the displacement is always by means of an actual body,” and the body in O’Connor’s stories “serve always to remind characters and readers of what the Incarnation validates—the inescapable reality of human embodiment.”376 Indeed, one might find it helpful to keep in mind certain facets of the Incarnation expounded upon by St. Athanasius in order to better approach O'Connor. Athanasius, for instance, focuses on the central importance of Christ as not only a means to creation but as the only avenue of meaningful return to appropriate creation under God. He highlights Christ as the principal system of order: “But, being good, he governs and establishes the whole world through his Word, who is himself God, in order that creation, illumined by the leadership, providence and the ordering of the Word, may be able to remain firm….” 377
Since Christ provides such a central position in terms of existence, anything that draws
one away from this reality ultimately forces the person onto rickety, unsustainable ground. He states, “For the nature of created things, having come into being from
374
Lake, 8. (author’s emphasis) Ibid., 7. 376 Ibid., 9. (author’s emphasis) 377 Athanasius, Against the Gentiles , quoted in Athanasius, On the Incarnation , translated by John Behr (New York: St. Vladimir's Seminary Press, 2011), 31. 375
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378
nothing, is unstable, and is weak and mortal when considered by itself.” Reality divorced from Christ lacks the ability to support itself and dissolves into a sort of anomy: 379
“corruption into nonbeing.” Christ appears not simply useful in understanding the world, but vital to it, inseparable from it. “But when humans despised and overturned the comprehension of God,” as Athanasius explains, humanity lost this correct perspective, 380
and “death reigned.” Humanity, then, having taken its eyes off God, attempts to form a 381
meaningful order on its own. Athanasius locates this “invention” principally in terms of idol worship, but the extension to other humane activity proves easily accomplished. Again, it is Christ's importance in terms of total existence that allows even the contradiction of such terms to promote greater evidence for the reality allowed and offered by the Incarnation: . . . for the more he is mocked by unbelievers by so much he provides a greater witness of his divinity, because what human beings cannot understand as impossible, these he shows to be possible (cf. Matt 19.26), and what human beings mock as unseemly, these he renders fitting by his own goodness, and what human beings through sophistry laugh at as merely human, these by his power he shows to be divine, overturning the illusion of idols by his own apparent degradation through the cross, invisibly persuading those who mock 382 and disbelieve to recognize his divinity and his power. O'Connor undertakes something similar; she meaningfully and artistically presents a deformed, exaggerated perspective that by its ugliness suggests the beautiful. Her dark style, in fact, accounts for much of the reason her work finds such connectivity to the work of Franz Kafka. In “Flannery & Franz: Tracing the Kafkaesque Influences on
378
Ibid. Athanasius, On the Incarnation , translated by John Behr (New York: St. Vladimir's Seminary Press, 2011), 53. 380 Ibid. 381 Ibid., 49. 382 Ibid. 379
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O’Connor’s Wise Blood ,” Jordan Cofer explores those areas in which the two authors coincide—and those in which they don’t, writing for clearly distinct purposes. Cofer draws a connection between Josef K. in The Trial (and other similar Kafka characters) and Hazel Motes in that K. pits himself “futilely against some unseen force,” and “it is this same conflict, specifically Hazel’s crusade against Christ and his ultimate failure to deny Christ’s existence, which elicits comparisons to Kafka.”383 Significantly, though, the futility comes from the bedrock certain in the realness of Jesus Christ. Thus, as Cofer explains, “. . . Hazel’s futility is ultimately the redemptive theme of the novel.” 384 Hence, O'Connor introduces the audience to a text highly charged with figurative meaning that prompts and demands discernment and is filled with characters with varying degrees of insight and ignorance concerning a dysfunctional world impossible to conceive and make sense of without some steadying hand to hold the framework in place. The process Motes begins only results in making the reality of Christ clearer to the reader, if not to many of its characters. Remove the agent that determines value, and suffer the consequences. Again, the attempt to remove something and replace it with nothing results in a bloated, distorted view of reality. "Listen,” Motes declares at the beginning of his mission to refute meaning in Christ, “get this: I don't believe in anything."385 Yet, the total absence of Christ, impossible to effect completely—the suggestion of the absence of Christ—results in nothing more than greater emphasis of his presence.
Jordan Cofer, “Flannery & Franz: Tracing the Kafkaesque Influences on O’Connor’s Wise Blood, ” in Wise Blood: A Reconsideration , ed. John J. Han (New York: Rodopi, 2011), 169. 384 Ibid., 170. 385 Ibid., 32. 383
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Like those works previously discussed, O'Connor's Wise Blood includes a sudden arrest. The novel actually suggests at least three distinct arrests concerning different characters, the first and perhaps most significant arrest, at least as it influences the course of the novel, belonging to the main protagonist Hazel Motes. At the beginning of the novel, the young man sits on a train bound for Taulkinham, Tennessee, across from a 386
woman who says to him, “I guess you’re going home.” Motes, in fact, has only recently returned home from military action, and it is clear the events of the last four years have proven traumatic and prompted the arrest that will initiate the events of the narrative. For instance, Stacey Peebles in her “He’s Huntin Something: Hazel Motes as Exsoldier” for this reason identifies Wise Blood as a “war novel” and Mote’s experiences in World War II as the “catalyst” for his “struggle to come to terms with his 387
own identity, …” The reader learns that prior to enlistment Motes grew up in a strongly religious family, but not strong in the sense of genuine spiritual maturity, but rather, in the ardency of its interpretation of faith. Motes describes his preacher grandfather, for instance, as a “waspish old man who had ridden over three counties with Jesus hidden in his head like a 388
stinger.” The notion of an angry, unChristlike grandfather inflicting pain on those to whom he preaches follows a significant theme throughout the text that depicts dubious characters at times speaking the Gospel truth (whether the characters realize it or not) but failing to truly adopt the transformative power of Christ into their lives. The grandfather
386
O’Connor, 10. Stacey Peebles, “He’s Huntin Something: Hazel Motes as Exsoldier,” in Wise Blood: A Reconsideration , ed. John J. Han (New York: Rodopi, 2011), 371. 388 Ibid., 20. 387
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would preach the “soulhungry” Jesus who had “died to redeem them!” but call out his grandson in the crowd for whom he a “particular disrespect … because his own face was 389
repeated almost exactly in the child’s and seemed to mock him.” The angry grandfather preaches a Christ whose existence means a return to God, but he angrily strikes out at a relative because that relative reminds him of his own inadequacy. Even then the boy who “knew by the time he was twelve years old that he was going to be a preacher” appears to prompt within others, perhaps uncomfortably so, some sort of question of spirituality or 390
mortality. Readers should note the connection here of Motes to a “shrike,” a bird that typically casts its prey upon thorns in order to later consume it. From his childhood Motes grafts upon himself a sort of urgency in terms of his spiritual condition: “There was already a deep black wordless conviction in him that the 391
way to avoid Jesus was to avoid sin.” Clearly, the idea that a person might somehow put off the need for Christ by relentless, pristine conduct proves ridiculous and counter to the basic tenets of Christian theology, which advocates that humanity’s inability to wholly correct itself supports and demands salvation through Christ. A deep, mature knowledge of theology within the characters appears noticeably absent from the text however, as Motes “had gone to a country school where he had learned to read and write 392
but that it was wiser not to.” The only book he does appear to read is the Bible, and yet, he does so only sparingly and always through his mother’s lenses, which aren’t suited for his eyes and prevent any sort of real apprehension. He grows up, then,
Ibid., 22. Ibid., 10. 391 Ibid., 22. 392 Ibid., 23. 389 390
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entrenched within the culture of Eastrod, Tennessee, and expresses little desire to break out of the boundaries created there. The text states, “Where he wanted to stay was in Eastrod with his two eyes open, and his hands always handling the familiar thing, his feet 393
on the known track, and his tongue not too loose.” Motes would rather his understanding of reality remain undisturbed. The possibility for anything different than this particular paradigm unsettles him, and nothing proves more unsettling than Christ. For him Christ represents the ultimate unknown: “Later he saw Jesus move from tree to tree in the back of his mind, a wild ragged figure motioning him to turn around and come off into the dark where he was not sure of his footing, where he might be walking on the 394
water and not know it and then suddenly know it and drown.” The image here of a Christ always present in the background, of a figure whose relationship to the individual suggests not only allure but the potential for great, irreversible change—and fear—is highly significant, as it will be the figure he cannot escape during the narrative. In the end the war forces a more direct confrontation with the figure of Christ. 395
Before he leaves, he views the war “as a trick to lead him into temptation,” which hints at his suspicion that the war, in terms of violence and the subsequent “soldier” culture that typically accompanies conflict, might disturb his invented view of reality. The war would make it incredibly difficult to avoid sin (and thus avoid Christ). He describes one incident in which he refuses his fellow soldiers’ invitation to a brothel, as he “was not 396
going to have his soul damned by the government or any foreign place …” The event,
Ibid., 22. Ibid. 395 Ibid., 23. 396 Ibid., 24. 393 394
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however, proves too damaging. Four years, two separate campaigns, and a terrible injury 397
that leaves shrapnel in his chest, “there, rusted, and poisoning him,” results in what he considers the realization that he has no soul and Jesus is not who he claims to be. Those four years allow him sufficient opportunity to “study his soul in and assure himself that it 398
was not there.” The realization that he need not think of himself in spiritual terms proves appealing to him, for losing his soul in a spiritual sense would suggest the degradation of his soul and eventual damnation. In order to remove the sentence the idea of sin places upon him—one immediately calls to mind Josef K.’s “crime”—one must excise the reality that suggests humanity exists in such a condition necessary to receive salvation: “… he saw the opportunity here to get rid of it [his soul] without corruption, to 399
be converted to nothing instead of to evil.” Evil suggests wrongness, condemnation, but by contrast it suggests rightness, mercy, perhaps even the hope for acquittal as K. might wonder. Motes thus attempts to embrace “nothing,” and because he embraces 400
nothing, “the misery he had was a longing for home; it had nothing to do with Jesus.” Unfortunately, he returns home to find the place dilapidated and his remaining family members gone. Having suffered terribly during and after the war, and discovering it appears impossible to return home, Hazel Motes sets out to test his new freedom. “I’m 401
going to do some things I never have done before,” he explains, and after all, why shouldn’t he if he perceives a world without a Christ that delineates good and bad action. His sudden arrest, culminating in the events of the war and his return home, encourages
Ibid. Ibid. 399 Ibid. 400 Ibid. 401 Ibid., 13. 397 398
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him to shift his perceived understanding of reality, and he sets out to prove his conversion. One of those persons Hazel Motes interacts with on his journey is Enoch Emery, a “friendly hound dog”402 of a young man whose activities make up some of the more disturbing elements of the narrative. Again, that they should prove disturbing harkens back to the identification of a reality without a Christ as a destructive development, or regression, and Enoch appears to embrace this dysfunctional reality with much less concern than Hazel. Both Hazel and Enoch are typically viewed as dual responses to such existentialism as is found in the thinking of JeanPaul Sartre. Andrew B. Leiter explains, “Read in relation to Sartre’s notion of selfdetermination, Haze’s experience demonstrates the failure of existentialism for one who has accepted the burden of choice, while Enoch exemplifies the individual who refuses or, perhaps more accurately, is 403
incapable of choices required for selfdetermination.” For Sartre, a person must accept the implications of creating his own meaning. In Haze's case, Leiter explains that his "struggles are selfinflicted in the sense that he shuts himself off from God, selfdeceptive in the sense that he denies his essential Christian self, and futile in the sense that he cannot escape himself."404 In Enoch's case, Leiter sees in him avoidance of what existentialism necessitates: " . . . O'Connor suggests that Enoch's real problem extends not from his refusal per se , but rather that he defers to the base, the material, or the animalistic rather than the spiritual."405 Enoch embraces what he considers a purer
402
Ibid., 44. Andrew B. Leiter, “Comedy and the Antiexistential in Flannery O’Connor’s Wise Blood ,” in Wise Blood: A Reconsideration , ed. John J. Han (New York: Rodopi, 2011), 97. 404 Ibid., 101. 405 Ibid., 103. 403
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406
instinct, his “wise blood,” and approaches reality in mainly concrete, physical terms, wherein he experiences a terrifically horrible transformation entrenched within a reality void of anything linked to the spiritual. The text describes how Enoch’s brain is “divided into two parts. The part in communication with his blood did the figuring but it never said 407
anything in words. The other part was stocked up with all kinds of words and phrases.” The “divide” makes informed, mature, deliberate discernment impossible. One portion of his brain prompts decisions, but as this side lacks tangibility found in language, how he goes about making his decisions flows mainly from what one might call instinct. The process perhaps bears some similarity to Bazarov’s replacement of principle with emotion, though bereft of the reasoned empiricism Bazarov consistently employs to interpret that emotion. Furthermore, Enoch retains a stockpile of “words and phrases,” but no faculty to place or locate them given any sort of context. When he experiences his arrest, then, he does so with these blunted tools. When Hazel and Enoch meet, Enoch already appears on the verge of some type of transformation inspired by his blood. The focus for this transformation eventually lands 408
in the park, which Enoch identifies as the “heart of the city.” The “heart” represents the center of Taulkninham, what would normally suggest a thriving, cultural genesis for human activity were the city not mostly emptied of anything spiritual. Instead, the city’s heart becomes the focal point for the maintenance of an invented view of reality. The 409
“mystery” he finds takes the form of a shrunken body of a man in a glass case in a
406
O’Connor, 59. Ibid., 87 408 Ibid., 80. 409 Ibid. 407
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museum, and for unknown reasons, the body wields a tremendous influence on him; it means something , at least to him. The text states, “But there was something the card couldn’t say and what it couldn’t say was inside him, a terrible knowledge without any 410
words to it, a terrible knowledge like a big nerve growing inside him.” The sensation grows more powerful when Enoch takes Hazel to the body. Observing the body, Hazel reacts to a woman’s face that reflects in the glass when she and her children come up behind him. “… he [Motes] made a noise,” the text states, and Enoch becomes convinced that the sound “might have come from the man inside the case. In a second Enoch knew it 411
had.” The event enthralls him, and he ends the scene lying on the ground and bleeding from a rock thrown by Hazel. He touches the blood, “… and very faintly he could hear 412
his blood beating, his secret blood, in the center of the city.” So begins his arrest. Enoch’s arrest, however, varies starkly from the arrests featured in many other nihilist characters. In those characters, the arrest prompts a period of introspection, or at least an intentional analysis of one’s reality and meaning found within it. Enoch’s arrest prompts a series of events, but little to no reflection. Again, the distinction surrounds what Leiter earlier describes and what the bifurcation of Enoch’s brain implies; he lacks the skills or tools necessary to reflect significantly about his life and his interaction with the world and other people. He fails to think in “broad sweeps," but instead about "what he would do next." He continues, "Sometimes he didn’t think, he only wondered; then before long he would find himself doing this or that, like a bird finds itself building a nest when it hasn’t actually been planning to.” Enoch functions largely on instinct. Higher Ibid., 81. Ibid., 99. 412 Ibid., 100. 410 411
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forms of thought appear alien to him. One cannot, however, rightly denounce his thinking or actions without appealing to some sort of standard of behavior that exists beyond the level of the nearby community or individual. Without Christ Enoch may be permitted to 413
act in any way he sees fit, even if that means locating a “new Jesus” in the mummified remains of a longdead human. Even persons without faith find it difficult if not impossible to escape unconsciously seeking after the Divine (sometimes disastrously), especially in matters that present some mystery. Hazel and Enoch’s arrests represent the narrative’s most detailed transformations. Although they interact with other persons and certainly influence their behavior, their arrests drive the narration and most directly affect its message, with the exception, possibly, of one other person, Mrs. Floods. Mrs. Floods’ part in the novel is relatively short, but its implications for meaning beyond the final pages are significant. Present at the moment in the end when Hazel decides to blind himself, his act forces her to consider death: “It occurred to her suddenly that when she was dead she would be blind too. She 414
stared in front of her intensely, facing this for the first time.” To what extent she reaches any sort of conclusion remains open to interpretation, but certainly, one will find it necessary to explore the significance of invention in Wise Blood before one makes a determination. Like in many works with nihilism, “invention” remains one of the thickest and most difficult areas of concern, and Wise Blood rivals the best of them, even Kafka or Sartre. Invention involves the various levels and forms of meaning the individual and the
Ibid., 140. Ibid., 211.
413 414
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community around that individual create given the particulars of their environment. Often the intense analysis that follows the arrest allows the individual to discern that much of the importance culture places on certain practices or institutions or ideas are often rather superficial and void of substance. One observes instances of this in each of the texts, in ideas concerning law, work, marriage, fashion, etc. For Wise Blood , identifying invention becomes a game of proper and accurate sight . The allusions to "sight" or a character's "vision" within the text are plentiful, and it becomes apparent that most if not all the characters' perspective are limited or skewed in one way or another. Hazel Motes, for instance, sometimes referred to as "Haze," is said to have eyes that "don't look like they see what he's looking at but they keep on looking," 415
which succinctly captures Motes' defining inability to see Christ despite his efforts and
evidence in the world around him. Much of the difficulty no doubt comes from the warped view of Christ introduced to him during his childhood. Again, his grandfather, as an ambassador for Christ, presents at least part of the basic elements of salvation in 416
Christ, in that "Jesus had died to redeem them." However, he appears to neglect an integral element in that salvation as a transformative process, one that inspires at the same time it demands for the believer to pay attention to the state of his relationship with God and other individuals. The grandfather appears a likely candidate for the individual described in I Corinthians 13 who demonstrates certain works but lacks the love that makes these acts whole in Christ. Such a stunted view of Christ and a spiritual weakness in the richness of theology leave Motes not only caught in a closeted view of reality, but
Ibid., 109. Ibid., 21.
415 416
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vulnerable to the cracks in that perspective prompted by the war. When this view perishes during the war, Motes sets out to replace that view of reality with one that removes the Christ element from the scene. Thus, he tells the cabby, "'Listen,' he said, 'get this: I don't believe in anything.'"417 Unfortunately, despite his efforts to remove Christ and invent a consoling reality, the absence of Christ only appears to lead to further agitation. One of his most prominent attempts to create this altered shift in reality in his production of the "Church Without Christ." Again, if he can create and accept a world wherein the need for Christ no longer appears as a need, then he can finally be free of the figure who creeps through the trees after him and rebuild following his traumatic experience in the war. He yells on the street, "Well, I preach the Church Without Christ. I'm a member and preacher to that church where the blind don't see and the lame don't walk and what's dead stays that way. Ask me about that church and I'll tell you it's the 418
church that the blood of Jesus don't foul with redemption." The concept of miracles proves one of the most disturbing elements in the transition from an invented world of a reality to one informed and dominated by the Incarnation. Remove these visible signs, and one has simple physical existence, the material without the immaterial, the imminent without the transcendent. For this reason Motes can preach a church where truth exists at the level of the individual. He states, "I preach there are all kinds of truth, your truth and somebody else's, but behind all of them, there's only one truth and that is that there's no 419
truth." That truth means something individualistic, relativistic, is clearly demonstrated in the text by individuals in a community that generally pay little mind to any notion of 417
Ibid., 32. Ibid., 105. 419 Ibid., 165. 418
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proper behavior beyond selfinterest; a person does what he does based on means, opportunity, and personal inclination. At the same time, the statement Motes makes mirrors nicely the paradoxical failing of any sort of definitive statement nihilism attempts to make. Motes’s argument that the only truth is that there is no truth ends in a circular conflagration, much like nihilism's attempt to suggest no meaning exists. While Motes preaches the Church Without Christ, however, he seems incapable of carrying it through to the end or allowing others to act based on its inventions. For instance, when Sabbath asks whether or not his Church Without Christ allows bastards, Motes at first states, "There's no such thing as a bastard in the Church Without Christ. . . . 420
Everything is all one. A bastard wouldn't be any different from anybody else." Based on his previous teaching, stereotypes concerning bastards based on any established morality would disappear, or at least lose any sort of backing: no bastard, no such thing as a bastard. Yet, the question bothers him. He thinks, "The thing in his mind said that the truth didn’t contradict itself and that a bastard couldn’t be saved in the Church Without Christ,” a wonderful play of words that suggests Motes’ negative assertion while at the same time affirming the Incarnation of Christ. The Incarnation, existing as something external that does not rely on his perspective for its existenceand in fact, its existence informs his perspectiveremains a truth he cannot argue with and apparently cannot overcome. Likewise, Motes becomes disgruntled when others begin to riff on his idea for a Church Without Christ. Onnie Jay Holy appears on the street and begins explaining how
Ibid., 122.
420
165
"every person that comes onto this earth, . . . is born sweet and full of love."421 Holy stresses this point of innocence in humanity, an innocence that unfortunately doesn't last. He explains, "Something happens, friends, I don't need to tell people like you that can think for theirselves. As that little child gets bigger, its sweetness don't show so much, 422
cares and troubles come to perplext it, and all its sweetness is driven inside it." Clearly, Holy works as a charlatan and attempts to "preach" to make a profit. He offers an overly simplistic explanation for sin and explains the benefits of his "Holy Church of Christ 423
Without Christ." For one, the church is "nothing foreign," and "If you don't understand 424
it, it ain't true, and that's all there is to it." In addition, Holy explains that it is "based on 425
your own personal interpitation of the Bible." Its theology skews any consensus necessary at the level of the community, but relies solely on the whims of the individual, 426
"just the way Jesus would have done it." Christ, of course, spoke with a singular authority, and his teaching neither negated reason nor forsook relationship found in community or between the community and the divine. But again, remove the divinity, and one removes the immutable transcendent power that makes universal truth possible. Lastly, Holy remarks that the church is "uptodate," and a person "can know that there's 427
nothing or nobody ahead of you, . . ." Again, none of these points should faze Motes in the least given his proclaimed belief in nothing. Yet, Holy's attempt to profit from the ideas he presents to the crowd rankles Motes, as if on principle: "'Listen!' Haze shouted.
421
Ibid., 150. Ibid., 150151. 423 Ibid., 151. 424 Ibid., 152. 425 Ibid. 426 Ibid. 427 Ibid., 153. 422
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428
'It don't cost you any money to know the truth! You can't know it for money.'" Motes' statement represents yet another one of those instances when a character utters a truth that finds validation in the Incarnation regardless of the speaker. No amount of money is worth having correct insight into the nature of reality, which ultimately suggests creation and recreation in Jesus Christ. O'Connor presents a wonderful tension; Motes utters a Truth in defense of a lie in order to denounce another lie. Motes seems unable to embrace his own invention. "You ain't true," he explains to Holy. And then later he states about the Holy Church of Christ Without Christ, "'. . . there's no such thing or person,' Haze 429
said. 'It wasn't nothing but a way to say a thing. . . . No such thing exists!'" Motes quite correctly identifies Onnie Jay Holy's invention. He cannot, however, identify his own, though his inability to fully accept it should give him pause. Another way Motes attempts to define himself and find freedom in his invention is through the use of the car. The car functions more like a tool that enables him to carry out his invention rather than the focus of the invention itself. Much like Ivan Ilyitch's overconfidence in medical science, Motes places too much confidence in the capabilities of technology. In response to a story Sabbath tells him in which Asa Hawks "blinded 430
himself for justification," Motes says, "Nobody with a good car needs to be justified." A person need not be proven right if that person can easily travel to a new location where the need for justification might prove unnecessary or at least put off. A new location provides a brief period wherein a person might interact with invention before further proof proves necessary or experience reveals some sort of contradiction. He intends the Ibid., 154. ibid., 159. 430 Ibid., 113. 428 429
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car to function like a mobile home, an aid to a rootless existence guided by nothing. He 431
explains, "I wanted this car mostly to be a house for me." The car, his new home, will allow him experience a type of refuge without being anchored to anything concrete. Unfortunately, though, his inability to properly discern and accept Christ will be mirrored in his inability to properly evaluate his vehicle, a fallible machine created by fallible humans that is inadequate as a means to fulfillment. Motes thus buys a car, one with "two instruments on the dashboard with needles that pointed dizzily" and that "worked on a 432
private system, independent of the whole car," much like a pair of eyes fixed to a head that fail to transmit the appropriate information to the mind. Motes proves unable to see that the car cannot be fixed given his limited resources and the state of the car. When the first mechanic balks at the repairs, Motes stubbornly takes it to another, this time to "a man who said he could put the car in the best shape overnight, because it was such a good car to begin with, so well put together and with such good materials in it, and because, he added, he was the best mechanic in town, 433
working in the bestequipped shop." Motes either cannot or refuses to see the actual state of his car (as he cannot or refuses to see the actual state of humanity) and defers to an "expert" who promises him great things, feeding his invention. Motes, however, cannot see the situation for what it is; he views the mechanic as one with "honest hands" 434
when they are in fact dishonest. Later, when the car begins to break down, Motes
continues to defend the automobile. "It ain't been built by a bunch of foreigners or
Ibid., 73. Ibid., 124. 433 Ibid., 115. 434 Ibid. 431 432
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niggers or onearm men," he says, continuing, "It was built by people with their eyes 435
open that knew where they were at." And yet, the car will continue to break down. What Motes views as a vehicle built by fully formed people with clear sight will not last, no matter how much Motes attempts to force his perspective on the car. The car, external to Motes' wishes, will refuse to budge. Rejecting reality will, as the onearmed man says, 436
speaking of "some things," "get some folks somewheres," but most likely not where the individual intends. Enoch, too, experiences his share of invention. His experience, though, proves unique given the particular nature of his being. Again, he seemingly lacks the ability to appropriately connect language and thought to the world around him and the decisions he makes. He simply reacts and forms his understanding of reality in his own stunted fashion according to what his blood prompts him to do; he lives wholly within his invention and remains its only god to the extent he can living in a community with other people. His behavior, then, reveals a deeply flawed understanding of reality lacking in higher thinking. Consider those instances when he peeps on various women sunbathing in the park. He spies on a woman while he hides in the bushes because he thinks her revealing swimsuit accidentally reveals too much. When he discovers the slits to be 437
intentional, he remains in the bushes "out of a sense of propriety." The instance shows his perceptions of certain conventions, prostitution and voyeurism for example. The text suggests knowledge of convention, but no real judgment concerning the activities themselves. The text states that he "visited a whore when he felt like it but he was always Ibid., 127. Ibid. 437 Ibid., 80. 435 436
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438
being shocked by the looseness he saw in the open." In his mind, a person visits a whore in a certain way, presumably, in the channels created by practice and approved, either explicitly or implicitly, by the culture. A person also responds to the opportunity to experience the sight of women in provocative clothing in a typical fashion, namely, by hiding in the bushes. Questions of right and wrong, whether it is good to visit a prostitute, whether it is good to spy on others for sexual gratification, whether it is good for others to enable others to experience sexual gratification through observation, do not enter into his thinking. Society does something ; I do this . His conduct suggests little more than that. Enoch consistently demonstrates a willingness to act according to his interpretation of events despite evidence to the contrary. Certainly, this phenomenon proves understandable given the subjective nature of the individual, who must interpret events through a limited and at times uncertain mechanism. Yet, community works to sustain a certain recognizable order, even if that order is destructive or immoral in some or most of its parts. Enoch appears to function somewhat autonomously even in this type of environment. He organizes his day into a series of steps, where the ritual, devoid of meaning beyond what he places upon it, becomes for him a consistent, physical pleasure, or at least a need, and he interacts with people who do not share his view. Consider his trip to the Frosty Bottle, where he "would have a chocolate malted milkshake and would make some suggestive remarks to the waitress, whom he believed to be secretly in love 439
with him." The waitress, of course, offers a different perspective. She tells Motes, "And I know a clean one [boy] when I see him and I know a son a bitch when I see him and
Ibid. Ibid., 82.
438 439
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there's a heap of difference and that pusmarked bastard [Enoch] zlurping through that 440
straw is a goddamned son a bitch. . . ." One finds it difficult to imagine a clearer indication of her feelings for him. Is he wrong, but how can he appear so wrong? Is he deluded? Is he betraying a nasty sarcasm? Again, Enoch largely determines his invention, so it matters little what the waitress or even the reader believes. Granted, the waitress drinks throughout the day, so her perspective proves questionable, too, but Enoch clearly demonstrates that he views the world from drastically different point of the view from the rest of Taulkninham. Perhaps in no way does Enoch's warped thinking become more apparent than in his theft of the dead body from the museum and his interaction with Gonga, the Giant Jungle Monarch. Following the event where the mummified corpse "speaks" and Motes smites Enoch with a rock, his initiated arrest prompts him to carry out various activities even he appears to only partially understand. He begins saving his money, spending only what he must and stealing the rest. He isn't completely certain why he begins saving, "but 441
he had the suspicion that saving the money was connected with some larger thing." He doesn't understand his own actions; he simply carries them out. He also begins straightening his apartment: "There was a mummified look and feel to this residence, but Enoch had never thought before of brightening the part (corresponding to the head) that 442
he lived in." To keep his home clean never occurs to him, and as the text appears to intimate, the lack of reflection also mirrors a lack of thought or aptitude to improve himself intellectually and spiritually, two activities that given the Incarnation should not Ibid., 91. Ibid., 130. 442 Ibid. 440 441
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seem as divided as a more secularized world might have it. Enoch begins these changes, again, without understanding why, though the text suggests he thinks they may lead to something significant. Thus, he refrains from destroying his newly cleaned bed "because for the time anyway, he was not a foolhardy boy who took chances on the meanings of 443
things. For the time, he knew that what he didn't know was what mattered." O'Connor fills the passage with all sorts of irony. His inability to properly discern his reality, a process not about chance but about the proper perception of a world and people external to him, does, in fact, make him "foolhardy." Ironic, too, is his assertion that what he "didn't know was what mattered," which proves to be precisely the case. Unfortunately, he shows no inclination to learn and abuses the tools that would allow him to function more fully and completely in his physical and social environment and lead him to a greater understanding of the Incarnation, through which these things were created and find renewal. Instead, he communes with a picture of a moose: "The look of superiority on this animal's face was so insufferable to Enoch that, if he hadn't been afraid of him, he would 444
have done something about it a long time ago." One immediately calls to mind the incident in Kafka's Trial from which "invention" draws its initial inspiration. In The Trial , K. learns that the representation painted on the canvas projects an unrealistic view of the world, an invented sense of nobility and superiority in the image of a judge.445 Here Enoch divorces himself completely from the reality of the image as an invented thing, a created image of animal that exists as a thing unto itself. Likewise, one could also Ibid., 131. Ibid., 132. 445 Kafka, 106. 443 444
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connect Enoch's experience with the narrator in Nausea , who becomes paralyzed when an 446
object external to reality appears to control him. Again, without the Incarnation, through which one finds the authority to order and reorder, invention becomes truth relative to the individual. O'Connor portrays the ultimate end of selfdetermination without the keystone that makes selfdetermination possible: here a pimply, sadistic, unempathetic person alone in a room with a picture of a moose with the frame removed because in removing it "the animal looked so reduced that Enoch could only snicker and 447
look at him out the corner of his eye." O'Connor provides an even more ridiculous image—as it resounds with the actuality of the original, legitimate Divine—in Enoch's attempts to create a "new" tabernacle fit for a "new" Christ. Cleaning the washstand in his room and then covering it with gold paint, he stuffs the mummified remains inside the 448
thing that "most connected him with what he didn't know." The text reveals, "He was waiting for something to happen, he didn't know what. . . . He thought it was going to be one of the supreme moments in his life but apart from that, he didn't have the vaguest notion what it might be. He pictured himself, after it was over, as an entirely new man, 449
with an even better personality than he had now." Nothing, however, takes place, and 450
Enoch remains as he was before. He even inserts his head in the "ark" before sneezing and cracking his head against it. The activity results in no transformation; the grotesqueness and absurdity of a washstand painted gold and stolen "dead shriveledup partnigger dwarf" presents the clear reality that nothing whatsoever can or will replace
Sartre, 10. O’Connor, 133. 448 Ibid. 132. 449 Ibid., 175. 450 Ibid., 176. 446 447
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the real Incarnation in Jesus Christ. Enoch discovers only that "one jesus was as bad as 451
another." What one needs is not another "jesus" but the real "Jesus." Enoch, lamentably, cannot see it, and his incomplete personhood proves dangerous and destructive to those around him. Enoch's revelation only lasts for a brief period, though, until his blood spurs him on to something else, what he perceives as an award for his new "jesus." His new "supreme moment" comes when he encounters the opportunity to meet "Gonga! Giant 452
Jungle Monarch and a Great Star!" outside a movie theater. The event, of course, is meant to act as an understood exercise in invention for entertainment purposes, especially for young children, whose limited maturity and experience will aid in creating the mystique surrounding meeting a real, live, famous gorilla . Many of them will prove unaware of the ruse; to them it seems real. Enoch falls in with the rest of the children, and when he gets close enough to see "an ugly pair of human ones [eyes]" and hear a voice 453
say, "You go to hell," he runs away, his "humiliation . . . sharp and painful." His reaction to events and what he should do next shifts once more. The texts states that "in spite of himself," Enoch couldn't get over the expectation that the new jesus 454
was going to do something for him in return for his services." The use of "in spite of himself" harkens back to O'Connor's description in her note within the second edition that 455
Motes is a Christian "malgré lui," or a Christian despite himself. Like Motes, Enoch cannot escape the reality fixed by the Incarnation, but unlike Motes, Enoch's nature, fixed
Ibid. Ibid. 453 Ibid., 182. 454 Ibid., 191. 455 Ibid., 5. 451 452
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within the nature as a thing without any acknowledgement of a higher spiritual reality, cannot allow him to escape the maze of meaning he fashions for himself. His hope comprised of "two parts suspicion and one part lust," he yearns to "become something. He wanted to better his condition until it was the best. He wanted to THE young man of 456
the future, like the ones in the insurance ads." He wants to make what he terms "is," without any link to the supernatural, the best possible natural circumstance. He thus takes example of invention, an insurance ad, and seeks to make his world like that invented reality. He decides in order to effect his "transformation," he must kill the man wearing the gorilla suit and take on its fake skin. He buries his clothes and pulls on the suit: "No gorilla in existence, whether in the jungles of Africa or California, or in New York City in the finest apartment in the world, was happier at that moment than this one, whose god 457
had finally rewarded it." Everyone seeks the divine, however perversely. O'Connor links Enoch's transformation to the potential for transformation in the rest of humanity, from the west to the east coast, two great pillars in American culture, and all the space in between. Indeed, the finest apartment might have been one shared by the narrator in Palahniuk’s Flight Club . The scene ends with Enoch frightening a couple (who scatter independently) and sitting on a rock that overlooks the city. The city evokes an "uneven 458
skyline," with "here and there a steeple" that interrupts the clouds: the suggestion of a spiritual reality removed from the minds and hearts of its citizens. Hazel Motes and Enoch Emery represent the two characters that present the most detailed struggle with invented reality, although each of the characters, Asa Hawks, Ibid., 191. Ibid., 198. 458 Ibid. 456 457
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Sabbath Lily Hawks, and Onnie Jay Holy, among others, betray levels of invention, ones that, being heavily individualistic, often conflict with each other. A proper sense of perspective, or proper sight, also concerns other characters within the text and the community in general. Mrs. Wally Bee Hitchcock, for instance, the woman sitting across 459
from Motes on the train, locates the price on his new suit that "placed him." The taxi driver, having been introduced to Motes and his lack of belief, states, "That's the trouble 460
with you preachers. . . . You've all got too good to believe in anything." The comments reveal a community that has had elements of Christian theology introduced to it at various times and in various ways, but often little in the way of genuine theology met with genuine belief and transformation. The cost of a suit "places" a person, and "spiritual leaders" who reflect an invention without Christ, who unites but also makes personal, preach a gospel that has little to do with the recognition and assimilation of an Incarnational reality. Consider Mrs. Floods' reaction when Motes describes his Church Without Christ: "'Protestant?' she asked suspiciously, 'or something foreign?'" The notion of "something foreign," contextually, viewed here as the Catholic church, suggests the introduction of something generally different or new to one's own experience, which one finds comfortable, acceptable. And he agrees that it is Protestant. Again, one sees little to no recognition of a unified, clearly recognizable body of Christ, little recognition of any mature understanding in theology or religious history. The community sits amidst a culture largely tainted with halfformed, incorrect, or insincere faith; it’s little wonder that few characters actually know Christ.
Ibid., 10. Ibid., 32.
459 460
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The instances of religious invention tend to aggravate Motes the most, again, because Motes cannot escape the need for Christ with which reality confronts him. Much of this concerns his interaction with Asa Hawks. When Motes first meets Hawks, he is drawn to the "blind" preacher and his daughter because the preacher represents for him an adversary, a man who believes in Christ and should defend his beliefs. Instead, the 461
preacher represents another peddler trying to "horn in" on business. Motes struggles to accept the revelation that Hawks represents simply another fraud: "He couldn't see how a 462
preacher who had blinded himself for Jesus could have a bastard." In his thinking, someone who would blind himself to "justify" himself demonstrates a strong faith. "How 463
could you be a bastard when he blinded him . . . ," he begins, repeating the thought. It's as if Motes longs for someone with authority to convince him of the truth he already suspects. And when at least he sees for himself the truth, that Hawks only pretends to be blind, it confirms and argues against what he has come to believe; it confirms for him that charlatanism that exists in many of those who purport to spread the Good News, and the wrongness of it, the falsity of it, rankles him, the injustice suggesting the reality of a greater truth, where honesty is real and important and worth savoring. Once more, invention in Wise Blood largely concerns itself with sight. Each character reveals a perspective of reality formed by his or her experience with the world and community, one that reveals a largely warped, unrealized, and underdeveloped understanding of humanity and creation given its warped, unrealized, and underdeveloped understanding of Christ. As Wood explains, “"The alleged freedom of Ibid., 41. Ibid., 118. 463 Ibid., 119. 461 462
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selfinvention is, for Flannery O'Connor, the ultimate slavery, whereas the total disposal of human life into the hands of God is the ultimate freedom."464 Absolutely, these flawed perspectives would prove accurate and the fraud of Christianity become clear if the Truth of Christ were revealed to be just another invented truth presented by a particular author in a particular time in a particular culture, if it remained on the level of the imminent only. It would lose its resonance at the discretion of the culture. (The hole left in place of this fallen “jesus,” though, would still demand the actuality of a real, risen “Jesus”; a keystone would still prove necessary.) But Wise Blood makes sense only because Christ makes sense. O’Connor writes with full apprehension of the Christ who makes her creation possible and whose presence cannot be fully removed from the world or humanity, which must pass through Christ in order to exist. She embraces the Incarnation by depicting a world that embodies what the pursuit of nihilism and the loss of the Incarnation would ultimately produce. She implies the proper through the improper, and she asks the reader to participate in order to convince the reader of the truth, on and off the page. She asks the reader to discern truth within the invention. The reader participates in all the areas in the text where the characters attempt to interpret reality and make judgments of events and each other. Yet, the reader exists above the text, privy to all the different personalities and their perceptions, and so has greater advantage in discerning the accurate from the inaccurate, the meaningful from the meaningless. The reader’s understanding of and engagement with the Incarnation, also, will affect the reader’s insight into the material. Thus, when Hawks says, “Jesus loves
Wood, FOCS , 188.
464
178
465
you,” but in a “flat mocking voice,” the readers appreciate the truthfulness of this statement, the connection to the Incarnation, even if Hawks utters the truth without realizing it or realizes it but utters it with impure motivations. Indeed, the audience is privy to all those ironic instances. “You got eyes and see not, ears and hear not, but you’ll 466
467
have to see sometime,” Hawks says to Motes: true. “Jesus died to redeem you,” his mother says before she whacks him with a stick: true. “If Jesus existed, I wouldn’t be 468
clean,” Motes explains: true and false, true in that if the Incarnation is true, then fallen nature must look to its Creator as its ReCreator, but false in that if it weren’t for Jesus, a person couldn’t get clean. Later Motes states, “It don’t cost you any money to know the truth! You can’t know it for money!”: true. Onnie Jay Holy, the man who wants a buck for the truth, says, “It don’t make any difference how many Christs you add to the name 469
if you don’t add none to the meaning, friend” : true again. “You must believe in Jesus 470
or you wouldn’t do these foolish things,” Mrs. Floods says, speaking to Motes about his selftorture: again, probably true; if it didn’t matter so much, it wouldn’t torture him. Motes would demonstrate the same lack of concern Enoch demonstrates. The reader must filter perspective and truth. In one of the most significant ways this takes place is through the highly figurative nature of the text. Imagery or phrasing that greatly reflects or at least links to the Incarnation abound. From the names of characters, Hazel “Haze” Motes, Asa Hawks,
Ibid., 53. Ibid., 54. 467 Ibid., 63. 468 Ibid., 91. 469 Ibid., 157. 470 Ibid., 225. 465 466
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Sabbath Lily Hawks, Enoch Emery, and Mrs. Floods, to references to a “crossshaped 471
472
473
face,” or a “stainedwhite bathing suit,” or a “oncewhite uniform,” the text offers plenty of material to draw one into an exercise in discernment: like an Easter egg hunt. Consider the instance when Enoch observes the woman in the garden in the park: “His face was always very red in the bushes. Anyone who parted the abelia sprigs at just that 474
place, would think he saw a devil and would fall down the slope and into the pool.” The scene shares obvious tones with the biblical account of Satan as he observes the garden, asking the reader to draw upon both and analyze the similarities, the differences, and in the end, what one might learn. The more detailed images offer more detailed explanation. For instance, one of the most significant chapters in the story begins with what one might argue is an image or at least a reference to God: “They sky was just a little lighter blue than his [Motes’] suit, clear and even, with only one cloud in it, a large 475
blinding white one with curls and a beard.” The presence of a single cloud draws attention to it, and the characteristics of “blinding” light and a bearded visage call to mind traditional imagery often associated with God, especially and most importantly given the context of the novel, the scene, and the surrounding events. The Incarnation bears a discernible imprint on creation and the humanity that perceives it. During the scene, Motes and Sabbath steal under a “barbed wire fence”476 and rest beneath the tree, again
Ibid., 63. Ibid., 8182. 473 Ibid., 88. 474 Ibid., 82. 475 Ibid., 117. 476 Ibid., 120121. 471 472
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calling to mind the biblical imagery of Eden. As they speak, the “blinding white cloud was a little ahead of them, moving to the left,” and then eventually “directly in front of 477
them.” The presence of the cloud continues to appear throughout the chapter, not randomly, as it’s crafted by the author, but intentionally. Hazel and Sabbath discuss 478
matters of faith, with Hazel wrestling with the “truth that didn’t contradict itself” and Sabbath attempting to seduce him. At one point Sabbath interrupts a commentary on her 479
feet with a story about a child that “nobody cared if it lived or died.” The child is shuffled among different family members until it ends up with an evil grandmother for 480
which the “least good thing made her break out in these welps,” and the child apparently aggravates her condition. The narrative ends with the child informing the 481
grandmother that “it seen its granny in hellfire, swoll and burning,” and the grandmother hanging herself in the well. Sabbath then resumes her seduction. The juxtaposition of this short parable, which she relates without further commentary, and Sabbath’s renewed sexual pursuit of Hazel once more prompts the reader to discern its meaning. Is the story true, or at least factual? Who is the child? Why does Sabbath tell the story, to explain that she, Sabbath, does not suffer from the same condition as the grandmother, that she can “see” Hazel and wants to teach him “to learn how to like it 482
[being filthy],” as she tells him later? The text proves richly complex, and the reader feels certain it means something.
Ibid., 120. Ibid., 122. 479 Ibid. 480 Ibid. 481 Ibid. 482 Ibid., 169. 477 478
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The sentiment only becomes stronger with the introduction of the onearmed man. As Hazel and Sabbath approach a store, they notice a cage and a sign that reads, “TWO 483
DEADLY ENEMIES. HAVE A LOOK FREE.” Inside is a oneeyed black bear 484
covered in “bird lime” and a chicken hawk missing most of its tail. The imagery draws obvious parallels to previous references, the notion of sight, of lime, of hawks, but it also allows for multiple interpretations. Is the bear Motes? Is the chicken hawk Asa Hawks, or perhaps even Sabbath? Why is the bear partially blind? Why are they “deadly enemies”? The images prove highly suggestive, and scholarship attests to the wide range of interpretations, from the use of a “black” bear in reference to “another indication of 485
Haze’s racechanged identity” to the black bear “symbolizing evil influence” and the 486
“pelleting of the hawk (representative of Christ), who sits perched on high.” Again, the images remained fixed within a particular context, in a certain scene in a certain chapter in a certain book written by a certain author, with the Incarnation, fixed and immutable, dictating sense or nonsense regarding the structure of the novel. Consider another interpretation. Perhaps the most unusual elements of the scene prove to be the imagery connected to the cloud and the atypical demeanor of the onearmed man. The area surrounding the store has a “deserted look,” and the onearmed 487
man arrives “from out of the woods behind it.” As Motes engages the man, the
Ibid., 125. Ibid. 485 John N. Duvall, Race and White Identity in Southern Fiction: From Faulkner to Morrison (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 84, sic. 486 Leon V. Driskell and Joan T. Brittain, The Eternal Road: The Art of Flannery O’Connor (Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 2015), 55. 487 Ibid., 124. 483 484
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488
attendant constantly stands out as quiet, pensive, his eyes “slateblue and thoughtful.” The man does not respond in a negative way to Motes’ questions about his failing car. He 489
simply studies it, “as if he were contemplating.” After filling the car with gas and 490
checking it over and giving them a boost, Motes asks, “What do I owe you?” Despite the obvious time and attention the man has given Motes, he asks for nothing in return. As they leave, Motes says, “I told you this car would get me anywhere I wanted to go,” and 491
the man responds, “Some things … ‘ll get some folks somewhere.” And as Motes turns in the opposite direction, the text explains how the “blinding white cloud had turned into 492
a bird with long thin wings and was disappearing in the opposite direction.” The text reveals an obvious connection to God in the visage in the clouds, and the image of the bird brings to mind the Spirit, descending from the heavens, and a voice saying, “This is 493
My Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” God the Father is represented, the Spirit is represented, but what of the Son? Perhaps one might view in the onearmed man an image of Christ, of a person who offers help and asks for nothing in return, who has “no 494
form or majesty that we should look at him,” who is missing an arm because Christ is 495
“seated at the right hand of Power and coming on the clouds of heaven.” Or perhaps the scene follows the common thread that appears throughout the text that emphasizes the absence of Christ rather than his presence; Christ should be present, should be a physical
Ibid., 125. Ibid., 126. 490 Ibid. 491 Ibid., 127. 492 Ibid. 493 Matt. 3:17 ( ESV ). 494 Isa. 53:2 ( ESV ). 495 Matt. 26:64 ( ESV ). 488 489
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part of Motes, but he either cannot or refuses to see what the external suggests, what the reader sees. Thus, when Motes later states, “Nothing outside you can give you any place. … You needn’t to look at the sky because it’s not going to open up and show no place behind it,”496 the reader perceives what Motes could or would not. The sky revealed the truth. The thick imagery awash with theological resonance asks the reader to participate, and rather than fear prompted by the possible meaninglessness of reality, the 497
meaningfulness of reality prompts the fear that is the “beginning of knowledge.” In addition to such typical nihilist components as sudden arrest and invention, O’Connor’s Wise Blood also deals significantly with woman helpers and their relationship to the ideal. The text follows a male protagonist, as has been typical with these works, but it also includes a number of women who abuse and are abused and whose experiences influence the arrested male. Consider Motes’ interaction with Mrs. Leora Watts, the prostitute whose name he finds on the stall of a bathroom. She, of course, is depicted in harsh, ugly terms. She is a “big woman,” with “skin that glistened with greasy preparation,” and has a “wide full grin” filled with teeth that are “small and 498
pointed and speckled with green.” She hardly cuts a beautiful figure, but O’Connor would not paint a prostitute with a false gloss to conceal the harmful misuse of the human person, which is meant to be beautiful and fit and glorify God. Rather, much like the 499
young girls in Kafka’s Trial , she appears disfigured, or “slightly distorted.” The text 500
also describes her as having a “bold steady penetrating stare.” Mrs. Watts sees quite
496
O’Connor, 165. Prov. 1:7 ( ESV ). 498 Ibid., 3334. 499 Ibid., 3334. 500 Ibid., 33. 497
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clearly the purpose for which he has visited, and thus, she tells Motes, “Make yourself at 501
home.” However, Motes will not find within her any sort of true home, despite his intentions. The reference to “home” perhaps comes as close to an explicit statement of the ideal in Wise Blood as one will find. The reader will of course recall Motes’ earlier references to home. Having experienced the trauma of war, he returns home, in his view without his soul, and it’s clear he views the idea of home with some hope or longing. “The misery he had was a longing for home,” the text reveals, and it continues by 502
suggesting the longing “had nothing to do with Jesus.” Incarnate Christ, however, represents the one and only ideal, and Motes’ “longing for home” strongly inspires the sentiment expressed by Augustine: “For Thou hast made us for Thyself, and our heart is 503
restless until it rests in Thee." Motes cannot find rest in Leora Watts. He later states, “What do I need with Jesus? I got Leora Watts.” Leora Watts, however, in addition to the other women characters within novel, cannot replace Jesus Christ. Following Mrs. Watts, Motes begins another significant relationship with a female character, Sabbath Lily Hawks, the charlatan Asa Hawks’ daughter. Motes explains that he sought out Watts because he “felt that he should have a woman, not for the sake of the pleasure in her, but to prove that he didn’t believe in sin since he practiced 504
what was called it; …” The line offers some insight into the complex relationship between men and women expressed within these works. If a male character were to
Ibid., 34. Ibid., 24. 503 Augustine, Confessions , translated by F.J. Sheed (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc., 1993), 3. 504 Ibid., 110. 501 502
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engage in a sexual relationship with a woman and not feel guilty, perhaps then it might suggest a certain rising above whatever selfinflicted constraints (in the terms applied here) have been imposed. Yet, it appears impossible for Motes to effect this sort of acceptance. The relationship between men and women, especially in a sexual sense, represents a union in which, according to Lewis, “a transcendental relation is set up 505
between them which must be eternally enjoyed or eternally endured.” It becomes most difficult to remove the spiritual because the act is so spiritually significant. Motes at first plans to ruin Sabbath’s innocence: “He wanted someone he could teach something to and he took it for granted that the blind man’s child, since she was so 506
homely, would also be innocent.” Rather, she pursues him, and her bluntness and accepted depravity once more drive him to consider the implications of the Incarnation. A bastard, she explains to Motes how she wrote a letter to a columnist asking for advice. Since a bastard could not be saved, she wondered whether it truly mattered if she became physical with men. The statement again reveals an incomplete and frustrated understanding of theology, and the columnist’s response indicates a strong level of invention that flattens out rather than elevates the spiritual. Sabbath explains, “Dear Sabbath, Light necking is acceptable, but I think your real problem is one of adjustment to the modern world. Perhaps you ought to reexamine your religious values to see if they 507
meet your needs in life.” The statement represents one of O’Connor’s most telling comments on the wrongheadedness and danger of modern thinking. Rather than allow
C. S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters (N.p: C.S. Lewis Pte. Ltd., 1942; New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996; San Francisco: HarperCollins, 2001), 96. 506 Ibid., 110. 507 Ibid., 119. 505
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honest spiritual truth available through the Incarnation to transform the person, the columnist suggests the religion change to suit the person’s needs. With this sort of thinking, it becomes easy to see why Sabbath can so aggressively lie when she says to 508
Motes, “I can save you. … I got a church in my heart where Jesus is King.” She explains elsewhere what she more accurately thinks: “That innocent look don’t hide a thing, he’s just pure filthy right down to the guts, like me. The only difference is I like 509
being that way and he don’t.” It becomes her goal, then, to allow him the sort of ease in living that she experiences. Of all the women in these works, Sabbath appears one of the most capable in providing what the male protagonists believe they need. She says, “I like being that way [filthy], and I can teach you how to like it. Don’t you want to learn how to 510
like it?” Motes expresses a desire to accept what she offers. “Yeah … I want to,” he says, but he proves incapable. Motes eventually succumbs to her sexual temptation, wherein she dubs him “King 511
of the Beasts,” but he finds no “sabbath,” no rest in the girl. When she accepts the dead boy from Enoch and attempts to enact a sort of play, Motes reacts violently. She holds the child, an “empty look” on her face, and she imagines “there was something in him of everyone she had ever known, as if they had all been rolled into one person and killed 512
and shrunk and dried.” She perceives the state of humanity in the corpse, but it fails to prompt any deeper reflection. Instead, she morbidly begins to play with the body like a doll, and then she approaches Motes, who transitions from thinking about his mother to a
Ibid., 121. Ibid., 169. 510 Ibid., 169. 511 Ibid., 170. 512 Ibid., 185. 508 509
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view of a mother with a child , in fact, a young girl cradling a shrunken corpse. He throws the dead body against the wall and then outside, and she declares, “I seen you wouldn’t let nobody have nothing. I seen you were mean enough to slam a baby against a wall. I seen you wouldn’t never have no fun or let anybody else because you didn’t want nothing 513
but Jesus.” Sabbath rails against him because he will not involve himself in her invention. He sees the situation for what it is, a mock, twisted, dishonest play upon the true, straight, honest Incarnation. The final significant female relationship in Wise Blood concerns Motes’ interaction with Mrs. Floods, the landlord who takes him in and eventually offers herself in marriage. A summary assessment of her character very closely links to a discussion of the ideal because it is so closely intertwined with the question of whether or not Motes or herself accepts Christ and undergoes any sort of transformation before the story’s end. Do they at least attain the ideal? Does Motes finally see Christ? The question of the ideal expresses or implies a need for completeness or wholeness. It seems to suggest a joy that the mutable and inefficient powers of the world and humanity cannot supply. Ironically, Wise Blood contains perhaps the fewest explicit hints or suggestions of the ideal. Once more, though, the absence proves the point; the more one observes the absence of Christ, the more one observes Christ and apprehends the need for his Incarnational Reality. The Incarnation exists as real, powerful, dynamic reality outside the text, which is why its removal appears so starkly within the novel. As stated previously, “home” remains one of the few concepts expressed by the characters
Ibid., 188.
513
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that betrays a hope for the ideal—beyond the more figurative imagery that screams the Incarnation. “Home” appears again at the end. Without a car, which had prevented his need for 514
justification , Motes returns to his room and tells Mrs. Floods he plans to blind himself. 515
The act inspires within Mrs. Floods an arrest, and she appears, “for the first time,” to consider her mortality. Mrs. Floods proves unique among the female characters in Wise Blood because she attempts to earnestly discern what Motes sees and she appears to eventually engage him in relationship for the mere sake of relationship. Floods considers 516
herself “clearsighted,” which might account for her admission that all people are, “if 517
the truth was only known, a little bit off in their heads.” She perceives a wrongness. She sees in Motes a “question” and thinks that the “blind man had the look of seeing 518
something.” At first her motivations for interacting with Motes seem somewhat 519
selfcentered, as she thinks he might be “cheating her in some secret way” and so she wants to find out why. She also hopes to benefit financially. After a time, however, she comes to enjoy his company and keeps after him to discover what significant thing it was 520
she thought he knew. “She liked to see things,” the text reveals. She then plans to 521
marry him and to “penetrate the darkness behind it and see for herself what was there.” In the end, she tells him her plans. She says, “Nobody ought to be without a place of their
Ibid., 210. Ibid. 516 Ibid., 211. 517 Ibid. 518 Ibid., 213214. 519 Ibid., 213. 520 Ibid., 218. 521 Ibid., 225. 514 515
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own to be, … and I’m willing to give you a home here with me, a place where you can 522
always stay, Mr. Motes, and never worry about yourself.” Motes seems to have inspired within her a genuine transformation. Despite earlier intentions, she intends to provide him with the opportunity for genuine relationship. Unfortunately, he wanders from the house, and she calls after him, in an explicit reference to nihilism, “‘There’s nothing, Mr. Motes,’ she said, ‘and time goes forward, it don’t go backward and unless you take what’s offered you, you’ll find yourself out in the cold pitch black and just how 523
far do you think you’ll get?’” The text makes the same statement to the reader; one must take what’s offered, life in Christ or death without. He disappears, and she weeps 524
for him, as “she deserved a friend.” Later she accepts him into her home, Motes now a corpse, having died in the back of the police car as they returned him. The text ends as she “sat staring with her eyes shut, into his eyes, and felt as if she had finally got to the beginning of something she couldn’t begin, and she saw him moving farther and farther 525
away, farther and farther into the darkness until he was the pin point of light.” The end, like so much of Wise Blood , allows for multiple interpretations. Debra L. Cumberland, for instance, in her article “Flannery O’Connor and the Question of the Christian Novel,” explores the varied opinions on the success of the book as Christian and suggests that if one deems a Christian novel as one that “shows someone converting at the end or that . . . focuses on qualities of grace and redemption,” then Wise Blood fails, citing the absence of any significant relationship following Motes’ blinding as
Ibid., 227. Ibid., 228. 524 Ibid., 229. 525 Ibid., 232. 522 523
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evidence that the novel remains dark to the very end. “However,” she explains, “the claim could also be made for an expanded definition: we can also view Wise Blood as a Christian novel simply because it portrays a Christian vision of hell—the path to it, the 526
state of it.” One might also cite it as an example of God's "bearing down on or pushing up through the world's life": "The result is that every created thing, both natural and human—from toadstools to pillarboxes and political revolution—offers occasion for sacramental discernment, as the Incarnation becomes the lens for detecting what is evil and what is good, what reflects the glory of God and what obscures it."527 Perhaps, then, in one sense, O’Connor’s Wise Blood goes further than most if not all the texts discussed. The other authors held out hope for the ideal, and not knowing what it was, they threw a wide net, while O’Connor realized her hope firmly within the Incarnation. Thus, she alone successfully employs the powers of the Incarnation to create a depiction filled with the vacuousness of a reality without Christ. She leaves the ideal, Christ Incarnate, as a pin point only. Mrs. Floods explains earlier in the chapter how she begins to view “the whole black world in his head and his head bigger than the world, his head big enough to include the sky and the planets and whatever was or had been or 528
would be,” clearly a reference to the central importance of Christ in creation. She then 529
directly links the light to “some kind of a star, like the star on Christmas cards.” Thus, the Incarnation, the ideal, makes its appearance here as but a small point of light, signaling to the world the reality of a savior.
526
Debra L. Cumberland, Flannery O’Connor and the Question of the Christian Novel,” in Wise Blood: A Reconsideration , ed. John J. Han (New York: Rodopi, 2011), 21. 527 Wood, 214. 528 Ibid., 218. 529 Ibid., 219.
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When C.S. Lewis begins Mere Christianity , he does so by focusing on the presence of a natural law that guides human behavior—and the unfortunate fact that humanity tends to fail in what it feels it “ought”530 to do for his fellow man. If the depravity that meets humanity on a daily basis proves fertile ground for a discussion of the rebirth available through Jesus Christ, then surely a work that accentuates that depravity, with full awareness and acceptance of the Incarnation, should also prove beneficial in pointing out to humanity what it so often fails to see.
Lewis, C. S. Mere Christianity , revised and amplified edition (N.p: C. S. Lewis Pte. Ltd., 1952; New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 2001), 8. 530
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CHAPTER FIVE N.I.C.E. INVENTION: C.S. LEWIS’ THAT HIDEOUS STRENGTH "But what lies that way?" the nihilist asks, pointing to the narrow path. But how to explain? Substance, Christ might say. Genuine reality. A place to stand. You, in point of fact, lie that way. In one direction you diminish, become less you than you ever were. That way, the narrow way, you find identity. And here Christ points and asks the nihilist to look up the narrow path at the faint outline of a feminine form. "And what you find," Christ says, "once you walk with me, is that you're not alone." One might hazard surprise that two of the most prominent Christian writers of the twentieth century would choose to spend their time creating vastly complex worlds through such mediums as science fiction and fantasy at a time when the influence of nihilism continued to rob one's day and one's concepts of any sort of spiritual resonance or reality. Yet, their faithful exploration into invented worlds made possible by and filtered through the Incarnation of Christ prove to be a deliberate and effective means to combat the unbelief clinging to humanity and effecting its environment. C. S. Lewis in That Hideous Strength offers readers what Flannery O'Connor purposely removes. In Wise Blood , one sees what happens when one removes the Incarnation from a perception of reality. It results in a warped, frustrated, distorted image that by its composition suggests recreation through genuine architecture made possible by a single, authoritative architect. Like Hazel Motes, the text retains its integrity. Lewis, however, in addition to
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featuring the pattern suggested by works that deal significantly with nihilism, sudden arrest, invention, women helpers, and the ideal, and like O’Connor, writing through the powers of the Incarnation to highlight the Incarnation, provides what O'Connor purposely leaves out. Whereas a type of fruitful invention remains for O'Connor existent primarily in the mere presence of the painstakingly crafted text, Lewis not only engages in the helpful destruction Christian nihilism provides, but demonstrates what meaningful invention one might produce as a result of the Incarnation. Such an evolution proves natural. The Incarnation provides the authority to properly untangle false perceptions of reality, stripping down apprehension so that one sees the world in time with Christ's accuracy, but to limit the Incarnation to this gift only would result in a rather blank canvas indeed. The Incarnation not only removes . It builds . In composing the narrative surrounding married couple Mark and Jane Studdock, Lewis depicts an arrest, sudden for Jane but prolonged for Mark, and the characters' subsequent investigation of reality, an investigation that runs along two distinct lines: an Incarnational reality made possible through Christ (identified within the text as Maleldil) and an empty reality constructed by the National Institute of Coordinated Experiments, 531
or N.I.C.E., built on nihilist beliefs. What's more, while in many cases the ideal remains something only hinted at in these novels, that “limitless happiness existing 532
somewhere else” as described in Fathers and Sons , Lewis not only fixes the ideal firmly within the Incarnation, he employs its powers to create, demonstrating through a
C.S. Lewis, That Hideous Strength , First Scribner Paperback edition (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1996), 23. 532 Turgenev, 101. 531
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wondrous, blessed invention a reality both clarified by the Incarnation and allowed to grow and flower and reveal more fully true existence in Christ. In the preface to That Hideous Strength , Lewis describes the novel as "a 'tall story' about devilry" that attempts to make the same argument as he does in Abolition of Man , namely, to defend the "doctrine of objective value." Divided into three sections, Abolition first focuses on the unfortunate authors of "The Green Book" and their intended/unintended propositions: ". . . firstly, that all sentences containing a predicate of value are statements about the emotional state of the speaker, and secondly, that all such statements are unimportant."533 Such implications will, as Lewis foresees, have the unfortunate consequence of inspiring in students "the belief that all emotions aroused by local association are in themselves contrary to reason and contemptible."534 They will distance the student from the tangible reality of the world, something external to humanity and not dependent upon it. Prior to modernity, humanity largely saw itself as needing to understand the ordering of the universe and learning to assume the appropriate relationship to it. Lewis identifies this concept as the Tao: "It is the doctrine of objective value, the belief that certain attitudes are really true, and others really false, to the kind of thing the universe is and the kind of things we are."535 Such thinking finds solace in the substance of the world and the ability of the human person to effectively discern it. It finds ethos in humane perception. To suggest otherwise and remove such confidence
C.S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man, (N.p: C.S. Lewis Pte. Ltd., 1944; New York: HarperOne, 2015), 4. Ibid., 9. 535 Ibid., 18. 533 534
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would create "Men without Chests,"536 as Lewis says, and put an end to those societies that accept it. Lewis then describes a somewhat paradoxical facet of the Green Book authors’ thinking that finds relationship with those advocates of nihilism; he implications that follow from the Green Book run counter to the authors' general purpose in producing the book. Some attempt to “‘debunk’ traditional or (as they would say) ‘sentimental’ values,” but retain “values of their own which they believe to be immune from the debunking process.”537 They denounce the speck but neglect the beam, and most likely they feel they are moving towards a desired end. They believe their activity breeds benefit: “They claim to be cutting away the parasitic growth of emotion, religious sanction, and inherited taboos, in order that 'real' or 'basic' values may emerge.”538 Lewis' description of their attempts to distil reality sounds similar to what takes places in literature when a nihilist character confronts individual and communal invention. The nihilists in Fathers and Sons grow tired of the “endless chatter,” with the implicit argument that such chatter is wrong or destructive or not worthy of attention, that it’s better not to engage in such behavior. They find value in breaking away the superficial. A foundational value, then, remains essentially immutable throughout history: “What purport to be new systems or (as they now call them) ‘ideologies’, all consist of fragments from the Tao itself, arbitrarily wrenched from their context in the whole and then swollen to madness in their isolation, yet still owing to the Tao and to it alone such validity as they possess."539 Yes, the Tao
536
Ibid., 25. Ibid., 29. 538 Ibid. 539 Ibid., 44. 537
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may experience refinement, like language, but “from within.” 540 Attempting to reject the Tao altogether would leave “no ground for any value judgements at all,” as Lewis says, tantamount to someone forsaking bread for “eating bricks and centipedes instead.”541 Such a drastic shift would not come abruptly, the jolt from bread to brick too obvious, too quick, but would occur over time, and certain conditions must change to allow the degradation to proceed. The culture, of course, must progress (or regress) to such a state that declarations of objective value would prove increasingly difficult and less frequent, and Lewis no doubt saw in the isolation and relativism of the twentieth century a posture poised to accept the work of the “Conditioners” he imagined and would later cast as N.I.C.E. in That Hideous Strength . National and scientific developments, too, would be needed in order to effect the necessary control over the human person. The right hands needed might and skill. Once the conditions were suitable, of course, humanity might then succeed in achieving the end goal a Green Book education extolled: “Stepping outside the Tao, they [the conditioners] have stepped into the void. Nor are their subjects necessarily unhappy men. They are not men at all: they are artefacts. Man's final conquest has proved to be the abolition of Man.” Lewis envisioned humanity’s attempt to overcome the deficiencies of its persons and environment (corruptions characterized so vividly in literature featuring nihilism) and finally gain true control through empirical means—all to no avail. One cannot replace the Incarnation, which informs and sustains Tao (an assertion Lewis allows for but does not address in Abolition ). David Storey explains, “The human is left with nothing but his drives and instincts to decide how to
540
Ibid., 45. Ibid., 46.
541
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act; he is left, in other words, with nothing but nature to guide him. But since this is not a cosmic nature with a logos, an ordered hierarchy of matter, body, soul, and spirit, but a nature bereft of reason or moral value, and since reason has been downgraded to a tool and morality whittled down to a matter of preference, it is a matter of the blind leading 542
the blind; a matter, in short, of nihilism.” Such nihilism finds shape, again, in N.IC.E. Lewis envisioned in the organization the scientific, military, political, and ideological power necessary to fully inculcate in culture the valueless existence nihilism warrants. It’s the sort of thing humanity might create if it gave nihilism its head, the sort of thing humanity might let take over if it had become inured to truth. In That Hideous Strength , Lewis beautifully shows how the Incarnation reveals the fraud of nihilism, cutting away diseased perception with the surgical precision found in the Great Physician, and ultimately, how it allows and guides meaningful creation by His sons and daughters.
Hideous Strength , like the other works, begins with a sudden arrest. The sudden arrest takes two distinct shapes, Jane's, in her association with the Director and his household, and Mark's, in his unfortunate adoption by N.I.C.E. It's significant that Lewis' text, connecting as it does with the themes present in literature with nihilist concerns, should divide its time between a distinctly feminine and male perspective. The construction allows the fulfillment of the need expressed in so many of these texts by the male protagonists for help from the female person, for existence or support, or for comfort, a need that often manifests itself in highly destructive ways. Lewis here does not remove the importance of choice, and in fact, after Mark and Jane separate at the
David Storey, “Nihilism, Nature, and the Collapse of the Cosmos,” Cosmos and History: the Journal of Natural and Social Philosophy 7, no. 2 (2011): 1112. 542
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beginning of the narrative, they do not meet again until the last page. Yet, one can see within Jane, not the destructive, abused feminine person, but a woman fully formed in Christ who then has the potential to serve (not in any demeaning sense) as an appropriate helpmate for her husband. Thus, at the very beginning of the text, Jane laments on the unsatisfactory condition of her marriage: "'Matrimony was ordained, thirdly,' said Jane Studdock to herself, 'for the mutual society, help, and comfort that one ought to have of 543
the other.'" The text reveals a longforsaken spiritual life and a present dissatisfaction with her lifestyle as a married woman. The text reveals that her "hours before her were as empty as the flat," and though she had had a certain idea of marriage, a positive one, "In reality marriage had proved to be the door out of a world of work and comradeship and 544
laughter and innumerable things to do, into something like solitary confinement." In one sense, then, one might view Jane's sudden arrest as beginning sometime after her marriage to Mark, as it prompts within her a certain introspection. She has begun to assess the meaningfulness of her reality. Or at least, her marriage prepares the ground for a far more powerful arrest, one that takes place when a horrific nightmare Jane experiences suddenly finds correspondence in reality apart from her: "That was the dream—no worse, if also no better, than many another nightmare. . . . The trouble was elsewhere. There, on the back page of the newspaper, was the Head she had seen in the 545
nightmare: the first head (if there had been two of them)—the head of the Prisoner." Though she attempts to explain the connection by what she views as natural means (having seen the image prior to her dream), the likelihood that she has experienced Lewis, 13. Ibid. 545 Ibid., 15. 543 544
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something accurately about which she had no real prior experience, will prompt her to question her reality and encourage her to seek advice from authorities. At this point in the narrative, Jane will no longer be allowed to carry on as she had before. Mark's arrest proves quite distinct from Jane's but perfectly appropriate considering his indoctrination into N.I.C.E., the source of nihilism and promoter of meaningless invention. Ironically enough, Mark proves arrested without full awareness. His inability to perceive his arrest has been aided by his experience with what he 546
perceives as the "Progressive Element" in Bracton College. Mark is already somewhat clouded by nihilism before he meets the much more powerful conditioners at N.I.C.E. He shows a distinct lack of awareness of the surrounding environment around him: "He did not notice at all the morning beauty of the little street that led him from the sandy hillside 547
suburb where he and Jane lived down into the central and academic part of Edgestow." Mark fails to notice his surroundings, and the implication is that the scene bears a beauty that exists apart from Mark's perception. They are beautiful apart from Mark, and Mark has failed to notice them, revealing a deficiency in his apprehension of the world. Blunted, then, Mark will also fail to apprehend N.I.C.E. with any sort of accurate discernment. He will be easily taken in by the organization's role as "the firstfruits of that constructive fusion between the state and the laboratory on which so many 548
thoughtful people base their hopes of a better world." Later, when Lord Feverstone puts the question to him, whether to elect "obscurantism or Order," to join in the campaign to
Ibid., 17. Ibid., 16. 548 Ibid., 23. 546 547
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549
create a "new type of man," he will choose to carried along, not realizing the arrest that has taken place, rather like lobster in slowly heated water. Mark's challenge for much of the text will prove recognizing the arrest and gaining the courage and will to face the invention nihilism has prompted and into which he has fallen. Like the previous works, invention in That Hideous Strength takes a prominent role and concerns much of the conflict within the text. Lewis depicts invention of two types however. One is the subtle, destructive invention that makes accurate perception of reality difficult and hampers one's understanding of the world and one's relationship to it and other individuals. The other is a type of blessed invention, present in the other texts but explicit in Lewis' text. For most of the secular authors, a blessed invention, or an invention that draws upon the goodness of order made possible through the Incarnation, appears in the mere orchestration of the text itself, a largely unacknowledged application of the human ability to create meaningful art. O'Connor, of course, achieves such a feat with full acknowledgement and thus creates a work with greater unity and cohesion. Lewis not only depicts a destructive invention shaped by nihilism, he demonstrates how the Incarnation allows one to break this invention down and replace it with invention that burns brightly under the authority of Christ and has as its creators sturdy architects who themselves are authoritative given their relation to Christ. One not only sees the world clearly, but one has the potential to add to creation in a meaningful way. Jane journeys into this blessed invention in much quicker fashion than Mark. Again, her dissatisfaction with her marriage and reflection on her dissatisfaction appear
Ibid., 42, 41.
549
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to prepare her more readily to pay attention to the world around her and what it means. Of major importance to her transformation, too, is her interaction with Ransom, the Director, and the members of his household, persons one imagines Screwtape might 550
describe as being "far advanced in the Enemy's service." The group aids Jane in her increased understanding of reality, whereas Mark must untangle his in the presence of those who compose and disseminate false perceptions. Much of her struggle surrounds her understanding of herself as a woman and as a wife and her acceptance of a reality much larger than the limited natural one to which she had always subscribed. From the beginning, it's clear Jane struggles with the concept of obedience in marriage, or at least, the traditional views of a husband and a wife that she would see as somewhat archaic. For instance, she reflects on a particular passage from Donne that focuses on "mind in women," and she muses, "Did any man really want mind in 551
women?" The implication here appears to concern a belittling of women's intellect. She must reduce herself or place herself in some way as inferior, which she opposes. She chooses her clothes to "make it plain to everyone that she was an intelligent adult and not 552
a woman of the chocolatebox variety." The attitude accounts for Mark's impression of 553
an "indefinable defensive" he perceives in her. From this position of "superiority," she then forms her view of women like Mrs. Dimble, who she admits can cut "to the root of 554
the matter" and yet possesses the "wrong point of view about such things" as concern the modern woman and her role. Her interaction with the warm, formidable believer Mrs.
Lewis, Screwtape Letters , 16. Ibid., 16. (author’s emphasis) 552 Ibid., 28. 553 Ibid., 44. 554 Ibid., 30. 550 551
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Dimble, however, reveals the mistake of her invented notions. In a rather nononsense 555
fashion, Mrs. Dimble asks Jane, "Do you hate being kissed?" Jane immediately bursts into tears. Mrs. Dimble's keen question and warm presence offer Jane comfort: "Not to detest being petted and pawed was contrary to her whole theory of life; yet, before they went downstairs, she had told Mrs. Dimble that she was not going to have a baby, but 556
was a bit depressed from being very much, and from a nightmare." Her fragile state, in part a consequence of her weak, poorly invented view of reality, must lean on Mrs. Dimble for support, and increased relationship with Mrs. Dimble and then the rest of the company later will only further reveal her weak apprehensions. One observes a strong reaction in her, for instance, when she meets the Director. Again, for Jane, the destructive invention concerns a clear understanding of herself as a woman (and thus her relationship to men and God) and the validity of her dreams, which also coincides with an acceptance of a much larger world than she envisioned when she remained plagued by her limited, invented view of reality. A significant component of this small scope, for instance, deals with fixed restrictions she makes on her interaction with other people, even her husband. "To avoid entanglements and interferences" represents her "first principles," and thus, even at the point of marriage, she considers it 557
imperative that she withhold herself. "But I must still keep up my own life," reverberates through her person. The Director and his group, however, conduct themselves with an Incarnational view of reality, a much wider perspective than Jane's, and with an accuracy bound to wholly legitimate authority. (Their faith in the Incarnation Ibid. Ibid. 557 Ibid. 555 556
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does not suggest they did not error in perspective or remain without limitations, but they rely on an external authority that in itself is perfect and provides the necessary foundation for their activities in discernment.) Jane, when she meets the group, does not have the clarity they possess, and the question of the dreams and her interaction with the group disturbs her understanding of the world: "The bright, narrow little life which she had proposed to live was being irremediably broken into. Windows into huge, dark 558
landscapes were opening on every side and she was powerless to shut them." She betrays hints of a strong and negative invention, one influenced by the culture and herself. Enthralled within the invention, she proposes to live in certain fashion. She imagines it might proceed in a way that makes sense to her. The Director, however, represents something other: "And the thing [the reality her dreams and the company suggest] was so preposterous! The sort of thing which, according to all the authorities she 559
had hitherto accepted, could not really happen." Jane cannot, however, dismiss the certain aura that the Director appears to exude. In this case, the effect he has on others is not the sort of forced influenced one might find in N.I.C.E. Rather, the physical effects are a result of his physical person responding to a different, apparently more spiritually imbued plane. Like Moses' glowing visage, Ransom, the Director, cannot but help the changes his travels and experiences have had upon his physical person. When Jane meets him, his person, glowing with strength and vitality (despite his wound), somehow ageless, confronts her with its inescapable reality. 560
She sees in him the reality of the "word," the concept, of " King ." What one sees here is Ibid., 83. Ibid., 83. 560 Ibid., 143. (author’s emphasis) 558 559
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what one misses in the invented painting portrayed in Kafka's Trial . While there was false authority, here one finds true authority given its relation to authority found in Christ. She cannot, after meeting the Director, retreat from what experience has shown her: ". . . 561
her world was unmade; she knew that. Anything might happen now." Understandably, the Director challenges not only her understanding of her (female) self, but the greater world and universe. The struggle to test her views against the reality the Director presents reveals the cracks within her structure. She experiences a 562
"new sort of scruple," and a notion of "thinking about what is right " calls for reflection. After revealing deep discontentment in her marriage, she inquires after the Director for his views on the subject: "'Child,' said the Director, 'it is not a question of how you or I 563
look on marriage but how my Masters look on it.'" The "masters" represent the spiritual 564
authorities that exist above him. They are "old," but not "old fashioned," as old fashioned might suggest something of lesser relevance. Rather, they are old, but they represent timeless values to follow within each distinct time period. They also exist above the Director. Hierarchy does not become a manmade design that results in misuses and abuse, but rather, represents perfect hierarchy, with Christ at the center. The Director's interaction with these beings, and his subsequent learning and experience, contribute to the distinction between himself and the rest of the group and between himself and Jane especially. The Director offers her a different, more accurate perspective on her marriage. She considers her marriage a "mistake," but she admits she also shared some part in its
Ibid. Ibid., 144, 145. 563 Ibid., 146. 564 Ibid. 561 562
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failure: "And her heart sank, for now it seemed to her that this conversation, to which she had vaguely looked for some sort of deliverance from all problems was in fact involving 565
her in new ones." Her faulty invention has suggested to her the possibility of easy
solutions, or at least, they have convinced her of a sort of entitlement, and she wants easy solutions. The Director, however, presents her with information that more firmly shades the actual contours of the world and identity. Such a world is not only complex, but it calls for the created person to explore, learn, and behave as a creature worthy to discern a complex creation. He explains, ". . . that you do not fail in obedience through lack of 566
love, but have lost love because you never attempted obedience." For Jane, of course, the concept of obedience seems a horrid thing that diminishes her personhood. The Director presents a different view, something that draws much closer to a sense of individual will rather than sheer sentiment. What one wants or feels entitled to should not always prove the basis for one's relationship with others. The Director provides a new sense of priority. The concept of "equal rights," much like the necessity for garments, for covering the human form, is necessary given the "fallen" nature of humanity, but 567
"equality is not the deepest thing, . . ." A higher understanding of oneself and others and the world change's one's person and thus one's relationships. And whereas easy invention puffs up a person, draws attention to oneself, invention stripped down by the 568
light provided by the Incarnation calls for "humility." To equalize certain things, or place "equality just where it ought not to be," might be to forcefully and dishonestly
Ibid., 147. Ibid. 567 Ibid., 148. 568 Ibid. 565 566
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make something that it is not. Blessed invention involves not coercion but clear apprehension of the world, and clear apprehension suggests a reality Jane's interaction with the Director begins to further reveal, one in which she is in fact much smaller than she previously imagined. Jane experiences "hugeness": "Something intolerably big, something from Brobdingnag was pressing on her, was approaching, was almost in the room. . . . The whole room was a tiny place, a mouse's hold, and it seemed to her to be tilted aslant—as though the insupportable mass and splendour of this formless hugeness, 569
in approaching, had knocked it askew." The world proves much bigger, much different than she imagined. The more Jane experiences this bigger world and allows the knowledge to encourage reflection, the more she draws close to the Incarnation and thus truer 570
perspective. She imagines herself, for instance, very much "divided." Part of her paid attention to the real physical response she experienced during her interview, while another part dismissed the behavior and found it appalling "to have surrendered without terms at the mere voice and look of this stranger, to have abandoned (without noticing it) that prim little grasp on her own destiny, that perpetual reservation, which she thought 571
essential to her status as a grownup, integrated, intelligent person." Still another part 572
seems intent on connecting certain words or concepts to "real life" one wants to locate the various phrases that float about in Enoch Emery's mind in a way similar to the sensation described here. Still, the final Jane, the one that "dominated all the rest at every
Ibid., 150. Ibid. 571 Ibid., 151. 572 Ibid. 569 570
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573
moment without effort and event without choice," experiences a "state of joy." The text flourishes with beautiful, concrete descriptions of the world around her and of herself. One sees a taste of the joy that so often eludes these nihilist characters. The beauty and joy she experiences she connects also to herself: "And she rejoiced also in the consciousness of her own beauty; for she had the sensation—it may have been false in fact, but it had nothing to do with vanity—that it was growing and expanding like a 574
magic flower with every minute that passed." One sees here the reverse of what one sees in O'Connor's Wise Blood . While O'Connor shaped her characters to reflect the distortion that occurs when one moves away from the Incarnation, Lewis here describes what happens to a person that draws nearer to the Incarnation and the truths it reveals. Again, it grows vibrant, powerful. It flourishes. And it delights in proper obedience in the appropriate fashion in the appropriate context, again, with Christ as the foundation. While Jane's sudden arrest and ensuing investigation of reality blessedly results in a fuller, brighter, more comprehensive understanding of reality, poor Mark's, unfortunately, leads him further down the quagmire of nihilism. In fact, nihilism adopts Mark as one of its agents. It's interesting to note that the track Lewis takes in casting Mark and Jane in opposing roles (at least initially). The structure not only allows Lewis to reveal perspective righted through the Incarnation, but also the restored relationship between a man and woman. Mark finds in Jane the help and succor needed to lead Mark to a restored sense of meaning in himself and his relationship to the people and the world around him, a true helpmate. Unfortunately, as intelligent as Mark is, he appears rather
Ibid. Ibid., 152.
573 574
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daft when it comes to recognizing and adopting an Incarnational view of things. Before he can see himself and Jane and the world properly, he immerses himself in the ridiculous and hollow existence N.I.C.E. extends to him. When the reader first meets Mark, his character appears already deeply involved in a lifestyle dominated by superficial invention. He busies himself thinking about the business of Bracton College, focusing on an insubstantial reality over a more substantial one: "He did not notice at all the morning beauty of the little street that lead him from the sandy hillside suburb where he and Jane lived down into the central and academic part of 575
Edgestow." Here Mark neglects a real certainty in a reality external to him. Rather than being more in tune with the environment, he appears more cut off from it. He floats awash in bad invention. Consider his obsession with what he describes as "the 576
Progressive Element in College." One of the strongest compulsions Mark faces within the novel that drives him further into the artificial concerns the idea that he must remain a part of a specific group, his "Progressive Element." The sensation proves greatly similar to that same driving force that Ivan Ilyitch experiences in Tolstoy's work. Mark must meet a certain (false) standard he has set for himself. The last thing he wants is to feel an "outsider, watching the proceedings of what he then called 'Curry and his gang' with awe and with little understanding, and making at College meetings short, nervous speeches 577
which never influenced the course of events." The passage depicts the terrible state Mark finds himself in at the moment. He lusts after something he clearly does not understand, and any contribution he makes is largely insubstantial. It's as if one has run Ibid., 16. Ibid., 17. 577 Ibid. 575 576
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into one of those society persons Bazarov describes and would turn away from in disgust: a banal person, and one who longs only to be banal within the right group. Another sign of Mark’s poor invention becomes especially prominent not only in his missed appreciation of the natural world but also in his relationships with other people. His relationship with Jane, for instance, clearly bears the marks of his distorted views and subsequent prioritizations. Thus, when he finds her in panic on their doorstep, he cannot understand her (and as the text states, at this point in her journey, she could not have explained herself to him either). Later, the next morning, he watches her figure with 578
“indolent, earlymorning pleasure.” He fails to put forth any effort in truly understanding her, and rather, he engages in what the text describes as “projection,” the 579
proclivity of the human race to transfer one’s “feelings” or “sensations” onto a thing or person. Certainly, Mark reacts to a physical, external reality, but he takes the lazy course and simply assumes his feelings of reality are the same as her feelings, and in so doing he neglects a necessary aspect of relationship. He fails to truly see her and know her, and instead, he invents his own perception regardless of external reailty.
His professional relationships, too, prove affected. The shallow nature of Mark’s relationship with his coworkers accounts for the various hints at dissatisfaction Jane notes in her view of his friends . She views Lord Feverstone: “—that man with the loud, unnatural laugh and the mouth like a shark, and no manners. Apparently a perfect fool too! What good could it do Mark to go about with a man like that? Jane had distrusted his face. She could always tell—there was something shifty about him. Probably he was
Ibid., 46. Ibid.
578 579
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580
making a fool of Mark. Mark was so easily taken in.” Jane perceives Mark’s yearning for their company and feels the wrongness not only of this yearning but the sentiments of his coworkers regarding Mark. Mark, too, allows instances when he admits that he clearly does not enjoy or take genuine pleasure in the company he keeps: Mark’s “pleasure in being with him [Curry] was not that sort of pleasure,” not a genuine pleasure, a joy, but a false one. Within this sort of atmosphere, then, N.I.C.E. enters the picture, and one should note the significance that it’s during one of these college meetings, again, which reveal the same sort of flavor as those meetings Bazarov describes, that decisions take place that allow evil the footholds it finds necessary to assert its forces. One should note, too, the quiet voices, the voices of those who protest the bad decisions but our drowned out by the louder voices spewing invention divorced from the world. Here is an environment ripe for nihilism's N.I.C.E. agent. N.I.C.E. views itself as the organization responsible for pushing the human race towards a more perfected evolution; in fact, it advances the sort of life nihilism dictates. Its tools satisfy certain constraints that Lewis foresaw would hamper such an entity’s efforts to remove any sort of foundational value in the world. It grasps the power and the scientific skill necessary to achieve its aims: “It’s the first attempt to take applied science 581
seriously from the national point of view.” Science, used without any spiritual component, any link to higher purpose, can produce empty, nightmarish products. And Mark and others at Bracton facilitate these efforts to gain control. In the college meeting, one observes one of the first of many instances of invention, which N.I.C.E. and its
Ibid., 48. Ibid., 37.
580 581
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lackeys create and wield with tremendous rapidity and with which the college already appears experienced. For instance, the text notes that the sale of Bragdon Wood, which represents a good and wholesome reality and which will find greater relevance in the narrative later, does not appear in stark, realistic language. Nor it is introduced with any clarity or true sense of priority. Rather, one item on the agenda for that day, and not even 582
the first item, but the fifteenth, simply reads, “Sale of College land.” Indeed, the events of the meeting are of such a type and ardor that one immediately sympathizes with wouldbe nihilists of the revolutionary type who simply want to chuck out the whole given the absurdity of the parts. They read and summarily reject three requests regarding Bragdon Wood, their response no doubt coming under the influence of the reader of the letters, Curry, whose “reading … was certainly not such as to gloss over any defects in 583
the tone of the original composition.” Most of the crowd pays attention to the style with which the information is presented, and most of them fail to ask good, particular 584
questions. A few make the attempt, persons deemed “outsiders” or “obstructionists,” but they are typically ridiculed and their statements usurped and warped by others. Confusion predominates. Consider the uncertainty that surrounds the introduction of N.I.C.E. as a topic of discussion: “The next item was one of those which the majority of 585
the Fellows could not understand.” It concerns the relationship between N.I.C.E. and the University of Edgestow and what exactly the nature of the relationship means. Empty phrases occur consistently, and it seems apparent that the school must extend some sort
Ibid., 23. Ibid., 24. 584 Ibid., 25. 585 Ibid. 582 583
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of powers to N.I.C.E.: “What all this actually amounted to never became clear to any of the outsiders. … every effort to find out what their defeat had meant, though answered with great lucidity by Curry, served only to entangle them further in the impenetrable mazes of the university constitution and the still darker mystery of the relations between 586
University and College.” Such are the conditions of the meeting. Cumbersome language fuels confusions and misapprehensions and vague assumptions and often lazy or nonexistent reflection. Lewis describes their flavor of invention: “It is very seldom that the affairs of a large corporation, indefinitely committed to the advancement of learning, can be described as being, in a quite unambiguous sense, satisfactory. His delivery was excellent. Each sentence was a model of lucidity; and if his hearers found the gist of his 587
whole statement less clear than the parts, that may have been their own fault.” The dialogue, or the lack of proper dialogue taking place, represents the subtle slickness of invention and provides the conditions for quiet injustices. In such a context, the decision carries to sell a place like Bragdon Wood, which “was almost a basic assumption of life” 588
to the few clearsighted enough to see it. Nihilism prevents meaningful dialogue. N.I.C.E. thus sinks its teeth into the university, the community, and Mark
Studdock. Again, in contrast to Jane, who has her inventions stripped away and replaced by good authority, Mark sinks deeper and deeper into false invention fueled by nihilism. In many ways, one sees in Mark’s immersion into N.I.C.E. culture what it might have been like had Josef K. attempted to gain employment within the complex, confusing, convoluted court systems that appear to hold power over him. K. confronts employees Ibid. Ibid., 27. 588 Ibid., 28. 586 587
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segmented from others and distanced from any sort of proper authority. In much the same way, N.I.C.E. functions in a haphazard, divided fashion, with separate parties with varied emphases and ambiguous levels of authority. An organization built from nihilism cannot function well. Had K. found it possible, he might have discovered a person a lot like Mark working within the court system, likely in the communications department. In a conversation with Feverstone, Mark gleans a bit more about the nature of his role in N.I.C.E. (although particulars are never clearly articulated and he doesn’t truly appreciate his place until well near the end of the narrative). Feverstone describes the “crossroads” humanity finds itself facing, the distinction between “obscurantism or 589
Order.” If one chooses the right side and that side exerts its necessary powers, it will 590
“recondition” humanity: “make man a really efficient animal.” Feverstone then describes certain steps that will need to be taken in the future, primarily what can be done about the abundance of life on the planet and how one might tackle the difficulty he finds inherent in humanity. He explains, “There’s far too much life of every kind about, animal vegetable. We haven’t really cleared the place yet. First we couldn’t; and then we had aesthetic and humanitarian scruples; and we still haven’t shortcircuited the question of 591
the balance of nature.” The first step thus reduces living creation. Humanity has continually dealt with the complexities and difficulties of life attributed the mere reality of the natural world. N.I.C.E. hopes to reduce it to those components it can better manage. One may then find an extension here of the type of thinking Bazarov puts forth, finding some solace and utility in the usefulness of science. Humanity finds reality Ibid., 41. Ibid. 591 Ibid., 42. 589 590
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dissatisfactory; science will fix those ills, but it must make them manageable first. The other step involves the reeducation of humanity: “—sterilization of the unfit, liquidation of backward races (we don’t want any dead weights), selective breeding. Then real education, including prenatal education. … A real education makes the patient what it 592
wants infallibly: whatever he or his parents try to do about it.” Here N.I.C.E. attempts to solve the problem that still exists even with technological advancement. Humanity, despite its tools, remains the same. And since N.I.C.E. cannot locate true value in anything, it will harm humanity and the world in its efforts and make life unlifelike. Feverstone advocates a scientific approach to conditioning humanity to ignore certain real aspects of reality. (Huxley's Brave New World looms, off in the distance.)
593
Into this mix, the effort to create a "new type of man," Mark learns what N.I.C.E. would have him do. "You are what we need," Feverstone explains: "a trained sociologist with a radically realistic outlook, not afraid of responsibility. Also, a sociologist who can write." Mark's skill in composition will become important in N.I.C.E.'s dissemination of potent invention. Feverstone explains, "We want you to write 594
it down —to camouflage it." The notion of camouflage embodies one of the main characteristics of invention. The invention proves difficult to see, not only because of the way it's crafted, but also because of the challenges it presents to the audience, who must discern it. Consequently, N.I.C.E. needs someone as adept as Mark to craft their message. ". . . it does make a difference how things are put," Feverstone says. Thus, one must not "experiment on criminals," but one may engage in the "reeducation of the maladjusted." Ibid. Ibid. 594 Ibid. (author’s emphasis) 592 593
215
595
Again, a great deal hinges on the distinction the audience makes between terms like 596
"experiment" and "experimental." N.I.C.E. will explicitly create what humanity tends to experience through indifference or ignorance or limited knowledge anyway. One sees the bad fruits of Mark's labor in the articles he writes on the Edgestow 597
riot, which is itself " engineered " by N.I.C.E. Mark writes two articles with essentially the same aim for two different audiences, “one for the most respectable of our papers, the 598
other for a more popular organ.” In this way he creates invention meant to capture multiple levels in society. The first reeks of inflated intellectualism. It floats two main points, the first that the “episode will administer a rude shock to any complacency which may still lurk among us as to the enlightenment of our own civilization,” then suggesting the altercation was more than likely “some quarrel, probably in a public house, between 599
one of the N.I.C.E workmen and some local Sir Oracle.” The second concerns the N.I.C.E. police force and the role of such an entity in a complex modern society: “That this problem has been solved by other countries in a manner which proved fatal to liberty and justice, by creating a real imperium in imperio , is a fact which no one is likely to forget. The so called ‘police’ of the N.I.C.E.—who should rather be called its ‘Sanitary 600
Executive’—is the characteristically English solution.” Again, its language cast with an intellectual tone, the article seeks to mislead the public, in the first instance by suggesting both the need for N.I.C.E. and largely putting the blame on the community and in the
Ibid., 43. Ibid. 597 Ibid., 129. (author’s emphasis) 598 Ibid., 131. 599 Ibid., 131132. 600 Ibid., 132. (author’s emphasis) 595 596
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second by clouding its nature through deceptive wordplay, all in an effort to bolster support for the organization. The second article proves much more sensationally written. It attempts to remove a deeper reflection of the Institute from the purview of the common people and pitches sloganlike keywords meant to entice them: “We do know what each man or woman expects of it. We expect a solution of the unemployment problem, the 601
cancer problem, the housing problem, the problems of currency, of war, of education.” A common person, then, need not understand what N.I.C.E. does as long as it provides . The article then attempts to create an atmosphere of fear and paranoia by suggesting a conspiracy, but a conspiracy, in fact, against N.I.C.E. The article even goes so far as to 602
blame the Jews. Again, Mark’s efforts are designed to create a miasma of invention, in this case conducted to suit the Institute’s interest. N.I.C.E. takes advantage of the manner in which humanity communicates and engages the world, exploiting its errors and limitations, and it can do so because its nihilism finds no true meaning in words. Mark perceives the immorality of his actions. For instance, the text reveals that his work on the articles constitutes “the first thing Mark had been asked to do which he himself, before he did it, clearly knew to be criminal,” and he finds the task of 603
"concocting the news itself" repugnant. Despite these misgivings, he will continue his work for them. Such will be the tenor of Mark’s integration into the Institute. He will at times reflect on his conduct and express doubts, and he will even go so far as to attempt to flee, but consistently, feelings of inclusion and selfimportance feed his vanity and encourage him to continue. That Mark would appear so suitable a candidate for N.I.C.E. Ibid., 133. Ibid., 134. 603 Ibid., 130, 131. 601 602
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and struggle with the temptations they offer him proves significant and derives for the most part from his “education”: It must be remembered that in Mark’s mind hardly one rag of noble thought, either Christian or Pagan, had a secure lodging. His education had been neither scientific nor classical—merely “Modern.” The severities both of abstraction and of high human tradition had passed him by: and he had neither peasant shrewdness nor aristocratic honour to help him. He was a man of straw, a glib examinee in subjects that require no exact knowledge (he had always done well on Essays and General Papers) and the first hint of a real threat to his bodily life knocked him sprawling. Here, then, one observes the general culture of modernity that would not only make it susceptible to the dangers of nihilism but also foster its growth. He lacks any sort of clear moral structure, either one explicitly located in Christ or derived from His creation. As the text states, he is a “man of straw,” bereft of anything substantial. He appears so inured to invention that only one of the strongest apprehensions of reality, threat to his physical person, offers any sort of real disturbance. As a result, Mark makes an ideal tool and welcome addition to the “warm and almost drugged atmosphere of vague, yet heavily 604
important confidence in which he was gradually being enfolded.” Once again, with the proliferation of N.I.C.E. into the English countryside and beyond, Jane and Mark experience a tremendous upheaval of their understanding of reality. Jane’s proves guided by the Director and his group, and the good authority in Christ he represents burns away much of the flawed invention that once so dominated her understanding. As a result, she forms genuine relationships. Mark, unfortunately, rather than fleeing from bad invention, immerses himself within it through his association with N.I.C.E. The association continues to sicken him and pull him away from Jane and any
Ibid., 54.
604
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sort of proper relationship. (“I thought you were at least my friend!” he exclaims to Feverstone at one point, despite the ridiculousness of the assertion given the actual particulars of the situation and their relationship.) In following the two storylines, Lewis offers an instructive glimpse into two distinct types of invention, one influenced by nihilism and one that builds through backing made possible in Lord Jesus Christ. Indeed, a significant aspect of this blessed invention concerns Lewis’ adoption of 605
elements of Arthurian legend and Roman mythology. These and other historical, literary, and cultural referential material he incorporates into the narrative, allowing the Incarnation and its implications to transform and adapt the concepts. Much of this mythology, in fact, appears with greater explication in the previous two volumes of his Space Trilogy. Lewis adopts a pattern in the third volume that follows Mark and Jane’s limited perspective. They learn the unknown realities that exist separate and apart from this text but nonetheless influence it and to which they and the other characters must respond. Again, though, of chief significance is that the bedrock nature of the Incarnation remains unchanged. Certainly, yes, it remains interpreted here by a single individual and then presented to an audience of individuals, but such is the unavoidable nature of a discerning humanity. However, rather than call into question the ability of the human person to identify patterns and deal with these ideas in a substantive, effective, meaningful way, Lewis’ creation relies on an existent, approachable body of knowledge and the ability of the human person to marshal his humane forces and wade into these
605
In fact, references within the book prove enormously extensive, drawing on matters of history, literature, philology, philosophy, and much more. Lewis even draws into the discussion Tolkien’s MiddleEarth mythology with his reference to “Numinor” (201). The intricacies of all these references will not be sufficiently dealt with here, but rather, the focus will remain on the intent to adopt such ideas for Incarnational purposes.
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ideas, testing them, weighing them, all through the Godgiven auspices formed through Christ. Initial reference to Arthurian legend takes shape in the form of “Merlin’s Well,” which exists at the center of Bragdon Wood and in fact represents the “heart of Bracton 606
or Bragdon Wood,” where “out of this all the legends had come ….” The importance of the well becomes clearer later when the Director and his group surmise the reason for 607
N.I.C.E.’s interest in the Wood, namely, that it contains the “body of Merlin.” Again, Lewis couches the narrative in such a way that it presents plausible but obviously fictitious elements adapted from historical material in order to impart certain truths. Consider how the group comes to its conclusion concerning the well: “Dimble and he [the Director] and the Dennistons shared between them a knowledge of Arthurian Britain which orthodox scholarship will probably not reach for some centuries. They knew that Edgestow lay in what had been the very heart of ancient Logres, that the village of Cure Hardy preserved the name of Zona le Coeur Hardi, and that a historical Merlin had once 608
worked in what was now Bragdon Wood.” Lewis builds the account from the literary and historical discussion surrounding the legend of King Arthur, for instance, the significant literary additions of Geoffrey of Monmouth and his Historia Regum Britanniae . He invites the reader into imaginative but plausible play. Note the group’s assertion that Merlin’s “art” appears more than “mere legend and imposture” and the 609
distinction they make between it and a Renaissance conception of “Magic.” Lewis
Ibid., 21. Ibid., 201. 608 Ibid., 200. 609 Ibid. 606 607
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cleverly includes Dimble’s argument that such a distinction can be observed through proper literary analysis. “… a good critic,” he muses, “by his sensibility alone, could 610
detect the difference between the traces which the two things had left on literature.” Lewis, in crafting such a tale, calls for the reader to act as a “good critic,” becoming aware of and appreciating the subtle distinctions between this text and that text, this idea and that idea, training the mind in discernment and doing so by engaging the faculties drawn to perfection in Jesus Christ. Lewis thus plucks the idea of Merlin from the literary record and cultural consciousness and reshapes him, allowing the Incarnation to bathe the character and employ it for its purposes. In Lewis' conception, then, “Merlin’s art” represents the “last survival of something older and different—something brought to Western Europe after the fall of Numinor and going back to an era in which the general relations of mind and matter on 611
this planet had been other than those we know.” Note the cleverness but legitimacy with which Lewis crafts the message. He builds the scheme using abstraction made possible by and legitimated by the Incarnation to suggest a possibility. Merlin represents a different kind of thing, and those differences respond to Christ in a way consistent with the material Lewis creates and the actuality of Christ. Consider his reference to “eldilic 612
energy” and “eldilic knowledge.” Jane, and subsequently the reader, learns more about the “eldils” in a conversation with MacPhee, who through a healthy skepticism lends some authority to the plausibility of the tale. These two mature heads attempt to come to terms with the information presented to them. They don’t deal with it in a false, Ibid. Ibid., 200201. 612 Ibid., 201. 610 611
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unrealistic manner. MacPhee explains that the eldils are “creatures that live in empty 613
space.” They reside on Mars, “but they don’t rightly belong there.” The creatures also dwell on Venus, and in fact, many prove “more or less permanently attached to particular 614
planets, but they’re not native there.” Yet, again, these descriptions of the beings flow through a limited human understanding. Humanity approaches reality through a human perspective, and so, a nonhuman entity will not necessarily adhere to the same medium of understanding or be bound by similar restraints. As MacPhee states, “They’re just a 615
clean different kind of thing.” Thus, the presence of Merlin's body, not typical decayed remains, proves no shock to them: "In their eyes the normal Tellurian modes of beingengendering and birth and death and decaywhich are to us the framework of thought, were no less wonderful than the countless other patterns of being which were 616
continually present to their unsleeping minds." Such is the value of effective science fiction and fantasy, which disturbs the reader's invented view of the world and, depending on the relation of the text to Incarnational truth, results in a clearer apprehension of reality. Employed here, Lewis allows it to explore and condemn certain destructive tendencies evolved in culture, the increased potency of nihilism. For instance, he notes how the "physical sciences, good and innocent in themselves, had already, even in Ransom's own time, begun to be warped, had been subtly manoeuvred in a certain direction. Despair of objective truth had been increasingly insinuated into the scientists; 617
indifference to it, and a concentration upon mere power, had been the result." Lewis'
Ibid., 191. Ibid. 615 Ibid. 616 Ibid., 201202. 617 Ibid., 203. 613 614
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comments here shed light on the compelling distinction that appears in a nihilist like Bazarov in Turgenev's work and most later twentiethcentury nihilists. For instance, Lewis explains that the dark powers' attempts to make "the old dream of Man as God" a reality would not have worked with pretwentiethcentury empiricism. He writes, "Their firm objective materialism would have excluded it from their minds; and even if they could have been made to believe, their inherited morality would have kept them from 618
touching dirt." The description aptly describes someone like Bazarov, who claims nihilism but presents as a largely moral, reasonable character despite what he says. The increase of nihilism and the obvious lack of fulfillment through empirical means that progressed in the twentieth century would increase humanity's vulnerability. "It was 619
different now," Lewis writes. More could be permitted. With humanity walking ever closer to the conception of absolute nihilism, Lewis portrays a humanity blindly attempting to strive toward that point through national, empirical means. One may develop a more comprehensive understanding of Lewis’ mythology through an analysis of the entire Space Trilogy. Once more, Lewis confines the narrative of That Hideous Strength to the more limited perspective of Mark and Jane. (Yes, a reader may approach the text with greater understanding having read the previous works, but the pieces remain a part of the whole and maintain its integrity.) Clearly, Lewis' mythology draws its sustenance from the notion of a spiritual realm proposed by Scripture and voluminous Christian theology. In Out of the Silent Planet , for example, the reader learns that Earth was left to the control of the Bent Oyarsa after a failed rebellion,
Ibid. Ibid.
618 619
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620
silencing Earth. Maleldil, whom MacPhee explains the eldils “regard as their king,” offered humanity salvation by taking human form. The scheme offers an imaginative rendering of the Incarnation. Lewis thus takes the truth of the Incarnation and builds a narrative from it that offers additional perspective without diminishing the Incarnation in any way. In fact, such creation only exists as a result of the Incarnation. Mark and Jane Studdock, and the reader, participate in this elucidation of God's Word. Ironically, Christ appears in That Hideous Strength as Maleldil, while references to Jesus and the "New 621
Man" appear largely through N.I.C.E.'s warped conceptions. Such a construction only works by building on genuine reality through Christ. Like the concepts of sudden arrest and invention, That Hideous Strength also features the final two elements, that of women helpers and the ideal. Lewis, in fact, includes an observation that goes a long way to explain the warped, abused image of women included in so many of these texts. When Jane first visits St. Anne's, she stumbles upon a passage from a book: "To desire the desiring of her own beauty is the vanity of Lilith, but to desire the enjoying of her own beauty is the obedience of Eve, and to both it 622
is in the lover that the beloved tastes her own delightfulness." The passage suggests the reconstitution of relationship. A man's improper enjoyment of a woman's beauty damages the woman and suggests a fault in the lover. Likewise, a woman's improper relationship to her beauty damages both herself and the male and suggests a fault in the beloved. The perversion of the sexes in so many of these novels stems from a broken relationship to the Divine that by extension damages all relationship. Again, one should find it significant Ibid., 225. Ibid., 177. 622 Ibid., 63. 620 621
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that a text that builds a blessed invention possible through the Incarnation includes the fulfillment of women helpers and the ideal as well. The true beauty of woman in her relationship to man and God appears within the text, in Mrs. Dimble, most significantly in Jane, and for the most part absent in Miss Hardcastle. In Miss Hardcastle's case, her distorted womanhood places her amongst the depictions of women found in O'Connor's 623
Wise Blood and the other texts. Lewis describes her as bearing a "cold intimacy" and an odd sort of sexualization mixed with violence. For instance, Hardcastle appears attracted to Jane even as Hardcastle tortures her, and one of her subordinates, a "Waip," or Women's Auxiliary Institutional Police, who also represent a negative caricature of 624
women (Feverstone says "feminine to the point of imbecility" ), suggests that the 625
"examining" Hardcastle engages in with Jane occurs often with others. Hardcastle appears in conflict with more blessed manifestations of the female person. She appears a 626
hard contrast to Mrs. Dimble, who is described as a "Christian wife" and perfects herself through the Incarnation of Maleldil (Christ) on earth. The discussion of Mrs. Dimble as Christian comes at the supreme turning point for Jane. Throughout the entirety of the narrative, Jane has struggled to understand the nature of what it means to be a woman. At one point she experiences a visitation from an earthly Venus. As the Director explains, each of the planets features an Oyarsa with a type of "representative on Earth." The person Jane describes as the "Huge Woman" 627
represents the "earth Venus," whose "heavenly archetype" will appear later. To Jane,
Ibid., 61. Ibid., 96. 625 Ibid., 156. 626 Ibid., 314. 627 Ibid., 316317. 623 624
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however, the figured appeared "'untransformed, demoniac,'" since Jane is neither a Christian or a virgin and has "rejected all that has happened to her [the Old Woman] since Maleldil [Christ] came to Earth." The Director identifies Jane's stumbling block as 628
"Pride." The thing that bothers her pride and that she cannot escape is the "masculine," not maleness, which the Director explains "exists only on the biological level," but the masculine: "But the masculine none of us can escape. What is above and beyond all 629
things is so masculine that we are all feminine in relation to it." The revelation further rocks her previous understanding of reality, which has slowly continued to transform as more and more the reality offered by the Incarnation becomes introduced to her. Thus, she reveals that she had been thinking "‘spiritual' in the negative sense—as some neutral, or democratic, vacuum where differences disappeared, where sex and sense were not transcended but simply taken away." The reality she experiences proves much different than what she imagined, not reduced or limited, but more itself. She then perceives "differences and contrasts all the way up, richer, sharper, even fiercer, at every rung of 630
the ascent." The distinction suggests a major distinction in the way she has viewed her marriage, remembering, of course, the consistent aversion she has demonstrated to anything that might reduce her in person in some way. The fear she had of an "invasion of her own being" connected not, in fact, to what faulty invention claimed it did, to the "animal life or patriarchal barbarism," but as the text explains, to "the lowest, the first, and the easiest form of some shocking contact with reality which would have to be
Ibid., 315. Ibid., 316. 630 Ibid., 315. 628 629
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631
repeated—but in ever larger and more disturbing modes—on the highest levels of all." Objective reality bears distinct characteristics, and its realness prompts certain reactions in the subjective individual of humanity. The individual must not, however, remain fixed within its own invention, but draw closer to a fuller, more comprehensive understanding of what is. Here one sees the Incarnation, the center of creation, correct individual perspective. Reality has thus proven much larger and much different than Jane's previous, limited, shallow understanding of it. The confrontation with a larger view of what is prompts within her an important decision, one that bears significance not only for herself but for her relationship to Mark as well. As she approaches the ultimate moment of transformation, important, negative inventions influencing her reality begin to drop away, the truth of "what stained glass was 632
really like," the distinction between "religion" and "God." She at last hits upon the only invention that truly matters, the only one with supreme authority over reality, the reality that she is "a thing designed and invented by Someone Else and valued for qualities quite 633
different from what one had decided to regard as one's true self." Here, then, one sees the clear apprehension and acceptance that has eluded so many of these nihilist characters, the truth that Hazel Motes cannot escape. And when at last the moment of conversion comes, one experiences a blessed invention that resonates with all the power and wonder of the Incarnation. Jane experiences: A boundary had been crossed. She had come into a world, or into a Person, or into the presence of a Person. Something expectant, patient, inexorable, met her with no veil or protection between. . . . It was the origin of all right demands and contained them. In its light you could understand them; but from them you could Ibid. Ibid., 316, 318. 633 Ibid., 318. 631 632
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know nothing of it. There was nothing, and never had been anything, like this. And now there was nothing except this. Yet also, everything had been like this; only by being like this had anything existed. In this height and depth and breadth the little idea of herself which she had hitherto called me dropped down and vanished, unfluttering, into bottomless distance, like a bird in a space without air. The name me was the name of a being whose existence she had never suspected, a being that did not yet fully exist but was demanded. It was a person (not the person she had thought), yet also a thing, a made thing, made to please Another and in Him to please all others, a thing being made at this very moment, without its choice, in a shape it had never dreamed of. And the making went on amidst a kind of splendour or sorrow or both, whereof she could not tell whether it was in 634 the moulding hands or in the kneaded lump. The text flows with such a sense of completeness, wholeness, a rest at home at last. The human consciousness confronts or is confronted by an ultimate reality, an Architect with the supreme authority to explain and justify the manner in which the world has been built, to allow one a more complete, more objective understanding of self, and from that understanding, to strip away any inventions and build oneself through Christ, creating one's identity as it was meant to be and only able to do so because the perfect steps down to lift up the imperfect soul. One wishes to know existence, and existence opens itself and reveals the truth: I am. The text draws to a close. Lewis completes his blessed invention, offering a nod to the affirmation that everything must be all right when the proper hand guides the tiller, a conclusion not without losses, not without a personal choice, but comforted in the knowledge that God has set it how He has for good reason. It finds in it the acceptance expressed by a father in Cormac McCarthy's The Road that "if he were God he would 635
have made the world just so and no different." Lewis creates the end by proposing two dominant and opposing images, the ultimate reality found in his chapter "The Descent of Ibid., 318319. Cormac McCarthy, The Road (New York: Vintage International, 2006), 219.
634 635
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the Gods" and in the curse of Babel inflicted upon N.I.C.E. The approaching heavenly powers have a tremendous affect on those at St. Anne's. They become aware of the 636
"packed reality of Heaven," and rather than barrenness or void, reality becomes expansive with meaning. It affects their interaction and perception of each other. It affects language. The Director, "whose study had been for many years in the realm of words," experiences pure speech, pure language, bereft of any faulty invention: "He found himself sitting within the very heart of language, in the whitehot furnace of 637
essential speech." Maleldil, or Christ, of course, exists at the center of this, and in fact, the text even alludes to the funnel of the Incarnation that provides humanity with the proper mechanism to approach the world: ". . . it was Charity, not as mortals imagine it, not even as it has been humanised for them since the Incarnation of the Word, but the 638
translunary virtue, fallen upon them direct from the Third Heaven, unmitigated." The Director and Merlin and the rest of the household experience these powerful forms, the humans "taking their place in the ordered rhythm of the universe, side by side with 639
punctual seasons and patterned atoms and the obeying Seraphim." Furthermore, all this precedes and in a way prepares them to receive the "great GlundOyarsa, King of Kings, through whom the joy of creation principally blows across these fields of Arbol, known to men in old times as Jove and under that name, by fatal but not inexplicable misprision, confused with his Maker—so little did they dream by how many degrees the stair even of 640
created being rises above him." Lewis allows for both conditions that would lead
Lewis, 320. Ibid., 322. 638 Ibid., 323. 639 Ibid., 325. 640 Ibid., 327. 636 637
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humanity to invent and accept that invention as reality to the exclusion of reality, as well as the conditions that should suggest that such thinking stands as a toolimited perspective—He provides, too, the means to properly place one's perspective: Christ. Through its interaction with the Divine in the form of Christ, humanity thus clearly identifies itself and its place within the world. The result? Wondrousness, joyfulness, wholeness—a party, in a perfected sense of the word. Mark, too, experiences his own conversion. Rather than the meaningful reality that Jane experiences, however, Mark comes to his decision after being asked to accept the unreality that N.I.C.E. offers. Frost tells him, "When the socalled struggle for existence is seen simply as an actuarial theorem, we have, in Waddington's words, 'a concept as unemotional as a definite integral' and the emotion disappears. With it disappears that preposterous idea of an external standard of value which the emotion 641
produced." Frost then suggests a "systematic training in objectivity" that will finally 642
destroy the "whole system of instinctive preferences." For Mark, the proposition proves too false, too abhorrent, and after Frost shows him a room designed to eradicate the clearsighted evaluation of the world and its objects, a room with "things of that extreme 643
evil which seem innocent to the uninitiated," he at last comes to a decision. He reflects, "Whether because he had already survived that attack, or because the imminence of death had drawn the tooth of his lifelong desire for the esoteric or because he had (in a fashion) called very urgently for help, the built and painted perversity of this room had the effect
Ibid., 295296. Ibid., 296. 643 Ibid., 299. (The original reads “uninitiate”; what seems a typo has been corrected.) 641 642
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644
of making him aware, as he had never been aware before, of this room's opposite." Mark thus takes a road very similar to that one created intentionally by O'Connor. In the presentation of the abnormal, he discerns the normal. Perhaps this also explains his earlier revulsion to the "New Man," N.I.C.E.'s perverted version of an immortal humanity represented in the bodiless "Head." Straik explains, "The resurrection of Jesus in the Bible was a symbol: tonight you shall see what it symbolised. This is real Man at last, and it claims all your allegiance."645 The suggestion that the ideal resides in the Head, incomplete, without the means to truly experience reality, existing as an "artificial man, free from Nature,"646 conflicts with the wholeness and brimming life found in the 647
Incarnation. Thus, Mark explains, "He was choosing a side: the Normal." To do otherwise courts destruction. To do otherwise rejects the tools of existence. Lewis cleverly presents this point by depicting what happens when nihilism guides human invention: the curse of Babel: "Then, crystal clear in articulation, beyond 648
all possibility of mistake, came, 'The madrigore of verjuice must be talthibianised.’" Communication completely breaks down in "Banquet at Belbury" after Merlin afflicts those present. Words become truly meaningless. Wither, for instance, reveals that "he had never expected the speech to have any meaning as a whole," but that the speaker, Jules, 649
proves in danger of not even being able to "pretend that he was saying in particular." Invention persists because it plays at articulated meaning. Its apparent meaning masks it
Ibid. Ibid, 177. 646 Ibid. 647 Ibid., 299. 648 Ibid., 344. 649 Ibid. 644 645
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with legitimacy, though quite often it manages only obfuscation. It's this artificiality that prompts so many of our nihilists to (attempt) to withdraw from the societies that spawn it. Again, one largely thinks of Bazarov or the narrator from Fight Club . Hazel Motes stands in the crowd and mutters, "You ain't true." And yet, bad invention develops around the mechanism of language, and nihilists like Bazarov can only baulk at the banality because they do, in fact, attend to language and detect the thin ice. Yes, the meaning has become confused, but it means enough to make that determination. Invention, governed by nihilism, cannot help but end with absurdity and ridiculousness, and with the audience perceiving it as such. One can only pretend at removing the Incarnation. Merlin calls out to the crowd: "They that have despised the word of God, from them shall the word of 650
man also be taken away." Truly remove the Incarnation, and . . . 651
The final image is that of a "marriage chamber." The novel begins with Jane lamenting the state of her marriage, with dissatisfaction. Something is not as it ought to be. The text ends with a renewed sense of understanding. Mark and Jane, having taken different roads to the same dwelling place, see the world much clearer, and they are poised to truly see each other. Jane's journey, of course, has been punctuated by her relationship with the Director and his happy crew, and her ultimate acceptance of Christ has allowed her to share His view of her and the world. Mark's travels have been plagued by his own inability and unwillingness to accept the truth. In the end, though, he cannot accept the lie or the damnation Wither embraces: "He [Wither] had willed with his whole heart that there should be no reality and no truth, and now even the imminence of his own
Ibid., 351. The citation here provides the translation. Ibid., 379.
650 651
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652
ruin could not make him." Mark realizes he has failed to embrace the "humility of a 653
lover" and "behaved as if he were native to that fenced garden and even its natural 654
possessor." He had neither seen nor treated her as a " Lady ." He comes to a hard 655
conclusion: "For he loved her now. But it was all spoiled: too late to mend matters." 656
Jane, for her part, follows the Director's advice to "go in obedience . . . and find love." Husband and wife find one another, much changed, in a place of "liquid light and 657
supernatural warmth."
Ibid., 353. Ibid., 380. 654 Ibid., 381. 655 Ibid. 656 Ibid., 379380. 657 Ibid., 382. 652 653
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CONCLUSION TRANSCENDENCE THROUGH FICTION: THE IMPORTANCE OF THE INCARNATION IN REALITY FORMATION Inside Siberia, “on the banks of a broad solitary river,” Rodion Raskolnikov resides within a Russian prison where he and other prisoners “pound alabaster” along the water.658 A shack sits in a small village near Cuba. A mast may lean against the wall. The shack has a dirt floor. Two pictures hang on the wall. One picture most certainly does not hang there, a picture of Santiago’s wife, taken down sometime after her death. It is a good place to read about baseball.659 In Beleriand, six rivers stretch like fingers across the east: the Ascar, the Thalos, the Legolin, the Brilthor, the Duilwen, and the Adurant. The Silmarillion ’s index lists approximately seven hundred and eightyseven names, beginning with Adanedhel and ending with Year of Lamentation.660 Since March of 2005, Wookipedia , an online wiki for Star Wars fans, has created over a hundred thousand articles.661 It describes the Dagobah planet as existing in the Sluis sector and lists the lahdia plant as one of its main types of native flora.The article features information about climate, too, which it describes as “murky.”662 Currently, Paramount’s Official Star Trek
Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment, trans. and ann. Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky (Leningrad, 1973; New York: Alfred A. Knof, Inc., 1992; First Vintage Classics Edition, 1993), 535. 659 Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea , illus. C.F. Tunnicliffe and Raymond Sheppard (New York: Scribner, 1952), 1618. 660 J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, ed. by Christopher Tolkien (George Allen & Unwin Ltd., 1977; New York: Ballantine Books, 1999), iixix, 389442. 661 Wookieepedia, the Star Wars Wiki , accessed July 8, 2014, http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Main_Page . 662 “Dagobah,” Wookieepedia, the Star Wars Wiki , accessed July 8, 2014, http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Dagobah . 658
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Fan Club sells a number of Star Fleet uniforms, the old style, the new, and the newold, depending on one’s preference.663 Tremendous time, attention, and detail, all poured into fictional worlds that link writer, medium, and audience—such references highlight the human need for worldbuilding, for authenticity in a fictional reality . The more genuine the fantasy, the more lauded, the more enduring, the more potent the effect. Inauthentic works exist, too (i.e., Twilight or Pride and Prejudice and Zombies ). Inarticulate, inconsistent, even in their earnest attempts at absurdity, they often fail to resonate. They slide off the cultural consciousness or appear in a flash and burn themselves out for lack of fuel. They lack the stuff of realness, of real life, or prey upon its vices. The trick of good literature, good art, exists in its ability to allow one to comprehend and immerse oneself within and above both the universal and particular. “Intellectually worthy poetry or fiction, most of us think,” David Lyle Jeffrey and Gregory Maillet explain, “will provide us a means of grasping basic truth by abstracting a plausible insight from divergent probable particulars.”664 Such qualities are sorely needed at a time when, following on the heels of modernity’s failure to offer a hopeful, substantive, fulfilling reality, doubt pervades human consciousness. A return to meaningful reality may necessitate a retreat that employs the language of nihilism and its reclamation in Christ. Indeed, art, especially literature, represents perhaps the strongest medium one might employ to lead one to the ideal immanent and transcendent reality available only through the Incarnation. As Jens Zimmerman explains, StarTrek.com , accessed July 8, http://www.startrek.com/. David Lyle Jeffrey and Gregory Maillet, Christianity and Literature: Philosophical foundations and Critical Practice (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2011), 39. 663 664
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“Only in Christianity with its incarnation are subject and object united in a participatory way that retains the integrity of each. In the way Christianity determines the correlation between God (objective, transcendent reality) and the human consciousness (subjective pole of experience) as participation, we also detect how, in human knowing, general truths are expressed truly in the particular.”665 The Incarnation provides the physical and metaphysical backing necessary for true apprehension. Such a declaration comes with rather obvious bias, but so does the opposition. Regardless of one’s feelings on Christianity, good scholarship (and daily practice) cannot deny that the Christsolutions to the problems of nihilism draw together the pieces of the puzzle in a wholly satisfactory way, one that suggests temporal and eternal development rather than a pointless, cyclical experience of the moment. With the understanding that “reality and all human experience of it are thus unified in Christ,”666 one finds the basis for confidence in one’s ability to apprehend reality. Why, though, allow a narrative account to inform one’s understanding of reality and, ultimately, the question of one’s existence? As David Lyle Jeffrey and Gregory Maillet aptly ask, “What has truth do do with literature—which, after all, is ‘fiction.’”667 In this, literature turns out to be uniquely suited to address the needs and demands of a postmodern humanity. A discussion of the increased potency of nihilism during the nineteenth, twentieth, and twentyfirst centuries, for instance, links to a discussion of the loss or dilution of a robust Christian humanism. At the heart of this Christian humanism
Jens Zimmerman, Incarnational Humanism: A Philosophy of Culture for the Church in the World , (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2012), 169. 666 Ibid., 264. 667 Jeffrey and Maillet, 38. 665
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was the acknowledgment that, “For the Christian, humanity’s original greatness is indicated by the incarnation, death and resurrection of the Godman, Jesus the Christ, who provides the paradigm of true humanity.”668 Early, medieval, and even Renaissance Christian humanism achieved what Zimmerman describes as a “holistic view of the Christian life.”669 Such perspective proved important because it “neither withdrew from world and culture nor simply endorsed them.”670 It also allowed to remain intact the connection to a metaphysical reality. Humanity lived within the world and among its fellow creatures, but over and above this reality, a transcendent reality existed, one that linked to the physical world and proved essential for the stability of physical reality. Unfortunately, events and developments took place in Western civilization that increasingly removed the spiritual from all areas of human life and isolated the individual. Before this shift, as Zimmerman argues, humanity experienced “a world inhabited by both higher realities and mundane events.”671 One must eat, but even so, a greater source of nourishment exists . One must work, yes, but such activity bespeaks a higher functioning. One must love, daily, in thought and action, beneath a greater sense of authority and purpose. However, the connection to these “higher realities” deteriorated, leaving only the “mundane,” which by itself proved too much to bear. Zimmerman explains, “To put it in philosophical language, ontology and reason, nature and supernature, belonged together, and we belonged to both. This ‘ontological synthesis of faith and reason’ began to fall apart …. The human self became isolated from nature
Zimmerman, 16. Ibid., 13. 670 Ibid. 671 Zimmerman, 33. 668 669
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and from society; the ground was prepared for individualism and rationalism.”672 Advancement under the auspices of empirical machinery and the invested confidence in the rationality of the human being allowed humanity to progress, to make “improvements,” even while it removed the Christological source that would have given these activities and results meaning. The result was, unsurprisingly, dissatisfaction with reality as one perceived it existed. Walker Percy explains, “Dazzled by the overwhelming credentials of science, the beauty and elegance of the scientific method, the triumph of modern medicine over physical ailments, and the technological transformation of the very world itself, the self finds itself in the end disappointed by the failure of science and technique in those very sectors of life which had been its main source of ordinary satisfaction in past ages.”673 The effects proved damaging, infused as they were with a sense of selfdestructiveness and the severance of communal ties of responsibility and the inherent dignity of the human person. Thankfully, humanity, even as it banged its head against the wall, demonstrated its unwillingness to escape fully into nothingness, and here literature takes a therapeutic role. Zimmerman outlines a number of key areas that suggest, what he calls, the “demise or exhaustion of secular reason,”674 each bearing some implication for literature’s restorative nature. He first notes, for instance, the “interpretive” nature of human knowledge. Human knowledge does not, in fact, rise above human consciousness into a totally objective realm, but rather, finds itself fixed firmly within a particular context that depends greatly on the interpretive condition and powers of the individual. Ibid. Walker Percy, Lost in the Cosmos (New York: Picador, 1983), 178179. 674 Zimmerman, 35. 672 673
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“Interpretation ,” Zimmerman affirms, “ thus always requires personal integration of fact into a framework of meaning, and this integration requires imagination and narrative .”675 Such manner of knowing discourages the individual’s isolation from the community. Typically, isolation in some way or another features as a significant mainstay that afflicts the nihilist protagonists within modern works of literature. Ironically enough, they often attempt to isolate themselves in order to understand themselves. (Consider the narrator of JeanPaul Sartre’s Nausea for instance.) Such plans to remain isolated prove impossible, however, as the world exterior to the individual remains instrumental in forming the individual’s inner perspective and sets the stage for subsequent development by experience. The exterior world has informed the narrator’s understanding, and he continues to interact with that exterior world, emphasizing both a “preunderstanding of reality” and a “tacit selfunderstanding that guides … research and is enriched by it.”676 What takes place in the artistic process, then, constitutes the individual’s participation in a projected world projected by another self and, through this participation, an enrichment or expansion (or degradation, which entails growth or change, but that which is harmful) of the audience’s experience, and consequently, their conception of reality. Stemming from this, then, the idea of the authority of the individual, “thinking in a contextfree vacuum, literally making up our minds,”677 proves foolish, as one cannot divorce the manner in which one thinks or lives from the way others have thought and lived; nor can they effectively estrange themselves from the individuals among them who have advanced compelling points that speak to the nature of Ibid., 36. (my emphasis) Zimmerman, 37. 677 Ibid. 675 676
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humanity’s existence. Again, the particular deficiencies of the modern mindset and subsequent postmodern reflections offer a plan for a healthier, more productive—what we might term more blessed —amalgamation of the practical and immanent and the ideal and transcendent. Percy offers some practical observations to this quandary: “In a postreligious age, the only transcendence open to the self is the selftranscendence, that is, the transcending of the world by the self. The available modes of transcendence in such an age are science and art.”678 Of the two available “modes,” art, as Percy explains, has the potential to reach a larger number of individuals in a more meaningful way. One might engage in science, but science represents a relatively small, elite arena dependent largely on the individual’s skill and ability to engage those particular communities. Literature has the potential to reach a much wider audience. Ironically enough, the artist might prove more objective than the scientist in one sense, in that he or she appears to better acknowledge the “predicament of the self,”679 of the self’s nature as being “literally unspeakable to itself.” 680
The “artist,” he continues, represents “the suffering servant of the age, who, through
his own transcendence and his naming of the predicaments of the self, becomes rescuer and savior not merely to his fellow artists but to his fellow sufferers.”681 In this, then, one may account for the emergence of nihilist and existential works (as well as the tendency of others to cast such morbid, apparently unreasonable endeavors as “neurotic indulgences”) and recognize their epistemological benefits and the “prophetic” role of
Percy, 114. Ibid., 120. 680 Ibid., 106. 681 Ibid., 119. 678 679
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their creators.682 Each author essentially becomes an expert in articulating the various ways in which the self’s inability to make sense of itself prompts attempts to compensate or distract itself. The shared experience — the artist in identifying the predicament, the audience in recognizing the predicament — acts as a connective tissue that links the author and the audience, and for a time, this awareness alleviates the suffering: “The naming of the predicament of the self by art is its reversal. Hence the salvific effect of art. Through art, the predicament of self becomes not only speakable but laughable.”683 The problem, of course, is that such experiences constitute only temporary transfusions. The blood proves too little and too weak, the water too momentary and too fleeting. The injustice, the inappropriateness of such a lack of satiation or fulfillment, suggests and demands a cleansing : empowering blood and everlasting water—a permanent transcendence. The Incarnation represents the only truth that has the power to actuate this immanent and transcendent ordering of reality. The genius of art, again, literature especially, lies in its ability to fit neatly within various means to order and make sense of reality. In this, devices like Peter Berger’s plausibility structures and Percy’s semiotic rendering of the self’s interpretation of reality prove most helpful. Such structures, of course, appear translated through the use of signs. The use of such signs exists solely within and emphasizes the complete uniqueness of the human being, the only currently known organism capable of engaging in “triadic behavior, thirdness, the Delta factor, man’s discovery of the sign (including symbols, language, art).”684 This behavior goes beyond simple “dyadic interactions,”685 interactions Ibid., 120. Ibid., 121. 684 Percy, 94. 682 683
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involving only two elements or parts. In this case, the human being recognizes the “signifier,” for instance, to borrow Percy’s example, the use of water to form the word water , and the “referent,” the actual liquid substance humanity recognizes as water.686 As a result of this new interaction, certain properties become manifest: the social nature of triadic behavior, “intersubjectivity” and “depersonalization,” and what Percy describes as that “mysterious property” that exists “between the sign (signifier) and the referent (signified),” which both somehow represent an “is”687 —the word water both is and is not the liquid. In addition, the incidence of humanity as a triadic being allows for the existence of “worlds”: “The signuser has a world … segmented and named by language.”688 A person’s world exists differently than his or her biological environment. For instance, going back to an earlier illustration, the planet Dagobah exists as a celestial sphere within a particular system in a world originated by an initial creator and then participated in by fellow cocreators, who have expanded upon the original idea—but physically, the world does not exist within the known universe. Perhaps a planet like it exists, but not this particular planet from this particular, invented world. The use of worlds also allows humanity to “know” the “unknown” parts of existence by labeling them as “unknown,” the “gaps.”689 More so than simply the words “deep space,” which constitute that expansive territory beyond the orbit of the individual’s astronomical knowledge, so, too, does the creation of Dagobah provide a locus on which to craft imaginative order for the
Ibid., 88. Ibid., 95. 687 Ibid., 96. 688 Ibid., 99. 689 Ibid. 685 686
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real anxieties and fears of this physical universe. Of particular significance, too, is the “status” of another individual within one’s world as a “conamer, codiscoverer, cosustainer” of that person’s world. Without other individuals, as Percy explains, “I would have no world.”690 A person’s world, then, exists as a conscious awareness of various signs, as “one is always conscious of something as something—its sign,”691 that may go through periods of “devolution,” but which may be “recovered” and whose origin and recovery relies on the actual existence of the referent.692 Even “fictitious” worlds possess in their origin something real because their existence derives entirely from the self’s comprehension of the actual world and experience. One comprehends Dagobah, for example, because one comprehends other planets and factors that influence planetary conditions. Even the unwritten portions of the planet, or the presence of new planets, exist, the “new life and new civilizations” named as such but as yet undiscovered. Derived, then, from the physical presence of the person in a biological setting fixed by an unalterable chronology and mediated through the use of signs that work in tangent with the biological presence to create insularly, socially constructed supports, the invented worlds prove as subject to the demands of reality as actual reality. Again, as Zimmerman purports, human knowledge is “interpretive”693 in nature, and “all human knowledge is mediated … through the media of signs and symbols.”694 The engagement, then, of invented worlds within literature offers an opportunity to exercise this mediation. Mediation through literature, which must respond to the reality of the Incarnation, allows
Ibid., 101. Ibid., 106. 692 Ibid., 104105. 693 Zimmerman, 36. 694 Ibid., 12. 690 691
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the individual to identify what is real and unreal, good and bad, true and dishonest, meaningful and meaningless. It possesses the potential to define reality better. Consider the implications for the nihilist vocabulary proposed within this work. “Sudden arrest,” for instance, denotes an event of some kind that irrevocably alters a character’s comprehension of reality and forces that person to question the fundamental nature of existence. In reading this incidence of sudden arrest, the audience participates in the character’s questioning of and reordering of his or her understanding of reality. The reader essentially becomes introduced to a new world that may in part create a sudden arrest within him or herself depending upon how much the plausibility structure presented within the work differs from the reader’s structure. Again, imagine the context of an invented world like Star Trek, whose basic premise relies on the constant arrests of individuals as they confront new worlds and species with new plausibility structures. The value lies not in how fanciful the material appears, as if it could not happen, but in the articulation of the truths represented should it actually happen, if it were actually true. How might the plausibility structure of a Klingon react to that of a Wookie, or a Hobbit, or a Santiago or Raskolnikov, and what does the individual sanctity of each fictitious structure, the reality of it, the reasonableness of it, suggest about the reality over and above these invented worlds? The more detailed, the more logical, the more real the particulars of these various worlds prove, the more genuine, in fact, the invented reality becomes. Literature also proves useful in dealing with invention, one of the dominating factors within works that deal with nihilism. Following a character’s arrest, that character
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then begins a dismantling of his or reality, and those structures that prove most weak (invented structures, for instance, like the illusion of order perceived within political bodies or elements of fashion) typically fall first. How close the characters draw near to extreme nihilism, the rejection of any and all meaning, depends on the willingness of the individuals to reject their physical persons in time and their interpretation of reality. Literature, again, relies firmly on its subjective, interpretive nature. A person’s ability to understand and trust the text comes from the person’s willingness to accept the presence of the text, the referents represented by the signs within the text, and his or her ability to interpret the text. All—the reader, the writer, the text—prove subject to various limitations. The activity, though, agrees with the “consensus,” as Zimmerman observes, “that any meaningful human knowledge that transcends mere bits of information follows the basic pattern laid down by ancient Christian thinkers of ‘faith seeking understanding.’”695 To better understand the text, one studies and interprets. To better understand life, one studies and interprets, all in an effort to understand. And in the end, the reader, like the nihilist protagonist, hopes to understand him or herself and, in conjunction, at last attain the ideal. The “ideal” within these works represents a type of wholeness or completeness (with metaphysical overtones) that remains inaccessible to all individuals as a result of the diminished, incomplete individual self and its environment. Characters desire the ideal, but ultimately, they prove unable to attain it on their own or through the efforts of other likewiseinsufficient persons. Again, consider the reference in Fathers and Sons to
Ibid., 17.
695
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that “limitless happiness existing somewhere else,”696 a concept that represents perhaps one of the most expressed needs for Christ and the Incarnational reality he offers as one may find. Many of the conflicts within these texts surround the characters’ apparent inability to achieve this ideal. Women, again, within these typically maledominated narratives, feature as a prominent part of this process. Men observe their incompleteness in their association with and behavior toward women. The relationships are often mysterious, sexual in nature, and the men usually seek from women some type of succor or assistance, but always in vain. Percy speaks on this in his assertion that “the autonomous self in a modern technological society is possessed. It is possessed by the spirit of the erotic and the secret love of violence.”697 The uncertain nature between sex and violence that Percy describes698 fits well with the oftenparadoxical behavior men exhibit in their relation towards women: “If I enter you, I am alive, even human,”699 but I will hurt you. The confusion, wrapped up in the sexual relationship between men and women, itself affected by the desire to inflict physical and psychological harm, in an effort to find meaning or at least temporary satisfaction, again, draws back to the human failure to fully adopt the reality of the immanent and transcendent reality found in the Incarnation. Literature depicts this failure and articulates our mistakes and confusion through fictional worlds, encouraging us to interpret them with the same sagacity as we must the events of life. Literature also offers many wonderful examples of relationship buttressed by Divine support: stories to emulate and make our own.
Turgenev, 101. Percy, 178. 698 Ibid., 186. 699 Ibid., 150. 696 697
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The importance of literature and its fittingness as a means to understanding represents the motivation for William Lynch's Christ and Apollo . Here Lynch aims to locate literature "in its rightful relation with the human and the real," offering a restorative to the broad range of scholarship that for a number of reasons assigns 700
literature a rather "strange character." He notes the dissatisfaction and insufficiency in
identifying with either the "absolute purity, autonomy and 'irrelevancy' of literature" or one that merely links "superficial and artificial relevancies of literature to various other 701
fields." One mustn't completely divorce literature from the world. Likewise, making only slight connections diminishes its power. Instead, he maintains a position that extorts confidence in the relevance of literature: ". . . the literary process is a highly cognitive 702
passage through the finite and definite realities of man and the world." It deals with the real, with substantive. For this reason Lynch contrasts Christ with Apollo. In Apollo he perceives the dangers of art without terrestrial anchor: ". . . everything that is weak and pejorative in the 'aesthetic man' of Kierkegaard and for that kind of fantasy beauty which is a sort of infinite, which is easily gotten everywhere, but which will not abide the 703
straitened gates of limitation that leads to stronger beauty." He links Apollo, too, with error of living within idea only, in failing to locate the internal within an external frame, 704
to a "Cartesianism" that forsakes the external world. In Christ, however, he sees the "completely definite, for the Man who, in taking on our human nature (as the artist must)
William F. Lynch, Christ and Apollo: The Dimensions of the Literary Imagination (New York: Sheed and Ward, 1960), xi. 701 Ibid., xii. 702 Ibid., xiii. 703 Ibid., xiv. 704 Ibid. 700
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took on every inch of it (save sin) in all its density, and Who so obviously did not march 705
too quickly or too glibly to beauty, the infinite, the dream." Again, one cannot overlook or dismiss the imminence of the Incarnation, which leads humanity to "the power of real 706
being outside of and real selfidentity inside the human person." The need to immerse oneself in art dominated by an Incarnational reality applies to everyone. One must avoid the frightful condition of the person who, in contrast to Goya’s image of the aged learner in his I Am Still Learning sketch, ceases to learn with the weight of years. Still, experience suggests the importance of learning something well the first time so as to avoid time spent correcting poor habits. Consider an address like Leland Ryken’s “The Student’s Calling,” which locates this “calling” in a learning characterized by relationship with God, a worldview lacking the “division of life into sacred and secular,” as “ all of life is sacred,” and a “comprehensive” liberal arts education.707 Ryken paints a picture of the poor student immersed within a culture that fosters a stunted view of both education and humanity. He muses, “College was once a time of preparation in which young adults could search for truth, broaden their intellectual and cultural horizons in multiple directions, and decide what vocation best suited their talents.”708 Unfortunately, modern universities on the whole—and the culture that insulates them—suffer from what he calls an “identity crisis.”709 These institutions tend to focus on “measurable quantities,” on academic scores and degrees, on the
Ibid. Ibid., xv. 707 Leland Ryken, “The Student’s Calling,” in Liberal Arts for the Christian Life , ed. Jeffry C. Davis and Philip G. Ryken (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2012), 1618. 708 Ibid., 15 709 Ibid. 705 706
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“utilitarian” nature of education, all couched within degree plans constricted by a “specialized world.”710 Consider, too, that Ryken here largely paints the picture of a capable student. He says little of the deficiencies in character or education built into these young persons from an often violent, eroticized, superficial, and relativistic culture that would further hamper the sort of “selflearning”711 he advocates. If the statement that “learning, in whatever form, is the student’s calling”712 prove s true, then the need for the type of learning that would train one to discern an individual, communal, and universal reality made possible through the Incarnation becomes that much more imperative. Art possesses the ability to move emotions, to effect change beyond the page or screen or canvas or stage. It bears meaning. One may, like Chesterton, draw from the tragic death of Hector the nature of sacrifice and of victory through defeat.713 The danger comes in the immersion of the self in invented worlds that pervert or invert the reality suggested by the Incarnation, so that the invented world fails, like poorly created literature does, to capture the truth of reality. The other, perhaps more pressing danger, lies in the difficulty of the individual to properly mediate between the signifier and referent, between Middle Earth and planet Earth, between Klingons and Wookies and Hobbits and one’s neighbor Dave down the street, between the command love thy neighbor and casual slander at the local park, between the word GOD and the actual presence of God. One would hate to be like the patient described by Screwtape who imagines that “‘God’ was actually located —up and to the left at the corner of the
710
Ibid., 16, 20, 19. Ibid., 19. 712 Ibid., 21. 713 G. K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man (San Bernardino, CA: EMP Books, 2014), 127. 711
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bedroom ceiling, or inside his own head, or in a crucifix on the wall” instead of as a “completely real, external, invisible Presence.”714 The remedy rests in embracing and devoting one’s attentions to the Incarnation and in the development of the individual’s ability to interpret reality, so that one may travel from Crime and Punishment to Star Wars to the driver’s seat in a car on I65 as easily as one may step from one room into another. Proper interpretation will come from God’s grace, from practice, and from visiting the best of both worlds, fictional and actual.
Lewis, The Screwtape Letters, 18. (author’s emphasis)
714
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