Monday, April 22, 2013

Chapter 57: Unconverted Soul Part 1: The Story Teller

"Dorian Gray" Fragile Films 2009

No human is guilty of anything. They try to explain everything away. It’s easier, isn’t it? There is a gay gene that makes you attracted to the other sex. There is a God gene that makes you biologically unable to believe in anything supernatural. Lying is hereditary. Drinking is hereditary. Cheating. I don’t know. All I know is that I suffer from what I’ve seen in every human on earth and I am particularly skilled at it. I should have spotted in me earlier that anyone with three copies of Robert Louis Stevenson’s “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde”, all written in, highlighted, bent up, with extra essays in the back highlighted and annotated—this person is looking for something beyond a good story. My graffitied copy of Oscar Wilde’s “The Picture of Dorian Gray” agrees. I also have the soundtrack to the London cast recording of the musical “Jekyll and Hyde”. One of the earliest ones, the Broadway version is too tacky. My iPod informed me the other day that I have listened to the album more than 200 times. I could probably sing the whole show by myself. I cannot place my obsession with this story or explain the love and understanding I have for the sad Henry Jekyll.
In the book and musical alike, Jekyll’s friends try to pry him away from his “unholy” work of separating Man’s duel personalities. He is convinced that there are two sides to every person and that if the evil side could be suppressed then the world would be a better place. He ends up having to try the experiment on himself. This creates the other title character of Edward Hyde, an evil man who kills, engages with prostitutes, drinks, and steals. Jekyll is unfair to Hyde when he says that Hyde is pure evil. Close reading shows that Jekyll has already lead a double life since his university years: being the good doctor by day and submitting to his darker urges and desires at night. He must be right; each man does have two identities.         
The Story Teller
In my family we have a little phrase that goes like this: Someone says something that doesn't sound entirely true or accurate. The second person says, “Are you telling stories?” or “The bard speaks!” Not the kindest things to say, but we all have thick skins. I’m a story teller. Not just my desired profession and favorite thing to do, but I am a liar as well. Hypocrisy is really just a big lie in my opinion. It’s been said at least a million times that the social and home life of children effect them. For me, I should be a good kid because my parents raised me to know right from wrong and make good choices. Oh, I make good choices for sure. I know right from wrong so well I can look like one and do the other.
Henry Jekyll was so wrapped up in the doings of Edward Hyde that he could justify Hyde’s actions and even partake in them himself. He didn't see the shame or the lie so long as he could be the good doctor once again. Like Dorian Gray, who was so innocent and physically good looking that no one believed it was him when he finally faced his demons and died. He had morphed into the image of his painting and became someone no one knew. He was living a lie. Jekyll was too. I’ve lied to my best friend more times than I remember. I know I have morals because I felt the shame and guilt from lying. A theory of hypocrisy is that you can only be a hypocrite if you have morals.  
My best friend (let’s call her Alice) was a horseback rider. She even owned a horse. A beautiful brown one with a white streak on her face and a white sock. Her name was Charisma. Alice took lessons, worked at the barn, and was in shows often. I loved her and coveted her horse. When I visited, I would ride too. I remember thinking that was always a little unfair because at the time I lived in the country and she lived in the city. The country girl was supposed to have the horse. Sorry, I’m justifying myself.  
One summer, tired of not being as amazing as she was, I wrote her a letter saying I was to spend the summer working at a stable not too far from my house (the only truth being that the stable really wasn’t that far away). She called me a few days later and we talked. She asked me the worst question a horse aficionado could ask a jealous know-nothing.
“What kinds of horses do they have?”
My face froze. “Uh, purebreds,” I mimicked a word I’d heard her say before.
“That’s all?” How innocent her distant phone-voice sounded.
“And some others. I don’t remember.” Worst lie in the world. I glared hard at the cheap chandelier hanging above me in my parents tiny library, thankful Alice couldn't see my eyes.
“I see.” She could tell I was lying and I knew that she knew! I don’t know how impressive it is that I could tell she knew I was lying. I’ve always been able to know when someone picks up on my lies. I’ve never corrected it though. I just remember that they know and steer clear of them.
I’m also like the frustrating female character in movies who becomes over emotional and icy when she finds out someone is lying to her. Even if she’s been lying. Maybe I get angry that I can’t spot the lying? I’m not special in that way, most people can spot a big fat lie if they want to. Do I feel betrayed? Or are humans just so dimensional that we have to lie and cheat? But we also must function on some plain of honesty as well? We deserve that honesty and we must be good humans. We want to appear good any way. But we also want to win.
         In the end, Jekyll died, Dorian Gray died. I really hope I don’t die from hypocrisy. I suppose I rather like my morals. 

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Chapter 56: A Shloppy Africa

I want to write on this dear sweet blog, but there is just not much time with all the essays I have to write for school and all the reading I'm doing. And of course I have to make time for exercise. So, for a small sample of what I've been reading, you can enjoy this first draft (I will not be posting a follow up) of an essay for my postcolonial literature class. This is the class with the devil teacher who hates us all. No, really, she said so in class. To our faces. Also told us she doesn't care how she teaches, this is her last semester, but we aren't allowed to be sloppy. Only she is. She also told me in the second week of class that I was a racist. It had to do with Jane Eyre, I'll tell you later. When I tell you about Ohio too. So here is the essay, a small bit of what I've been writing. (Ignore the freakish formatting. I don't have time to correct it right now.)

Selected Nationalism
If a dog is taken to obedience school and trained by one person then taken home and given back to the owner, he will have a hard time adjusting to obeying this person who has fed him, raised him, and cared for him for most of his life. As far he knows, the one who taught him and showed him how to behave is the one who should be obeyed. Or emulated. That person is all he knows when it comes to living life as a “good dog”. This is how I understand nationalism in my studies so far. How can a people be jerked out of their way of life for generations then revert back to a hybrid of colonialism and tradition? That path is riddled with hypocrisy and confusion. Frantz Fanon takes an honest look at what he calls the “wretched of the earth”: the new middle class in a postcolonial land. Fanon’s theories and observations of struggling, failing middle class nationalism can be brought to life in a literary analysis of Ama Ata Aidoo’s “No Sweetness Here” and “Two Sisters”.  
In “No Sweetness Here”, Aidoo shows the many stages of colonialism and de-colonialism through various characters and illustrations. First is Maami Ama. She represents the old Africa struggling to find its new place in the world. She is strong and independent, willing to give up her son for her freedom. She is, as Fanon would say, the “underdeveloped middle class… which refuses to follow the path of revolution” (Fanon 1579). She is not interested in fighting for her home, is willing to pay the debts that her husband has settling on her, and is willing to give up her son. All she wants is the chance to live like she desires to. She is not interested in the new ways like Chicha.
The teacher is Aidoo’s representation of new Africa and the way the young generation has adapted—or conformed to—the colonial way of life. Fanon says that the new middle class’ work is to “keep in the running and to be part of the racket” (Fanon 1579). She is working a white job. She is going forward with the colonial way that has already been set down because she does not know, or remember, what it was before like Maami Ama does. Chicha’s nationalism has been implanted already. As far she knows, everything is fine and Maami Ama’s ideas are old.
Then there is Kwesi and his father. Kwesi is the land itself. He is the future of postcolonial Africa that Chicha, the new Africa, adores and wants to take with her into the future. He is a product of old Africa and that’s why he appeals to Chicha so much. Fighting to keep Kwesi (the land) is Kodjo Fi, Maami Ama’s husband, who here represents the mother country. Fanon says “Colonialism… recovers its balance and tries now to break that will to unity by using all the movement’s weakness” (Fanon 1584). Kodjo yells at Mammi Ama “[Kwesi] must be of some service to his father too” (Aidoo 68). He demands that he take Kwesi since he is only worth being a present to Maami Ama. The mother country says that the land must be taken since the “new underdeveloped middle class” does not know how to work it. She is undeserving.
Maami Ama may not make it through the rest of her life. She has lost everything she loved and everyone who supported her. She, like the African people when the West first imposed power, had no one to help defend her. All of her male relatives were dead and her aunts were as likely to call her a witch as her husband’s sisters. Chicha will do fine. Fanon says “the bourgeois caste draws its strength after independence chiefly from agreements reached with the former colonial power” (Fanon 1586). This is why Chicha, with her professional job, love for the old Africa, and compliance with colonialism will no doubt live a happy life. It also takes us into the second story.
With this quote in mind, we see how “Two Sisters” is a story about nationalism and a loyalty with what morally should be. It must be hard to be loyal to an Africa that is struggling to define who it is while still coveting outside fineries.
In “Two Sisters” nice things come from outside of Africa whether they are black shoes, cars, or sewing machine motors. Fanon says that “a national economy is an economy based on what may be called local products” and so in reply “they will surround the artisan class with a chauvinistic tenderness in keeping with the new awareness of national dignity (Fanon 1579). The subject of Aidoo’s story is material gain. But not through nationalism. Rather through the mother country and bowing to outside powers.
For Mercy, she latches on to these big men because she cannot see herself any other way. Fanon says, “they are completely ignorant of the economy of their own country” (1579). Mercy is suffering from what many girls do: undervaluing herself. But it’s more complicated than that as well. Mercy questions her sister at the beginning “Is typing the only thing one can do in this world?” (Aidoo 88). This symbol of struggling nationalism in Mercy shows Fanon’s theory true; “the tribe is preferred to the state” (Fanon 1578). Mercy wants an Africa she can love, does not like her colonial job, but cannot find any other way to live but by latching on to the big man. Should she go back to the primitive ways of ages past?
With James and the big men, they have taken the power and unfair advantages that have transferred to them from the colonial period and, in the case of James, hope to use them to their advantage (Fanon 1580). The big men use them to their advantage in that they can have whatever they want from abroad (the senator mentions going to London) and anything local and innocent like Mercy who struggles between the new Africa and old Africa and is in danger of being washed away.
Aidoo makes a great analogy of the ocean in the middle of her story. Mercy and Mensar-Arthur are out on a date in the car and Aidoo has them park alongside the gulf of Guinea. First, Aidoo shows you the ocean, the West, as devouring the houses and people of the native land. Next, Aidoo uses the analogy of the ocean washing away the houses and destroying things in its path as being Mensar-Arthur. He is big, important, can do as he pleases and moves on after he has wreaked his devastation. The big men no doubt live in the prosperous areas mentioned by Fanon. He says those lucky few “come to the forefront, and dominate the empty panorama which the rest of the nation presents” (Fanon 1583). Without him, the big man, this place is nothing. This struggle for nationalism ends there. If the land is not counted as whole, then it will be picked apart and the “useless” bits will be discarded. There will be no unity.
The idea of nationalism is as far in the future as it ever has been, according to Fanon. He concludes his essay with the gap that has not only formed within the tribes and religions but with “white” and “black” Africa. The separation we see in Aidoo’s stories of struggling peoples and classes are the micro versions of North and South of the Sahara. But Fanon says that the new African middle class is not doing much to change that. He calls it lazy and it has a will to imitate its western counterpart (Fanon 1585). The new middle class has not had to work its way there, it was left its place when they finally pushed the West out. But he leaves us on a positive note: “such men fight in a certain measure for the mass participation of the people…we must know how to use these men” (Fanon 1586). But postcolonial lands everywhere face the same problem. There is only a bourgeoisie class in the large cities established by the colonials, and outside of that, there is not much hope. A middle class is only in existence where there is economic value. And that, according to Fanon, is only in select parts of great Africa. 

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Chapter 55: That's impossible!

What is? What's impossible? Shocker: me writing a nonfiction essay, that's what. "A 5-paragraph thing?" you ask. No, a normal, blah-blah-blah essay. "What?"

I can't do it and I don't know why! Here I am writing on a blog and I'm enrolled in a nonfiction class that defies all rules of writing. My teacher is amazing and the book we're reading is bizarre. But good. "Several Short Sentence About Writing" by Verlyn Klinkenborg. A great writer. He knows what he's talking about. And I don't. I've written A-essays for years. Some Bs too, but we don't talk about those. I'm a good writer. When I put my mind to it and can concentrate. I've said a million times this blog is not a show-case, but maybe it is. The kinds of essays my teacher wants us to write are not about "I learned this" or "let me inform you of this". They are crazy hard to write because they do not have a point. If you haven't had a professor like her than you can't understand. And it's so hard to not "preach" or "teach" in essays. I had no idea how hard it was. She says "write and discover a long the way. If you know what your point is before you start, then you're doing it wrong." I can't have a point. I can't have an introduction and conclusion  I need a scene. Dialogue. I know, it sounds easy! I thought so too, but now I'm mad with effort. All I want to do is write an essay with a point and a "lesson" or something. But it's so hard!
I wish I could impart to you the difficulty I am having with this class. I'm trying desperately get it right because my writing is getting generally worse in the class and I don't want her thinking I'm this loser who wants to be a writer some day but can't write nonfiction, unstructured essays. But I am! I can't not do it and it's killing me! Ugh.
I'm blogging right now because I was working on 2 essays (for different classes) and one was for nonfiction. I don't know why I can't just write something that doesn't have deep "meaning" or a "lesson to be learned". Maybe I've been teaching writing too long. But she's a teacher too and is really good and has a lot published. Grrrr, why can't I write nonfiction? I just need to say something, that's all.
You know what? I hate writing on this blog and posting something that "has no conclusion" or "so in the end" thing tact onto the end. I hate that. I felt like that was wrong and I have trained myself out of it. You know those posts. Where I just talk, don't teach. Don't you hate those? But that's what she wants! And I can't do it. I've started and re-written this one essay 3 times now and I keep trying to "show you what I learned" and that's not what it's about. I write in my journal and on here all the time like that. But I can't do it. Why do I have to preach? Because I like being in a position of power? I said that once. That it might have something to do with my social anxiety. That I don't like being around older people or people who treat my like a dumb little kid. Well, no one likes that, but I take it to a much higher level. I love teaching though. I love tutoring. My age, older, younger, it doesn't matter. Thank God I'm good at it, but I think I love it because I'm in charge and I'm not under any one. I hate being the underling. Sometimes. Not all the time. I like people who lead. Not people who stomp on me.
People who lead are different than the ones that put others down or treat them like lessers. I do that with my students. I respect them, listen to them, and I love them. I don't mind that. So I like showing and teaching. Listen to my story and what I learned. But I can't do that in these essays. It's just a "one time this happened and yeah" kind of thing. I have a hard time doing that. I want to but it's hard. Like I've said a million times.
So I also think that has to do with my social anxieties. I'm not clinical (that I know of) but I have it and depression pretty bad. So I need to feel secure in my knowledge. These essays take away from that. That's not a bad thing, it's just a new thing I can learn write about later. :) If i learn it. I want to. So here I go...  

Saturday, January 12, 2013

Chapter 54: Nothing Special, Just a Memory

At one time, I was a girl with an entire herd of imaginary horses. I had a grey Arabian stud named Skywise (after my hero from Elf Quest) and a brown thoroughbred named Tulip. In my world, they were married. I rode these horses and their offspring through my growing woods and over golden hills where more real mustangs lived. They would adopt play names with me when I pretended I was Robin Hood or Guinevere. But then when Tulip had her second foul, I got some startling news from my best friend: It was too early for Tulip to be having another baby! Scared, I sent her away to a horse doctor in Montana and adopted a what I called a Blue Meringue. He was tall, like a Clydesdale with the long hair over his hooves, but as graceful as a friesian. I can't remember what his name was, but he was a great jumper. Fantastic! Like a Pegasus preparing for flight. He was my champion. I think Skywise was jealous.
Around this time, my brother Daniel was born and when that happens mothers don't cook after birth often times. Maybe back in Arthur's days or when the female samurai needed to get back into the rice paddies. Any way, she was bedridden. Families we knew brought us meals and one Saturday it was Elise's family's turn to bring dinner. I was so excited to show Elise this Blue that I downed my turquoise flare dress (short bell sleeves and a skirt that was at least 8 yards!) with purple flowers. It was gorgeous and went with his grey blue fur perfectly. I took him into the orchard and ran laps with him before practicing some jumps. I was so excited to show her. I switched leads, walked, trotted, and cantered. I was sweating in the July heat and the grass wearing down. I had been out there with him for three hours, never stopping. I wanted her to see him running with me astride him in my blue dress. I waited and waited, ran and jumped. The sun began to crawl down into the east and the shade of the apple and pear trees stretched out. I was about to give up when that familiar, huge, old brown van came down the road. I kicked the Blue into a gallop and leaped high over a fence post, hoping to the high heavens that she had seen me jump. I don't know.
They were late because our house was "new" to most of our friends and located in No Where Leavenworth. Elise still lived in a suburb and I tried hard to seem at ease in the country. Eventually, it became the easiest thing for both of us. But that's another story.
They brought a meal of I don't remember what and plant. Yes, a plant. It was wilty and dying from falling over in the back of that amazing van. I took it, even though her mother insisted that she take it back and get us a new one. I wanted that plant. That one that had come all that with them and fallen over while they ceaselessly tried to find our house. I watered it and tried to revive it over the next few months. But the summer was too much for it. It came all that way. It fell over and got hurt. It got lost. But it made it to our home. I tried to heal it for about a month. One day, I came out to water it and found the leaves had finally fallen and shriveled up. What did it mean?
Tulip came back from back from Montana and it turned out she wasn't pregnant. She had a stomach tumor and wasn't going to make it to the winter of that year. I told Elise and we mourned as long as we could for the imaginary horse. After she died, I sold Skywise and his filly. I kept the Blue for a while but at some point he ran away. I bet his descendants are out there somewhere. 
I don't know why I wanted to save that plant. I don't know why I sold Skywise. Where did the Blue go? Why was it vital to my young self for Elise to see me on him jumping over fences? I wanted to impress her. Why? Who can say. Just a kid. It's a beautiful memory though. here is a small level of complexity and emotion to it and it's one I've had on my mind lately.
I wanted this post to be longer, but I've got to catch up on her blog as well. ^_^

Friday, December 14, 2012

Chapter 53: I Don't Like Your Tea

Let's start with a hypothetical totally fake conversation to make the main point of this (hopefully not anger filled) blog post. For the sake of the argument, I am going to be using two TV shows that I am familiar with (because they are few and far between).

Scenario start:
X: Oh wow, the last episode of "Suites" the other day was incredible! Did you see it?
Y: No, sorry. I don't watch that show.
X: Why not? Not like it's bad or anything. And it's so amazing! You should watch it.
Y: I just don't like lawyer-drama shows. I think they're over-dramatized and I don't really like the main characters on that show. I have no feelings for them or drive to hope they win.
X: That's stupid. You should watch it. So last night...*goes on to summarize the episode in the bad story-telling of an avid fan who still can't seem to remember what exactly happened first.*
10 minutes later...
X: So yeah, totally awesome. You should watch it.
Y: *Eye roll* Cool. I watched the newest episode of "Fact or Faked" on line the other day.
X: That show's so stupid. I can't believe you watch it.
Y: I like how they show you all kinds of stunts and stuff and I'm into the paranormal a little, so it's interesting to me.
X: But it's so lame!
Y: Why?
X: That kind of stuff just is.
Y: Well, on the episode I saw--
X: Ugh, so my boyfriend the other day said I eat too many chips and I need to cut it out.
Y:.....
End scenario

How many times has something similar happened to you? What you like to watch is "stupid" or "lame" and the other person won't tell you why, just that it is. Or they go nuts when you say you don't something they do and you should because if you don't you're stupid. This is something that has happened to me more times here in Texas than I can even count. No one wants to hear what you like if they think it's stupid. No one likes a conversation they don't want to participate in. Know what? ME NEITHER! If I say I don't like a show, musician, band, or movie, I mean it. No one likes the jerks who say, "Well, you should watch it" or "it's amazing" after I have said that I'm no interested. Now for me, unlike other people, I WILL try something before I say no. Unless it's just utter crap from the start like the movie "Ted" (I have a million reasons, not just saying). On that note, if you want to tell me that what I like is crap, give me a reason. I give you tons of reasons why I don't like the show you do. "American Horror Story" for example. Badly written, unbelievable characters (people walk in and out of their house and they don't give a crap??), no story, and no likable characters. I have examples for all of those. You may notice I have mentioned likable characters twice now. Yes. You have to have likable characters. They can be ones we like to hate though. No one is perfect and they more imperfect they are the better, right? Not my point. So, give me a reason. It's like having a source. You need one to back up anything you claim unless it's just your opinion. Even then, telling me something is "awesome in my opinion" is not enough to get me to watch something. Tell me why it's awesome.
Next point, don't talk to someone who is not interested in "Suits" for 20 minutes about it after they tell you they are not interested. I don't want to be a part of a conversation that is about something I don't care about that is not vital to my life. Or be part of one that puts you into a preaching chair where you know the episode story and I don't just so you can have 20 minutes to be my lord and master and look down on me to feel better about your self. I won't do it to you unless you say something I like is crap and I want to defend my likes. But if you tell me "I don't care, shut up" then expect the same thing from me when you prattle on so. Maybe the fact that you use it to annoy me makes me never want to watch it!
Not that I won't watch something, just that I probably won't until I have time to spare for something I don't really want to do. It's great that you want to share something though. Sharing things is great. It's how friends are made and all that. But when I give my reasons for not liking it, don't push it. Makes you look like an idiot. This has been a problem I've encountered the more I'm around people. You are stupid if you don't like what they do. Or if you like something they think is stupid. I know that what I like shows people something about me. For example, if someone likes harlequin romance novels, I know they are lonely, horny, and very open with their sex lives (most likely). And sad. And kinky if they like "50 Shades of Gray". I'm going to stay away from that person. I like fantasy; therefore people think I'm a nerd and socially awkward. But when people like badly written, typo-ridden, incorrect basic grammar, shallow plots, cliche stories, and large print to make the book look thicker, I raise an eyebrow. Yes, I get signals (ok, ok I judge) from that. But so do you about me.
Point: Don't push your likes on people. Don't tell them they "should" watch/listen/read what you do. Don't say they are stupid because they watch stupid shows. But do find out WHY they like what they do--if you HONESTLY want to know why. When my sister swore up and down by "American Horror Story" I tried it out and hated it. I asked her why she liked it, she said because it was creepy. I explained why I didn't find it creepy and got told I was wrong and too critical. My other sister told me I was so critical and negative and looked for too much in things that it was no wonder I don't have many friends. *Sigh* I guess my expectations are just above everyone else's. (Please, please, note the sarcasm, you easily offended. This blog is stuffed full with it). But they really are. I plan to write a book my stay in Texas some day. It will be very grumpy.
So that's the blog and that's my poorly constructed argument for now. I hate it when people tell me I'm stupid for not liking their band/book/movie/show and cannot back up their claims or opinions.

PS. I love "Suits" and "Fact or Faked". :)  

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Chapter 52: Those Who Are Good in Their Subject, Don't Teach

I promised my best friend (read her blog everyone: Pieces of El) a blog post of rather vulgar proportions, but that will have to wait as I've been meaning to write this post for months (years if you want to be literal).
You know the feeling.Walking into a new class room in college, whether it's community or university, always bring with it the hope: Please don't let me fail! I gave up that feeling long ago and not just because I've been on the honor role of ever college I've attended (please note the satire for your own health), but because I am scared to death that the person in the teacher's seat is not going to know how to do what they get paid thousands to do: Teach.
I've had pretty much every experience in a class room I think one can have. I've had the passive jerk who really doesn't care (really, one teacher was writing As on the tests as we handed them in!); the one who wants you to do well but doesn't actually talk during class and gets angry if you leave the computer terminal to ask her a question; the over passionate one who hates it when you don't see things her way, the one who gives you a C because you disagreed with her lecture in a five page essay; the one who is an overachiever and gives you hand outs, PowerPoints, in addition to his lecture and the text book and then wonders why you got a B- on his 8 page test; the list goes on! I've been in college a while...
Then we have this new breed of teacher who shows up semi late, gives you a bit more homework than is humanly possible to finish in the allotted time you have to do it, gives you essays every week because they don't take roll, and worst of all, they read out of the book but hate it when you have a question and tell you "It's in the text book". Or the one who is a literature professor and spends all of your Poe class time on how the dinosaurs went extinct and why you shouldn't believe in God.
Right now, I hope at least one of those sounds pretty bizarre to you. I don't want to go into detail about either of them to avoid being a jerk, but these people really can't teach.
I want to be a teacher. I want to teach reading and writing. I believe that if you can do that then you can learn anything else. But these few teachers out there are just really good at their subject matter. Except of course the one about Poe and the dinosaurs. Ok, I can't avoid it, I have to use their subjects to help make my point.
My American Literature professor... He hates the Bible and Christians and all other religions but in case you missed it the first 5 weeks of class, he wants you to read "The Age of Reason" and write papers about how right Mr. Paine is. I have nothing against the Thomas Paine... except that he can't write an argument. No, I don't agree with him, but do you know why? He has no sources. He claims This City was not called That then and so on. How do we, the readers, know? He says things out right that are PURE opinion. He's not a credible source. Also, a lot of his arguments about the bible are false when you do a close a reading. I thought of at least three while just listening to audio. Any way, Paine isn't the point here. My teacher thinks Paine IS God and all he spent the first six or so weeks doing was bashing religions and spreading hate. We were reading VERY early American literature but he NEVER talked about them in class. It was all about carbon dating and such. Weird. I wanted to discuss literature. Now that we are finally reading stuff from the American Renaissance, he threw in a bit about Washington Irving while we were reading some of his stories (I did an essay on Sleepy Hollow). The best class by far was today when we discussed in detail "Ligeia". This is the FIRST time we've talked literature in his literature class. Huzzah. He's paid to be a teacher and all I'm getting is indoctrinated with his hate and opinions. What happened to teaching?
Now, my French teacher. Er, my French... whatever she is. She reads from the book (which we do as part of our homework), goes through the slides so fast that I cannot take in 50% of it, and then gets angry when we have a question. Very much, "Why don't you know that?" in an annoyed French accent. I don't know that because it's in the chapter we're learning now! Duh. I mean, right? I cannot grasp why she thinks we come to class just to hear her repeat something we were supposed to have to learned last semester (which she says a lot). If I learned it then, why would I be here now? If she's supposed to be a teacher, why does she treat us like we're stupid when we ask questions. That's what class is for. She's supposed to teach. Teach means, according to my new love the OED: to show, present or offer, to direct, to guide. And then we have all the nice examples to OED gives you of when the word was used and all that. She doesn't do any of that. Neither does Mr. Deist-Supremacist.
Point: I am more scared of not being taught and handing in a half-witted attempt at what the teacher wants to hear (or struggling through what I've dug up on my own in the French case) and not learning than I am of having a real teacher and getting a bad grade for not learning. I mean, I'm not learning here either, but I'm getting a good grade (in the literature case). Or in the French case, I could be learning and getting an ok grade verses not learning and getting an ok grade. I don't care about the grade! well, I care about my GPA, but I am paying out the nose for this school! Literally, every penny I have made over the past year is going to this school right now. I want to be taught, damn it! Sorry... I had to. It's so wrong that I have to work three jobs, run myself to death, not sleep well, not eat healthy, get fat, have no social life or friends, AND no education! W...T...F?

The End ^_^












 

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Chapter 51: Utopian Hypocrisy

So with the election coming up, I decided to get a little political... and not so much. A lot of people feel that our president will lead us to communism if he is elected again; our last free election as we know it! Maybe he just wants to bring more order to the US. People must be governed, right? Isn't communism just a tight grip on order so the people and nation will be equal and strong? Here is my theory about Order with examples from out ancestors, the English, in my favorite time period, the Renaissance, and my most favorite book to argue about: Sir (Saint) Thomas More's "Utopia".

How is it order if it is oppression? Forced into roles. Fermer says God is a God of order, but true order should be delightful then. The Utopians say that natural health is the highest form of pleasure(quote). So natural things should be order. Like a woman in pants. She has legs, that is natural. (Hic pg 268) Saying a women should not dress like a man because it is not how God intended is illogical. Man created pants and said that is what a man ought wear not a woman (Quote Hic, maybe). Enforcing man’s inventions onto God’s design--by the logic and norms of the Renaissance Europe--should have been labeled as rebellion and therefore part of disorder. As described by Coriolanus in his “Unrest in the Midlands” rebellion is the worst sin: “How horrible a sin against God and man rebellion is cannot possibly be expressed...” (Coriolanus 556), which Fermer established as against God since he is a God of order.

I mainly want to focus on the hypocrisy of the writings with my main points coming from Utopia with backups from the texts.
Order plays a big role in “Utopia” with the people of the land blindly following along with no questions. Clearly, a few people in Renaissance Europe didn’t want to just follow along as is evident in the “Unrest in the Midlands”.
Sir Thomas More’s “Utopia” is supposed to describe a place where everything is perfect and is never in chaos. But what does that mean exactly? Are the people happy? If so, why? What do they find so pleasurable about their government and commonwealth? according to the editors, the word “utopia” means “no place”. As a reader, I can only guess that More knew this was painting a picture of place that would never exist. Why it would never exist is what I plan on exploring. Is it because it’s just too perfect and humankind could never achieve that level of peace, government, and perfection? Or is that such a place should not exist? Whether they meant to or not, Renaissance England seemed to be striving to achieve such a peace and government through control of the one thing that people would most likely listen to if more than their lives--maybe their soul-- on the line; the church. Order means, according to Webster, “a condition in which each thing is properly disposed with reference to other things and to its purpose; methodical or harmonious arrangement”. Harmonie. Properly. Order is this thing that magically means “the way it is supposed to be”. Wherever that came from. Logically, for order to work, someone must suffer, because being a species, mankind will individually choose or want to do something else besides what he is told. That’s what the brain is for. Therefore, a society where everyone is equal and in “order” is one of the utmost hypocritical societies. The biggest example of order and hypocrisy: the hierarchy.    
The first rung of hierarchy is, of course, the monarch. In Renaissance England, a common belief was that the monarchy was divinely chosen by God to rule. Orlin shows us that government was “necessary to thwart the chaos” and “hierarchies were understood to have been created by God” (Orlin 143). That meant that the citizens had better obey their king (or queen) on punishment of being accused of treason. Wrightson explains this in the beginning of his writings “Degrees of People” where he says “they began by making distinctions, by classifying and ranking”. Orlin even says everyone acted on agreement that “monarchy was the best form of government” (Orlin 139). This is not only prominent in the readings we had but also in “Utopia” by Thomas More. In class, we discussed how everything is hierarchical--from government to the common household-- and therefore we see that a man is over his wife just as the king is over his people and God is over his church. Even in the “Debate About Women” the author states that the “most significant justification is religious and biblical”. If one was to obey, one was simply following biblical commandments. This is seen also in the ten commandments in commandment number five where it states that the father and mother should be honored. In the “Unrest in the Midlands” we see many accounts of uprisings and rebellions for various reasons who were very determined: “But said he wee will never yield but goe through with yt.” This kind of stubborn rebellion was not to be tolerated from subjects. This is a good example of what I said earlier about not all humans wanting to go along with “order”.  
Orlin brings us into the homes of  Renaissance England quoting Robert Cleaver when she says, “A household is as it were a little commonwealth.” This goes back to the household hierarchy of a wife obeys her husband and the children obey their mother. But it was hard to accept that a husband and a wife might have to have equal power in this little commonwealth or “joint ownership” as Orlin calls it. She says that men of the time were “reluctant to acknowledge that children and servants were generally supervised by wives” (Orlin 147). That was almost a disruption in the English hierarchy. A good example of the hypocrisy that was so invisible to the English so desiring order.
But these dominating husbands are just yeomen or farmers; all below their lord or king and must have also conformed to the “social stratification” of the day (Wrightson 40). To elaborate on how these men were just workers in the hierarchy, Wrightson goes on to say that the husbandmen “could generally be dismissed as having ‘neither voice nor authority in the commonwealth” (Wrightson 36). So what may appear to be higher up on the authority chain wasn’t actually that great. A yeoman had to pay taxes to his lord (the man whose land he worked and rented), abide by his rules, and also live by the monarchy’s laws and social norms. But not all hope was lost. A working man could raise his status. Wrightson gives the statistics that 963 gentry families were elevated. Of course, sixty-four were removed from the country as well (Wirghtson 26). So a man could break the order? That doesn't sound right.
But what if a rebellion was started? In the “Unrest in the Midlands” reading, we saw a lot of scared nobles and servants try to deal with uprisings and rebels. In Utopia, however, you were exiled or made a slave: in other words, brought very low on the hierarchy scale.
Let’s now turn to Utopia and it’s hierarchy, which actually does not differ in some ways from England’s, but is perhaps more misogynistic in others. The Utopian’s religion does not play a part in their hierarchy nor does misogynism as they have female priests as well, unlike Europe. The Utopians elect their leaders as we see in “Of Their Magistrates” every year to avoid him enslaving anyone. Though these magistrates don’t seem to have a hand in forcing the people to do work or live a certain way (because the Utopians are only too happy to do so) we do see them dol out harsh punishment for anyone who is rebellious, which we see when we now turn to how the church of England interacts with the people and how that affects the hierarchy of command when someone dares disturb the order. They are also elected from anyone who wants to try out for the job. It’s good that any man could rule, but is raising someone so above the others “equal”? No, but it is “order”. But they’re supposed to go hand in hand.
The second rung of hierarchy is the Church. Unlike England, the Utopians had many religions. Some praised the moon, the sun and others planets (More 127). The hypocrisy comes in where More writes, “There be that give worship to a man that was one of excellent virtue” but this goes against what was mentioned earlier in the book about not worshiping any man above another. Also, when discussing dress, More says that all Utopians wear a grey cloak and no one is to be adorned better than anyone else (More 78). But the book states clearly that the priests are of “exceeding holiness”, are not punished for their crimes, cannot be touched by other men, and have robes adorned in feathers (More 136-37). This goes against everything the Utopians believe about equality and not putting one man before another. But More describes it over and over in each section as being necessary. Of course, we cannot agree more that there must be laws to follow to have some kind of order. But how can such people live? More takes care of that by saying in several sections how each Utopian is happy to abide by all of these laws. The church for the Utopians is there to grant such things as confessions (More 138) and ceremonies. It was not like the church of England that was controlled by the monarchy but was just as revered and respected. Probably out of fear though.
Probably most of what the English church preached was written by someone from the monarchy or government. Things like “The Book of Common Prayer” and the “Book of Homilies” were what the editors called “authorized” sermons and prayers. These were written to be read at frequent occasions such as weddings and Sunday services. These “authorized readings”, I find, were most likely written to shape and mold the people to a spiritual way of thinking so as to be easily controlled. Orlin said the bible was often cited in political arguments to invoke the “divine right” of the monarch to make the people do as he pleased with the threat of God’s wrath hovering over a disobedient person (Orlin 140). Further down the page the hypocrisy is shown when she says, “the church became the monarchy's most effective instrument for spreading political propaganda” (Orlin 140). And since the ignorant people of England were not all literate, the best way to get out the monarchy’s dictatorial rules was through “state-authorized sermons” (Orilin 140) as mentioned above. What these statements bring to light is that since the monarchy viewed the church as a tool, we may be able to assume that they didn’t believe in it at all. A good example is King Henry’s break with the church so that he could divorce his wife and marry another. The rules of the game changed depending on what the monarch needed from his or her subjects. Obviously, there are differences in the Utopian church and the English church, but hypocrisy is evident in both.        
On the third rung of hierarchy, we have the family. As pointed out in my introduction, the man, no matter his station in the grand hierarchy, is always the head of the house. In Utopia there is no such thought. However, I will point out later how base they think their wives any way.
The commonwealth way in Utopia is that everyone works. In the section “Of Their Cities” we see that all of the towns are set up so that everything is equal and every man has a claim to anything anywhere in the city: “there is nothing within the houses that is private or any man’s own” and that is so that if you have seen one then you “knoweth them all” (More 65, 67). This way of working is what we today would call a socialist community.
England at the time suffered from great social inequality much like America today. Class was everything in those days and it was hard to elevate oneself above what he was born into. Wrightson says “the gap which separated them from their social inferiors was in some respects greater than that which removed them from their immediate superiors” (Wrightson 37). Husbandmen were too lowly to  have a political voice, labourers and craftsmen were also hardly admitted to participate in village administration as well (Wrightson 36). Of the lower levels, he says that only “wealthier craftsmen” were used for legal things such as being a witness for a will. In Utopia, you could not move up the social ladder. Though you may be a magistrate but that’s under special circumstances. Everyone was supposed to be equal. In England though, if a man was fortunate enough, he could move up in rank by acquiring that which the Utopians despise: wealth, fame, or acts of bravery and servitude to ones king (Wrightson). However, in the home weather that man was rich, middle, or lower class, he was the head. Even in perfect Utopia this is true because each household had a wife and two “bondmen” (More 63).
The wives in England, according to “The Debate About Women” and the authorized wedding ceremony in the “Book of Common Prayer” were to be married so that they could preserve their virtue and serve their husbands. One theory I had about why women were treated so lowly back in these days is because thoughts like in “The Debate About Women” were floating around: “woman [was] the channel through which evil, pain, and laborious work entered the world” and when not bound to a man she was “as attractive snares and sources of temptation” (Debate 7). Yes, it was a woman’s fault if I man could not help his lust in her presence. It was as if women were base creatures; certainly not on an equal level with her man despite the belief that marriage was supposed to be a partnership. At least in England, the wife had some authority of the servants or slaves and the children. In perfect Utopia, however, the women are not quite as equal as the syphogrants would have you believe.
First spoken on page 73, More says that “all women, which be the half of the number, or, else if the women be somewhere occupied, there most commonly in their stead the men be idle”. At first this confused me, but the notes in book says that in Utopia, work is considered things like farming “which allows [More] to dismiss the domestic labor virtually all women did” (Notes 224). So there we have it! The one place a woman had authority does not count. Another modern matter is that of the woman’s physique. The Utopians assume all of their women are virtuous and thus the man gets to decide to marry her based on her physical appearance. Meaning, no matter how virtuous or good she is, if she’s not pleasing to the eye then she’s not for him incase “anything in her body afterward should chance to offend and mislike them” (More 108). I suppose this desire for a perfect woman could match the English ideal of the “superiority of virginity” mentioned in “The Debate of Women”. In the same way, the Utopian husbands are allowed to “put her away” later in their marriage if some “bodily mishap” happens to her (More 109).
At first I thought the slaves were treated well enough in Utopia but really, the Utopians treat their slaves very unfavorably. Where do they get these salves? From neighboring countries, from wars where they’d rather take prisoners alive for slavery than kill them (124), and from offenders living in Utopia. Oddly, there are a lot of ways to be an offender in this perfect haven, but that’s not for this theory. I saw a connection between the wives the slaves though. First, we’re shown how the Utopians don’t understand how man can enjoy the sport of hunting. They think it base and not glorious as the English do. So when they feast, the meat they eat is “washed by the hands of their bondmen, for they permit not their free citizens to accustom themselves to the killing of beasts” (More 78). The job is so dirty that they make their slaves do it. But later when we’re at the table of the Utopians enjoying a feast the women are charged with the “office of cookery... and dressing the meat and ordering all things thereto belonging” (More 80). Look at “all things thereto belonging”. They must be there when the animal is slaughtered and oversee the cleaning of the meat; the defeathering, the skinning, the removal of organs--all to do with “all things thereto belonging” of the preparing of meat. The amount of hypocrisy here is astounding! Are the women so low in this society that they must do the work with the slaves and work that is not permitted for other citizens to do? After the women work with the slaves in this base activity, “all the old men (whose places be marked with a special token to be known) are first served their meat” (More 81). What about the older women? Are they not of equal age and wisdom? Apparently not. In a land where all is supposed to be equal, the women are still put low; even as low as slaves at certain times, who, as we know, are the last rung on any hierarchical ladder.
The last rung: the slaves. In Utopia, you don’t become a slave unless you are taken during war in which you are snatched from your homeland and made to work. A little like in England, but slavery wasn’t a big issue at this time. What was a problem was the workers revolting and rebeling. In Utopia, you were most likely to be killed if you rebelled. In England, they stomped on you until your spirit was broken. What was so bad about people trying to be free and treated fairly? Simple: it broke the “natural order” of things. As well as the monarch being chosen by divine right, if you were born into a certain class, you should know that it was God who put you there and you were to obey according to your status.
Thus I conclude my reasoning for why order is not possible without abounding hypocrisy. For order there must be a hierarchy because there must be someone to tell the rest of us what to do, and there must be slaves (workers). Order must be unequal. Or as many a tyrant has said, “People must be ruled”. So what’s the answer? Anarchy? Maybe, but even then, isn't there order in disorder? 
Sorry that was long and disorderly ;) But these theories take forever to hammer out. Now, to get back to homework. Thank you and good day!