"My roommate is having an existential crisis," I confided to my friend the other day in passing. We use the word 'existential' almost without realizing its significance. I tagged it on as a near meaningless adjective to describe a simple moment of unhappiness. When one really looks at the meaning, however, they find the purpose of life––or lack of it––making existentialism one of the most important philosophies we can consider. And nowhere is this idea better explored and discussed than in literature.
Existentialism is the idea that everything begins with existence. We exist, but why do we exist? An existential crisis, really, is when someone discovers that their existence is absurd, or that they live in a world without purpose. This generates what philosophers call existential angst, or the feeling of lacking purpose, and we are then left to discover purpose anew in this world of radical freedom, or cease existing.
As with many philosophical movements, questions about the absurd and existence are primarily explored through literature. Coming-of-age accounts, war stories, and dystopias are usually excellent examples of this, and nearly every hero's journey procures angst in that moment of despair when the hero questions his purpose. Discovering existentialism in literature is a simple thing, and by discovering what the work's idea of purpose is, the reader can come that much closer to determining the work's purpose itself. An excellent example of this is Toy Story 3.
"God is dead," a precursor to formal existentialism, Nietzsche, famously declared. So the toys of Toy Story 3 discover. They exist, that much is certain, but as they continue to exist and their god, Andy, ages and stops playing with them, they discover the absurd and angst, losing their purpose for existence. Still, they tell themselves, we're here for him if he should ever need us. Then Andy leaves for college, and the toys finally give up on their god.
Now they are left to discover what to do with their radical freedom. In a parallel movement with the western world after Niezsche's declaration, they seek purpose from a new higher power––social organization and theory. Historic examples include marxism, fascism, and even progressivism. In Toy Story's case, they shelter at the Sunnyside Daycare, where the plush, huggable bear, Lots-O, will take benevolent care of them––or so they think. As with the western world, the toys discover no lasting solution and, indeed, that this social institution is far worse than their seemingly indifferent god.
Now, as the toys are dumped into the furnace, they face ultimate destruction. They have no purpose, and are good for nothing but to be destroyed. Radical freedom has no purpose while the world remains absurd. Yet, in the last few moments they have left, they rediscover the meaning of their existence. They reach out to one another. And so they look into the abyss of the absurd and escape with newfound meaning that enables them to continue their existence.
How does this help us understand the true meaning of Toy Story 3? The toys discovered that their key to existence was in their friendship, affirming the power of the phrase we all know well, "You've got a friend in me."
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Hamlet II.II
Getrude gritted her teeth. "We must discover what's he's up to, Claude," she said desperately. "Whether it's drugs or the wrong friends or, or I don't know! Something's just so wrong––I don't know how to handle him anymore!"
Her husband petted her hand soothingly, but his eyes were far away. "Claude?" she pressed.
"I've an idea," he said suddenly. "You remember those foreign students we had brought from Europe a few years ago to work as interns? The ones I hired to stay on full time? Bright, good young men––a little stiff, perhaps, but that will only help our case. You know how Ham looked up to them."
Gertrude nodded. "You think he'll talk to them? When he refuses to talk to us? He's just so angry and upset all the time!"
"Yes yes, dear," Claude replied. "They could convince a man to give up everything he owned and move to the Bahamas! If they integrate themselves with Ham, perhaps they can figure out where it is he is going at night and why he's so upset about everything!"
Gertrude nodded, trying to be hopeful but feeling the ever-increasing sense of discouragement. They had tried everything, what made them think this would work? But then again, perhaps all Ham needed was a reminder that he was the heir of the largest corporation in all of the Western United States, that he had been educated at the best of Ivy League schools with the most difficult, prestigious programs they had to offer. Perhaps the influence of these two young men would be enough…or perhaps even they were no longer 'cool' in her son's eyes. She just didn't understand him anymore!
She waited impatiently as her husband spoke to his secretary through the intercom, resisting the urge to stand and pace. One of the two men was apparently out of the office on business, and so she forced herself to busy herself otherwise, browsing through a catalogue for new women's suit jackets––the one her assistant had laid out for her this morning had looked a little wrinkle despite its fresh steaming and Gertrude had rejected it. On that topic, though, she ought to get a new assistant if she couldn't even trust the woman to pick out a decent thing to wear to even a day with no important appointments! Gertrude stirred restlessly, tired of the cheap suits, her mind continually drawn back to the bigger problelm at hand.
At last the two men were announced and admitted. She forced herself to remain sitting as they entered.
"Gentlemen," her husband said with a broad smile. "Sit."
Yes, these were the men she wanted influencing her son. They both sat smoothly, their appearance impeccable, expressions courteous and professional.
"So tell me, gentlemen, friends of my son, have you spoken with Hammond of late?"
The two exchanged glances. "No, sir," one, Rosencrantz, said slowly. "It has been months since Hammond has sought our company."
"A shame, isn't that?"
"Indeed," the other man, Guildenstern, interjected. "Hammond was quite the friend to us, keeping us from falling into poorer company when we first arrived here."
"Ah," Claude said with a smile, "And now, perhaps, you can return the favor."
As her husband laid out the plan and the two accomplished lawyers, business men, and even scholars turned their bright minds to the task, Gertrude found herself calming. This depressive bout of Ham's was just something all young men faced as they came of age and took their place in the world. All would be well. Ham would be fine. He would recover from his father's accident and her remarriage, and come back to his studies and accept his position as heir to the company.
Of course he would. Nothing would go wrong.
Her husband petted her hand soothingly, but his eyes were far away. "Claude?" she pressed.
"I've an idea," he said suddenly. "You remember those foreign students we had brought from Europe a few years ago to work as interns? The ones I hired to stay on full time? Bright, good young men––a little stiff, perhaps, but that will only help our case. You know how Ham looked up to them."
Gertrude nodded. "You think he'll talk to them? When he refuses to talk to us? He's just so angry and upset all the time!"
"Yes yes, dear," Claude replied. "They could convince a man to give up everything he owned and move to the Bahamas! If they integrate themselves with Ham, perhaps they can figure out where it is he is going at night and why he's so upset about everything!"
Gertrude nodded, trying to be hopeful but feeling the ever-increasing sense of discouragement. They had tried everything, what made them think this would work? But then again, perhaps all Ham needed was a reminder that he was the heir of the largest corporation in all of the Western United States, that he had been educated at the best of Ivy League schools with the most difficult, prestigious programs they had to offer. Perhaps the influence of these two young men would be enough…or perhaps even they were no longer 'cool' in her son's eyes. She just didn't understand him anymore!
She waited impatiently as her husband spoke to his secretary through the intercom, resisting the urge to stand and pace. One of the two men was apparently out of the office on business, and so she forced herself to busy herself otherwise, browsing through a catalogue for new women's suit jackets––the one her assistant had laid out for her this morning had looked a little wrinkle despite its fresh steaming and Gertrude had rejected it. On that topic, though, she ought to get a new assistant if she couldn't even trust the woman to pick out a decent thing to wear to even a day with no important appointments! Gertrude stirred restlessly, tired of the cheap suits, her mind continually drawn back to the bigger problelm at hand.
At last the two men were announced and admitted. She forced herself to remain sitting as they entered.
"Gentlemen," her husband said with a broad smile. "Sit."
Yes, these were the men she wanted influencing her son. They both sat smoothly, their appearance impeccable, expressions courteous and professional.
"So tell me, gentlemen, friends of my son, have you spoken with Hammond of late?"
The two exchanged glances. "No, sir," one, Rosencrantz, said slowly. "It has been months since Hammond has sought our company."
"A shame, isn't that?"
"Indeed," the other man, Guildenstern, interjected. "Hammond was quite the friend to us, keeping us from falling into poorer company when we first arrived here."
"Ah," Claude said with a smile, "And now, perhaps, you can return the favor."
As her husband laid out the plan and the two accomplished lawyers, business men, and even scholars turned their bright minds to the task, Gertrude found herself calming. This depressive bout of Ham's was just something all young men faced as they came of age and took their place in the world. All would be well. Ham would be fine. He would recover from his father's accident and her remarriage, and come back to his studies and accept his position as heir to the company.
Of course he would. Nothing would go wrong.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Real World Poetry
Casually listening to the radio one morning, I was surprised to discover a song that I was immediately drawn to, as it produced in me a bit of the sublime. For, if poetry is the expression of feelings that cannot otherwise be communicated, then Real World by Owl City is a perfect example of poetry. The combination of the lilting, electronic tones with easy rhymes present the message in a simple and pleasant way as it paints a dreamy yet surprisingly bittersweet portrait that generates wistfulness both in those that have never experienced similar feelings and empathetic listeners alike.
When we read and dub poetry 'good', we are admitting to being drawn out of ourselves and shown what is really inside. Perhaps we feel something we have never felt before. Perhaps we feel something we have felt often but never been able to express. Whatever we feel, poetry somehow manages to express it in a chilling but beautiful way that rings right in our ears and touches our emotions.
Owl City, as a rule, is easy to listen to. While somewhat zany, the electronic music is carefree and dances around the lyrics. The lyrics follow the same rule of easy listening. They rhyme, they paint pretty pictures in our imaginations, they seem playful, but often of no consequence. They remain simple, even while expressing emotions that run deeper than the nonsensical words themselves, thereby avoiding the pit of false or overdramatized emotion. Real World projects whimsical images of stars and trees and leaves blowing in the breeze, splashed with colors and texture. Only once you begin to view the song as a whole and as you near the concluding question does the song become more than just a relaxing tune.
The whole turns out to be the wistful daydreams of a child that is not so childlike after all, we realize, as it is more familiar and recent than that. The concept of a world of beauty and simplicity strikes the heart of every overburdened, stressed individual. We've all watched the wildfires burn down some part of our lives we deemed irreplaceable, but the view from the balcony, the song suggests, makes the fire a pretty thing. This detachment from real-world cares appeals to everyone at some point in our lives, and perhaps is a continual element. The concept leaves a haunting breath, however, with its last question. Does the freeze and burn of our lives even matter? If we dissolved without a trace would the real world even care?
This is what leaves us wanting more. Pleasure and daydreaming aside, the song exposes our insecurity, yet at the same time assures us we are not alone in our fears. The gossamer ideas of this fantasy are distinguished as they remain with us beyond the conclusion of the tones, and leaves on us the mark of poetry.
When we read and dub poetry 'good', we are admitting to being drawn out of ourselves and shown what is really inside. Perhaps we feel something we have never felt before. Perhaps we feel something we have felt often but never been able to express. Whatever we feel, poetry somehow manages to express it in a chilling but beautiful way that rings right in our ears and touches our emotions.
Owl City, as a rule, is easy to listen to. While somewhat zany, the electronic music is carefree and dances around the lyrics. The lyrics follow the same rule of easy listening. They rhyme, they paint pretty pictures in our imaginations, they seem playful, but often of no consequence. They remain simple, even while expressing emotions that run deeper than the nonsensical words themselves, thereby avoiding the pit of false or overdramatized emotion. Real World projects whimsical images of stars and trees and leaves blowing in the breeze, splashed with colors and texture. Only once you begin to view the song as a whole and as you near the concluding question does the song become more than just a relaxing tune.
The whole turns out to be the wistful daydreams of a child that is not so childlike after all, we realize, as it is more familiar and recent than that. The concept of a world of beauty and simplicity strikes the heart of every overburdened, stressed individual. We've all watched the wildfires burn down some part of our lives we deemed irreplaceable, but the view from the balcony, the song suggests, makes the fire a pretty thing. This detachment from real-world cares appeals to everyone at some point in our lives, and perhaps is a continual element. The concept leaves a haunting breath, however, with its last question. Does the freeze and burn of our lives even matter? If we dissolved without a trace would the real world even care?
This is what leaves us wanting more. Pleasure and daydreaming aside, the song exposes our insecurity, yet at the same time assures us we are not alone in our fears. The gossamer ideas of this fantasy are distinguished as they remain with us beyond the conclusion of the tones, and leaves on us the mark of poetry.
Real World by Owl City
I saw the autumn leaves peel up off the street,
take wing on the balmy breeze and sweep you off your feet.
You blushed as they scooped you up on sugar maple wings,
to gaze down on the city below, ablaze with wondrous things.
Downy feathers kiss your face and flutter everywhere.
Reality is a lovely place but I wouldn’t want to live there.
I wouldn’t wanna live there!
Weighed down by heavy lids and lunar lullabies,
I knew you were wide awake 'cause you smile with your eyes.
Downy feathers kiss your face and flutter everywhere.
Reality is a lovely place but I wouldn’t want to live there.
From the green belt balcony, the wildfires look so pretty.
Ponderosa canopy, I’d never leave if it were up to me.
To the ruby redwood tree, and to the velvet climbing ivy:
painted all mahogany, I’d never leave if it were up to me.
..If it were up to me..
With a starry brush, paint the dusk venetian blue,
because in the evening hush, you’ll never believe the view.
And when the leaves return and their whisperings fill the night,
they’ll freeze and burn where fire and ice collide.
Can you feel a silk embrace in the satin air?
If we dissolve without a trace, will the real world even care?
Downy feathers kiss your face and flutter everywhere.
Reality is a lovely place but I wouldn’t want to live there.
I wouldn’t want to live there!
I saw the autumn leaves peel up off the street,
take wing on the balmy breeze and sweep you off your feet.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
What Teaches and Delights
Fantasy is often looked down on as a genre. I tell my academic superiors that I enjoy fantasy and they covertly sneer. To my mom, my passion for fantasy was just another distraction from the recognized works of meaningful literature. To me, however, it is so much more than that. Why does fantasy delight me? I could spend years explaining. I love myth and magic and world building and the sense of adventure and heroism, but, more than that, I love what I learn from it. I love that it both delights me and teaches me. Fantasy can be literature as much as the next book. It stretches and expands our minds and imagination, preparing us for greater creativity. Moreover, by presenting us with the impossible, fantasy prepares the readers for the unexpected and gives us courage to tackle anything.
What makes a book great? It generates thoughtfulness, self-examination and reevaluation. It teaches us what heroes are made of and inspires us to act with integrity. It is true the you can read a fantasy novel and gain nothing from it but a sense of excitement, but it is also true that you can read Pride and Prejudice and think, "What a cute love story!" while entirely missing the point. The greatest fantasy books I've read have made my mind reel with moral dilemmas, generated a burning commitment to change the world, and enlightened my understanding of myself and my purpose as a child of God.
But if those same enlightening moments can be achieved through any genre of literature, what is the purpose of choosing to read about something that could never possibly be? The impossibility is the purpose! When it comes down to it, fantasy is unconfined and so can stretch to incredible bounds to share fundamentals of humanity that would be otherwise difficult to teach and envision. Fantasy forces us to stretch our minds to create an entirely new world-view! Cultures and traditions that seem strange to others make sense to the lover of fantasy. We learn to think outside the box in the same way the puzzle-solvers and artists do, as in fantasy we paint with vibrant colors to create a bigger picture than the rest of the world can understand.
Lastly, by immersing us in a world so completely foreign, fantasy teaches us to better accept all the sudden changes of direction we may experience in life and how to have the courage to solve problems seemingly far beyond our control. Because fantasy is fake, it is able to transcend agendas and create parables of real life in a way that we can really internalize and learn from. We believe in the impossible and that it really is not as impossible as it might seem.
Fantasy need not be scoffed at. It has the same gifts as fiction and nonfiction, but is also given the ability to stretch beyond that and expand our imaginations, and to prepare us for the uniqueness each of us will experience in life. I am proud to say that I enjoy fantasy, for not only does it delight me, but I delight in what I learn every time I pick up a new epic.
What makes a book great? It generates thoughtfulness, self-examination and reevaluation. It teaches us what heroes are made of and inspires us to act with integrity. It is true the you can read a fantasy novel and gain nothing from it but a sense of excitement, but it is also true that you can read Pride and Prejudice and think, "What a cute love story!" while entirely missing the point. The greatest fantasy books I've read have made my mind reel with moral dilemmas, generated a burning commitment to change the world, and enlightened my understanding of myself and my purpose as a child of God.
But if those same enlightening moments can be achieved through any genre of literature, what is the purpose of choosing to read about something that could never possibly be? The impossibility is the purpose! When it comes down to it, fantasy is unconfined and so can stretch to incredible bounds to share fundamentals of humanity that would be otherwise difficult to teach and envision. Fantasy forces us to stretch our minds to create an entirely new world-view! Cultures and traditions that seem strange to others make sense to the lover of fantasy. We learn to think outside the box in the same way the puzzle-solvers and artists do, as in fantasy we paint with vibrant colors to create a bigger picture than the rest of the world can understand.
Lastly, by immersing us in a world so completely foreign, fantasy teaches us to better accept all the sudden changes of direction we may experience in life and how to have the courage to solve problems seemingly far beyond our control. Because fantasy is fake, it is able to transcend agendas and create parables of real life in a way that we can really internalize and learn from. We believe in the impossible and that it really is not as impossible as it might seem.
Fantasy need not be scoffed at. It has the same gifts as fiction and nonfiction, but is also given the ability to stretch beyond that and expand our imaginations, and to prepare us for the uniqueness each of us will experience in life. I am proud to say that I enjoy fantasy, for not only does it delight me, but I delight in what I learn every time I pick up a new epic.
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