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tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-98261142014-11-24T12:38:22.815-08:00Nashville Great Books Discussion GroupA reader's group devoted to the discussion of meaningful books.SMJhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-32382568425947289742014-11-24T12:32:00.001-08:002014-11-24T12:38:22.831-08:00GOETHE: Faust (Scene 3: Translating The Word)After spending the afternoon with the busy holiday crowd in Scene 2, Scene 3 takes us back to Faust's quiet study. This seems to be his more natural element. Faust is restless after all the partying and now he wants "to treasure the things of the spirit" as he puts it. He says things of the spirit "nowhere flames with more dignity, more beauty, than here in the Gospels." The Great Books series uses the Gospel of Mark but Faust turned to the Gospel of John instead. Why the Gospels? Faust explains, "I feel that I must open the fundamental text: must try, with honest feeling, to set down in my own beloved German that sacred original." Let's step back for a second and consider what's going on here. The text Faust is reading is probably a Latin translation from an original Greek text. What he wants to do now is translate Latin into German. And we're reading an English translation of Goethe's play written in German. That's a lot of translations. How do we know we're getting what Goethe and John the Apostle really said?

 Faust gets hung up on the first sentence: "In the beginning was the Word! Already I have to stop! Who'll help me on? It's impossible to put such trust in the Word! I must translate some other way if I am truly enlightened by the spirit." So Faust tries three different terms. Instead of using "the Word" as the Gospel of John says, Faust tries substituting the terms Thought, Power, or Deed. Would any of those terms work just as well, or better, than using "the Word"? We should put the terms within context of the rest of the passage and see what happens. Maybe Faust quit too soon. If we pick up the Gospel where Faust left off we find the KJV saying, "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." How would Faust's terms fit now? Instead of "the Word was God" what if we used "Thought was God" instead? Does it make any difference in the way we understand the nature of God? How about if we use "Power was God"? Or "the Deed was God"? Who (or what) is God?

 Faust was a theologian. To say The Word is God is a very different thing from saying that Power is God. Words matter. Remember Faust himself is the one who asks "Who'll help me?" When he's confronted by real spirits where does he turn for help? To words. In his own words Faust says, "I'll need first, to confront the beast, the Incantation of the Four." When he's confronted with real danger Faust turns to what he knows best: words; incantations. Go back to the three terms Faust wanted to use instead of The Word. How well would they work now? Are Words the same as Thoughts? Can Thoughts beat down spirits? Do words have Power? Can they move mountains as well as human hearts? Can they drive out spirits? And how do Words relate to Deeds? What's the relationship between saying something and actually doing it?

 Well. Why all these translations? Why all this quibbling over words and the meaning of words? We soon find ourselves lost in a virtual verbal labyrinth. Mephistopheles could not devise a more clever method for keeping Faust lost in confusion and darkness. How did Mephistopheles (disguised as a serpent) confuse Eve in the Garden of Eden? With words and sly implications: Did God really say that? Maybe Adam made it all up. Or maybe he misunderstood what God meant. How do we know if Adam translated The Word correctly? Before long Eve is lost in confusion and darkness, just like Faust. Verbal deception is a very old trick and Mephistopheles is very good at what he does. The Gospel of John says "In the beginning…the Word was God." The very first chapter of the very first book of the Bible says "God said let there be light" and a whole universe came into being out of nothing. If words really do matter then "The Word" may still be the best term for Faust (and us) to understand God, the cosmos, and ourselves. RDPhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-40504530296966955802014-11-13T09:28:00.001-08:002014-11-13T09:28:02.207-08:00GOETHE: Faust, Part 1 (Scene 2: Order and Chaos) In the Prologue the Archangels Raphael, Gabriel and Michael are all busy praising the Lord and singing wonder at the awe of creation. This is as it should be. That's what angels do. At least that's what good angels do. It's the natural order of things; or to be more precise it's the supernatural order of things. The universe isn't just some random jumble of assorted galaxies and angels and empty space. There's an order to it all. This order triumphed over the primordial chaos described in Genesis where darkness was upon the face of the deep.

 Out of this chaos came the world as we know it. It's where we live. It's our home. But sometimes it doesn't look very orderly. The crowd in Scene 2 seems like a random jumble of students and maidens and burghers. But underneath the apparent chaos of life is a recognizable human order. Darkness is not upon the face of the deep. The male students want to go where there's good beer, good smoking and easy women; much like college students today. The burghers are small business owners and middle class tradesmen with middle class values and middle class brains. They talk about politics and taxes and war and national security; much like the middle class today. But underneath the partying and working and struggling is a shared set of values; a common core of principles that holds this little German republic together.

 And this is also the cultural heritage Faust inherited. He studied Law, Medicine, Philosophy and Theology. These are the subjects that bring order to a random collection of German students and maidens and burghers. Law brings order to society by the administration of justice. Medicine brings order to the body by maintaining health. Philosophy brings order to the mind by establishing right principles of thinking. Theology brings order to the soul by defending the faith of our fathers. For Faust this wasn't enough. His mind was certainly up to the task and he had mastered all of these subjects. But bringing order out of chaos is a laborious process. Faust didn't like the answers he got. Answers that satisfied burghers weren't good enough for Faust.

 Plato's Symposium is a good example of the traditional quest for wisdom. In the Symposium the specific topic was love but the concept could be applied to other forms of wisdom too. Plato's point was this: there's an orderly progression from simpler subjects on to more complex ones. We start with simple things and once we've meditated on and mastered those we move one rung up the ladder to the next step. Magic is an attempt to circumvent this process and get to the top without all the sweat and tears of climbing all the individual rungs up the ladder. Why bother working so hard? Use magic instead. But even if we get to the top this way we wouldn't have the experience to handle the power magic promises us. Faust is a "doctor" and should know this.

 In Scene 1 we learn that Faust has lost his faith; not only in the God of his fathers but also in the Germanic Christian culture where he lived. Fair enough. A crisis of faith is not unusual, especially in the 18th century Age of Reason. But instead of consulting Nostradamus maybe he should have read old Dante instead. In Canto 20 of the Inferno he would have read the final fate of magicians and those who try to look into the future: "the neck was twisted, their faces looked down on their backs; they had to move ahead by moving backward, for they never saw what was ahead of them…" For Dante the punishment always fits the crime. Practicing magic isn't exactly a crime punishable by law. But it's a sin, a mortal sin, according to Dante. Magic tries to bend the divine will for human gain. For the old masters this was never a good thing. It upsets the natural order and leads us back down the road to the primordial chaos of darkness. RDPhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-31252263795045267532014-11-11T11:43:00.000-08:002014-11-11T11:45:23.135-08:00Faust: A Journey of Mind and Spirit

<o:p> </o:p>People are often confused about what they want out of life. Some want fame or power, others want financial success or pleasure. Almost everyone, regardless of where they live, desire things that they cannot have. Over time, we learn to deal with it. That's what maturity brings, when you finally accept your human limitations and settle for what you have, rather than struggle to obtain what is beyond your reach. So often in life, we find that our reach exceeds our grasp, and we either accept our mortal limitations and move on, or we become obsessed with what lies beyond our grasp and continue to struggle, making ourselves (and those around us) miserable in the process. People who persist in following these crazy ideas are called fanatics. But history shows that every now and then a few of these fanatics actually succeed in what they aspire to. They manage to break through the inertia of doubt and change the world in ways that most of us can scarcely dream of.

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As I read Goethe's Faust,I find myself wondering if this is a story of another crazy fanatic, or man who will change the world in ways we could never imagine. In one sense, Faust is a man seeking redemption. What does he have to feel bad about? He is a highly educated scholar and seems to have a pretty good life. He may be the most intelligent man on the planet. But he is not satisfied. In fact, he is miserable. Life seems a great disappointment to him. He wants to know things about life that no man can understand, even Faust. In other words, Faust is a philosopher, and it is the burden of every philosopher to desire knowledge that is beyond his grasp. The failure of human knowledge, which is also the failure of philosophy, is demoralizing to Faust. He wants to know what only God knows: the secrets of the universe and the meaning of life itself. Faust has decided that unless he can understand God's creation, then his life has no purpose. He is bored with traditional knowledge and so he turns away from philosophy towards the realm of black arts. When reason cannot supply you with the answers you seek, you look elsewhere. <o:p></o:p>

Faust is on a journey of the mind and spirit. After many years of studying the classics, Faust reached a dead end with reason. Now, he looks to the dark side in hopes of learning things that lie beyond reason's grasp. Philosophy has not given Faust the knowledge he seeks. Perhaps, magic will. Though, magic comes with a heavy price. When you abandon reason for magic, you're headed down a different path. Magic doesn't yield wisdom, but it does give power. And if there is one thing that all philosophers know, it's that power abhors a vacuum. What exactly does Faust want out of life? Even he doesn't seem to have an answer. The only thing he knows for sure is that he is bored with life, and he needs a reason to keep living. He is about to meet Mephistopheles who is never bored because he has the entire human race to amuse him. Mephistopheles certainly has the power to relieve Faust of his boredom. <o:p></o:p>

So where is God in this tale? As with Job, God has become the silent onlooker who sets things in motion, and then sits back, like Zeus, to observe humanity in all its confusion and terror. As Wagner says of the dog which Faust observes,<o:p></o:p>

"It's just a poor dumb animal.
Stand still and he will wait for you;
Speak to him, and he will jump up on you.
Drop something, and he will bring it back.
He'll jump in the water after your stick."

<o:p> </o:p>Faust replies, "You're right. I see no sign of any spirit-- it's only training."
SMJhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-10835761439279879152014-11-09T13:53:00.001-08:002014-11-10T07:42:28.310-08:00GOETHE: Faust, Part 1 (Scene 1: Magic)In the Prologue to this play Satan accuses Man of becoming "beastlier than any beast." The Lord disagrees. He has confidence that Faust is different from most men. The Lord says Faust "serves me, these days, in bewilderment. But soon I shall lead him into the light." That's when a bet takes place between Satan and the Lord. The bet is for the soul of Faust. The Lord has confidence in Faust because "A good man, struggling in his darkness, still knows the one true way." That's the background to the play. Throughout the story we should occasionally pause and remember to ask: is Faust a good man? Will he find his way? The curtain opens…

 Faust sits alone late at night in his armchair. He's brooding in darkness. He studied all branches of knowledge and spent years trying to understand the deepest subjects: law, medicine, philosophy and theology. And what has it all brought him? Faust claims he's "no wiser than I was before." We're reminded of the Preacher's lament in Ecclesiastes: all is vanity. Faust thought wisdom would bring him peace and contentment. But he's not peaceful or content either, just restless. A reader of Great Books should consider: is peace of mind one of the fruits of wisdom? Wisdom is hard. What do I get out of it? Why should I even try to be wise? Faust is just the latest restless soul asking the same old question: what is the meaning of life? As we grow up most people finally just give up and get on with ordinary life. Faust doesn't give up.

 It's not that he's unhappy, not really. Faust isn't worried by "doubts nor scruples" and says he's not afraid "of Hell or the Devil." But here's what's strange. He goes on to say "And because of it, all joy is torn from me." Faust is something of an intellectual free spirit. He keeps an open mind and doesn't get hung up on superstitious dogmas or creeds meant for simple minds. Faust is a doctor in the old sense of the term. Aristotle once said Man by nature desires to know. And Faust knows nearly everything worth knowing. But he's still not happy. Why not? Maybe Faust should answer the most fundamental question first. What's worth knowing? Faust thinks there's not "anything that I can teach to make men better, give them faith…" Why does Faust think it's his job to make other men better or give them faith? Is making men better the government's job? (The Federalist Papers) Is building faith the church's job? (Augustine: The City of God) Maybe Faust already has his hands full with his own problems.

 Since he's not finding answers in the traditional paths of History, Science, Reason or Religion, Faust decides to look elsewhere. Why does he turn to magic for answers? He should know better. Faust claims he wants wisdom. Can we get wisdom through magic? He claims he wants to help people. Does magic help people? Why are so many people fascinated by occult writings, including highly intelligent people like Faust? Nostradamus, for example, is still a bestseller in a highly scientific age. People seem to have always been drawn to the occult whether it's pre-historic Exodus, Sophocles' Greece, Goethe's Germany or modern-day America. There seems to be something in the human mind that wants to seek out forbidden knowledge. It could just be simple curiosity. Or it could be something more sinister; more deadly. Faust has no idea what's going on in the spiritual world. He asks rather innocently "Where shall I grasp you, infinite Nature?" A man as smart as Faust should know he can't grasp a spirit. You can't hold on to an angel. They're stronger than we are and smarter too. Genesis says the Lord "placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword…" Angels aren't cuddly little cupids with wings. They're ferocious warriors. They use flaming swords. Even good angels are scary. Faust is about to meet one of the bad ones. He doesn't know he's getting in way over his head. RDPhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-46590823298900216172014-11-01T08:53:00.000-07:002014-11-01T08:55:12.237-07:00GOETHE: Faust, Part 1 (Prologue)There's a conversation in Heaven between God and Satan. They're talking about how things are getting on in the world. Sound familiar? If you think that was from the Book of Job you're right. If you think it's from the Prologue of Goethe's Faust you're also right. From the very beginning of this play there's already a big question. Why is Goethe starting out with something that's already been done? He's writing a story that's already been written. Isn't that plagiarism? No. What Goethe is doing is taking a theme from the Western literary tradition and reshaping it in his own form. That's not plagiarism. Shakespeare did it all the time. In The Republic Plato refers back to Homer. Aristotle uses Sophocles to talk about the artistic principles of tragedy. This is all part of what the Great Books calls The Great Conversation. These authors don't steal from one another. They talk to each other. They build upon one another. We can only listen in.

 That is unless you're someone like Goethe. He read widely and thought deeply then jumped into The Great Conversation himself. The introduction to this selection shows where he may have gotten his inspiration for Faust. Goethe's mother once said, "Write books? No, I cannot do that, but in telling over what others have written I can beat them all." Goethe took his idea for the prologue to Faust straight from the Book of Job. In the Book of Job the Lord asks Satan, "Hast thou considered my servant Job, that there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil?" Satan replies, "put forth thine hand now, and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face." In Faust the Lord asks Satan (Mephistopheles), "Do you know Faust… my own servant?" Mephistopheles replies, "You don't say so! An odd sort of servant." In both stories a wager takes place between God and the devil. That's where the stories begin to diverge and Goethe turns it into a different tale. Job suffers a great deal physically. The older ancient virtue was to endure pain and overcome evil. But Faust suffers mentally. So the newer modern virtue is to withstand the temptations of pleasure and overcome evil. In both cases God defends mankind while Satan accuses.

 In Job Satan points out how utterly selfish and self-centered men are: "Skin for skin, yea, all that a man hath will he give for his life." Job's Satan says people will do anything to save their own skins. In Faust Mephistopheles expresses his utter contempt for humanity, "All I see is how men torment themselves. The little god of the world (man) is the same still, as odd as on the first day. He'd live a little better without his glimmering of heavenly light. He calls it Reason but he uses it to be beastlier than any beast." This is all a prelude to the struggle between good and evil that serves as a focal point throughout the play. In both stories the Lord sees the potential goodness in Man; Satan only sees the actual badness. In both stories life is a battlefield in an ongoing struggle between spiritual adversaries. Job and Faust are just pawns in a much bigger war.

 This is a war that's out of our pay grade. In the greater scheme of things human beings can't possibly understand what's going on. The angels can't understand it either; even archangels. Raphael says the Lord "works out his predestined round. Though no angel fathoms him…" Gabriel also admits some things are too high for angels and men, things too fast, things "swift, past all understanding swift." The Lord knows all this. That's why his response isn't too surprising. "Faust serves me, these days, in bewilderment. But soon I shall lead him into the light." In this play the real war is against darkness and ignorance. The Lord knows Faust is struggling just as Job struggled in his own day. But the Lord says "A good man, struggling in his darkness, still knows the one true way." Is Faust a good man? Satan says we shall see. RDPhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-40864783153347504552014-10-28T11:38:00.001-07:002014-10-28T11:38:53.601-07:00Some Early Thoughts on Faust
As with the Book of Job, Mephistopheles (or Satan) makes an early appearance in Goethe's Faust. So what exactly is his role in this tale? Let's face it. Satan's role in creation is a problem. It's a theological problem because he shouldn't exist at all. The orthodox view of God is that He (God) is all powerful and completely good. And he has some reason, known only to himself, why he created man. <o:p></o:p>

But, we can't help wondering why Satan, who opposes God and does everything in his power to make mankind miserable, is allowed by God to play an active role in the affairs of men. Of course, Milton made a gallant attempt to justify Satan's role in creation. But even if Satan lacks the power to defeat God, he has the ability and the will to destroy man, and he will take every opportunity to undermine God's plan to elevate man to some higher moral ground. Yet, one might still wonder, why does Satan exist? If God is truly all powerful, why doesn't he just get rid of Satan and allow his favorite creature (or pet) to develop naturally into a higher spiritual being? This is the basic question percolating under the action of both Goethe's Faust and the Book of Job.<o:p></o:p>

If you believe, as I do, that nothing in creation is worthless or without purpose, then Satan has a role to play. What exactly is that role? Satan is the antihero of creation. He moves the plot along by setting obstacles in the path of mortal creatures like Faust. He represents everything that human beings think they want out of life: pleasure, power, freedom. In other words, self-indulgence. Men like Faust want to shed their inhibitions and let their id free. This is what every child born into the world does naturally, before the social conventions of shame and guilt take hold. In this respect, Mephistopheles promises Faust a return to childhood. That's essentially what power is: the ability to do what you want without any fear of punishment. The Book of Job uses Satan as the means by which Job's faith in God (or God's authority) is tested. Job passes this test because he is willing to endure all the pain and suffering that Satan can inflict upon him. With Faust, the test will take a different form. If pain and suffering are not sufficient to undermine faith, then what about unlimited pleasure (or power)? Is it even possible for a man to get everything he wants, and still be aware of his obligations to God? And just what are these obligations? Nietzsche would say that any moral obligation is an act of cowardice. A true man who stands on his own feet will bow to no man (or god). By that definition, doesn't that make Mephistopheles a true man, in fact, the only true man who has ever existed, and ever could exist. A creature who refuses to bow even to his creator.

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SMJhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-20124028439840610562014-10-26T11:48:00.001-07:002014-10-26T11:50:45.202-07:00KAFKA: The Metamorphosis (What Is A Book For?) A theme that pops up fairly regularly in Great Books discussions is the notion that Man is just a highly complex animal. It's easy to see why someone would say that. Man is a physical creature just as all animals are physical creatures. We eat and drink, we sleep, we procreate and we die as all animals do. Seems simple enough; especially after reading Darwin. But if we push the idea a little further it's not so simple. If a man is just a complex animal does that mean an animal is just a complex bug? Is a bug just a complex plant? And are plants basically just complex dirt? Maybe we should rephrase the question of Man being an animal and ask (when all is said and done) is Man at bottom really just complex dirt? To put it another way, is Man just a material being? If we define Man as "just" a complex animal then we might define Kafka's book as just a complex combination of paper and ink. But Aristotle would point out that paper and ink describe a book's "substance." Substance is what a thing is made of. A (print) book is in fact made of paper and ink. We want to know what a book's "essence" is; what kind of a thing is it? How would we define a book's essence (its book-ness)? Put another way, what makes this thing a book and not just a random collection of paper and ink? Think of the following sequence. Letter. Word. Sentence. Paragraph. Chapter. Book. Does it make sense to say a book is just a complex combination of letters? That's one way of looking at it. But that misses the whole point, the primary purpose, of a book; which is to transmit information or knowledge and wisdom to the reader. Now consider the Western tradition of a chain of being which follows this orderly sequence: Inanimate objects. Plants. Insects and reptiles. Animals. Man. Angels. God. Does it make sense to say Man is just a complex animal? No. Man is a different kind of being. To say Man is just a complex animal is to confuse separate categories in the great chain of being.

 With that background let's consider Kafka's book (or story) The Metamorphosis. Gregor's family (and the reader) is shocked by the very first sentence: "As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect." This sentence is not just some random splattering of black ink on a white page. It's a very precise and orderly arrangement of symbols (letters) to form a sentence which expresses a coherent thought. And Kafka's thought is a disturbing one. People don't fall asleep one night and wake up the next morning as bugs. It just doesn't happen; not in the real world. People are people. Bugs are bugs. Animals are animals. And that's that. Kafka poses this great question: why? Why do people stay people and not turn into bugs or animals? He wants us to consider the "essence" of one man, Gregor, and think about what Gregor-ness means. What sets Gregor apart from angels and animals and bugs in the great chain of being? What makes Gregor unique in the whole chain of creation? He's a dull person but even dull people do very human things. Gregor has a job. He travels. He reads the newspaper. He keeps a picture of a sexy woman on the wall in his bedroom. Animals don't do these things. Not even complex animals. Why do people do them? That's what makes us human. Think of a book again. We can read it or we can use it to make a fire or to hold open a door. Books aren't made to build fires or hold doors open. They're made to pass on knowledge. So what are human beings made for? That's the question Kafka is asking. He doesn't give a complete answer but he does hint at what we're NOT made for. We're not made to be economic robots. Kafka detests the modern tendency to standardize life and judge everything and everyone by the standard of utilitarian values. It de-humanizes us. We're people, not bugs, says Kafka. And according to Kafka people are not just complex animals either. If we believe they are then we shouldn't be surprised if people act like animals and we shouldn't complain if we're treated like animals. RDPhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-61532815894854049702014-10-24T06:22:00.002-07:002014-10-24T06:35:06.672-07:00Kafka's "Metamorphosis": A Tale of Affliction
There are several ways to read this peculiar story by Franz Kafka. You might, as many people do, see it as an existential comedy on the fallibility of man or the inhumanity of strangers, or a satire on the bourgeois family, unable to cope with change or anything that requires genuine human emotion. For the players in this drama fit a certain stereotype: the dutiful son, the petulant father who is never satisfied with his son's achievements, the loving sister who cannot deal with the ugly, cruel side of life, the mother who is uncomfortable with anything that disrupts the harmony of her family, the indifferent guests who lodge in their home and care nothing about the calamity which has befallen their landlord.

The characters in this story are all recognizable because they are similar to how "respectable" people in all walks of life conduct themselves. That is to say, when confronted with something truly bizarre and out of the ordinary, the usual response is denial or a desperate attempt to place this disruption of normal life back into the realm of something rational and ordinary. So it is not surprising that the initial reaction by someone reading this story is to assume that it didn't really happen. In other words, no one really turns into a cockroach. The whole story is nothing but a dream. Gregor is having a nightmare, and Kafka's story is nothing but a depiction of Gregor's struggle to make sense of his disturbing dream. This way, the reader is left feeling entertained but not threatened. The world as we know it is completely rational and nothing extraordinary or supernatural ever occurs. Who cares if Gregor lives or dies? It's only a story about a dream.

I would like to suggest a different purpose by the author. "Metamorphosis" is not a satirical comedy, but a nightmare and tragedy. For the theatrical reference points are not "Waiting for Godot" or "No Exit," but Eugene O'Neill's "Death of a Salesman" or Pomerance's "The Elephant Man." What happens to Gregor is exactly what happens to Job. A decent, law abiding man who works diligently to pay off his father's debts has undergone a complete transformation. But even in his first waking moments when he becomes aware of the bizarre change which has come upon him, Gregor still wants to get out of bed and do his filial duty:

"Well, there's still hope once I've saved enough money to pay back my parents debts to him--that should take another five or six years--I'll do it without fail."

Like Job, Gregor has no idea what has happened to him or why his world has been turned upside down. The truth is that Job doesn't deserve his fate, and neither does Gregor. One day he is living a normal bourgeois existence as a commercial traveler (salesman); the next day, he has the body of an insect. But his mind is still human. He has the same feelings and thoughts as he did as a human, but his mind is now trapped inside the body of an insect. And like Job receiving advice from his so-called friends, Gregor soon finds that his family cannot help him. They are disgusted and frightened by his appearance. They mainly want him (or it) to go away. If he is no longer able to work, then what good is he? He has become a person with "special needs."

To make matters worse, Gregor can understand what others are saying, but they cannot understand him. He doesn't sound or look like a human being anymore. When the Chief Clerk comes to inquire why Gregor has not reported for work, it becomes clear that Gregor's value to his employer has vanished along with Gregor's human form. Although this reaction is not surprising coming from an employer; it is disheartening when his own family comes to the same conclusion. At first, his mother and sister are sympathetic and do what they can to make him comfortable. They are hoping for a kind of miracle in which their Gregor will be restored to his human body. But no miracle occurs, and as time goes on Gregor shows no improvement. They keep him boxed up in his own bedroom, which becomes a kind of storage place for things of little value.

Still, for several weeks, hope for some kind of recovery remains alive. Each day, his mother and sister bring him food and try to tidy up his room. His sister becomes his primary caretaker. But after awhile, even these small acts of kindness are abandoned. One day, Grete comes in to find Gregor sitting in his chair, staring out the open window. She doesn't know it, but his vision is getting worse. Along with all his other physical problems, such as the festering wound in his side, he is going blind. His sister seems to realize that he is getting worse. But she doesn't know how to deal with the situation. She can't fix what is wrong with him, just as he is unable to give her the money to enable her to attend the conservatory for her music. During this period of stagnation, no one in the family has the power or even the motivation to try and change what seems to be their fate.

Yet, as Gregor's condition deteriorates, we learn some interesting facts about his family that illuminate what Gregor's true value is to them. Along the way, you could say that Gregor's family goes through the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Then, finally, Gregor, or the creature he has become, succumbs to his illness. The charwoman comes into his room and pokes his corpse with a broom, saying "Just look at this; it's dead. It is lying here dead and done for."

In her eyes, Gregor is no longer a member of the family. He has become an "it" and the "it" is an intruder. In reply, Gregor's father says, "thanks be to God."

Suddenly, with Gregor out of the picture, the family becomes pro-active. They evict the rude lodgers and decide they don't really need such a large apartment. They get rid of the charwoman and then, mirabile dictu, they all manage to obtain employment. It turns out that Gregor's father is not quite as helpless and destitute as he appeared. So, from a strictly mercenary perspective, Gregor's death has become the motivation for the family to acquire economic independence.

But what does this play say to us about the human condition? It says we are temporary constituents of matter, mortal beings, and subject to forces we cannot control. Like Job, Gregor is innocent. He has committed no crime. And yet, innocence offers no protection from affliction. It is the innocent who must carry the moral burden of our crimes. And what are our crimes? They are too numerous to be listed, but the greatest among them is indifference to the suffering of others. Of course, there are many possible interpretations to this story. I am choosing one. The theme of alienation runs through many works of existentialist authors like Kafka. But what does alienation really mean? In moral terms, it means the inability to respond to one's environment (or to others) in any kind of human way.

On the other hand, one can easily give the meaning of Gregor's death a transformative spin by describing his metamorphosis as a form of Christian allegory, in which the good son becomes a sacrificial lamb whose death releases the family from its spiritual bondage and inspires them to go on and lead better lives. But this is hard to justify. The family will indeed survive and possibly even prosper, but it seems that any memory of their son has evaporated.

In biology, metamorphosis means "a profound change in form from one stage to the next in the life history of an organism." So it is fair to say that Gregor's family has gone through its own metamorphosis. But, as my friend Ron would say, "is this a good thing, or a bad thing?"

SMJhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-53705231988867888112014-10-20T10:58:00.001-07:002014-10-21T09:54:34.636-07:00KAFKA: The Metamorphosis, Part 1 (Bugs and People) Pop quiz. How many times have you fallen asleep and woken up the next morning? Many, many times for sure. How many times have you fallen asleep and woken up the next morning as a bug? That's how this story begins. Gregor Samsa is a traveling salesman. He goes to bed one night and when he wakes up the next morning he has somehow turned into a bug. This could be a horror story or a modern-day movie like The Fly. So why is it included in the Great Books?

 The story of Gregor Samsa raises many questions. For starters if a man falls asleep one evening and wakes up the next morning as a bug is he still a "man" too? Gregor still has his own personal memories of his work and his family. He still has human emotions. He still feels hunger and hope and sadness. But he has the body of a beetle. Healthy human food such as milk and bread repulses him. He can understand what people are saying but he can't talk back to them in human language. So the first hurdle we face in understanding this story is answering the question: what makes Gregor Gregor? What is it about this man that defines him specifically and uniquely as "Gregor" the traveling salesman, or Gregor the son, or brother, and so on? What is it that connects Gregor to the real world day after day, week after week, year after year? No matter how many times he falls asleep and wakes up again, he's still "Gregor." Until now.

 The next hurdle we face in understanding the story is why a bug? It would be a very different story if Gregor had gone to bed and woken up the next morning as a woman. It would be a very different story if Gregor had turned into a cuddly little kitten or a cute little puppy. What is Kafka trying to tell us when he has Gregor turn into a bug instead of a woman or a kitten or a puppy? A woman is another human being. We can understand that. Kittens and puppies can be playful and affectionate. We can understand that too. People adopt kittens and puppies as pets. But who has ever adopted a bug as a pet? Scientists and nature lovers study bugs to learn more about them. But they don't feel affection for them. And of all living species insects (along with reptiles) are the species most alien to us. We can feel warm-blooded affection for higher mammals and many people love birds. But who can love a bug?

 That's how Kafka sets up a story that's ripe for philosophical speculation. Here we have a man who is alienated from the human family, he's alienated from his own family, and he's even alienated from his own self. So what does he worry about? Being late for work. Gregor thinks "…what an exhausting job I've picked! Traveling about day in, day out." He usually catches the 5:00 morning train but today he overslept. He's turned into a bug and that's inconvenient. Now his clothes won't fit and it will be much harder to meet his sales quota. Some customers may not feel comfortable placing orders with a bug sales rep. But if he hurries he still has time to catch the 7:00 train. I turn into a bug and this is what I worry about? What is Kafka trying to tell us?

 On one level maybe Kafka's just telling an interesting story. All good writers do that. This story happens to be a bizarre tale. But lots of people like reading about bizarre things. Just ask Stephen King. On a deeper level Kafka may be asking us to consider what is so special about people? What makes us human? What makes us different from bugs? Or is Kafka asking us to be kind to one another? Or is he asking us to pause in the middle of our busy daily lives and consider what we value most? Maybe he's asking all these things; maybe not. After all literature isn't philosophy. As a storyteller Kafka doesn't have to prove anything. He's just telling a story. And that's a very human thing to do. Bugs don't tell stories. RDPhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-71567720498433436022014-10-14T08:30:00.000-07:002014-10-14T08:35:06.892-07:00Blinded by Culture
The truth (or value) of any new theory is measured in two ways: does it make accurate (and verifiable) predictions about the way nature operates; and if so, does it offer a better explanation than the existing theory?<o:p></o:p>

The Greeks of Homer (or Oedipus) weren't fools, but they could be foolish in the same way that children are when they believe in fairies, Santa Claus, and other mythical creatures. Are we smarter than Aristotle or Oedipus? Probably not. But we are better informed which means we have access to better information. We also have the ability to think critically about what is true and what isn't true, which is something that people in Homer's day lacked. We don't burn incense or sacrifice bulls or chickens on altars to bring us good fortune. We use logic, technology, and a knowledge of the past to inform our decisions regarding the future. We don't believe in fate, but we do believe in DNA, cause and effect, and statistical probability.<o:p></o:p>

When it comes to Freud's work on dreams, there continues today to be much doubt whether it even qualifies as science. Much of it is highly speculative, just as his work on infantile sexuality remains mired in controversy. But a theory doesn't always have to be true in order to be useful. Dreaming is so common a human experience as to be almost universal. Often, people are troubled by dreams and are confused, embarrassed, and even ashamed by the content of their dreams. Freud had the insight that dreams are connected with feelings, especially feelings that are often suppressed, such as erotic feelings for other people. He developed a theory about why people have such dreams, and how these dreams be interpreted in a useful way.<o:p></o:p>

What is not clear to many people today is how Freud's early work on dreams qualifies as science rather than mythology. A person goes to her analyst and describes a dream. How does the analyst know that the person lying on his couch is not inventing the dream as she speaks? Well, there are techniques for separating lies from truth, but are the same techniques able to distinguish hallucinations from dreams? Maybe or maybe not. But people do not spend large sums of money to lie on a couch and discuss their dreams if they don't get some benefit. The proof is in the pudding. Some people feel better going to a priest and giving their confession. Other people go to a psychiatrist and feel better after talking to someone who listens to what they have to say. Even after 2,000 years of human development, our mind is largely a mystery. We don't understand ourselves, nor do we understand the people around us. We live in confusion and we experience anxiety over our inability to control our lives. What Freud attempted to do, with his theory and his practice, was to provide relief from anxiety.

<o:p></o:p>

The popular word in use today is stress. And it is far from certain whether this condition is related to our biology or our way of living. Kierkegaard believed that anxiety or stress is existential, meaning it is part of the human condition. Freud, on the other hand, believed that anxiety is treatable and that the ultimate goal of psychiatry should be to make people feel better (or less miserable) than they otherwise would. Of course, Aristotle, along with the Greek dramatists like Sophocles, might say the same thing: tragedy makes people feel better about themselves. Wasn't this the whole point of "katharsis"-- the purgation or cleansing of our soul which, in today's language, we describe as the release of anxiety?<o:p></o:p>
SMJhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-68215990434295535172014-10-10T09:07:00.001-07:002014-10-10T09:07:06.846-07:00FREUD: On Dreams (Psychology and Mythology)In our last reading Oedipus the King had a most unhappy fate, just as the gods had predicted. Some people think the culture of classical Greece, with its belief in magic, Olympian gods and fate is so far removed from our own (American) experience of the world as to be almost unrecognizable. Why? Are we smarter than they were? They weren't fools. They left Western civilization a remarkable cultural heritage of democracy, science, philosophy, art, architecture and dramas like Oedipus the King. So we ask how could they have been so wrong about so many things; the nature of the gods, magical tales, and Fate? Maybe we should turn the tables and ask a different question. In Sophocles' play Oedipus blinded himself because he had been "blinded" by his culture. Might our own culture also be blind, only in a different kind of way?

 Let's make a simple comparison between modern and ancient worldviews. Has modern science given us a more powerful view of reality and truth? For example, this week's reading is about dreams. So let's take dreams as a starting point. What is the nature of dreams? Where do they come from? What do they mean? The ancient world was very interested in dreams. Genesis tells us Jacob dreamed about angels going up and down a ladder to heaven. That seems pretty important. But does it mean anything? And if we can't interpret what dreams mean, then what's the point of having them? Also in Genesis Joseph had a gift for interpreting dreams and this gift changed the whole course of history. So maybe dreams are more important than we think.

 On the other hand, all that stuff in Genesis happened a long time ago (if it happened at all). And some authors refer to the Genesis and Greek epochs of history as "prescientific" times. Freud is one of those. He says "during the epoch which may be described as prescientific, men had no difficulty in finding an explanation of dreams. When they remembered a dream after waking up, they regarded it as either a favorable or a hostile manifestation by higher powers, demonic and divine." How does Freud know what prescientific men thought? But let's assume Freud is right and assume that for ancient people dreams were in fact a "ladder" to higher powers. Dreams could then put us in touch with higher realms of being. This seems like a worthy goal, not all that much different from Socrates' ladder in Plato's Symposium. Moderns reject this idea. What's really at stake here isn't the nature of dreams; it's the nature of reality. In the ancient worldview dreams are a gateway to another world; the world of mythology. And Freud classifies mythology as superstition. He says "when modes of thought belonging to natural science began to flourish, all this ingenious mythology was transformed into psychology…"

 Freud believes modern science has transformed superstitious myth into rational psychology. Now we come back to the question of Oedipus and blindness: what are our own potential modern-day blind spots? Why do most of us prefer rational psychology over superstitious myth? Better yet, drop the adjectives. Rational sounds too positive, superstitious too negative. Then why do we prefer psychology (science) over myth? Does science give us a more powerful view of reality than the vision offered by myth, legend and magical tales? Freud prefers science and tries to convince our minds with rational arguments. Sophocles relies on myth and wants to move our hearts with poetry and drama. But it's not like Freud is new wave and Sophocles is old school. The old Greek Aristotle preferred logical persuasion and clear thinking. The modern writer Kierkegaard thinks logic is too dry and turns wine into water; it drains all the juice out of life. Freud and his kind think faith in myth and magical tales only retard human progress. Sophocles and his kind think magic and myth is the juice (and wine) of life. RDPhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-24507018960587320352014-10-09T13:47:00.000-07:002014-10-09T13:47:37.013-07:00Some Final Thoughts on Oedipus
The culture of classical Greece, with its belief in magic, Olympian gods and fate, is so far removed from our own (American) experience of the world as to be almost unrecognizable. Yet the world of Oedipus is not really any stranger than the culture of the Old Testament with its superheroes (Abraham, Moses, David) and villains (Cain, Pharaoh, the Moabs, and anyone else who stood in the way of God's chosen people). Most of us don't see the world that way. Yes, we believe in good and evil, but not the way Moses did. We believe that nature is governed by laws which are rational, consistent and understandable. The laws of nature don't favor one race or one individual other another. That's what we mean when we say that the world we live in is non-deterministic. Americans, along with many other people, believe that we ourselves are the arbiters of our own fate. That's what moral freedom (and responsibility) implies. If our lives were truly deterministic (driven by fate) there could be no rational basis for morality. What can good and evil even mean when the outcome is already fixed?<o:p></o:p>

To me, Oedipus is a victim of cultural blindness. What does that mean? It means he is blinded by his own culture. He believes in fate, but he also thinks he is clever enough to arrange events so that he can avoid the consequences of his birth. In this, he is mistaken. Now it is certainly true that he contributes to his own downfall. You might characterize his pride and temper as examples of human fallibility, all of which play a part in his destruction. When Oedipus refuses to give way to King Laius on the road to Thebes, is this a character flaw or just an early example of road rage?<o:p></o:p>

Later, Oedipus leaps to the conclusion that Creon is trying to steal his throne. Is this paranoia or does Oedipus have any good reasons to suspect treachery? He certainly believes that he has avoided the prophesy of the Oracle by leaving Corinth and living out his life in Thebes. But he lacks reliable information about who he really is. So, is his downfall the result of a tragic misunderstanding of what the facts are, or is he, himself, to blame for what unfolds? He does kill King Laius with his own hands. No one forces him to do it. He willingly sleeps with Jocasta and has children with her; no one forces him to do this. On the other hand, one could certainly argue that had he known who King Laius was at the crossroads, he might not have killed him. Likewise, if King Laius remained alive, Oedipus probably would never have been king of Thebes, nor would he have slept with Jocasta.<o:p></o:p>

The moral of this story is that human beings are limited in their capacities. Yes, we have some wisdom but not enough to avoid making bad decisions. The world is large and we are small. Our human vision is limited to a tiny fraction of the electromagnetic spectrum which we call visible light. I can't help wondering if our human intelligence is also limited to a tiny fraction of what would be required if we were truly enlightened. The moral is that we often do not know what is in our own best interest. We stumble along the highway of life just as Oedipus did long ago, blinded by his own pride and a cruel destiny that is indifferent to human suffering.<o:p></o:p>
SMJhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-84037117528030971612014-10-07T12:46:00.000-07:002014-10-07T12:47:05.721-07:00Oedipus and Fate
It is easy to read Oedipus Rex as a dramatic story about fate. The ancient Greeks believed in such things. They also believed in a whole pantheon of gods who ruled over the Earth from a heavenly sphere called Olympus. But what has any of that got to do with the real world we inhabit? Most people today are a little more rational than to believe in prophesy. Americans mostly believe in what they can see and touch, not in magical tales or miracles. We certainly don't believe we are ruled by fate; instead, we believe that you make your own fate through hard work and persistence. Nevertheless, many things happen in life that are beyond our control. We don't choose our parents, and to some degree, we are products of our DNA. So, we can't always avoid the accidents of nature that come upon us. But we grew up in the age of quantum theory, where nothing is completely analyzable. We make predictions based on probability, which is derived from the habit of observation. Unfortunately, not everything can be analyzed with precision. In other words, some things happen which are beyond our control or our understanding. But so what? Chance is a measurement of probability, not a curse or bad karma.

Needless to say, Oedipus is caught between a rock and a hard place. There is a plague going on in Thebes. People are dying like flies and are frightened. A kind of panic has taken over the city and the people expect their king to do something about it. In other words, when people are dying, it is the King's responsibility to do something about it. This is not all that different than people today grumbling about Obama not doing something about Ebola. Isn't it his responsibility to guarantee our safety? So Oedipus makes some enquiries. He sends Creon off to consult the oracle at Delphi and get some answers. This makes perfect sense. If you feel like you are being punished, then you need to find out why the gods are offended. What else can Oedipus do? Unfortunately, he doesn't like the answers that Creon brings back to him. All this talk about Oedipus being the cause of the plague sounds like Creon is making a little play for becoming king himself. This is not all that different than how people in Washington respond to hearing bad press. People in power always blame the messenger (or the media) when there is bad news. It makes no difference whether it is bad poll results or a bad prophesy. Someone must be held accountable.

Don't like the opinion polls? Then call another media consultant. Just in the nick of time, a man arrives from Corinth. He tells Oedipus that his father has died. Normally, news like this makes you sad. But this bit of news makes Oedipus happy. He's off the hook now. He didn't kill his father, so he can't be the cause of the plague. But just as he is starting to celebrate, an old shepard arrives with news about Oedipus' past. It turns out that Merope was not his real mother. So even though he can't murder his own father, he's still a little worried about that incest thing. But now, he finds out he was adopted as a baby. So, the story is getting complicated. If he was adopted, then who gave him up for adoption? Uh oh, now Oedipus learns that he was indeed Laius' son and the prophecy which he hoped to avoid has come true.

Ok, it is a sad denouement. But nothing in this play suggests to me that Oedipus is a victim of fate. His own bad temper has brought about his downfall. First, he lost his composure at the crossroads where he encountered Laius and killed him rather than give way. Then, when Creon returned from the oracle with the bad news, Oedipus immediately suspects Creon of wanting his throne. So, if he had just listened to Jocasta and let the whole matter go, he could have avoided the shame of learning the ugly truth of his background. It seems clear to me that the old expression "character makes the man" is the real moral of this tale. If Oedipus had made better decisions, he would have lived out the rest of his life without ever discovering the facts of his childhood. But if that is true, then it must also be true that sometimes too much information is detrimental to one's happiness. So, even though it pains me to admit it, and it goes completely against our love of truth, and our reverence for knowledge, sometimes we just have to accept that ignorance is bliss.
SMJhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-70519741608624724452014-10-06T09:28:00.001-07:002014-10-06T09:53:03.852-07:00SOPHOCLES: Oedipus the King (Preachers and Kings) For many readers Ecclesiastes seems full of contradictions. In one place it says "all is vanity." That makes life sound hopeless. In another place it says "there is nothing better for a man than that he should eat and drink and that he should make his soul enjoy good in his labour." That makes life sound pleasant. Well, which is it? Is life one long trial to be endured or is it a joyful experience to be relished? Ecclesiastes seems to be saying: both; life is really just one darn thing after another. So enjoy it while you can. This sounds like a contradiction. In the world of Ecclesiastes wisdom is the ability to reconcile contradictions. And there are many in life. The first step is to accept reality as it really is, not as we wish it would be. Ecclesiastes puts it this way: "if the tree fall toward the south, or toward the north, in the place where the tree falleth, there it shall be." Can't argue with that. In every life there's a big tree lying smack in the middle of the road. We can't go around it. We can't wish it away. The tree of reality is there whether we like it or not. The only question is: how do we respond to life's inconvenient trees? The Preacher in Ecclesiastes doesn't try to persuade us they aren't really there, they are. But he advises the wise thing to do is to learn to live with them and get on with life.

 This sounds like good advice; but what if the problem is so deep and so severe that we can't just accept it and get on with life? Consider the life of Oedipus. Life has been good to him. Oedipus is a king. He has a lovely wife and wonderful children. People respect him. As he himself says, "I Oedipus whom all men call the Great." But as the great Oedipus journeys through life he comes across a big tree lying smack in the middle of the road. He can't go around it. He can't wish it away. He has to deal with it. Oedipus is forced to choose. He can either continue on with his happy life; in which case he'll never know the truth. Or he can find out the truth; in which case he'll never be happy again. Well, which is it? Would Oedipus rather have his happiness or know the truth? What would the Preacher advise Oedipus in this situation?

 The truth is Oedipus has killed his father and married his mother just as prophets long ago had predicted. Oedipus tried hard to prevent this prophecy from coming true. In the end all his efforts only helped fulfill it. He does end up killing his father and marrying his mother. His wife/mother Jocasta warned him: "Best to live lightly as one can, unthinkingly… I beg you, do not hunt this out, I beg you…" But Oedipus doesn't listen to her. He hunts out the truth anyway. Once he finds out what he's done the question is how to respond. Reality has come crashing down on his life like a big tree crashing down on a house. His life is in ruins. What should he do? Get on with life as the Preacher recommends? After all, this was the will of the gods. There was nothing you (Oedipus) could do about it. The best course now is to go on about your daily business; eating, drinking and doing your work. You'll never be happy in the same way you were before. But maybe there's some divine purpose behind all this horror.

 Oedipus doesn't care about any divine purpose. He doesn't consult priests or prophets. Oedipus is a great king. So he takes matters into his own hands and does what he thinks is best; he blinds himself. From now on Oedipus says, "darkness is my world." The Chorus could have been speaking for the Preacher when they respond, "I cannot say your remedy was good; you would be better dead than blind and living." But Oedipus doesn't agree. He says "What I have done here (by blinding myself) was best done; don't tell me otherwise, do not give me further counsel." Jocasta's counsel was the same as the Preacher's: "Best to live lightly as one can, unthinkingly." Is living lightly the best counsel? Preachers and kings don't always agree. RDPhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-61666836535418437662014-09-30T11:53:00.001-07:002014-10-01T05:12:08.952-07:00Resistance is Futile (Unless You Have Science)I think most readers have a pretty good handle on the problems raised by Ecclesiastes. Still, I have a small criticism in our using the word "chaos" when we really mean "change." All change is not chaotic. There is orderly (rational) change, such as the change from one political administration to another through a free election; and there is disorderly change through revolution. But does Ecclesiastes really mean whatever we want it to mean ("a mirror to the world")? The underlying truth is that Ecclesiastes gives little comfort to those who are concerned about personal survival. Everything alive passes away. In the long view, which cosmologists take, even inorganic matter will disintegrate as the molecular bonds which hold it together weaken. But the ultimate fate of the universe lies trillions of years in the future. What most people are concerned with is more immediate. What happens to me tomorrow?

Ecclesiastes does not offer any real answers. It offers a point of view most closely associated with stoicism-- i.e., why worry about things which are beyond your control? Relax, be happy.

Ecclesiastes also does not address the root causes of injustice in the world. Even if good and evil were in perfect balance (which they are not), why is good unable to triumph over evil? Ecclesiastes has no answer for that. In fact, if you are starving to death, unable to find a job, or simply in the wrong place at the wrong time (Sierra Leone), you may have a pretty rotten life, then die of Ebola. There is a high probability that no one will even remember you existed. You'll just fade away into nothingness.

So, if everything eventually disappears (including me), what's the point of doing anything? Ecclesiastes has no answer. The point of view of Ecclesiastes is that we puny human beings are not able to see "the big picture" which God has devised. So we should just relax and enjoy our brief hour upon the stage.

On the other hand, science, which is very much a product of the Age of Reason, does not have all the answers either. But it has a strategy. The strategy is based on logic, reason, imagination and the scientific method. Science may also kill us with our hubris and our lack of virtue. Unfortunately for those of us who live today, science may not find a solution for our mortality. But it provides a strategy that might pay off some day in the future. Three thousand years from now, Ecclesiastes will be perceived as a kind of mental illness. What Americans want are solutions to problems, not consolation. The authors of the Federalist Papers were not going to sit around and let the future unfold willy-nilly. Forget about "all is vanity and vexation of spirit." What kind of solution is that? Americans primarily believe in two things: freedom and work. You work to earn money and have a better life for yourself. We want answers, not sermons. The way I read it, Ecclesiastes does not offer us any answers other than "be thankful that life is not any worse than it already is." Great! Tell that to the Jews in Auschwitz.

On the other hand, maybe Ecclesiastes has some useful advice to impart, if only we know how to make use of it. But the fact of the matter is that Ecclesiastes has no explanation for why things are the way they are, and no solutions on how to make it better. At best, like Stoicism, Ecclesiastes is a methodology for handling despair. But all of life's problems are not mental. When you are starving, you can't survive on a positive attitude. You have to go out and find something to eat. This is what I find irritating about stoicism. It advocates a change in attitude, but it doesn't go to the root cause of misery. Science doesn't go to the root cause of misery either. You can have all the food in the world, along with all the treasure, and still be miserable. The pursuit of happiness is a never ending journey. But it begins with finding enough food to eat everyday, and freedom from violent death at the hands of scoundrels. This was the essence of Hobbes political philosophy. He believed that most people just want to be safe from harm. But the Founding Fathers knew better. They knew that Americans want freedom as well as security. But sometimes, it is difficult to have both.

In a metaphysical sense, freedom from non-existence is what most people really desire. (Would Christianity be as popular as it is without the promise of resurrection?) Sure, we want freedom, happiness, prosperity, and love, etc. But what is the thing most people want the most? More life. On the other hand, there isn't much point to life if you are miserable; but there isn't much point to happiness either, if you are dead. That's kind of a syllogism. Life without happiness = despair. Happiness without life = ??? This is the bitter reality that Ecclesiastes fails to address. Science does a much better job of identifying our basic needs. We want food and shelter, and we need life to get those things. And yes, it is true that Man may not live on bread alone, but he sure can't live without it either. Unless you believe in miracles. But that is another discussion.

SMJhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-49260162797723519582014-09-27T10:44:00.001-07:002014-10-06T09:26:14.248-07:00BIBLE: Ecclesiastes (Road Map for Life)The book of Ecclesiastes can be read in different ways: as a mirror to reflect on past mistakes and failures; as a lens to look down the road to the future; as a road map to show us where we're at right now. Past, future and present; Ecclesiastes covers the whole geography of life. That is, if we're wise enough to read it wisely. The most famous section is the poetic section showing an appropriate time for everything under the sun. Wisdom may be simply this: do the right thing at the right time; nothing more and nothing less. Timing is everything. Is this poetic view of time fatalistic? In other words, should we read this section as if it says, things will happen. The universe is wound up like a clock and will run out in its own good time. We're just cogs in a machine and there's nothing we can do about it. All is vanity. Or, should we interpret time in a more optimistic way? Is the advice given here not fatalistic at all but a much more uplifting message: be patient. What goes around comes around. Your time will come. All will be well.

 But all is not well. Not by a long shot. Why is life good to some people and not to others? Is it the luck of the draw? Do some people just get stuck being a bad cog in the machine of life? Or is it because some people put forth the effort needed to live better lives? Ecclesiastes offers a map to a better way of life. A man can navigate through his life without using a map. But Ecclesiastes says he has a fool for a navigator. The world is a tough neighborhood and we all need help getting through it safely. The Preacher is well aware of this and says, "I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be exercised in it. He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart…" What does he mean?

 Let's take four examples and call them A, B, C, and D. But first let's get our terms straight. What is "travail"? Merriam-Webster says, Travail: a difficult experience or situation, painful or difficult work or effort. "Sons of men" means all of us. "Exercise" is the act of bringing into play or realizing in action. Put it all together and it means all of us are born into a tough world. We didn't ask to be here but here we are. And the kicker is this: one day we're all going to die. Ecclesiastes asks one question: so what are you going to do about it? Now the four responses:

 A. Doesn't use the past as a mirror to reflect his mistakes and failures and he refuses to use books like Ecclesiastes as a lens to see a vision for a better life. He only lives for the here and now and rejects any kind of map. All will not be well with this man.

B. Uses the past as a mirror but gets stuck brooding on his past mistakes and failures. He can't see the future because the past looks so dark. He lives facing backwards because his past haunts him. All will not be well with this man and Ecclesiastes cannot help him.

C. Never looks back. He wants to move on and forget the past ever existed. He wants to erase his mistakes and failures as if they never happened. Ecclesiastes says he has no roots and all will not be well with this man because he never learns.

D. Looks back at his mistakes and failures and tries to figure out what went wrong. Then he makes plans for a better life in the future. He may make more mistakes and failures but they won't be the same ones over and over. All may not be well with this man either. But he's got a better shot at happiness if he uses the map of Ecclesiastes.

 To summarize. Ecclesiastes is a book and it's also a map. Use it wisely. No matter where I'm at this book is a good starting point for the rest of the journey. No matter where I'm starting from I can always pick up this book and Ecclesiastes will tell me YOU ARE HERE...X. RDPhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-54037608066498072702014-09-25T10:59:00.001-07:002014-09-25T11:07:50.478-07:00BIBLE: Ecclesiastes (Mirror to the World)Ecclesiastes is the kind of book that can be used as a lens to see the world through the eyes of the Preacher, son of David, King of Israel. Of course this isn't the only book we can use as a lens to see the world. If we use St. Augustine's City of God as a lens we'll constantly see a contrast between those living in the City of Man and those living in the City of God. If we use Karl Marx as a lens we'll see a constant struggle between workers and business owners. But Ecclesiastes is more than just a book to read and see how the world looks through a lens; it's also the kind of book that reflects back our own biases and preconceptions about living in a specific society at a specific time in history. Here are three timeless questions (and answers too!) taken from the book of Ecclesiastes: 1. What kind of world is this? 2. What's worth doing? 3. What can I know? These questions affect every generation in every society. Let's examine them further.

 What kind of world is this? Ecclesiastes answers: it's a world filled with chaos. "One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh… The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose. The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits. All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full…" This is the kind of world we live in. It's chaos. Nothing ever settles down. On the other hand, Ecclesiastes also says this is an orderly world: "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die…" and so forth. The world is an orderly place. Things go like clockwork. People, like weather, come and go, "but the earth abideth forever."

 What's worth doing in this kind of world? Ecclesiastes answers, nothing. The Preacher looked around him and said, "I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit." We can work hard and maybe even become wise but as the Preacher points out, "And how dieth the wise man? as the fool. Therefore I hated life…" On the other hand, life may not be so bad: "every man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labour, it is the gift of God…there is nothing better, than that a man should rejoice in his own works; for that is his portion." What's worth doing? Whatever we think needs doing. Just remember that whatever is worth doing is worth doing well. This is our lot in life. Be happy.

 Well, what can I know? Ecclesiastes says there are lots of things we can know. He says, "I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly…" Chasing wisdom and madness and folly can take a whole lifetime. In fact, people have devoted whole lifetimes to studying science or art or taken up politics or devoutly followed a religion. The Preacher tells us "I said in my heart, Go to now…" and then he turned his whole mind and body and spirit over to chasing wisdom and madness and folly. What did he find? It all amounted to this: "In much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow." These were two bitter lessons he learned: (1) there are limits to how much the human mind can comprehend and how much the human body can experience and (2) we may find out things we wished we didn't know.

 So Ecclesiastes seems to straddle both sides of the fence on life's most basic issues. For many readers this just won't do. The book does give answers to life's primary questions but these answers aren't fully satisfactory to most people, especially people looking for either-or/black-and-white answers. That's how Ecclesiastes serves as a mirror. If the reader asks: what kind of book is this? Ecclesiastes answers: what kind of reader are you? This is the mirror's job. RDPhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-7580817257165585352014-09-19T09:48:00.002-07:002014-09-19T09:48:33.868-07:00BIBLE: Ecclesiastes (Literature and Logic)Any time we read a work of fiction (a novel or a play or a short story) an obvious question always comes up: What is the author trying to say? What was Gogol trying to say when he wrote The Overcoat? We'll never know for sure what Gogol was trying to say, any more than we can know for sure what Shakespeare was trying to say when he wrote Hamlet or King Lear. But there's at least one thing we can know for sure. We can know for sure the impact the story had on us as readers. And we can bet that other readers took away different meanings than we did. The Overcoat is no different. No doubt many readers see Akaky as a pathetic figure, a loser who's responsible for his own pathetic situation. Many other readers no doubt see Akaky as the victim of a cold and cruel society. Still others might read the story as a comedy; a dark comedy maybe, but still funny in a warped kind of way. Here's the problem. None of these readers would argue that 2+2 does not equal four. 2+2=4. End of story. Yet they might argue for hours about the meaning of The Overcoat. How can this be? Two quick answers should suffice. One: literature is not mathematics. Two: in modern terms, different strokes for different folks.

 Does that mean there are no standards for literature, the way there are standards for mathematics? No, but it does mean we have to use different methods for analyzing literature. We wouldn't use literary methods to analyze a geometrical proof. One of the reasons people disagree about meaning in literature is because they bring different methods to the table. In geometry we can draw a straight line from one point to another. That's the meaning of a straight line. We all agree on that point. But in literature we don't all agree on the meaning of beauty. Is a straight line beautiful in the same way a poem or a short story is beautiful? Let's phrase our question in slightly different terms. Gogol was an artist, not a mathematician. What is Gogol trying to say to us using literature as his method; what is it he could not say to us by using logic?

 The Book of Ecclesiastes provides a perfect example of this intersection between literature and logic. In America Ecclesiastes is most famous from the popular song Turn, Turn, Turn sung by The Byrds in the 1960's. And there is indeed a certain kind of beauty in the repetitious phrasing of these words from Ecclesiastes: "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven… A time to be born, and a time to die…" There's a powerful symmetry and a subconscious rhythm to repeating "a time to do X, and a time to do Y" over and over again. Symmetry and rhythm are two fundamental foundations of beauty in art. Deep in our minds there's a hypnotic effect to understanding that two things are alike, side by side, in relation to one another; or, this sound was like the last one, and lasted the same amount of time. Relationships in space and time equal beauty. That's one standard we use in measuring art.

 But Ecclesiastes also has another standard for measuring beauty. How do we measure literary relationships between a story like The Overcoat and the poetry of Ecclesiastes? Here's how. Ecclesiastes is a lens we can use to look at a character like Akaky with fresh eyes. For example, Akaky kind of stumbled along in life; he wasn't the quickest guy in the office. Ecclesiastes says "the race is not to the swift." Akaky was a weakling. Ecclesiastes says "nor the battle to the strong." And Akaky's mind wasn't the sharpest one in the office. Ecclesiastes says "neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding." In other words, Ecclesiastes turns logic on its head to give us a more poetic view of Akaky. All the guys in the office thought they were better off than Akaky. Ecclesiastes says they were all wrong because "time and chance happeneth to them all." This sounds logical and cold; but in the literary sense, it's beautiful. RDPhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-60123694703396266842014-09-17T09:51:00.003-07:002014-09-23T12:21:57.279-07:00In Search of the Good LifeIn Gogol's short story, "the Overcoat," we have the tale of a lowly bureaucrat, named Akaky, who aspires to nothing more in life than to do his work alone each day in silence; then, when he is done, to return home to his humble dwelling in which he lives out his days alone, without the distractions of a wife, family, or friends, and not even a dog to keep him company. There he eats his meager dinner, alone, in silence, like a prisoner in solitary confinement, and fills the remaining hours of the day before he goes to sleep, by copying some document that he brought home from the office. This is the sum total of Akaky's existence. Each day is a repetition of the one that came before, and despite what seems to us as a dreary, lonely existence, Akaky is content with his life. In fact, you might even describe him as happy, if by happiness you mean the absence of any stress or imagination or desire. He is a man without ambition and so he is perfectly content with his humble station in life. This makes Akaky the perfect employee. He's like a reliable machine: shows up punctually every day to do his work; never asks for a promotion, and always does exactly what he is told to do. Within his own tiny realm of existence, Akaky seems to be at peace. So is this Gogol's idea of the one true path to serenity?

I don't think so. It is difficult for any American today to read this story sympathetically and understand or agree with Gogol's depiction of a stable, bureaucratic society filled with workers like Akaky. This man aspires to nothing in life but the role he is given at birth, as an impoverished, uneducated, and quiescent bureaucrat. He may as well be a serf working under the Czar. But if all workers were as content as Akaky, there never would have been a revolution in Russia and the Czar would still be sitting on his throne. On the other hand, maybe Akaky is the model for a new kind of Russian who keeps his mouth shut, does his work, and makes no trouble for anyone.

Of course, here today in the United States we have our own government bureaucracy in which many people do mindless jobs without ever having an original thought of their own. The same might be said for any civil service job whether in China, India or Great Britain. But this is not how we started. The revolution was fought to establish a land of freedom and opportunity, where anyone willing to work, could improve his lot in life and, with a little luck, eventually prosper. Yet the mind of Akaky does not embrace any vision or desire for progress. So, we wonder is what happens to Akaky his own fault, or is it just bad luck? He was a man who never made friends or joined any society, and never participated in the life of his community, either in church or his own neighborhood. In other words, he lived his life in solitude. Even monks who abandon the larger world outside for the quiet life of a monastery are more social than Akaky.

What is Gogol trying to say in this story? Is he saying that if we all lived like Akaky, as solitary bachelors, doing our work each day in silence without the slightest degree of ambition, that our society will become more noble and just? I don't think so. There is no justice for Akaky until he dies and comes back as a ghost. Then, he takes matters into his own hands and gets his revenge by taking someone else's coat.

Akaky represents the kind of man who is oblivious to everything around him. His attention is focused on the immediate task before him, and does not waver with speculation or worry about larger issues. To me, he exhibits the narrow vision of a man afflicted with cultural autism. Nor does he seem to have much of an interior life. If he was a Platonic philosopher building castles in the air, or Don Quixote looking for Dulcinea, we might understand his withdrawal from society and even applaud his solitude. But he is not on some noble quest for moral redemption. He is a simple man with no particular interest in anything other than his own work. Whatever he is, Akaky is not the kind of man that Hamilton and Madison had in mind when they argued for a new constitutional republic.

A republic stands or falls on the virtue of its citizens. Yet we are reminded that one of the meanings of virtue comes from the old Roman idea of devotion to one's duty. But duty to what? And this leads to a different kind of question: what is our duty today? Should we be involved in the politics of the nation or should we just focus on our own careers? Other than just obeying the laws of the land, is anything further required of us? What about God? Do we have a duty to God? And where was God when Akaky was robbed of his coat? When the ghost of Akaky gets revenge by stealing the coat from a prosperous bureaucrat, is this justice? Maybe Gogol is suggesting that justice is only possible in the hereafter.

If so, this is a very pessimistic view that most Americans will not accept, for it means that the Enlightenment premiss of freedom and justice through knowledge and literacy is a failed experiment. Then all we have left is commerce and the free market. On the other hand, if Akaky had more wealth, he could have just bought himself another new coat when his first one was stolen from him. So, the moral of this story must be that if we all have enough money, we can buy ourselves new coats whenever we feel like it, and the world will be a better place.

Is the story of Akaky and his coat a tragedy or a farce? I guess it depends on your understanding of justice. If justice means getting revenge for the indifference of petty bureaucrats, then Gogol's story is a comic farce. But if justice means a general respect for the dignity of human beings, then this story is a tragedy, although not in the classical sense. It is more like the tragedy of Arthur Miller's "Death of a Salesman," which is what happens to all of us when our luck runs out and poverty and old age bring us to ruin. Unless you believe in ghosts and second chances, there's not much consolation in being poor.

SMJhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-80345191464574551702014-09-13T14:17:00.001-07:002014-09-13T14:17:00.595-07:00GOGOL: The Overcoat (Homegrown Government, Part 2) Is government a product that's custom-made, meant to fit the geography of a specific people? Would the same kind of government that works for Americans work for Russians too? The Federalist Papers were written with the understanding that people want life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Gogol's short story The Overcoat presents the reader with a different view. Everyone wants a good life and everyone wants to be happy. In the Great Books readings only Schopenhauer argues otherwise (GB 4). Schopenhauer didn't think life was necessarily good. He didn't think happiness was all that great either. But Schopenhauer isn't typical. All the other GB authors think life is good and happiness is good. What about liberty?

 Everyone wants liberty, right? At first glance it seems that way. Who wants to be a slave? Exodus (GB 2) is about the Hebrews being led out of bondage in Egypt. The Persian Wars by Herodotus (GB 2) is about the Greeks fighting for freedom rather than becoming vassals to the Persians. In Gibbon (GB 3) we read about early Christians willing to face death rather than give up their freedom to follow the Gospel. In Shakespeare's The Tempest (GB 4) Caliban chafed at having to serve his master, Prospero. It seems as if people can't be truly happy unless they add liberty to life. Then we have life + liberty = happiness, right?

 Maybe not. After reading The Overcoat we may want to take a second look and ask a different question: is slavery the only alternative to liberty? Few Great Books authors argue for absolute individual freedom. John Stuart Mill and Nietzsche go farthest. Mill (On Liberty GB 3) thinks people should have enough freedom to develop their own personalities in their own ways as long as they don't hurt other people. Society should encourage this kind of freedom even if it's eccentric. Nietzsche (GB 5) thinks great men seize their own freedom and create their own values. Great men don't follow society's pre-determined rules. Rules are for slaves or, only slightly better, for men who live like sheep and do as they're told. Men like Akaky.

 If complete liberty is at one extreme and complete slavery is the other extreme, what would we call the middle ground? There may not be an exact English word but several Great Books authors call it security. Akaky just wants security; for him life + security = happiness. Hobbes understands what Akaky wants. In Origin of Government (GB 2) he argues that without security life becomes nasty, brutish and short. Hobbes thinks we should gladly trade a little personal freedom for a lot more personal security. Rousseau also gets it. In The Social Contract (GB 1) he says we voluntarily surrender some of our rights and liberties. That doesn't make us slaves, it makes us citizens and government is really just the General Will of all its citizens.

 These are just a few ideas about liberty, slavery and security. They were taken from ancient Hebrews and Egyptians and Greeks, from Romans and early Christians, and more recent versions of the English, German and French peoples. These ideas bring us back to the original question: is government a product that's custom-made, meant to fit the geography of a specific people? Government is obviously a universal phenomenon. Every nation has to have a government. But it's not so obvious that the desire for freedom is also universal. To repeat: Akaky wants security more than he wants freedom. He wants a warm overcoat more than he wants a cold abstract concept. Akaky is a simple man but he may be wise in this sense: it gets cold in Russia. It's a tough environment. Russians may need a tough government just to survive; kind of a custom-made government, one just for Russia and people like Akaky. RDPhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-67763728588169955832014-09-11T13:27:00.001-07:002014-09-11T13:27:14.340-07:004-15 GOGOL: The Overcoat (Homegrown Government)After reading The Federalist Papers many readers likely paused to consider what kind of government works best for America? A related question should be considered in this week's reading: would the government that works best for Americans work just as well for other peoples too? In Gogol's story "The Overcoat" we meet a low level Ukrainian-Russian clerk. Akaky Akakievich is not the kind of guy who sits around reading The Federalist Papers or any other book. Today we would call him a couch potato. Akaky's lifestyle is virtually non-existent; there's no style to it. He goes to work, comes home, eats a quick dinner and goes to bed. The next day he gets up and does the same thing all over again. He doesn't go out. He has no friends. He has no hobbies. He copies letters; that's pretty much it for Akaky Akakievich.

 After reading The Federalist Papers about the theory of government now is a good time to examine the practical effects of government. For starters, Akaky is a government employee. Today we call it civil service. He's only one tiny cog in the vast bureaucratic machinery of the state. Here's a question: is the purpose of government to provide jobs for people like Akaky? It doesn't pay much but without this simple job as a copyist Akaky would have a hard time making a living. He would have a hard time surviving the cold St. Petersburg winters. A job, even a simple job, gives Akaky something to do, somewhere to go, someone to be every day. It gives him an identity. Gogol writes, "Directors and all sorts of chiefs came and went, but (Akaky) was always to be found at the same place, in the same position, and in the same capacity, that of copying clerk." This would drive most people crazy, but not Akaky, "He worked with love. There, in his copying, he found an interesting, pleasant world for himself." We may want to feel sorry for him but how many of us find "an interesting, pleasant world" in our own jobs?

 It sounds like Akaky was reasonably happy in nineteenth-century St. Petersburg, Russia. Now let's return to our original question: what kind of government works best for America? We claim we want a government dedicated to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. In "The Overcoat" we read that Akaky "never gave a thought to his clothes… Never did he pay any attention to what was going on around him in the street… He never noticed the taste (of his food)…" Is that what Americans want? Is that the kind of citizen The Federalist Papers had in mind? Is that the kind of man Madison and Hamilton wanted to create with a new constitution? What would Akaky think of The Federalist Papers and the thrill of creating a whole new country? We don't know for sure but we can guess from this quote in the story: "At the word "new" Akaky Akakievich's vision became foggy and the whole room began to sway." Akaky was a good copy clerk but he would not have made a good Founding Father.

 On the other hand, how many Americans would have made good Founding Fathers? Madison and Hamilton were unusually talented Americans from the top drawer of life. Akaky lived at the bottom of the heap. His fellow co-workers tormented him constantly. In modern terms we would say they bullied him. Akaky never fought back. He would just say, "Let me be. Why do you do this to me?" Good question. Maybe it's just human nature. But to go back and quote James Madison from Federalist Paper 51: "what is government itself, but the greatest of all reflections on human nature?" Is the purpose of government to stop bullies? On the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty are inscribed the words "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses…" Question: could a man like Akaky, a man with a Russian heart, ever be truly happy in America? Or is government a product that's custom-made, meant to fit the geography of a specific people? RDPhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-20531081274730416622014-09-05T11:09:00.001-07:002014-09-05T11:14:57.076-07:00FEDERALIST PAPERS Summary: Government and the Great BooksLet's start at the beginning. "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth…" (GB Series 1). Wait. Not that far back; just back to the start of our own country. As an eloquent writer once put it: "In the beginning, when the U.S. Constitution was adopted in 1789, the charter for a national government included three obligations: (1) to ensure the safety and welfare of its citizens; (2) to defend their liberty; (3) to preserve the peace and tranquility of the nation. Safety, liberty and peace." (SMJ) These are all good goals. But are they the only ones we could have used to build a new nation from scratch? No. The Great Books include other ideas too.

 One of the oldest foundations for a nation is based on the gods or God. This was the powerful idea we find in the book of Exodus (GB Series 1). The Egyptians built a very wealthy and successful civilization based on several prominent gods and had a strong Pharaoh as the god's executive authority on earth. Then Moses came along to lead the Hebrews out of bondage to the Egyptians. What forged the Hebrews together was a new and powerful idea: monotheism. Hebrew faith includes only one God, the sole creator and sustainer of the universe. Jewish civilization was founded on this one simple idea. But whether it's an Egyptian or Hebrew idea, the purpose of government in Exodus is the greater glory of God. The idea of secular government, a wall of separation between church and state, would never occur to these people.

 A different purpose of government is envisioned by Aristotle. In his selection On Happiness (GB Series 1) he doesn't address the problem of monotheism or polytheism. There may be one God. There may be many gods. Or there may be no gods at all. But what Aristotle's interested in is life as it is here and now, on this earth. For Aristotle the purpose of government is to give us a better way of life. Living in organized society opens up opportunities we would never have if we lived outside of society. For Aristotle the most important function of government is to provide a framework so we can develop our human talents and human virtues. We can never be happy (in fact we can't even be fully human) unless we interact freely with other citizens.

 But in order to be happy we have to be alive. Dead people aren't happy. Under this scenario the primary purpose of government is to keep us alive. All that other stuff, developing our talents and virtues, getting right with God, won't happen unless a government can first protect its citizens. This was the main point Thomas Hobbes (Origin of Government, GB Series 2) wanted to make when he said that without government life would soon become "nasty, brutish and short." That doesn't necessarily mean we should try to survive at all costs. There may be conditions where life wouldn't be fit to live. The question the Melians faced in Thucydides' History of the Peloponnesian War (GB Series 3) was this: are we willing to live as virtual slaves to the Athenians? Their answer was, no; and their government chose death rather than slavery.

 We could go on. In Shaw's Caesar and Cleopatra (GB Series 4) the purpose of government is personal glory. In Mill's Utilitarianism (GB Series 4) it's individual liberty. In Weber's Spirit of Capitalism (GB Series 4) and Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations (GB Series 2) the purpose of government is material well-being. All of these ideas may be contained within the larger context of the Federalist Papers; to defend the principles of good government. But perhaps the greatest test of any government is a very simple one: how does the average citizen live? What is their overall quality of life? It's good to have good government and all that; but sometimes a man just wants a nice warm overcoat. And that's what we'll be looking at in our next reading. RDPhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-48945015623474561782014-09-04T08:06:00.001-07:002014-09-04T08:16:44.237-07:00FEDERALIST Papers 70 (Justice and Power)In Federalist 51 James Madison wrote that "Justice is the end of government." Now in Federalist 70 Alexander Hamilton writes that "Energy in the Executive is a leading character in the definition of good government." Why is "energy in the Executive" so important? Strong leadership is an essential component of governing well. And Hamilton says "It is essential to the protection of the community…to the steady administration of the laws; to the protection of property…to the security of liberty…" Evidently Madison thinks justice is the purpose of government but it sounds like Hamilton believes the purpose of government is security. Are justice and security just different words for the same thing? Let's examine Justice and (executive) Power in relation to another Great Books reading.

 Justice and Power are primary themes in the story of Billy Budd (GB Series 2). Billy is a good sailor and an all-around good guy. His only enemy is the ship's Master at Arms, Claggert. Claggert has it in for Billy from day one. We never know why. Claggert probably doesn't even know himself. But halfway through the story Claggert falsely accuses Billy of mutiny. Out of frustration Billy hits Claggert and accidentally kills him. Then the case goes to Captain Vere. Vere's assistants all believe Billy is innocent. The crew believes Billy is innocent. But facts are facts. Billy killed Claggert. The penalty is death. Vere likes Billy but Vere is also the Captain and must make his legal decisions based strictly on the facts of each case. In the end Vere has Billy executed, knowing his decision would be unpopular. Many readers believe an INjustice has been done, not justice. But for Vere, Justice isn't always fair.

 What does all this have to do with the Federalist Papers? When Madison writes "Justice is the end of government" does he mean that government should insure an outcome everyone thinks is fair? Or does he mean the legal process should function properly, regardless of subjective feelings such as fairness? Most readers believe Billy got a raw deal. But they can't deny he got a fair trial. Within the context of Federalist 70 the point is this: Vere was a strong leader. He didn't use his authority for his own benefit. He didn't use power so things would turn out the way he thought they should turn out. Captain Vere used the authority granted him to do the job he was given to do; which was, to run a tight ship.

 Leaders with executive authority must be willing to (literally) execute, if that's what the situation calls for. This is hard and that's why very few people qualify for this level of leadership. The President of the United States can't afford to be a weak leader. Hamilton put it this way: "A feeble execution is but another phrase for a bad execution; and a government ill executed, whatever it may be in theory, must be, in practice, a bad government." It makes no difference whether we think the purpose of government is justice or if we think the purpose of government is safety and security; either way, bad government flunks the test. And a weak President is sure to lead to bad government. This leads to an interesting question: which is more important, the formal structure of a government, or the way it is actually administered?

 The Federalist Papers would answer, both. We can't alter the structural foundation of the Constitution without altering its administration. The President needs enough power to do the executive's job but not so much power to be able to take over the whole governing apparatus. That's the problem facing the Founding Fathers. How do we walk this fine line? Hamilton has his own opinion in the matter. He says there's a "maxim of republican jealousy which considers power as safer in the hands of a number of men than of a single man…" That's what many people wanted to do; distribute power in the hands of several people. Hamilton doesn't agree with that approach: "…But I do not think the rule at all applicable to the executive power…it is far more safe there should be a single object for the jealousy and watchfulness of the people…" His argument is this. If power is disbursed equally through several people then when something goes wrong the blame will also be disbursed. We won't know who to hold accountable and every problem will become, in contemporary terms, a "systemic problem." In other words, no one is to blame. It's the system's fault. For Hamilton that won't do. He wants a strong leader who can make the tough decisions; especially unpopular decisions. He wants someone like Captain Vere at the helm who can handle both justice and power without letting personal feelings sink the ship of state. RDPhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-3870543086437031922014-09-04T07:26:00.000-07:002014-09-04T07:26:57.788-07:00Hamilton and Executive Authority
It is useful, at times, to review what we believe is the actual purpose of government. In the beginning, when the U.S. Constitution was adopted in 1789, the charter for a national government included three obligations: (1) to ensure the safety and welfare of its citizens; (2) to defend their liberty; (3) to preserve the peace and tranquility of the nation. Safety, liberty and peace. Beyond these limited objectives, the government under our constitution was neither empowered nor encouraged by the people to act. This is a common view of the original contract established between the people of the United States and the institution created to preserve their freedom. Today, it seems to me, the greatest fear by many Americans is not from any external threat or invasion by a foreign power, but from a dereliction of duty or an abuse of power by our own elected representatives (especially the one occupying the White House). There seems to be a growing concern among many people about the size and cost of federal government, along with a general mistrust and suspicion of its motives. It is right to ask from what source this current fear and loathing of government derives. <o:p></o:p>

First, we ought to recall that republican government rests upon a presumption of justice whose meaning is derived from an underlying theory of morality. Socrates taught the youth of Athens that a good life is not merely defined by pleasure. Rather, it is the attainment of eudaimonia, which is a Greek word meaning happiness in accordance with virtue. Of course, like many philosophical concepts, eudaimonia is burdened with the weight of abstract ideas. In other words, how does a general idea of the good apply in everyday life? The problem for Hamilton and the other Federalists is how to persuade a majority of the people that adopting a new constitution will actually make life better, rather than continue along as a loose confederation of states.<o:p></o:p>

There is no denying that over time, the size and scope of our government has expanded to comply with the needs of a growing population. One fact, often overlooked, is that the federal power of government exists mainly to arbitrate disputes between individual states. These kinds of disputes, whether involving trade or boundaries, are usually resolved through rulings from the Supreme Court. The other principal duties of the federal government include the protection of its people from hostile actions by enemies, both foreign and domestic, and to facilitate commerce between states and other nations.<o:p></o:p>

According to Hamilton, in a constitutional republic, one person will always attract more attention, and be the source of more praise and criticism than any other individual in public service. That person is the President. Hamilton spends a lot of time reassuring his readers that the executive branch of the proposed government will have none of the arbitrary powers of a king. Nor will his powers exceed those of a state governor who is eligible, in some states, for re-election on an indefinite basis. As to the President's command of the armed forces, his power is contingent upon "such part of the militia of the nation as by legislative provision may be called into the actual service of the union." In contrast, Hamilton mentions that the governor of New York already has such power at his disposal, without any obvious signs of distress or infringement upon the liberty of its people. Additionally, the President has no power of the purse, and no means by which to pay a standing army without the consent of the legislature.<o:p></o:p>

Nor can a President pardon himself if accused of high crimes and misdemeanors, which, Hamilton suggests, is a power enjoyed by all monarchs, as well as the governor of New York. Additionally, the President cannot adjourn the national legislature as befits his will, but is limited to the single case of establishing the time of adjournment. Nor does the President have the legal authority to make treaties with other nations, on his own recognizance, without the approval of Congress. Nor can the President nominate and appoint ambassadors, public ministers and judges of the Supreme Court without the advice and consent of the Senate.<o:p></o:p>

In contrast to the limitations of a democratic republic, all of these powers and actions are available to a monarch such as King George III, and to a state governor of New York. Thus, Hamilton is offering the public reassurance that the powers given to a President will not infringe upon the liberty of the people, nor is the President above the law or immune from prosecution if he assumes more authority to himself than is granted to him by the people and the Constitution he serves.<o:p></o:p>

It is, perhaps, asking too much to imagine ourselves as prospective voters in 1788. For one thing, there was a lot less democracy two hundred years ago than there is today. Only 1.3 % of the people even cast a ballot. (total population: less than 3 million) There were no political parties. (The Federalists and the Anti-Federalists were not parties but temporary coalitions organized for the purpose of supporting or defeating the Constitution.) Due to gender & property requirements, a lot of people were not eligible to vote at all. Since then, a lot of history has gone under the bridge, not the least of which have been, a bloody civil war, two world wars, and a series of debilitating economic depressions. The size and scope of government have grown as the population has increased and the expectations and demands of the people have likewise risen. In all this time, have we managed to lose sight of the original intentions of our Founding Fathers? Could Hamilton ever imagine that our national government would evolve into a great welfare state, funded by ever higher taxes, and divided by political parties whose only agenda is to elect members of their own party, and to block any legislation, appointments or proposals by the opposing party? Democracy today has mutated into an ideological struggle between factions and special interests, fueled by corporate money and a zealot's desire to have things his own way. There seems to be no room any longer for political dialogue because negotiation and compromise are considered to be acts of betrayal and the rudiments of surrender. The question before us now is whether democracy can even survive, much less flourish, without a common understanding, or love, or even a memory of that wonderful Greek word eudaimonia.<o:p></o:p>
SMJhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-9826114.post-84422374057545259642014-09-02T11:32:00.002-07:002014-09-02T11:40:28.744-07:00FEDERALIST PAPERS 69 (The Great Books and Leadership) In Federalist Paper 69 Alexander Hamilton defends the "executive authority" laid out in the U.S. Constitution. We call this executive authority our President. Hamilton says, "The first thing which strikes our attention is, that the executive authority, with few exceptions, is vested in a single magistrate." Hamilton is concerned that other Americans will be concerned about too much power being granted to this "single magistrate." And he's right. There is cause for concern when too much power is granted to any single individual. Americans may think: we just fought a war to throw off the domination of a king. Now it looks like we're only exchanging an old foreign king for a new American king. Hamilton takes great pains to distance the idea of a President from the idea of a king. He says there's no more resemblance of an American President to an English king than there is of the President's "resemblance to the Grand Seignior, to the khan of Tartary, to the Man of the Seven Mountains, or to the governor of New York." If we're going to have a government at all then someone has to be in charge. It doesn't matter if we call our leader President, or king, or Grand Seignior (a member of the landed gentry of Canada), khan, governor, or The Man. The question is: how much power does "someone" need to get the job done? That's what Federalist 69 is about: the power of the President. We'll briefly consider three selections from the Great Books on this theme of power in the executive authority.

 First let's consider what could happen if the executive authority has too much power. In Heart of Darkness (GB Series 1) we read about a remarkable character named Kurtz. Kurtz goes deep down the Congo River, far out of reach of the law, to make his fortune in the ivory trade. Without any law to check him Kurtz soon turns into a cruel tyrant and starts ruling over the natives like some sort of god. He puts human skulls on stakes around his headquarters. These skulls are a reminder that Kurtz is in charge. He is the executive authority. And if you get out of line this is what could happen to you too. Rule by terror is one form of executive authority.

 On the other end of the spectrum is what can happen if the executive authority has too little power. Shakespeare's King Lear (GB Series 5) is a good example. Lear wants to be king but he doesn't want all the burdens and responsibilities that go along with it. He only wants the benefits. So he abdicates his "executive" power to his two daughters and their husbands. He only retains the title of king without the power to go along with it. When events begin to go bad in his (former) kingdom Lear discovers he's powerless to do anything about it. Without military or police power Lear can do nothing to stop the bad guys (and his daughters) from wreaking havoc on his (former) loyal subjects. Chaos comes when there's too little executive authority.

 A third example of executive authority can be found in The Iliad by Homer (GB Series 3). In the Heart of Darkness Kurtz didn't need any help; he was a one man show. King Lear needed lots of help but he couldn't get it. In The Iliad King Agamemnon is somewhere in the middle. He's the top commander of the Greek army. But Agamemnon needs the cooperation of other Greek commanders to remain in charge. Without their help he can't control his own army, much less defeat the Trojans. Agamemnon is a "commander" who can only command up to a certain point. If he crosses that line then the other Greek commanders may decide to pack up and go home. The third form of authority is not an absolute power to rule by terror; nor is it an inability to get anything accomplished at all. In America political power relies on subtle coercion and persuasion. This is the kind of limited power Hamilton is talking about. In America Presidential executive authority is a delicate balancing act. Not too much; not too little; but just right.RDPhttp://email@example.com