Psychological Disorders and Consequences

In “The Brooch,” Faulkner illustrates the grim reality of the South through the eyes of a dysfunctional family. All of the characters in the story struggle with substantial character flaws. It is curious to point out what unconscious forces affect the motivation of the characters in the story. The mother is abandoned by her husband and carries a deep psychological wound, a trait unmistakably manifest in her deep, unspecified resentment and distrust. Her attempt to control her son reflects her own sense of powerlessness to prevent her significant others from leaving her life. The mother is overly attached to her only son, Howard, and acts in an extremely possessive manner that made a severe impact on his personality development. Howard, in consequence, has grown to be an overly dependent man and failed to develop social connections of his own. He impulsively marries Amy in an attempt to escape his reality, but he is unable to commit himself to his marriage. His desire for the death of his mother is the only justification for him to stay. Amy, dissatisfied of her husband’s indecisive attitude, suffers alienation and seeks out social connection in a rather exaggerated manner. The family relation is tumultuous and affection is unbalanced and unreciprocated. No one is happy in the household—the sense of despair and powerlessness ultimately consumes Howard’s sanity and he kills himself in depression.

The stream-of-consciousness style of writing reveals a great deal of Howard’s thinking and emotional development. How does his reasonable assumption to wait until his inheritance of fortune deteriorates to despair? One thing for certain is his dysfunctional marriage. Another is his depression, his failure to take care of himself. The voice in his head that seems to emerge out of the dark abyss of unconscious, whispers him to confront the darkest reality of his psychology: “Like your father, you cannot seem to live with either of them, but unlike your father you cannot seem to live without them” The voice speaks of truth and destroys all his rationally constructed hope that failed to take into account his powerful unconscious emotions.

I thought this was "The Adventure of A Lazy Son." I was wrong

The Passing of Grandison is a mockery of slavery and the inherent contradiction that the inhuman institution entails. The colonel represents the general viewpoints of a slaveowner and Grandison, through his actions, speaks the true intention of a man who is stripped of his liberty. One cannot escape to ponder on the tragicomedy of the interaction of two men whose souls never seemed to have shared the same universe.

The colonel, Dick’s father, is a self-made aristocratic landowner who fervently believes in his own virtue and benevolence in his feudalistic universe. Any of the anti-slavery argument hardly makes any sense to him: “[w]hat cold-blooded, heartless monsters they were who would break up this blissful relationship of kindly protection on the one hand, of wise subordination and loyal dependence on the other!” His black-and-white mentality does not hesitate to paint himself as the supreme goodness and demonize all opposing opinions, namely Northern abolitionists. His quasi absolute confidence in his judgment leads him to trust Grandison whose docile and loyal manner is deemed appropriate to accompany the trip of his son. It is curious to point out that the colonel’s trust in his chosen slave, however strong and unshakable it seems to be, is inevitably faith-based—consciously or not, the colonel suffers from deep anxiety. When his son comes back empty-handed, the colonel shuts himself in denial, unable to accept that his slave ran away: “[y]et, after all, he did not blame Grandison so much as he did the abolitionists, who were undoubtedly at the bottom of it.” Nothing hurts him more than admitting his own error and fallibility; thus when Grandison comes back, he is elated to find his faith redeemed, his self-confidence restored. His happiness, however, clearly is overblown and soon reveals to be delusory when he finally confronts the extremely unpleasant reality of having being completely fooled by the elaborate scheme of his unrealistically loyal slave Grandison.

Grandison, the hidden antihero of the story, is by far the biggest winner of all. The readers are led to believe his astonishing loyalty to the Southern homeland throughout the story. The reversal at the end is very striking and creates an entirely different meaning of his actions. The author intentionally covers the true motivation of Grandison until the very end, in so doing holding the interpretation of his actions largely through the eyes of his master and therefore strongly in favor of slavery. If Grandison himself is willing to come back to his master like a stray dog journeying back home, perhaps there are some aspects of slavery tolerable to the enslaved? That was the question I had to ask to myself, but Chestnut made his point rather clear in the last few pages of the story. Grandison is a shrewd, astute antihero who can calculate and act on his self-interest. He pulls off his masquerade as a docile slave and wins confidence of his master, defies the foolish scheme of young Dick and accomplishes a heroic solo journey back to South, orchestrates the full-scale escapade of his family and becomes together with his love—a perfect ending that should read “happily ever after.” His terrific determination and action marks the complete opposite of his young master Dick who marries his love by inspiring pity in his bride, not awe. Grandison is derisive of his master and his inability to grasp the reality. It becomes apparent that the skewed worldview and the “nobility” of his master entirely rest on the institutionalized oppression of slavery and come to an inevitable, tragicomic ending: “[t]he colonel saw Grandison point him out to one of the crew of the vessel, who waved his hand derisively toward the colonel.” It is the moment of truth when Grandison’s masquerade is finally over and the two men, for the first time, have faced off each other as individuals with irreconcilably separate value-systems.

In response to the prompt

Whitman's poem neither supports nor rejects the view of Neely that the poet saw the war primarily as a necessary conflict for preserving the union, not as a war of emancipation. The poem is obviously upbeat in tone and supportive of the war effort. He is so passionately committed to the righteousness of the war that he is not very open for skepticism: "[m]ake no parley--stop for no expostulation" This is a voice of man who is willing to suspend doubt and disregard criticism for the sake of accomplishing what he believes in firmly. Whitman's attitude is at the opposite of the antiwar sentiment of Horton who saw the war as the cause of despicable human misery, and the upbeat tone of Whitman marks a stark contrast with the somewhat melancholic, defeated tone of Timrod, which also seemed to believe in the righteousness of the war from the southern perspective. What is so clearly manifest is his ruthless commitment to the war effort: “no happiness must he have now with his bride, [n]or the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or gathering his grain” but in no part of the poem is seen any ideological outcry. Whitman’s motivation, therefore, is somewhat ambiguous. Nowhere in the poem is antislavery propaganda.

I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry that this post is short of 300 words minimum and so terribly late.

Life can only be understood backwards. So is this story.

In this monstrous story, Captain Delano acts out a symbolic representation of the dim sight of human mind. In any other circumstance, Delano is an unflinching optimist who believes in the benevolence of Providence, but in this story he is a clueless fellow who completely fails to grasp the reality he meddles into. Largely due to his confusion and misinterpretation of the events that unfold in front of him, readers are also dragged to follow his thoughts, suspending doubts and speculation that may arise here and there. Experience of reading this story is radically influenced by the preliminary knowledge of the plot; the deliberate scheme of suspense, arcane wording, long and hazy storyline all combine to create almost impenetrable confusion. In my first reading, every subtle detail went through my eyes without raising the slightest alarm on my part. With the aid of hindsight, however, every line is a clear account of the monstrous plot masterfully wrapped in a dense fog. After the first round of reading, readers’ attention is then directed to why Delano fails to comprehend his situation, and following his confusion, readers become more and more aware of why a human beings cannot transcend the limit of personal perspective.

Delano does perceive suspicion over the inexplicable situation, but his rationalization and lack of insight quashes all his doubts: "[w]hile left alone with them, he was not long in observing some things tending to heighten his first impressions; but surprise was lost in pity, both for the Spaniards and blacks, alike evidently reduced from scarcity of water and provisions; while long-continued suffering seemed to have brought out the less good-natured qualities of the negroes... impairing the Spaniard's authority over them." (2673-74) Delano concludes from Beneto's continuous showings of debility that "the Spaniard... seemed as the involuntary victim of mental disorder." (2675) Once made up his mind, all the subsequent events only serve to strengthen his partial view of the situation. Beneto's interaction with the uninformed, optimistic Delano is nothing but a tragicomedy; his desperation, despair and pain never reach to the heart of the clueless American: “(commenting on the vigilance of Babo) This is an uncommonly intelligent fellow of yours, Don Benito," whispered Captain Delano across the table. "You say true, Señor." (2705) Beneto's silent agony reaches its climax when he seizes the clueless Delano's hand: "[w]hen the two captains met, the Spaniard again fervently took the hand of the American, at the same time casting an earnest glance into his eyes, but as before, too much overcome to speak." (2710) Preoccupied by his own speculation to make sense of the Spaniard's demeanor, Delano feels warm by the earnest gesture of Beneto, but again completely looks over the actual meaning of the gesture. "I have done him wrong, self-reproachfully thought Captain Delano; his apparent coldness has deceived me; in no instance has he meant to offend." (2710) Delano's satisfaction is so cruel that his thought never extends to the direction that might have served to solve the crises. The puzzle is too intricate, too huge to overcome. Any human has only so much mental resource to cope with the enigma that life presents; Delano utterly spent all his mental energy without attaining any understanding, and withdraws in indifference: "Captain Delano, turning a disdainful smile upon the unaccountable Spaniard, answered that, for his part, he neither knew nor cared" (2711). Then the crucial, revelational assault of the slaves sweeps all the persons in the drama, and the whole account of the story emerges in the end. However, even with the full knowledge of the context, Delano emerges unscathed, making a stark contrast with utterly destroyed mind of Beneto. "You are saved," cried Captain Delano, more and more astonished and pained; "you are saved; what has cast such a shadow upon you?" "The negro." (2726)

Delano's voice is that of a man who never actually experienced and understood the pain involved in the story, the pain Beneto was exposed to at its full magnitude. The two survivors, even at the end, never come to understand the each other. The content of experience is the outer limit of men's imagination, said Locke, and brilliantly recaptures the irony of the story. No hindsight, no shared perspective, not even compassion, were able to bridge the gulf that divides the both men. Melville has tactfully demonstrated one of the supreme ironies of the flawed and tragic world: those fortunate enough to stay ignorant of the evil may live on unscathed, while those destined to confront it will never be able to escape its mind-consuming taint.

"Come, devil; for to thee is this world given."

Why does evil exist, and why does a man embrace it? What madness drives him to fall? Those questions are the most striking and also the most eloquently captured in the work of Hawthorne. Goodman Brown, aptly named in a style evocative of "Pilgrim's Progress," declares in the middle of his symbolic journey: "With heaven above and Faith below, I will yet stand firm against devil!" Four paragraphs later, consumed in his despair he cries out the opposite: "There is no good on earth; and sin is but a name. Come, devil; for to thee is this world given." I have never come across a better phrase capturing the essential corruptibity of the human nature. Out of misery, despair and unbearable pain, spawns out a demon from the darkened heart; a man becomes a devil himself to confront his own madness. Faith is hard to keep, and it can vanish out of trace at such a snap of instant for no apparent, ready reason for a man to grasp. "Pilgrim's Progress" was a brilliant account of moral journey of a man. "Young Goodman Brown" is somewhat less idealistic and willing to confront the darker side of the reality. Personally, I'm pleased by the both English classics. But it was not a classic--but a pop-culture--that was the first to show me that it is possible for a benighted soul to find hope in his life. It's a luxuary of living in the 21st century to have such choices.

"The Group" according to a rapper

As I started reading, I was soon struck and carried away by the extraordianry beauty of the style and it didn't take long for me to start humming the rhyme like Eminem spitting fire. The Group is a very fine English text, period. It was after perusing the reaction of everybody else in the class that I turned critical to the vagueness of the play. I share the sentiment of many in the class that this text is too poetic and obfuscate for readers to reasonably grasp what is going on in each scene. I put some effort to visually reconstruct the scene--I paid a close scrutiny to the ending, trying to decipher the message. It seems that Patriots are massacred by the British: "[i]nstead of the gay landscape's beauteous dyes," I understand this line as the grasses covered by blood; "[t]o make a covert for their country's friends, [d]enied a grave!" I understand this line as the fallen soldiers lying on the ground; "[t]hen over the purpled plain the victors tread [a]mong the slain to seek each patriot dead." This clearly suggests the defeat of American in the battle, I can't think of any other interpretation. But, well, what does it mean here?

Apart from the undeniable aesthetic value, I felt very ambiguos about what to take from the text. This play is published in 1775, before the Declaration of Independence--was there a major battle between the British and the colonists before the date? Is this play refering to any particular historical battle? I am no expert of American history and I feel somewhat puzzled. Other than that, I think this play is a beautifully composed satire worth attention. My conclusion for now: I probably need to go back to read the text feeling more like a historian and less like a rapper.

Sensation+Reflection=Understanding

I am what I have experienced. My experience is what I am. I cannot be, or think of, anything more than the body of my experience. When I put down those obvious statements in words, it really doesn't surprise me at all. I have no trouble accepting the epistemology expounded by Locke. It's so fundamental, it's so true, there is no room for doubt in the soundness of his theory. But there is a troublesome implication attached to it: if the limit of one's knowledge and therefore the whole of mental contents is bound by his experience, how can two people of radically different life experience ever actually understand each other? We all face different opportunity to receive sensation and possess different capacity for reflection. Then, understanding and acceptance of anyone is bound to be provisional and we should never lose sight of this fact. Say, a true friend is who really understands you and accepts you as who you are, but is it even possible given what Locke said? The contents of your experience is yours only, and what you can hope for anyone else is the best possible approximation of understanding, if not in its pure sense. The difficulty doesn't stop here: how could I convince any person to initiate Japanese cuisine and appreciate the greatness of sushi in Tokyo if the conception of munching raw fish insurmountably gets in the way?

We all form ideas using the concrete experiences at our disposal and arrive at understanding/misunderstanding of the world. I can try using as many words as I can muster and still completely fail conveying the sense of miracle I intend to propagate if the audience has no clue of the happiness a food can possibly accomplish. Idea is the object of thinking. Experience really is the boundary of understanding. I'm really stuck here, the challenge of understanding and accepting things that are outside of imaginative limit. Does anyone feel the same way?