For once, I've got nothing to really say about what we've read in class. I don't know why, but Oedipus Rex just didn't really get my mind thinking. It’s interesting, but it seems pretty self-explanatory. I finished reading it and thought, “Huh. Okay. Cool.” The idea that intrigued me the most with Oedipus Rex is the idea of Fate and not messin' with it. You can't screw around with Fate.
Oedipus tried to be a good guy and not screw up his life. He tried so hard to escape Fate, but that's just what Fate anticipated. Oedipus should've known. I mean, it's Fate. The very meaning of Fate is "an inescapable occurrence." So, silly Oedipus decided to exile himself from his homeland and never speak to his family ever again. That's pretty harsh. The poor guy ends up playing into Fate's hand. Ooops!
There were also some other, lesser, morals in the play that I found interesting:
One: Don't rob the cradle. You never know if that spry young man you're marrying is actually your son. If you're going to do it, check for any identifying birthmarks/scars that may have been from one of your kids just in case. You can never be too careful.
Two: Road rage is bad. If some rich guy is a complete jerk and cuts you off, don't go berserk and kill him. People are not always nice. You aren’t either. Take a deep breath, count to ten or a thousand (if you’re on the freeway), and let it go. Reason with yourself. The jerk may not have seen you. He may be having a terrible day and just wants to get home. He may need to use the bathroom. Or he may just be a jerk. Think of yourself as being the bigger guy if you need to appeal to your ego to let the rage go. If you succeed in cooling yourself down, you may have just thwarted Fate for another hour or so. Yay!
Three: Don’t leap to conclusions and blame your best bro. One, he’s your best bro. The man (or woman!) has been there through thick and thin. You don’t want to be pulling out that huge dagger you stuck in his back a couple of minutes later because (1) you’ll look like an idiot and (2) you may pull a back muscle—and everyone knows back muscles are the most important muscles.
Those were the highlights.
Okay. So, how would I have improved this play? The answer, as always, involves dinosaurs. Picture this: Oedipus, a poor T-Rex (Oh ho!), has had a pretty rough life so far. He spoke to a pterodactyl years ago who said that he has spoken with the Sun and the Sun said that a huge meteor is thundering through the universe and heading straight for Earth—particularly Oedipus! To save his family, Oedipus self-exiled to another land that was very dry and very hot. A couple of days later, this jerk of a stegosaurus eats what Oedipus was clearly gunning for, so Oedipus eats him because he has developed a quick temper over the years. Plus, he’s a T-Rex. T-rexes eat other dinos when they’re hungry. Next thing he knows, Oedipus has got a large following because he ate the bully of the area. He gets to decide who migrates where and who gets eaten when. It’s awesome. But, oh no! the land is infertile for some reason! What’s up, man? That darned pterodactyl shows up again and says, “Oedipus, you screwed up, man. This is where your family is! Your parents adopted you, dude! Sucks.” Oedipus freaks, leaves the area, but not soon enough! Before he can get far enough away from the area, Oedipus and the dinosaur colony is destroyed by a huge asteroid.
Way to go Oedipus. (636)
January 26, 2008
January 13, 2008
For the fiftieth time this week, I ask myself: Will I end up like him?
Most Russian literature I’ve read—which I admit is minimal—I’ve found to be pretty bland, cold, and more wordy than necessary. “The Death of Ivan Ilych” deviates slightly from my experience with Russian works. The part where I found the most passion and interest is when Ivan realizes his own mortality.
Ivan becomes the lost believer when he conceives mortality as it applies to him. He mentions the logic of Caius. Haven’t we all had the disenchantment he experienced? Ivan moans, “Caius really was mortal, and it was right for him to die; but for me, little Vanya, Ivan Ilych, with all my thoughts and emotions, it’s altogether a different matter. It cannot be that I ought to die. That would be too terrible.” Humans carry themselves with high importance because they can think, because they have memories, because they feel. Some readers would be quick to assume that he thinks he is beyond death just as the rest of his society does because they are so great, which is true. But I think the mistake readers make is in assuming this feeling of importance is unique to Ivan’s friends. It’s really not. Think about it: his society is obsessed with appearances, right? You’re thinking, “Jess, you’re reaffirming what everyone else already thinks.” Okay. So. I’m not, trust me. It’s always been fashionable for the wealthy to have some sort of visceral faith, barely skin-deep. Enough faith to be “holy” and “saved,” but not enough to really cut into whatever it is they want to do. Faith has always been a way to judge people, and higher society, especially with Ivan Ilych’s friends, is pretty much all about judging. With this faith, they are guaranteed salvation, eternal life. With as widespread as religion is today, it isn’t a stretch to say that a fair amount of people feel they are guaranteed everlasting life.
Okay. So. I’m going somewhere with this, I swear. Every believer, no matter how deep of a believer, has a moment where he questions his belief. What I believe Ivan experiences is this deviation from faith. Ivan begins to “suffer inexpressibly” when he begins to feel that his mortality extends beyond just the physical and into the spirit. I have felt this myself. I’ve felt the same indignation, the same denial, the same pride as Ivan. With all my thoughts, feelings and memories, how could I possibly end up like Caius? When I think of me ending, I become inexplicably depressed. There is a deep, undefined gnawing in the pit of my stomach, not unlike what Ivan feels. Could the fall he experienced have been what caused him to start thinking about his mortality? I know the more I think about a life actually ending when my physical body gives out, the worse I feel. Sometimes, when I question eternity, I try to distract myself with other thoughts, just as Ivan does. I don’t doubt that the emotional schisms I experience when I begin to think about my own possible mortality, if I dwell on them long enough, would manifest itself into physical pain as well.
So, this puts an interesting spin on Gerasim. In my mind, Gerasim is merely a symbol of an everlasting life, of Christ. When Gerasim is around, Ivan feels better. His pain is relieved, at least mostly. Gerasim represents the brief glimpses of belief Ivan feels towards the end of his life. What keeps me believing when my doubts start to overwhelm me are the little breezes that seem to be only for me, the moments of laughter between children, the seconds when I look around and the world is simply stunning. Gerasim is these moments for Ivan, except that’s, sadly, all they are for him: moments.
In the end I think the death of Ivan Ilych is really just his fall from grace, his fall from belief, his entrance into doubt. (651)
Ivan becomes the lost believer when he conceives mortality as it applies to him. He mentions the logic of Caius. Haven’t we all had the disenchantment he experienced? Ivan moans, “Caius really was mortal, and it was right for him to die; but for me, little Vanya, Ivan Ilych, with all my thoughts and emotions, it’s altogether a different matter. It cannot be that I ought to die. That would be too terrible.” Humans carry themselves with high importance because they can think, because they have memories, because they feel. Some readers would be quick to assume that he thinks he is beyond death just as the rest of his society does because they are so great, which is true. But I think the mistake readers make is in assuming this feeling of importance is unique to Ivan’s friends. It’s really not. Think about it: his society is obsessed with appearances, right? You’re thinking, “Jess, you’re reaffirming what everyone else already thinks.” Okay. So. I’m not, trust me. It’s always been fashionable for the wealthy to have some sort of visceral faith, barely skin-deep. Enough faith to be “holy” and “saved,” but not enough to really cut into whatever it is they want to do. Faith has always been a way to judge people, and higher society, especially with Ivan Ilych’s friends, is pretty much all about judging. With this faith, they are guaranteed salvation, eternal life. With as widespread as religion is today, it isn’t a stretch to say that a fair amount of people feel they are guaranteed everlasting life.
Okay. So. I’m going somewhere with this, I swear. Every believer, no matter how deep of a believer, has a moment where he questions his belief. What I believe Ivan experiences is this deviation from faith. Ivan begins to “suffer inexpressibly” when he begins to feel that his mortality extends beyond just the physical and into the spirit. I have felt this myself. I’ve felt the same indignation, the same denial, the same pride as Ivan. With all my thoughts, feelings and memories, how could I possibly end up like Caius? When I think of me ending, I become inexplicably depressed. There is a deep, undefined gnawing in the pit of my stomach, not unlike what Ivan feels. Could the fall he experienced have been what caused him to start thinking about his mortality? I know the more I think about a life actually ending when my physical body gives out, the worse I feel. Sometimes, when I question eternity, I try to distract myself with other thoughts, just as Ivan does. I don’t doubt that the emotional schisms I experience when I begin to think about my own possible mortality, if I dwell on them long enough, would manifest itself into physical pain as well.
So, this puts an interesting spin on Gerasim. In my mind, Gerasim is merely a symbol of an everlasting life, of Christ. When Gerasim is around, Ivan feels better. His pain is relieved, at least mostly. Gerasim represents the brief glimpses of belief Ivan feels towards the end of his life. What keeps me believing when my doubts start to overwhelm me are the little breezes that seem to be only for me, the moments of laughter between children, the seconds when I look around and the world is simply stunning. Gerasim is these moments for Ivan, except that’s, sadly, all they are for him: moments.
In the end I think the death of Ivan Ilych is really just his fall from grace, his fall from belief, his entrance into doubt. (651)
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