Have you ever thought about your fate? I sure hadn't-- at least until I read the delightful Oedipus Rex, the play that delves into the concepts of fate versus free will. Oedipus, in an attempt to escape his fate, runs directly into the arms of fate itself. His actions had been predestined. His choices were not entirely his own-- they were a product of his destiny.
It's all a bit mind-blowing, really. Can you truly imagine that every one of your actions has been planned-- that you have been fated to do what you do, to make the choices you have made? It's unnerving to even speculate that my control over my life can be questioned. If we all truly have a fate, there is nothing that we can do to evade it. Any tries to do so, like Oedipus, will only fulfill our fates. Everything comes full circle.
But does it really matter?
Suppose we all had predestined fates. Maybe things are different in Oedipus's world, where people could consult oracles who would accurately decipher their fates. But this is the real world. There are no magically gifted clairvoyants to say what the future holds (I guess this could be debatable, but I suppose I am a skeptic of the superstitious. And I feel like the majority would agree with me). There is no way of truly knowing our fates. The truth is that it doesn't matter-- people will go on living their lives, making choices as if they did have free will, and they will never know that their choices were of any other origin than their own selves.
Maybe believing in a fate can result in peace of mind. Thinking that the events of life are out of conscious control eliminates the "what if?" mentality and the regret that accompanies that. So many people constantly stick to the mantra, "Everything happens for a reason," and perhaps for good reason. Whether or not it's true, there's an optimism to it that everyone likes. Everyone needs a little optimism.
Do you have a fate? You can decide.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
writer's block
It's never a good feeling when you hit a brick wall-- when you're staring blankly at the empty computer screen waiting for words to miraculously appear on the page. Unfortunately, it happens all the time-- especially now as a senior who is expected to pump out essay after essay after essay. Writer's block is exhausting.
"What matters to you and why?"
"Please write exactly five sentences that best describe you."
"What do you wish you were better at doing or being?"
"What would you do with a free afternoon tomorrow?"
"Where is Waldo, really?"
How am I supposed to answer these questions? How am I supposed to write an essay-- 500 entire words-- to convince someone that I am not only a good writer but also someone special enough to be accepted? Beats me. I'm stuck.
Writing is a difficult task, especially when you're asked to show yourself through your words. I have a mathematical mind. My mind is familiar with the definite outlines of biological processes, derivatives and integrals, and algebraic equations. If I could express myself in the form of a math equation, life would be good. But unfortunately, written English is the standard. Apparently, written language is more personal than math.
Maybe so. But that doesn't make writing any easier. It is daunting to think that my words are supposed to be a representation of me and my persona. Am I really capable of truly capturing my own essence in a group of organized sentences? Can a stranger read my words and know who I am? I have my work cut out for me. If only I could get past this brick wall.
Writer's block is a pain.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
crazy people
Ken Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is about crazy people.
But maybe they're not as crazy as they seem.
Kesey's 1960s novel surrounds a psychiatric ward in Oregon, inhabited by a host of supposedly insane men and the cruel, cold Nurse Ratched. The patients live in constant fear of the Big Nurse, who exercises completely control over her ward through deliberate manipulation of guilt, shame, and embarrassment. The arrival of the boisterous Randle McMurphy changes everything.
It is evident that, in this novel, the hospital and Nurse Ratched represent a kind of oppression. The patients of the ward, prior to McMurphy's arrival, seemed lifeless. They couldn't even laugh properly. Nurse Ratched was in control, and no one could challenge that. Her intimidation and power seemed to suppress the individuality of her patients--every man shrunk deeper into himself. Every man becomes crazier than he was initially.
Kesey is perhaps offering a commentary on the general dynamic of society today. Societal pressures can be quite oppressive, especially with pressures to conform. Conformity is the ultimate suppressor of individuality. Kesey is takes a more critical stance on the subject, revealing much about his own views. In fact, many parallels can be drawn between the novel and Kesey's life. Kesey himself is an ardent preserver of his own identity and individuality, refusing to conform to social norms. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest argues that the preservation of individuality can be equated with the preservation of sanity. The patients of Ratched's ward are not necessarily insane to begin with. Oppression drove them to madness.
But maybe they're not as crazy as they seem.
Kesey's 1960s novel surrounds a psychiatric ward in Oregon, inhabited by a host of supposedly insane men and the cruel, cold Nurse Ratched. The patients live in constant fear of the Big Nurse, who exercises completely control over her ward through deliberate manipulation of guilt, shame, and embarrassment. The arrival of the boisterous Randle McMurphy changes everything.
It is evident that, in this novel, the hospital and Nurse Ratched represent a kind of oppression. The patients of the ward, prior to McMurphy's arrival, seemed lifeless. They couldn't even laugh properly. Nurse Ratched was in control, and no one could challenge that. Her intimidation and power seemed to suppress the individuality of her patients--every man shrunk deeper into himself. Every man becomes crazier than he was initially.
Kesey is perhaps offering a commentary on the general dynamic of society today. Societal pressures can be quite oppressive, especially with pressures to conform. Conformity is the ultimate suppressor of individuality. Kesey is takes a more critical stance on the subject, revealing much about his own views. In fact, many parallels can be drawn between the novel and Kesey's life. Kesey himself is an ardent preserver of his own identity and individuality, refusing to conform to social norms. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest argues that the preservation of individuality can be equated with the preservation of sanity. The patients of Ratched's ward are not necessarily insane to begin with. Oppression drove them to madness.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
our dear friend mr. albert camus
Albert Camus did not consider himself an existentialist at all.
That's interesting, considering the mind-boggling discussion of existentialism that his short story, "The Guest," prompted. But in the words of Camus himself, "No, I am not an existentialist. Sartre and I are always surprised to see our names linked..."
Instead, Camus considered himself to be an advocate of absurdism, a concept somewhat similar to existentialism. Absurdism is a school of thought that emphasizes the discrepancy between the human search for the meaning of life and the actual possibility of finding such meaning. Put quite bluntly in the absurdist view, this search is absurd-- absolutely impossible. Any attempt will be a failure. But Camus is an absurdist who believes that people need to embrace the impossibility and continue to search for the meaning of life regardless of the futility. He saw himself as an opponent to nihilism, another school of thought that asserts the absolute arbitrary nature of life.
But existentialism in itself has an element of absurdism. The difference between these two philosophies, though seemingly key to Camus's self-identity, is perplexing and vague. Perhaps this is why people consider him to be an existentialist.
Regardless, it is readily evident that Camus believes in an inherent meaning of life-- granted it is one that is apparently impossible to decipher. Even so, Camus expresses a sense of hope in his claim that humans should nevertheless continue to explore meaning. Such a sentiment can be found in "The Guest," when the prisoner, no doubt struggling in his own moral issues, makes the choice of going to prison instead of fleeing to freedom, fostering that sense of uplifting hope that this man is pursuing the meaning of his life by addressing his personal guilt and absolving himself of his crimes.
That's interesting, considering the mind-boggling discussion of existentialism that his short story, "The Guest," prompted. But in the words of Camus himself, "No, I am not an existentialist. Sartre and I are always surprised to see our names linked..."
Instead, Camus considered himself to be an advocate of absurdism, a concept somewhat similar to existentialism. Absurdism is a school of thought that emphasizes the discrepancy between the human search for the meaning of life and the actual possibility of finding such meaning. Put quite bluntly in the absurdist view, this search is absurd-- absolutely impossible. Any attempt will be a failure. But Camus is an absurdist who believes that people need to embrace the impossibility and continue to search for the meaning of life regardless of the futility. He saw himself as an opponent to nihilism, another school of thought that asserts the absolute arbitrary nature of life.
But existentialism in itself has an element of absurdism. The difference between these two philosophies, though seemingly key to Camus's self-identity, is perplexing and vague. Perhaps this is why people consider him to be an existentialist.
Regardless, it is readily evident that Camus believes in an inherent meaning of life-- granted it is one that is apparently impossible to decipher. Even so, Camus expresses a sense of hope in his claim that humans should nevertheless continue to explore meaning. Such a sentiment can be found in "The Guest," when the prisoner, no doubt struggling in his own moral issues, makes the choice of going to prison instead of fleeing to freedom, fostering that sense of uplifting hope that this man is pursuing the meaning of his life by addressing his personal guilt and absolving himself of his crimes.
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