The Arts of Healing

I recently made a presentation of the Art Cart at Aurora Baycare Medical Center in Green Bay. On the Art Cart we offer tools of the arts to patients free of charge, as well as crafts and a few entertainment items like puzzle books. The cart was put together by three of us who wanted to offer patients the benefits that each of us enjoys by the arts we practice, and the hospital administration was fully supportive with funding. We know that the arts can be therapeutic and hope to utilize creativity to improve the patient’s care.

With the unveiling of the cart I spoke on several ways the arts may help a patient. The arts we are able to offer relate to writing, drawing, and painting. We are not able to offer art therapy, as such, as this requires the professional art therapist and ongoing treatment. In the hospital setting we realize it may be difficult to offer any sort of art class to the patient as few stay for more than two days. We are only able to offer them an opportunity to experience the benefits of art.

Of the several ways art may help the patient, the first, and obvious, is to provide a diversion. If the patient is preoccupied with their condition it may worsen. We provide light entertainments such as crosswords and word finds, which are the most popular items, as well as trivia books, paint-by-numbers, and joke books. We like to provide some thought-engaging entertainment.
Art may preoccupy the mind of the patient to the extent that they overlook their current condition, or, at least, make them less aware of time spent in the current condition. When drawing I find it easy to spend three hours on a piece, without watching the clock, only afterward realizing it.

The arts offered, of course, may be used to express the condition, rather than overlook it. Creatively expressing the condition may give the patient some distance from the event, perhaps even lead to some objectivity. Emotions are expressed, and so the act of creativity is personal. In that sense it is subjective. But turning emotion into something concrete – shapes, colors, words – is a sort of translation into terms others may understand. Art turns emotion into symbolism. Such a translation may lead to observing the condition from multiple perspectives. When I wanted to write, in poetry, about a life-changing event – the fracture of my ankle – I thought in terms of imagery. To convey the kind of pain caused by the injury, and the life-long disability resulting from it, I wrote about the specific incidents it affected, like how walking on a wood chip trail became so difficult. It was deeply personal, and, in a sense, the act of creativity could be painful in recalling the events and realizing the significance of the loss. In my effort to convey the significance in imagery, I had to realize it. Still, it had some healing effect.

That sort of epiphany that every artist hopes for is how art may serve the patient in the most significant way. That is how art is therapeutic. I do not know what I will write until I start to write. When I went through health problems I spoke to people, whether in a social or a hospital setting, usually in clinical terms. I wrote in personal terms. Sometimes the art was so personal I did not share it with anyone else. I did not want to show my anger. But the act of creativity helped me to put my thoughts and feelings into order, and afterward I could share some of them without being too personal. The act of creativity helped me to make order out of chaos, as Robert Frost said was his reason for writing poetry.

There is a final way that creativity can help the patient, and that is the product itself. (I hate to use such a laborious word – product – but the alternatives are work of art or art piece, which are just as bad.) When I created some thing out of my experience, even if it was an expression of anger or despair, I had made that which could not exist by any other means. As I am unique for the total of my experiences, so was this art. Take away my experience of pain and I would not be the same. I don’t know if I would be a better man for it or not, but I find some fulfillment in who I am now. And so I find some fulfillment in what I’ve created.

No Pity for Myself

“A tragedy is the imitation of an action which not by means of narration, but by means of pity and fear, serves to effect the purification of these and similar persons.”
Aristotle, Poetics.

The main theme of Lessing’s essay, “Aristotle and Tragedy,” is defining what Aristotle meant by the statement above, how tragedy (meaning drama, not a tragic event) should evoke pity and fear and would purify the passions, or as I would categorize them – emotions. Lessing discusses the popular translation that the depiction of a character enduring tragic events, even if he is villainous, creates in the viewer pity for the character. This feeling is intertwined with fear, as the viewer is afraid they may face the same fate some day. Both require certain sympathy for the character that I would say goes beyond just humanitarianism – sympathy because we are all human.

I agree with the statement, by the popular translation. For a fictional tragic story to work – in film, TV, or books – I will view it with pity and some fear. The closer I relate to the characters, the more powerful those feelings become. I think those feelings, based on identifying with characters, are what determine our favorite stories. We all have books, movies, and TV shows that we like more than they really deserve, stories that by the quality of their telling aren’t great, but they become personal favorites. The film The Greatest Story Ever Told isn’t the greatest movie ever made. My personal favorite, when it comes to tragedy, is the film Shadowlands. I realize by critique of filmmaking, I’d give it 3 ½ stars. But personally, no other film has affected me so greatly, even affecting my beliefs and behavior.

The reason for my personal favorite becoming such an influence in my life is because I relate to the depiction of C. S. Lewis so well. It is based on a true story, which makes it more powerful, but it isn’t necessary for the film to still be effective. There are fictional elements to it. What’s most interesting is that, while it includes some of Lewis’s words, it is based on a stage play by William Nicholson, someone who observed Lewis’s words and his life to depict the author in such a way as he did not necessarily see of himself. From Lewis’s autobiography and his writings I think it a very good depiction. The film portrays a man who lives a scholar’s life at Oxford, surrounded by academic men, books, and boys who learn in awe from a well-known author. He is taken aback when a woman enters his life. He isn’t sure what to say, which astounds those who know him for only asking questions to which he already has the answers. When the relationship ends with her death he doesn’t know what to do. Those lessons he had taught to students, colleagues and the public at large are tested by the experience of suffering. Accepting the theory that stories, to become great in our own estimates, should have characters we identify, it should not surprise me that great stories become fewer as I get older. Movies and TV are definitely not written for people over forty, or who have developed mentally beyond eighteen. Beyond that, all the modern categories of stories – including books, magazines, TV, film, theater, even music to some extent – have little to offer me, or anyone who is an individual who knows themselves well. I no longer define myself by those entertainments, as I may have in youth, as is perpetuated by MySpace, Facebook, and a host of other sites that encourage you to categorize yourself by pop culture. I define my entertainment by who I am, not the other way around.

I am a single white male, age 41, never married, no children, Christian, English major who studies literature and tries to write it, lower middle income, lives in the Midwest, seldom drinks alcohol, doesn’t drive a pickup or 4X4, dislikes materialism but defends capitalism, works in an office with 37 women and 1 other man, a kidney recipient, and disabled. That’s a quick summary of most of the important aspects of myself. With this forming my point-of-view, there’s not a lot of entertainment I view as great. That’s not to say there isn’t good entertainment, or well-made entertainment, but that is to say it won’t greatly affect me. It shouldn’t. It is one of my conflicts that while I try to build a career in entertainment, I also downplay its importance.

P.S. Seeing that there is little in the world, as portrayed in the media, that I relate to can make me feel I’m the only one. Continuing to attempt publishing, and finding some success, getting some responses, makes me realize I’m not the only one. Therefore, there is an audience for such work, who doesn’t find much of it. There is potential, not for popularity, but for success.

Letter to the Seclusions

After a person has accumulated enough issues unresolved, and to which his opinion or want makes little or no difference, it seems the only way to find peace is to give up. To say of all self-interests: it doesn't matter. Then he is in harmony with the universe, because to the universe it doesn't matter.

One reason a single person should volunteer is to matter. I am not on a mission to make a difference; I am not the confident crusader. I just want to matter to someone besides myself. I know there are many who feel as I do. There are those who have become so reserved as to withdraw from the world, perhaps even with a wish that someone would ask them to come back. But the world goes on, and if you withdraw from it, you won't matter to it. While it is very difficult to step out when you have been pushed back so many times, it is up to you to interrupt the world.

While you may even want to resort to violence just to get someone's attention, the better way to interrupt is with kindness. Can you care about someone you don't know, as volunteer opportunities afford all the time? Don't you wish someone who doesn't know you yet would care? The world may not notice an act of kindness because, frankly, it may not even recognize it, but one individual might.

The Claus Family Christmas Letter

Dear Friends and Family:

It has been nearly a year already. I’m sending this out early as I will be very busy the next two months. The end of the year is fast approaching and inventory’s at only one-and-a-half billion toys. I wanted Mrs. Claus to write this year’s letter again, but after I criticize last year’s, asking her not to include the clinical details of my hernia, she told me I must do it myself.
Mrs. Claus is doing well. She’s taken up a spinning class, which I thought had to do with wool, but evidently not. I asked her for a pair of socks and she told me to buy one.
The Mrs. has told me we need to improve our health. If I wasn’t so jolly I’d hate Web MD. We have to watch our carb intake, which I thought referred to our ’85 Buick Century, but evidently not. We tried aqua aerobics for a few minutes. I’m still recovering from hyperthermia. Mother has told me I might lose a little weight if I join in the reindeer games.
The reindeer are fine, but they tend to squabble. Cupid teased Donner, “What if Donner threw a party and nobody came?” I had to discourage teasing, but I admit that was pretty funny.
Working with elves is not unlike working with children. We have Elf on 24 hours a day. Imagine TBS is the only channel you get. And every hour-and-a-half another round of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” How about throwing in Lord of the Rings once-in-a-while?
Oh, and those of you who are still hoping for a Wii this Christmas -- WE ARE WORKING ON IT! Have a merry Christmas. Be good to your parents. And don’t eat refrozen ice cream.

Santa Claus

(From Aurora's Northern Highlights.)

Dr. Herod's Tale: Preserver

She's approaching the end of the pier now.
I fear she will get too close.
I want to scream to stop
her, but it is too late
for the voice's effect.
Too late to retrieve
the years, to find
the signs of a life-line,
to read the messages
unreceived. The water
shrouds her quickly, the waves
wash her face undefined, the eyes
little more than oysters,
and the gray casket closes.
I reach out--
as though I might reverse it,
but her arms stay by her side,
and I am sinking faster
with the weight of our demise.
I look up through the murkiness to see
she's walking away from the pier now.

From Dr. Herod's Readings: The Lighthouse

I met a weathered man as old
as the lake of Michigan.
He keeps Kewaunee's lighthouse lit,
he says as long as he can.
"I'm not goin' anywhere,
until God take me home.
I'm stayin' here as long as the winds
and waves are seethin' foam."
He goes by Elbie Scirvener,
some call him Skinner,
cause he's always filleting fish,
every day for dinner.
He lives a lonely life, you know.
But he's determined to.
He says it's for security...
if only people knew.
The cargo ships that sail the lake
still rely on the light,
to know the danger of the shore,
to keep away at night.
But Elbie knows another way
the beacon's rays protect,
they keep at bay the sailor's ghosts
that on the lake shipwrecked.
They nightly try to come aground,
to haunt the docks and bars,
to trim the town in slimy seaweed,
and leave ailwives in the cars.
A crew of mischievous men they are,
with no respect for land.
They'll damage any house or lot,
and bury it in sand.
Retired ex-captain Scrivener
credits the light and horn
for turning back sea-faring ghosts,
as they were always warned --
"Approach the light, it will be your end,
to the darkness return.
The horn will tend your funeral,
repent and head astern."

Diversity Without Unity is Self-defeating

Next year is going to be a challenge, as I have agreed to be a facilitator of the diversity modules in the business office. I've just come out of our 2nd module for this year, disagreeing with a premise pronounced in the class. The statement was made that culture is "how we think and act differently." I completely disagree. A culture cannot be defined except by how we are alike. If each of us does our own thing, and purposely differ from everyone else, (which is actually impossible because we are all alike in that we are human), we would have no culture because there would be no similarities. It would only be a bunch of individuals. If we say America is a diverse culture, it is only because we are first Americans, citizens of one country, and in so being, have certain similarities, at least in knowledge; then we can then speak of differences. Someone pointed out in the class that there is an American culture and a Chinese culture, and they are different. I agree. My point is they are not the same culture; that is why we differentiate one as American and one as Chinese. And we are not talking just about difference of race; that is a mistake often made in public debate. Adults know there are many differences between the cultures of West and East. If we speak of humanity, then, again, we are speaking of our similarities. I find the stress on diversity somewhat self-defeating; if it is to build better race and cultural relations, why do we not speak of how we are alike, rather than dwell on differences? By dwelling on the differences we are, I think , building walls.

I come from an arts background, where people do try to be different from everyone else, where most, even including myself, try to build a culture of one. Only a month or so ago I wrote on the subject of we can choose our own cultures, and build a culture of one. There is truth in that. But it comes dangerously close to saying that I need not have any part in society. Believe me, I value differences in people. I like to think everyone is capable of becoming other than run of the mill, or, in other words, pulp. But my background shows me how it can be difficult to build a society of people who are like minded in wanting to repel themselves from everyone else. The reason I can say it was a culture is because we all valued individuality, and the arts. And it was knowledge and experience in the arts that brought us together. We could respect each other’s art, even if we disagreed. From that experience I know that the similarities need to be emphasized first, then we can speak of differences, and teach each other the value we have on our differences. If we speak of the value we have in our own idiosyncrasies, then others may learn the value of it. If I set myself apart from everyone else, which I have done at times purposely, at times quite unintentionally, others will often see it as I set myself above them. For instance, I knew a student in a lit class that always wore purple, every day. No doubt some made fun of him, and in general, people were leery of him, at least hesitant to approach him. But someone in class asked him why. He explained that the color had spiritual meaning. I wish he had more time to explain before class. The person who asked him showed courage. The curious didn't necessarily judge him for the difference, but certainly noticed it, and asked, sincerely, why he had this particular way of dressing.

In this class, in which I will be given a rather short text to use for the 30 minute session, I will add stories of other cultural approaches. Just the knowledge will compel people to try to relate it to what they already know. The class is for healthcare workers and office staff, so it would be best that I use examples of how other cultures treat the same issue, such as healthcare, or health insurance, etc. If you would have examples or stories yourself, I would like to know them. Please comment on this blog or e-mail me. Thanks for reading.

Dante's Unusual Dialectic

A quote from Dante’s Inferno, Canto VI: Dante questions whether the tortures of the inhabitants of Hell will increase, decrease, or remain. Virgil answers,

...that, as each thing to more perfection grows,
It feels more sensibly both good and pain.
Though ne’er to true perfection may arrive
This race accurst, yet nearer then, than now,
They shall approach it.
Harvard Classics, 1906 edition, p. 28.

I read “sensibly” to mean sensitively, that as man aspires, and thus moves, toward perfection the more keenly he will feel good and pain. Dante does not present the usual dialectic – good and evil, or pleasure and pain. Rather he states what becomes a part of humanism: man strives for perfection. He strives for goodness, not necessarily pleasure. His failures are painful, not necessarily sinful. The guide of Dante’s journey, Virgil, affirms that as man strives toward perfection, while he will not attain it, he will progress.

A Medieval Approach to Modernity

One good book leads to another, and another, and another, like a bus tour, and along the way you note places to come back to. I’ve bought C. S. Lewis’s Allegory of Love, after searching for a copy for less than fifty dollars over the past several years. I was quite anxious to read the out of print book. (Incidentally, I don’t know why it is out of print since it is often referred to by contemporary essayists. In medieval studies the book from 1936 is an important reference.) The book is a history of medieval literature, specifically works on the subject of courtly love in the form of allegory. Within the bibliography Lewis reviews (more than critiques) the central works of The Romance of the Rose, Chaucer’s Troilus and Cressida, and Spenser’s Faery Queene.

Reading this book of literary criticism prompted me to search for many titles of medieval works referred to. I am extremely happy that many of the works, in their entirety, are available online at Luminarium.org, Project Gutenberg, and TEAMS Middle English Texts. I no longer must resort to checking out large anthologies that only offer extracts. I am reading John Lydgate’s poetry (an author hardly known and usually categorized as one of a Chaucerian school, but who produced twice as much as his idol). He models himself after Chaucer, but he lacks his predecessor’s originality and diversity. His work is enjoyable, however, especially for expressing the courtly ideal of love. I am also reading The Romance of the Rose, which, as I read more commentaries, was a very influential book during the medieval period.

I must have a subject to the essay, besides a little criticism. I need to have something of an issue, don’t I? The one that comes to mind first is one of self-analysis, one to answer if I hope to have any success in the blogosphere: why read medieval literature?

While I have said in the past that I am an anachronism, not at all modern in thought or lifestyle, there is the exception of the computer and internet that I use daily. With the spread of technology comes the spread of information, which is more accessible than ever before. With this information we have the wider diversity of cultures to learn from, and we may customize our lifestyles. We are not limited to the culture that is common around us, except for those that choose to prohibit the technology. You are able to study religions you had little access to before the information revolution; you can study other countries and could even plan down to the details of moving there; you can complete college courses at home; you can correspond with people around the world easier than ever.

My point in all this is you can choose your lifestyle, or what I would call your own culture. I have built something of a culture of my own in my home. If I can choose my lifestyle from all the cultures I can learn of, without the limitations of space, (for instance, I can love English culture as much as American without living there), why limit myself in time? The spread of information includes a great treasure of history. With all that history offers, why must I be modern? This is why I am a Conservative. It’s not that I necessarily want to prevent change, but change for change’s sake is not a good reason. The phrase ‘change is good’ can only be proven after it is the past. I think the desire of people, en masse, for something novel is juvenile.

So I study history, so I read literature of past times, for good ideas to build my lifestyle, my own culture. Here are a few ideas I have recently discovered that I want to include.

“Be courteous and approachable, speaking gently and reasonably to high and low alike, and when you go along the streets, be sure to make it your habit to be the first to greet other people. And if someone should greet you first, do not remain dumb, but take care to return the greeting at once, and without delay. Next, be sure never to use rude words or coarse expressions: your mouth should never be opened to pronounce the name of anything base.”
Guillame de Lorris. The Romance of the Rose. (New York: Oxford University Press 1994) 32-33.

It would be foolish of me to dispel wisdom given from the past, or to think it wise only for one culture, one situation, one time. If it was it would have been only a novel thought.

Rational Religion

From June, 2005
It is interesting to reflect on how reading coincides with events of life, affecting my perspective, even my actions. A few months ago I was reading the Augustan poets. The Augustan period in English literature, late 17th-early 18th centuries, is marked by Neoclassicism. Authors like John Dryden, Alexander Pope, and Jonathan Swift translated the Greek and Roman authors into English, and added their own writings in similar style, such as their satires. One of the English authors, Joseph Addison, inspired me to start ZED by his version of a newsletter, The Tatler, which he and Richard Steele published and distributed through coffee houses, (yes, the trend in America of reading poetry in coffee houses is not at all new). These English authors worked to improve the ideas, language, and form of English. Works like Pope’s The Rape of the Lock epitomized ‘high’ style in English.

These authors also praised Reason, or rationality. Deism, the belief in God but not his participation in our world, arose as a rational religion. People of intellect taught religious tolerance, avoidance of extreme thinking, and discouraged personal revelation of God. Suspicion and doubt of any knowledge not gained from empirical evidence led to disbelief in miracles and the supernatural. Thus developed the belief – to put it simply for this overview – that God created the world, then withdrew, no longer interacting with mankind. By removing the miraculous, Christianity became a code of ethics, the Bible became a book of wisdom, or a book of manners, but not the truth of God. Christ’s divinity and his redemption of mankind were nullified.

This is still the problem of Christianity for intellectuals; they must decide whether to face towards a supernatural God, one not seen by empirical evidence. This problem, throughout the centuries, has prompted people to search. At the same time I read the Augustans, I also proofread Edwin Abbott’s collected letters, The Kernal and the Husk, (1886). He accounts of his search for rational religion. Following Descarte’s example, he discarded the teachings of others and sought self-tested truths. While reading a work like his I was reminded of C. S. Lewis, who was a rational atheist turned rational Christian.

Some characterize this kind of search as doubt, and handily offer, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test,” Matthew 4:7. But for those who question, if they do not search, they will always have doubt. I understand their desire for reason.

Yet I also understand that God does not reach the heart by empirical evidence. Such evidence would still leave many unpersuaded. Unfortunately, many will not witness the miracles they hope will convince them. How many would like to believe, but at some time in their lives they gave God a great opportunity to do a miracle and he did not? The truth is miracles, by definition, are rare.

Neither Cliches Nor Conceits

I find, in my own writing, that it is difficult not to incorporate metaphors. I have tried writing haiku, and in such a small space, meant for meditating, I tend towards metaphor. Haiku, traditionally, does not incorporate the device; it is more literal. But a good metaphor does provoke meditation. For instance:

the beloved enters --
the sea of people dissipates
as I see her wave

The challenge is to avoid clichés and conceits. I suppose each writer, in their youth, considers using clichés. From "All the world’s a stage," to "Life is like a box of chocolates," the too-common metaphors were original once, and hold some truth to keep them in the lexicon. They’re not useless today as the poet may use them to set up a twist. But the use of overused metaphors risks losing the reader, and certainly an editor. The cliché may be original to the poet, written with the excitement of a discovery – Eureka! I’ve noticed my love is like an arrow! -- but to the reader it’s hackneyed.

The other problem metaphors pose, beside originality, is the conceit -- a method of metaphor Renaissance poets used to highlight their wit. By today’s standards, their conceits extend a metaphor past the point of breaking. Perhaps the most noted is John Donne’s "The Flea," in which the insect becomes the instrument of mixing the blood of the poet and the beloved, an act then considered synonymous with sex. The flea becomes a symbol for their love and their marriage bed. The poem is amusing, even delightful, as much Renaissance poetry is, but such far-fetched metaphors draw attention to the poet rather than the poem.

Recently I have been reading poetry by Ted Kooser. I enjoy his poetry, personally, because I relate to the themes. His poetry is not so esoteric that I need online searches or the author’s guide to his own poetry to understand anything of what I read. Apart from the personal appreciation I also credit Kooser with creating very good metaphors. I would like to include some examples of his metaphors here. These are from his collection of poetry, Delights and Shadows.

"its shadowy speaker behind a thin lattice like the face of a priest."
From "Zenith"

"a storm that walked on legs of lightning"
From "Mother"

[When writing of a young woman in a wheelchair]
"You have seen how pianists
sometimes bend forward to strike the keys,
then lift their hands, draw back to rest,
then lean again to strike just as the chord fades.
Such is the way this woman
strikes at the wheels...."
From "A Rainy Morning"

The Absurd Prophecy

(Abridged, full essay available in newsletter)

For this issue of ZED (Fall, 2007) I thought I would include a story of the absurd – Albert Camus’ The Stranger, published first in France in 1942. The protagonist of the book is a man named Meursault. I cannot call him the hero because he is not a hero in any sense of the word. He is a passive man who allows circumstances to determine his path to an inevitable end because he does not care.

The story opens with the death of Meursault’s mother, an event that is hardly significant to the son at the time. He does not grieve. In a first person narrative we learn he is troubled by the inconvenience of the vigil; it causes sleepiness and the physical discomfort of a backache. He does not indulge in speculation on the afterlife or his mother’s state after death. Throughout the chapter, and the book, he does not indulge any ideas, he only thinks of what animalistic human nature dictates – eating, sleeping, and sex.

When chapter one and his mother are finished, Meursault thinks about a co-worker, Marie, and starting an affair with her. They meet, go to a movie, she laughs, they have fun, they have sex. There isn’t a bit of romance about it because the protagonist would not hold romantic notions. Events are either pleasurable or not, satisfying to physical appetites or not, there is no meaning beyond that. Although the author, does at least allow Meursault to have some concept of beauty, evident in the ‘beautiful’ afternoon in Algiers. At least the sensuous is beautiful.

Meursault’s association with Raymond leads him into a conflict with a few other men, the foremost of whom is the brother of the woman Raymond has abused. Meursault shoots the man in what could be argued as self-defense – the natural impulse for self-preservation – but isn’t. The protagonist finds himself on trial, and is unsure himself of his guilt. There are, after all, several witnesses, not of his action with the gun, but of his self-centered, uncivil behavior. The uncivil behavior is his lack of social graces, his refusal to share society’s values. His lack of grief over his mother’s death comes back to convict him. His silence in a number of circumstances, which he defends by simply saying he has nothing to say, is read as guilt; people interpret his silence by their values, not his actual reasons. Camus catches the reader doing as the witnesses do, if they have judged the protagonist harshly, which is difficult not to do. The author uses something most consider to be very personal – grief, and over the one person that should be meaningful in a man’s life – to show how society defines it, and judges others by how well they express that definition. We judge by our values that have been taught to us by society, rather than by the subject’s values. It would be difficult to judge Meursault by his values, as he does not have any.

Meursault’s inaction prior to the shooting, then the rather inconsistent action of the murder, is another reason for the reader’s contempt. If you know someone who is passive about everything, apathetic about everything, you know how it is difficult to care about someone who doesn’t care about himself. Here lies the great fault of Camus’ story: Salamano, Raymond, and Marie would not confide in Meursault. If he is so disengaged from society, so silent and aloof, people would not trust him with anything of themselves. I would say they would not even take an interest in the man. (Take it from a quiet, sometimes anti-social man.) Camus uses a contrivance of Hollywood’s: the romantic interest is that of the appealing woman in the misfit man. (If it is not written from the woman’s perspective.) We have all seen the cliché gorgeous wife and dopey, average or below-average husband in sitcoms, or the male nerd’s fantasy in film. I have to consider whether I would have read all of The Stranger if it wasn’t for the author’s reputation. I knew there had to be more to the story than this poor subject. Camus’ portrayal is descriptive of the rather rare amoral man, but is it at all prescriptive? Is Meursault shown in a good light, or as an example to be followed? I suppose the author would not prescribe anything, but only validate the description of what is. Again, I would say Camus has captured the self-centered human nature we all contain; but for most of us, it is contained. Camus makes the mistake Karl Marx made – disallowing real ideals. Both conceive of morality as only another method of satisfying the human nature, to use to gain power over others, to manipulate others. They do not allow for the possibility that people really can act without or against self-interest. I think Marx was right in seeing economy as the driving and deciding force of history. Camus sees animalistic human nature as the force in individuals. Perhaps he is right about the majority of people, but not all. Both cannot conceive of Christianity as truth, they cannot believe in the Christ. It is a little frightening to think of how these two men have influenced modern thought, and have no concept of self-sacrifice.

As Camus’ depiction is so bleak, and Meursault’s life absurd, does this not show why the human nature should be cultivated? In the story the protagonist does nothing to cultivate, to improve, to grow and shape, the mind or spirit; they remain in an undeveloped state, what is ‘natural.’ The character belongs on a video “Nature Gone Wild.” Camus does not romanticize nature, yet doesn’t that become an argument that perhaps the individual should? The natural state of man is poverty. It is not beautiful. Most of us admire the person’s ability to control the human nature, to act against it for consideration for another person’s state, and to ascend above that nature.

C. S. Lewis's Allegory and Symbolism

From reading Lewis's The Allegory of Love, and his definition of allegory vs. symbolism, The Chronicles of Narnia could be called an allegory, but by his definition. In modern usage of the term people who refer to the series as an allegory for Christianity actually mean to say it is symbolic. Allegory starts with the immaterial, like passion, and illustrates it with fiction. Symbolism sees the world itself as the allegory. "If our passions, being immaterial, can be copied by material inventions, then it is possible that our material world in its turn is the copy of an invisible world," (p. 45). "Symbolism is a mode of thought, but allegory is a mode of ..p. 48). Perhaps I can phrase it another way, for my own clarity. It could be categorized as poetry and philosophy. The poet observes the world and writes fiction to reflect it. The philosopher observes the world to see what it reflects. I think of Lewis as a better philosopher than poet. I can see how his studies in Medieval literature, or, more yet, his love of romance noted in Surprised by Joy, would integrate his philosophy with writing fiction.

The best works of literature have both philosophy and poetry. As I think of those I consider great poets -- Wordsworth, Yeats, T.S. Eliot -- they have both aspects in their poetry. They observe the world microscopically and macroscopically. By these categories I see some faults in poetry more clearly. While I admire the imagist poets, they are limited in observing only the world, and not what it represents. Religious and political poetry, in general, is too concerned with the Idea and does not observe the world closely enough.

C.S. Lewis, The Allegory of Love, New York:Oxford University Press, 1958.