[1] Newman, p. 1
[2] Course Packet, p. 186
[3] Newman, p. 2
September 9, 2004
Hopkins at Oxford
For the sake of brevity I will have to butcher Gerard Manley Hopkins’s “Binsey Poplars” and include only a selection of poignant phrases, at the expense of the coherence of the full piece: “…quenched in leaves the leaping sun …wind-wandering weed-winding bank …Since country is so tender / To touch, her being so tender.” (pp. 267-8) I have chosen these few lines to impel my writing today because this particular poem seemed, from my cursory study of the life and spirit of Hopkins, to connect well with his perception of nature. I am not typically inclined to like poetry, unless the poet exhibits restraint and selflessness, when the poet is succinctly devoted to celebrate his subject (nature being the ideal subject). I sense this devotion in Hopkins’s poetry. Celebration of nature is a noble and, especially in recent times, vital pursuit. As John Ruskin expounds in his own revelation while drawing an aspen tree, “…I saw that (the lines of the tree) ‘composed’ themselves by finer laws than any know of men. At least, the tree was there, and everything that I had thought about trees, nowhere.” (p. 341) I believe that the comparison with human endeavors is particularly important. The infinite and diverse beauty of nature is recognized by humans, at least those who appreciate it, because the tree and every tree is endowed with a spirit that is not beyond apprehension, but is beyond scientific understanding. Ruskin supports this observation by noting that nature’s “perfect and exquisite creations poured forth in a profusion which conception could not grasp nor calculation sum.” (p. 352) In relating Ruskin’s previous statement, Jerome Bump reveals a caveat to the perfect progression of nature. “The principle of plentitude, however, emphasizes not only an infinite number of things but also their variety, two expressions of infinity in this world that are not always compatible.” (p. 352) This statement hints at distinct problems within the equation. The existence of man, the pinnacle of nature’s creation (at least in our eyes), and his proliferation is increasingly creating an imbalance in the variety of the natural world. Increase in population and manipulation of nature (for agricultural, aesthetic, scientific, etc. purposes) is leading to a more homogenous and bland world, among other more serious problems. Ruskin states: “whenever in a painting we have unvaried colour extended even over a small space, there is falsehood.” Humankind is infinitely diverse (although cultural and ethnic boundaries are becoming increasingly blurred), but it must be remembered that we are only one part of an enormous whole. I imagine I would feel uncomfortable standing in a field of nothing but aspen trees (no grass, no animals, no flowers, no weeds, only tress and dirt), but I am terrified by the prospect of a planet barren of flora and fauna, but teeming with humans.
The other issue I wanted to discuss is the merits of drawing. I agree with Bump when he expounds that an important dynamic is lost when people do not draw nature, but rather, “(scurry) about the national parks in order to click their cameras at one thing after another.” (p. 343) Although photography does capture the infinite variation of nature, as extolled by Ruskin above, it lessens the spiritual and intellectual interaction of the individual with nature, which is paramount to appreciation.
September 13, 2004
College Idealism and Jude the Obscure
It has been difficult to write about Jude, much less to gather my thoughts or weigh my reactions to the novel. Mulling it over, I feel a bit despondent. It was, figuratively speaking, a heavy read. After only a few pages, I felt compelled by Jude’s character. The book began with such an optimistic tone. The clever young Jude with a murky past and a determined ambition, the serene pastoral setting of Marygreen, and Christminster, the lofty symbol of enlightenment, all contributed to my growing curiosity about Jude’s future exploits. My curiosity remained, but my expectations began to sour when the robust Arabella was introduced. Indeed, I disdained nearly every character except Jude. It was as though the entire small world depicted in the novel was intent on contributing to Jude’s failure. The character of Mrs. Edlin was, perhaps, the sole exception. Mrs. Edlin stood in stark contrast to the major female character, Sue Brideshead. Edlin and, I suppose, Drusilla Fawley were staid and pragmatic foils to Sue’s thoughtful, but painfully inconstant character. Dougill writes of Sue: “Wilful and ethereal, she is a ‘bride’ who is unable to give herself completely because she is ruled by her ‘head’.” (Course Packet, p. 275) This description is right on point. Initially, I was completely oblivious to the implication of Sue’s surname, but Dougill’s explanation is clearly a close approximation of Hardy’s intent (Little Father Time is another symbolic name to consider). The reader cannot help but empathize with Sue’s poor fortunes, but in almost every instance of tragedy, Hardy implicates Sue as the major contributor and Sue, herself, often repents her incendiary actions. In my outside readings, I took note of feminist criticism of Hardy’s treatment of Sue. Hardy constructs an intelligent, independent, ‘new’ woman, only to have her punished for her liberties and to have her repent by contradicting all of her progressive notions.
Jude is culpable as well, but his character is a bit more rational, on the surface, in any case. These characters and the circumstances which they encounter are inconstant and horribly fated, which makes for an increasingly distressing read, but it is all for a purpose. Dougill paraphrases: “Hardy shows annoyance at the misunderstanding of his novel, and he is at pains to emphasize that his purpose was to make a philosophical statement rather than to promote reform of the university or divorce laws.” (p.278). At the heart of Jude is an understanding, and perhaps a rhetorical question, of why the world is hard on well-meaning, but thoughtful and sensitive people. The question of the difficulty of marriage is applicable as a subset of this theme and all are compounded by the social circumstances of the Fawleys. If Jude was allowed greater means, then perhaps his brooding would have been more highly esteemed and he could have been sheltered from the harshness of reality within the walls of Christminster. Despite Hardy’s protestations, the egalite of the university system is brought into question throughout the book. The instance where Hardy and Jude clearly drop their affectation of indifference towards Christminster’s (and every university’s) blatant elitism occurs on “Remembrance Day” (Encaenia). Jude’s speech, which begins: “‘It is a difficult question, my friends, for any young man – that question I had to grapple with…’” (Jude the Obscure, p.316) is particularly poignant because the reader clearly senses that Hardy lets down his guard and confesses his own vain struggle. I suppose any and all readers can relate to Jude’s testimony, as disallowance occurs in many different areas of life and at all levels of the social order. The harsh criticism of the book that Hardy encountered must have been disheartening.
September 22, 2004
College Life and Ritual
“God is beyond description of any kind and these grotesque carvings, by stretching our imaginations to their limits, remind us of this.” (p. 654) The logic seems like it was contrived to defend the ritual of gargoyle-carving, but the argument is not completely absurd. If the topic of this journal is ritual, then gargoyle-carving is a good place to start. I never paid much attention to the details of medieval gothic churches. I noticed the spires and gargoyles, but only at a distance; and I never gave any thought to the purpose of the carvings. Taking this class has given me a new appreciation for stone-carvers and the figures they create. It is fascinating that the stone-carvers (who for the most part were unappreciated and anonymous) were given such freedom of expression. The figures they created are remarkable. One tends to think of the middle ages as a time of artistic repression and religious conservatism, but some of the gargoyles around Oxford would be considered obscene today. Thus, the gargoyle-carving is a sort of ancient ritual, peculiar to medieval churches around Oxford, in particular.
Oxford, although my knowledge is limited to the books we have read, I’m sure is abound with ritual. Any institution that has endured for so long invariably forms customary ways to perform even common tasks. The costumed celebration of Encaenia in Jude the Obscure and the Junta dinner-group in The Illustrated Zuleika Dobson, and the adornment of buildings, even those recently restored, with gargoyles are all part of, or based on, the continuance of a tradition that has existed for more than half of a millennium. Yet, some rituals (whether good or bad, I cannot judge) do not stand the test of time. Like the relationship of the gothic tradition and the disenfranchised public, as Blackwood noted about Jude: “Throughout the book, the Christian Gothic symbolizes the outworn ways of thought and social convention which end by destroying both her and Jude.” (p. 657) When I initially read the novel I was, as is typical, completely oblivious to the dynamic created by the clash of outdated tradition (the gothic architecture which Jude helps to restore) and progressive ideals (Jude’s ambition and Sue’s ‘New Woman’ character). Thus, traditions do often have to crumble. Exclusivity based on class, gender, race, or now even sexuality is no longer acceptable in universities and beyond.
UT has no real rituals. Certainly UT has dealt with the issue of creating an egalitarian campus, but the issue was not a tradition peculiar to UT. UT seems to be disconnected from its relatively short history. The rituals that do exist (the chants at the football games, Bevo, the Silver Spurs, graduation) do not evoke any real nostalgia or reverence to the history of the institution. As I write this in the PCL, I am looking out across the street at a construction crew that is remodeling the south face of the Business School. This renovation illustrates my point. There is no need to redesign the outside of this building; the building itself can’t be more twenty years old. It is a renovation, not a restoration. There is no effort to preserve the past. The emphasis is on progressing into the future. Design something that is practical and fits the evolving fashion of the times and it can always be torn down or modified later. Without digressing into a socio-cultural tirade, I will conclude by stating that this disregard of tradition, of permanence, is emblematic of the U.S. as a whole (I see it everyday as a new Wal-Mart or KB homes golf-course community is erected. While nature is the primary victim, the other concern is the aesthetics; these buildings are so shoddy that they will virtually disintegrate over twenty, fifty, certainly one hundred years. There is no sense of permanence. Maybe it is just as well, maybe the Parthenon and Hadrian’s Villa are reminders of outmoded traditions and there is no reason to try to preserve any remnants of our society.)
September 27, 2004
Zuleika Dobson and College Distractions
Transitioning from Jude the Obscure to The Illustrated Zuleika Dobson was not a smooth procedure. Although both share Oxford as their setting and the focus of their attacks, Zuleika is much more irreverent and light-hearted. Zuleika is a playful satire and its tragedy is treated with indifference. Unlike Jude, I felt no sympathy for the characters in Zuleika. The central characters in Zuleika are caricatures; they are almost unbelievable. Zuleika and the Duke exhibit the most extreme egotism (Zuleika makes the Duke promise that he will shout her name as he plunges in, the Duke’s thought process revolves only around himself, his costume at the end). Neither are very attractive characters. It was an enjoyable read, but I am still left a bit bewildered. There is obviously some important symbolism that I have failed to grasp. The constant references to Pagan gods, Zuleika as the ultimate distraction from staid diligence (or perhaps the natural counterpart to monastic celibacy?), and the mob-mentality of the undergraduates (their mass suicide is another social event, like the boat races or the concert) are all used in Beerbohm’s attack (homage?) to Oxford. Perhaps the most applicable to my current situation is the metaphor of Zuleika Dobson, the ultimate college distraction.
Zuleika Dobson herself may not pose the same threat at the present-day University of Texas as she did at turn of the century Oxford. Texas is not an all-male institution (there are lots of women at UT and many very attractive ones); nor is scholarly rigor nor sexual repression as prominent as at Oxford. Zuleika would not go unnoticed, but she would not cause the male population to commit hari-kari either. Thus, as everything evolves, so have the temptations that modern-day students face. In my time at the University, there have been numerous forces that have sought to either distract me from my goals or to shift my goals. Currently, my purpose here is to do well in school and graduate so that I can begin the next phase of my life and pursue my next goal. It sounds pretty mundane, if not a little depressing, but what does one do? The distractions are limitless (friends, girls, work, other indulgences, shifting morals and goals), but the end remains clear. Keep moving ahead, focus on your goal and put your energy towards accomplishing it (conversely, ignore/repress anything that might be detrimental). This is sort of what Jude did, but he did also submit and fall victim to outside distractions. What was it that crushed him, was it his misguided goal or his lax adherence to his purpose? In Zuleika, the undergraduates all abandon their supposed purposes at Oxford and prostrate themselves at the juggernaut of distractions that is Zuleika Dobson, but what is the ultimate message or conclusion of all this (I have to admit that I still have thirty pages to read in Zuleika)?
October 14, 2004
Wordsworth at Cambridge
Almost all of my journals seem to digress into conservative rants (strictly non-political). Reflections on the words of Newman, Hopkins, even Joseph Jones, invariably suggests unfavorable comparisons between the unspoiled, yet changing past and the spoiled, yet still further changing present. So, to circumvent this problem, I will get the tirade over with first.
“When from our better selves we have too long / Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop, / Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, / How gracious, how benign, is Solitude; How potent a mere image of her sway.” (215) I think that what Wordsworth advocates here is indispensable. Not long ago, I read an article that described a study on the causes and possible cures of ADD (attention deficit disorder, that now too common disease and catch-phrase). From what I recall, the study found that exposure to the outdoors and, especially to the open sky, on a daily basis had a significant effect on the patients’ abilities to concentrate.
This connects to some of the ideas I considered on Tuesday (10/12) during our in-class writing assignment. Modern life is dynamic and it requires constant attention. We expect to be busy, to be entertained, at all times. Idleness is frowned upon for a variety of reasons, but I think that boredom is an integral part of life. Quiet meditation in a natural environment where there are no visible human creations leads to immediate and profound benefits. Even Waller Creek suffices as such a setting. Although the creek is encompassed by the looming edifices of the University, it is possible to position oneself where there is no visible reminder of the busy world (if you are close enough to the falling water, then even the din is drowned out). If one ever feels stress, confusion, or distraction encroaching try this remedy; its equilibratory effects are astonishing.
This “raw unpractised time” (216) certainly influenced Wordsworth’s writing. His verse reminds me of that small stretch of Waller Creek just north of the bridge behind the Alumni Center (synesthesia). His cadence and his tone are natural. Wordsworth’s adulations of natural beauty are tempered by a sort of unaffected wisdom. “I look for universal things; perused / The common countenance of earth and sky…” (208) Wordsworth’s descriptions and metaphors relate the interconnectedness of nature and mankind. “Of Newton with his prism and silent face, / The marble index of a mind for ever / Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.” (208) Of Milton: “Darkness before, and danger’s voice behind, / Soul awful–if the earth has ever lodged / An awful soul—I seem to see him here.” (211) It is clear that Wordsworth’s writings and conceptions of things are direct extension of his experience in nature. These descriptions paint vast, wild pictures in the readers mind. Newton adrift in uncharted seas and Milton, in his blindness, like the dark of night before there was night; these themes are the product of a mind in awe of creation and the magnificent and incomprehensible world.
October 28, 2004
French Gothic
I am glad that Hugo’s Notre Dame de Paris is included in our course packet. The first thing that came to my mind when I read the topic of today’s journal was, in fact, Notre Dame Cathedral. It has been a few years since I last read Hugo’s novel and it has been nearly a decade since I last stood on the banks of the Seine and saw the great cathedral. What I remember from the novel is the sense of place. The winding streets of Paris, the catacombs, the river, are all brought to life by Hugo and the cathedral is his central character. Come to think of it, this novel would fit in to our reading schedule perfectly. I am not necessarily advocating additional reading, but in creating a vivid, palpable appraisal of Gothic architecture, Hugo is certainly successful. I have to admit that I remember skipping lengthy passages in the book where Hugo goes into minute detail about the architecture and his appreciation of it; but taken as a whole, the reader is left with a dynamic vision of the chapel.
Especially interesting is Hugo’s idea of the role of architecture in history. “In fact, from the beginning of things to the fifteenth century of the Christian era inclusive, architecture was the great book of the human race, man’s principal means of expressing the various stages of his development, physical and mental… people began to transcribe these memories in the most visible, the most lasting, and at the same time the most natural medium. Every tradition was sealed under a monument.” (577) The idea that the history of architecture is inextricably tied to the evolution of human thought gives one the basis for understanding the deep appreciation that Hugo has for the buildings of his city (Ruskin to Venice, as well). Imagine the thought or epiphany that led to the construction of Notre Dame.
Because it has been some time since I read the novel, I have forgotten much of the plot, as well as the themes and the symbolism. However, the last scene, described in the last selection in the course packet, is still clearly etched in my memory. I remember initially empathizing with the motley band of gypsies, but shortly thereafter I lost sight of all the people below and was completely mesmerized by the Cathedral and all of its creatures (with Quasimodo as an extension of the architecture) coming to life and defending La Esmeralda. “‘Churches have been known…to defend themselves in this manner, without man’s help.’ William of Paris, who built this cathedral, was a magician.” (582) Is this referring to William the Conqueror? He is mentioned previously by Henry Adams in connection with Mont-Saint-Michel, but I thought for some reason that Notre Dame was older. Back to the novel, I can remember the character of the playwright (who is present throughout the novel, but is noticeably absent from this scene; I can’t remember his name) and he reminds me of Jude, of Arnold’s scholar-gipsy. The playwright is able to avoid tragedy, although, because of his indifference. He doesn’t care for Frollo or for Esmeralda especially; he is concerned primarily with himself (and the goat). I have gotten of track, but it is such a great novel and the more I think about it, the more I remember.
November 1, 2004
Collegiate Gothic
Stained glass windows are fascinating. It is a unique and dynamic way of telling a story or of presenting a work of art. Glass is probably a difficult medium to work with, but the effect that it is capable of producing, especially in the right sunlight, gives the windows an added dimension; a sort of aura that is unattainable with paints or carvings. I remember reading (I can’t remember if it was outside research or if it was in the course packet) about Oxford students crafting stained glass windows as a school project and giving the windows to their respective college as gifts and as mementos. I wrote about the stained glass in All Souls in my project on T.E. Lawrence. I haven’t been to All Saint’s chapel, but I think I know where it is located (facing north, across the street from the Scottish Rite Dormitory?) and I have seen the outside. Nevertheless, it was interesting to hear the stories behind the creation of each stained glass window. The glass in All Saints is obviously much more recent than the glass in All Souls (400+ years in some cases), but the subjects and the stories described by the windows are constant. Both contain scenes from the life of Jesus and the lives of the apostles and of different saints. Both focus exclusively on figures and stories from the New Testament, which, now that I think of it, is consistent with the stained glass that I have seen in other churches. The glass at All Saints does take some liberties that are not present in All Souls. Many of the windows at All Saints are commemorations (donated or otherwise) of commoners. Of particular interest to me was the inclusion of Edith Cavell, the martyred Red Cross nurse, and her grateful soldier to the left of the Virgin Mary. I assume this would not have been acceptable at All Souls, but that is not to say that the windows of All Souls were filled strictly with biblical figures. Like Robert E. Lee in the right window of the east wall at All Saints, the windows at All Souls contained the images of British kings/war heroes (William the Conqueror, Henry V, etc…). Likewise, the old Oxford chapel probably wouldn’t have included as diverse a collection of characters, like the Indian, Native American, and Eskimo. These inclusions, along with the prominent women and others (Joan of Arc, Cavell, and George Herbert) give the All Saints chapel an egalitarian and sort of modern or liberal appeal that seems appropriate for a university church.
Separately, I want to add that the article on Nicholas Clayton and Galveston’s Victorian architecture really opened my eyes. First, the piece and the pictures helped develop my appreciation for Victorian architecture. I now sort of regret my discussion-board criticisms of the Littlefield house, although it may still be appropriate because I didn’t necessarily admit that appraisal to be my own judgment, but rather how Ruskin would have hypothetically valued such architecture as being truly and naturally Gothic. Anyway the story of Clayton and my own memories of Galveston have allowed me to more clearly distinguish anti-modernism and the Victorian style from the Gothic style. Additionally, I must regrettably admit that although I spent years in Houston and I have been to Galveston countless times, I have been completely ignorant of its history. I always had sort of a dim view of the place (it is not a great beach) and so was somewhat shocked by the praises lavished on Galveston by Mr. Parvin. “Such a pageant of stylishness that even today the Victorian legacy of Galveston goes unrivaled.” (642) “For Texas this was a ‘somethin’’ place. For the nation, the Strand of Galveston was something to watch. It was heralded as the ‘Wall Street of the South,’ the ‘New York of the Gulf.’” (647) Now these statements are perhaps to be taken with a grain of salt and Mr. Parvin seems to be a bit partial to the city, but after reading the story of Clayton and the tragic demise of Galveston (which benefited Houston immeasurably), there seems to be some truth in it all. Galveston emerges as a sort of romantic story; quite literally, it is a tragedy. A prosperous and architecturally exceptional city is wiped out by a natural disaster and never truly recovers (the fallibility of man’s creations).
November 4, 2004
The Grotesque: Totem and Imaginary Beasts
At first I thought Christina Rosetti’s “Goblin Market” would fall exclusively under the category of “Imaginary Beasts” for this journal and could only be connected to Grotesques through the shared subject matter (goblins and gargoyles). After further consideration, it is clear that the poem also exemplifies a distinct theme present in Grotesque stonework that is acknowledged by the creators of that work. For some reason, I didn’t recognize “Goblin Market” from its title; but, after a few lines, it was familiar. Reading through the poem, I was captivated by the imagery that Rosetti portrays. Regretfully, I was preoccupied during the initial reading with trying to find a definite meaning behind what I perceived to be the symbolism of the poem. Was Jeanie’s and Laura’s submission to the goblins indicative of indulgence and passion in general? “She thought of Jeanie in her grave, / Who should have been a bride; / But who for joys brides hope to have / Fell sick and died.” (723) Was it sexual in nature? Is Lizzie a sort of martyr, an embodiment of prudence and piety? “Like a royal virgin town / Topp’d with gilded dome and spire / Close beleaguer’d by a fleet / Mad to tug her standard down.” (720) The conclusion that I drew at the end came about with the help of the appended quote by William Michael Rosetti: “(I)t is just a fairy story” (730) Thus, my conclusion is precisely that; that it is a fairy tale in the classic sense. This understanding is not meant to trivialize Rosseti’s poetry; in fact the idea forces me to realize that I, as the reader, was at fault. By reading critically, I missed best that the poem had to offer. In order to fully enjoy the story, I would have to let go of my preconceptions and read it with the curiosity of a child. There is deep meaning in the story, but it is different than I had anticipated. It is neither simpler nor more complex than my original Freudian or Allegorical ideas. Like other great children’s literature, which is the most endearing type of literature and I would venture to say is the best, “Goblin Market” presents a dilemma and shows that the dilemma can be overcome by love, by companionship; but the dilemma is not always overcome (Jeanie’s case). So, my conclusion is that the story presents a simple, universal truth: indeed, life is difficult and there are many dilemmas to be faced, but one can at least find solace through friendship, family, or more generally through love.
Again I have gotten off track and gone beyond what I intended to postulate
about “Goblin Market,” but this basic dichotomy of good and evil that is
presented by the poem is also at the heart of Grotesque stone-carving. Now
that I think about it, this is not as profound as I originally thought, but
it is worth mentioning, nonetheless. The stone-carvings (when the term
grotesque is mentioned, my mind is dominated by images of Jude, the emperors
of Oxford, and the eastern façade of Notre-Dame; I hope that that is a
sufficiently representational sample) convey the same meaning. There is
goodness and community on the inside of the church (or college), but fear
and evil abound on the borders and are invariably confronted at some point.
Additionally, I think that Bevo’s presence does conform to the presence of a
totem, as outlined in the text, but that this is distinct from the presence
of a grotesque.
November 23, 2004
Unity
“The difficulty is that most languages are arranged so that actions (verbs) have to be set in motion by things (nouns), and we forget that rules of grammar are not necessarily rules, or patterns, of nature.” (772)
Watts makes a strong argument against the inherent validity of grammar. Taken one step further, this argument could warrant a complete refund of all of the points that I lost over the semester because of comma splices. In all seriousness, the assigned readings for this journal touch on ideas that I have thought about many times. Snyder’s illumination of the collective guilt that influences modern American life; Watts’s skepticism of truths that are derived through human observation; and Burch’s examination of mankind’s inconstant regard for the natural world, all of these ideas are extensions of earlier readings from this class. For example, Walter Pater’s idea of the separation of each individual by a “wall of personality” is consistent with the process that Watts uses to expostulate that “our whole knowledge of the world is, in one sense, self-knowledge.” (774) Additionally, all of these distinct readings (Burch, Snyder, Watts, the dualism article, and Ram Dass, as well) are interrelated. The common strain that connects the ideas and theories of these authors is not specifically what they state (although that too is frequently consistent), but rather what their ideas inspire. All that I have read today and in this course as a whole has inspired a sort of healthy skepticism in me. Like many others, I did not need to be taught about the blind submission to the inconsistencies of modern life; I could see this for myself. But I have not yet drawn a reassuring conclusion from this realization on my own. If nothing else, it is comforting to know that many others dwell on these same problems. Even though I have still not received a convincing answer, I have benefited from the more thoughtful synthesis of these various teachers.
“That the opposite poles of relationships, such as light/darkness and solid/space, are in actual conflict which may result in the permanent victory of one of the poles.” (770) This conclusion, which Watts agrees has been proven false, is contradicted by the idea of dualism. “By looking at the opposite poles of these or other dichotomies we tend to ignore everything between them and we fail to recognize the dependency of each pole on the other or the possibilities of the simultaneous presence of both and of a larger whole which contains both opposites.” (763) This idea of dualism is an essential component of the skepticism that I mentioned earlier. It is a difficult proposition to apply this skepticism, however, because we exist in two separate realities: the real and the theoretical, the concrete and the abstract. The theoretical needs absolutes for its survival. The difficulty is that this idea of a grey area is further strengthened by the contradictions in these readings. By putting forth ideas about the truth of perception or the false boundaries of modern life, these thinkers are setting up their own theoretical models with constraints. However, I do think that the idea of grey matter (no definite poles) is key, and that it is the basis for the recurring attitude of skepticism. I have overused this idea of a grey area because I have recently read some of the work of Stephen Crane. One of his poems is very appropriate for this discussion:
"When The Prophet"
When the prophet, a complacent fat man,
Arrived at the mountain-top,
He cried: "Woe to my knowledge!
I intended to see good white lands
And bad black lands,
But the scene is grey."