My Research Paper

(Or "Deja Vu" if you read my previous entry. The first few paragraphs are boring, but it gets philosophical towards the end. Hooray for late night existentialism!)

God According to "The Tempest": Old, New, and Thoroughly Confusing


Like many of Shakespeare’s plays, “The Tempest” has roots in classical mythology and folklore. The spirits, goblins, and magical powers that make up the fantastic tale all have links to the past and are steeped in lore. However, “The Tempest” is also interesting in that it has strong Christian undertones just below the surface. Although little to no mention is made of Jesus, God, and Christianity in general, Prospero himself mirrors God’s progression through the Bible. Prospero mimics God from creation and the Garden of Eden, to the angry, powerful force of the Old Testament, and finally ending with the benevolent, forgiving air of the New Testament.

Prospero’s banishment to his Island creates, in many respects, a facsimile of the Garden of Eden. It is isolated with only fantastic creatures, magic acts of great power, and only two humans present, Prospero and his daughter. Indeed, when more humans finally appear on the Isle, it is by Prospero’s power. Ferdinand could be seen as Prospero’s “Adam”, for his arrival on the Isle and the creation of such a bond between himself and Miranda would not be possible without Prospero’s magical intervention. Prospero’s rules and whims must be followed exactly, for no creature can resist his power. Prospero, like God, creates an idea of morality which must be upheld, or else the perpetrator must face his inescapable wrath. As Richard Hansberger states in The Explicator, “In order to survive under Prospero’s rule, Caliban must abandon his ‘gabble’ and his conceptual framework of the world and in turn adopt Prospero’s imposed language, Prospero’s imposed conceptual framework” (136).

In fact, Prospero’s punishments are much akin to the threats and plagues of the Old Testament. When Prospero’s minions, Ariel and Caliban, are ungrateful or
recalcitrant he resorts to a vast array of threats and hostilities to force them into obedience. The words Shakespeare chooses for Prospero seem as if they were inspired by the Bible, such as when Prospero proclaims “I’ll plague them all, even to roaring” (Act IV, Scene I, lines 191-192). Prospero threatens to unleash cramps, pains, and a variety of other ailments upon his disobedient servants. There is no kindness in this image of the magician, save towards his obedient daughter. The same is true for God. Those who oppose his children or go against his teachings are woefully punished.

Both God and Prospero do not use their powers only for punishment, though. Both have great plans and use their powers to manipulate reality to meet their goals. Their powers are so strong, in fact, that they trump the old Gods and spirits of the past. Prospero’s dominance of the Roman Goddesses suggests that he is greater than past religion; only a new God could be more powerful, such as the one he himself resembles. In fact, as Robert H. West writes in Shakespearean Essays, most of Prospero’s works are done using his spirits (66). As God uses agents, so does Prospero.

As time passes, Prospero, like God, changes character. Once his ends are accomplished, if his enemies are “penitent” (Act V, Scene I, line 28), then he is bountiful in forgiveness. As God admits those who repent into Heaven, so does Prospero allow the sinners on his Isle to leave, unscathed save for their harrowing stay.

However, there is a break in the parallel which is quite distinct. Prospero is not only the most God-like character, but also the most existential of the novel’s characters. In one of his more poetic speeches, Prospero says of reality that all “shall dissolve, and like this insubstantial pageant faded, leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff are dreams are made on, and our little life rounded with a sleep” (ActIV, Scene I, lines 154-156). It is quite ironic, that this most powerful man, when all of his plans proceed without flaw and his success is imminent, would wax philosophical and essentially state that all his labors are for nothing. Or maybe Prospero, being the educated, higher power figure, has known this all along and proceeds despite his doubt. It seems as if Shakespeare is casting God, in the form of Prospero, in a light rarely seen, especially for his time. If this interpretation is continued, Shakespeare seems to imply that God himself knows of the existentialist nature of reality, yet plays the part of puppet master despite this knowledge. This method seems to work out in the end, as all the secondary characters are forgiven and given happy endings.

However, Prospero’s ending is left in doubt. In the epilogue, Prospero leaves his fate in the hands of the audience. This has often been called Shakespeare’s final plea to his adoring masses, but the God parallel still stands. In fact, it can even be applied to an artist such as Shakespeare. Shakespeare creates, he manipulates, he devises complexities of character and plot that even the greatest minds still try to unravel. Shakespeare may indeed be implying that reality itself is just a play, performed for some heavenly audience God seeks to entertain. Prospero says his project “was to please”


(Epilogue, line 13), but who is he seeking to please? The characters within the play
certainly end pleased. Maybe he is speaking directly to the audience, who he was merely trying to entertain. Or perhaps his words are directed at God himself, seeking forgiveness for whatever sin or blasphemy Prospero, or Shakespeare, may have committed. The situation is quite complex. Robert H. Ball, in a synopsis of “The Tempest” for the Encyclopedia Britannica, believes that the play is sufficient without the interpretations of critics “who try to make it something vast and monumentous or, on the other hand, autobiographic and personal succeed only in distorting or destroying its artistic beauty and poetic charm.” Then again, much of these same words used to describe a seemingly simple play can be used to describe life itself. Obviously beauty has not stopped attempted interpretation.
In “The Tempest”, the magician Prospero is portrayed as a God-like figure, angry and wrathful, but in the end forgiving those who seek his mercy, and yet the existentialist slant seems to indicate that Shakespeare’s intentions were not so simple. Prospero exercises his wrath, forgives, and completely controls his Isle, as God would. And yet, there are hints that for all his scheming, wisdom, and seemingly unfathomable power Prospero is still insecure, doubtful, and tired of his toil. Is there some hidden meaning within Prospero’s fatigue and philosophical quandaries? Is Prospero really Shakespeare speaking to his loyal followers preparing to end an extensive career of entertainment? Is Prospero God, breaching the realms of imagination into a higher level of thought where few dare venture? Or is this all merely drama, part of Shakespeare’s attempt to go out on top? That is for the audience, God, and whatever other forces there may be to decide.

I'm Sorry.

Blegh. Today was rotten. I was rotten. I am rotten. This whole project has come to head, my lines are nearly memorized, and I need only finish(start) my research paper, practice a bit, study Hamlet, and not kill anything til Thursday and I'll be set. Yet, even though it's quite doable, I got (and am) incredibly stressed today. It's not the workload, although that is indeed immense. It's not that I put it off until the last moment, for I always do that and use the stress as a focusing device. No, it's the underlying realization that this entire project is symbolic of my philosophical situation. I shouldn't really care about my grade, but I do. I'm essentially guaranteed a free, full ride to UT so it just doesn't matter. But it does to me. A very significant part is that I feel obligated to my group members, whose grades also depend on this. I have so many lines, though, I'm worried about messing up and destroying so much hard work. Still, it's not even that. I look at the previous presentations, and no offense to any parties involved, they just weren't as... long, for lack of a better word. We actually try to do most of our play instead of condensing it into a small time frame. We cut some scenes, but a very great deal remains. Of course, that very great deal prominently features me, so I have a lot to do. But it's all... unneeded. The complexities, the ideas, the desire for "perfection" or a better experience or what have you, it's all pointless. Our grade won't be improved. We could have put minimal effort in and been fine. But we didn't. Albeit, the complexities do make it somewhat fun, the obligations and responsibility I feel just weighs on me like thousands of tons of lead in my soul. There's no question, I have to do all this. And yet, it won't make any difference.

A play is, as it really does say in The Tempest, "an insubstantial pageant faded, leaving not a Rack behind. We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life rounded with a sleep." (That's from memory, by the way) . We plan, we work, we memorize, we act, we pour our souls into the performance and what then? A group of people, already bored and daydreaming, is mildly entertained for one brief hour. After that, the set is returned, the lines forgotten, everything is as if the play had never been, save memory. And even that fades. It's a lot of work for little reward. You have to enjoy the process to make it worthwhile. And I can enjoy it, I'm just constantly reminded of the futility. We'll eventually forget it, it won't really be that great, I'll perform my pitiful role lifelessly, with feigned superficial emotion, and finally we'll move on. It's just too close to reality. It reminds me of my persistent delusion, trying to make the entire "production" seem worthwhile, when all the work has very little value.

Once again, though, I'm brought to the final verdict that one much enjoy the process. So I must remember this and strive to do so. *sigh* I just broke today. I was tired of trying to be responsible, trying to be controlled, trying to stem the horrible thoughts, feelings, and actions. Why should I make such an effort to understand, to help when it's needed, when it's as if so little is reciprocated? Because I want to. Why do I respond to the outpourings of one's soul with an elaborate, detailed response instead of an irreverent quip as most would? Because I want to. Why do try to act nicely and treat people as I'd like to be treated? Because I blasted want to. When I told Bonnie to "go to Hell", I didn't feel remorse, satisfaction, or vindication. I didn't really feel anything. What was the point in being cruel? There wasn't. And yet, Heaven forbid I expect the same from anyone else. In my negative mood, the stupidity and obliviousness of everyone just seemed to shine through. People are cruel. People are stupid. People just don't care. I used to think I was incredibly apathetic, but it turns out I actually care. I care about important things. Not always myself, not about being right, not about being the victor but about happiness, of myself and others. It's just hard when it seems like others are unable to reciprocate my feelings. When Bonnie's childish, guilt-tripping, and unreasonable, I feel like I ought to have a right to be like that too. Perhaps that's not it. I just feel frustration that I can't change it. I'm reminded of Erinelle, always saying she's sorry to end the argument. Why? Because no one else will. Life just shouldn't be that way. Why should one person always feel an obligation to be the "bigger man." The "smaller" ones never learn that they should. And yet, when you stand up, you're villanized. People refuse to change. Only you change, descending to their level. This afternoon, I didn't want to commits act of hate. I wanted to be loving, to be needy, to collapse on someone and have them take away my problems or tell me it didn't matter or something. But I can't do that. It's not the way things are done.

*sigh* And now I can't expect any of you to understand. Heck, the thought to try won't even enter the mind of the person(s) who really need to. It's infuriating. Living by example only goes so far. Perhaps some of you can grasp the despair and anger triggered by an existential pitfall. Perhaps some of you know what it's like to try to be nice, understanding, and helpful and seemingly never have it fully reciprocated. Maybe I just don't see it. Maybe I just don't accept help or know how to seek it. Maybe I know no one can help me but myself. Because my greatest burden is one with no right answer but "enjoy." And I want someone to answer it. It needs an answer. By all that is just, holy, and good there should be an answer other than "You're right. Just enjoy it while it lasts." Yet, as this time, the last time, the time before that and so on there isn't. All I can do is get over it. As I fall, my mind screams "Pull up! Pull up" yet I keep plunging. Perhaps the problem demands recognition if I ignore it too long.

I want to give up. I want to stop fighting, stop trying, stop living, stop dying each and every moment of existence. I want there to be permanence, to be something I can fall onto that will catch me and hold me up. But there's nothing. Before and after, there's only nothing. Or so my mind says, if that fickle advisor is to be believed. Is life but a precursor to nothing? Are we really "rounded with a Sleep?" Someone make me ignore the question. Someone distract me, cheer me, just be near me on some level so I won't feel so isolated and alone. You are, you must be, yet here I am sitting at my computer with no proof of anyone or thing's existence but myself. There is no formula, no equation that stands against the existential question. There is nothing. Before and after. But now, now I must play my role, bow to scattered, lukewarm applause, and depart the stage not to be seen again. A tragedy, comedy, romance, history it matters not. Why must I perform? Because my peers demand it? Because they need my presence and without me will plunge into despair and fail? Perhaps they can cope without me, they profess otherwise, but I'm not too sure. Is it because there's no other choice? There's always a choice. Perform or don't perform. And then, perform poorly or make it all it's worth. The more effort that is put in, the more that will come out. And then, looking back, one can be fully satisfied and move on to whatever else "outrageous fortune" throws our way. I'm sorry for what lines I've dropped, what wrong words I've spoken, what cues I've missed, what scenes my heart just wasn't in. But, all in all, the performance will be pretty good, don't you think?

I may not be a good actor, a good writer, a good teacher, a good lover, a good person, a good anything but then "nothing is good or bad but thinking makes it so." Play your parts to your soul's content. I've lines to memorize.

The Second Coming is Nigh

Well, I suppose it's more of a "Second and a Half" coming, but whatever it is, winter break will be when it starts. Yes, "The Great Sleep" may once again descend upon my poor, wretched soul and dull all my senses and cares, abducting my soul and transporting into a glass box where I once again watch all that passes without emotion. But it'll give me something to do in my spare time, eh? Ah, dear me.

In case you haven't figured it out, I bought another MMORPG (Massively Multiplayer Online Roleplaying Game), and this one looks to capture my attention for more than a month unlike the last one. The last time I delved into the abyss of escapism that is one of these infernal fantasy parallels I was enveloped in a sleep so encompassing that I essentially ignored all but the game and school. The rest just didn't really matter. Then, when I broke the spell, everything I'd neglected (emotionally, philosophically, etc.) came down upon me in a colossal, immensely painful barrage. I'm a better person for it, but I fear another such sleep shall deprive me of the advances I've made. I don't know. On the way hand, it's entertaining. Heck, that's an understatement, these things are drugs that steal all of your spare time. If you let them. It's a creative outlet wherein one acts without getting nervous, memorizing lines, or anything. You simply make the story up as you go along in the confines of the world. It's the worst legal addiction I can imagine, if you let it be.

Of course, you can temper its effect. I just won't be as available (online/on AIM) as I've been the past year and a half. I guess I'll try to avoid playing too long, but one thing leads to another... Hopefully I'll pull myself at 10PM, since that seems to be AIM primetime. If you need me, I write a mean email, so vent it all in there and you'll get a typical Dylan response.

Meh, it might not be this extreme. I just fear the worse. We'll see. Try to pull me away, at least temporarily, cause I know I'll need it. But I look at winter break and summer break, and I can't forsee me doing much else but being on the computer. It may as well be focused, I guess. *sigh* I don't know. I want to do so much, learn the accordion, write something I know is powerful and beautiful, love and be loved in return, be there for everyone that needs me, and stay entertained. But I don't know if I can do all of it. I guess it depends on how far others are willing to go, as is usually the case with me. Make the effort and I'll try to respond in kind. That just means you have to make the first step. So... write me, talk to me when given the elusive chance, try to let me help you, and in turn you will be helping me. I don't have to get sucked into the void like last time. I can watch the players dance, throw in my own lines, but still remain necessarily detached, but only if you help me. Be my bungee cord. I'll be immensely grateful.

Creepy

Next time you're alone, confused, scared, and downright bewildered with some freak of existence, perhaps you should take a moment and ask yourself: Is it creepier than

THIS!!!??



That's right. LBJ in a dress. I was wondering who was the perceived recent President most likely to wear a dress, and that would be Jimmy Carter. But the one that would be the most surprising, and therefore the one who probably actually wore dresses, was LBJ himself. I can only imagine he and Richard Nixon having a little slumber party, doing each others' hair and nails, gossiping about all the other people in Washington. So whenever LBJ got too stressed out, he went back to his schoolgirl days and put on a dress. He was then transported to a simpler time, one of peace, tranquilty, and crossdressing *shudder*Props to Meredith. May the image haunt your very soul through Hell and back.

"Does the North Sea have water in it?" - An intriguing question actually asked by one of Mr. Combs' students. Think about it. But as soon as the suicidal urges get too much to bear, turn away and read some Stephen Hawking. That's the only cure I can fathom. *shudder* I guess in a few years I'll get questions like... "So... can 2+2 ever not equal 4?" "Yes. But the only way you'll discover the other answers is to let me hit you in the head with this salmon I conveniently have stored under my desk." Oh what fun...

Help!

Alright, in 10 short minutes visiting Elizabeth's house to record things, I learned quite a bit and most of it's disturbing:

1. I don't like imposing. At all. On anyone. I can't stand uncertainty like that. I get all nervous and anxious and that, in turn, just makes others uncomfortable. I feel absolutely dreadful during and afterwards. And that brings me to my next point.

2. I use suicide as a defense mechanism. When I feel too conflicted or that I've unnecessarily inconvenienced/harmed/insulted someone else I immediately consider suicide just so I'll never do it again. I realize what I'm doing, and I try to remember that there are people who would be quite hurt if I did, but I rationalize and think they'll get over it. It'll stir some good morbid creativity, maybe spur on a fantastic, successful artistic career. Nasty little things, brains. Anyway, I do this almost everytime I get upset at myself because I've done something to someone else. When I've disappointed someone, when I've come into their home unexpectedly, when I've made them uncomfortable (especially people I barely know) I just jump to suicide. Fortunately I'm so paranoid of failure I won't do it unless it's certain, but it still bothers me. I don't exactly know how to fix it. I guess I need more confidence? Maybe more perspective? I don't know... I just want to drop on my hands and knees and tell people I'm so sorry for any slight I may have inflicted upon them. Of course most people I know aren't so lucky to receive that sentiment, unless it really is something rather damaging. Bleh. Suggestions would be welcome (on the discomfort. The suicide mechanism is not going to go away until I have clearly defined responsibilities like a job/family that needs me. I just don't value my life that much).

3. And apparently, no one found it appropriate to tell me how nasally and nerd-like my voice really sounded. I mean, really. It's terrible! I sound like a frickin' nerd! It's the nastyess thing... I should just stop talking all together. Typing, writing, and hand signals all the way. Bleh. Bleh I say! Maybe I should try Claritin. I know I can't smell. Hmph.

And that's about it. Now, for the quote of the day:
Me: My young body wants to commit felonies!
Lauren: and indeed it will.
Lauren: just as soon as shakespeare is out of the picture

Cheers!

Innocence A-Bored

EtrnalLstBoy (David Sugue): Alright, Dyl.
EtrnalLstBoy: Time to run the gauntlet.
IndubitablyDyl: paper time!
EtrnalLstBoy: Exactly.
EtrnalLstBoy: And you'd know. Is there a site that does a search of Knoxville libraries?
IndubitablyDyl: yes
IndubitablyDyl: http://cat.knoxlib.org/uhtbin/cgisirsi/Hl3WhnpMYL/293200236/60/1180/X
EtrnalLstBoy: I'm almost amazed you had that favorited.
IndubitablyDyl: heh
IndubitablyDyl: I have to renew a lot
EtrnalLstBoy: ...
EtrnalLstBoy: Right.
EtrnalLstBoy: Well.
EtrnalLstBoy: They have the book I need.
EtrnalLstBoy: At DOWNTOWN.
IndubitablyDyl: Hooray!
EtrnalLstBoy: Does that mean the one in downtown K-Town?
IndubitablyDyl: Downtown, life can be great when you're, Downtown!
IndubitablyDyl: Yes.
IndubitablyDyl: Lawson McGhee
EtrnalLstBoy: Goodie goodie gumdrops.
EtrnalLstBoy: My life is filled with happiness and sunshine.
EtrnalLstBoy: Hooray.
IndubitablyDyl: Hooray!
EtrnalLstBoy: I'm assuming that since you're not trying to stop this misadventure that it's open today.
IndubitablyDyl: Yes
IndubitablyDyl: From 1 to 5
IndubitablyDyl: Mayve 12 to 5
EtrnalLstBoy: Whoa.
IndubitablyDyl: I can't remember
EtrnalLstBoy: Them's banker's hours.
IndubitablyDyl: It is Sunday
EtrnalLstBoy: And they're supposed to bend to my every whim!
IndubitablyDyl: You never call, you never write, what do you expect?
EtrnalLstBoy: For them to obey my every whim.
IndubitablyDyl: Why would they? These things take commitment. They're not family, they've no obligation!
EtrnalLstBoy: Wait.
EtrnalLstBoy: Are we still talking about the library, or strippers?
IndubitablyDyl: Yes.
EtrnalLstBoy: Strippers in the library?
IndubitablyDyl: It's like a convenience market for undesirables!
IndubitablyDyl: There's strippers and hobos galore!
IndubitablyDyl: Stripping is a night job; what do you expect from them during the day?
EtrnalLstBoy: Oof.
EtrnalLstBoy: Type?
IndubitablyDyl: Type? You mean being a secretary?
EtrnalLstBoy: No.
IndubitablyDyl: They're brave, but even strippers can't take that level of harassment
EtrnalLstBoy: Type, as in type, if ya know what I mean.
IndubitablyDyl: I have no idea what you mean.
EtrnalLstBoy: Then you're too much of an innocent.
IndubitablyDyl: I must be. Am I innocent enough to be sacrificed?
EtrnalLstBoy: Nono.
EtrnalLstBoy: You still need your virginity.
IndubitablyDyl: But I have...er...by some definitions surely....well.... ok. Fine. No volcanos for me. Happy?
EtrnalLstBoy: Not really.
EtrnalLstBoy: I learned too much today.
IndubitablyDyl: And you haven't even started your paper!
IndubitablyDyl: You'll combust by the end of today!
EtrnalLstBoy: Yup.
EtrnalLstBoy: Ah, well.
IndubitablyDyl: At midnight, I suppose
IndubitablyDyl: Cause we won't finish until at least then I'm sure
EtrnalLstBoy: Self-immolation's the way to go.
EtrnalLstBoy: We still have little more than a week.
IndubitablyDyl: I prefer mania myself.
IndubitablyDyl: Yeah, but if we are consciously aware of that we'll never get the paper done today.
IndubitablyDyl: So we have to pretend it's due tomorrow.
EtrnalLstBoy: Still, my friend, it's better to get some today.
IndubitablyDyl: hehe...you said "get some"....
EtrnalLstBoy: Then burn ourselves trying to do it all.
EtrnalLstBoy: BAH.
EtrnalLstBoy: *get some done
IndubitablyDyl: ;)
IndubitablyDyl: Sure Davy, sure...
IndubitablyDyl: Yeah, I need to start...I mean continue... memorizing my lines
EtrnalLstBoy: Yup yup.
EtrnalLstBoy: I've got...
EtrnalLstBoy: One line down.
EtrnalLstBoy: Maybe 2.
IndubitablyDyl: Yes! You're not ahead of me!
IndubitablyDyl: I was worried, because if you, of all people, are ahead of me I'd be doomed.
EtrnalLstBoy: I don't know if I should be amused at that or not.
IndubitablyDyl: I dunno either, I can't remember which of us procrastinate more
EtrnalLstBoy: Corey.
IndubitablyDyl: No
IndubitablyDyl: He had to have all his lines memorized awhile ago
IndubitablyDyl: He's got a fascist group.
EtrnalLstBoy: Oof.
EtrnalLstBoy: Isn't he doing Merchant?
IndubitablyDyl: Nope.
IndubitablyDyl: He's MacBeth, just like you.
EtrnalLstBoy: Aiya.
IndubitablyDyl: A sad day indeed...
IndubitablyDyl: But, look at it this way, we've only got one week of real work to go!
EtrnalLstBoy: Yup.
IndubitablyDyl: Then we finish Econ and Calculus
IndubitablyDyl: And it's winter break time!
EtrnalLstBoy: Then we can go back to coasting through Calculus.
IndubitablyDyl: Yep.
EtrnalLstBoy: Oh, and do you know...
IndubitablyDyl: And after that you can get intimate with your video games and I can make a few prison calls to see if I can slip Meredith a file or spoon through the bars...

(Wish us luck! The AP English classes are going to be cranky and irrate for the next week and a half, so be warned! They do bite.)