Unpublished Work/Work in Progress
Unpublished Work/Work in Progress
I began this piece as a response to the prompt: "Reflect on a time when you questioned or challenged a belief or idea. What prompted your thinking? What was the outcome?" And it grew well beyond the constraints of the word count, to the point where I scrapped it and wrote another essay altogether.
Personal Essay
College Essay
This essay is more than an application to an institute of higher education. I feel as though I’m approaching the beginning of the end of the most significant period in my life. This essay, the gateway to a new chapter in my life, is a chance to reflect and organise my thoughts and experiences from the past two and a half years.
What do I have to say? What don’t I? I graduated high-school in the Summer of 2017 and set off on a trip with a friend I’ve known all my life. At some point along the way (and with more than a little influence from a good friend [my English literature teacher]) I became certain that I wanted to write. I believe you need three things to create compelling literature: Control of language, motivation, and something to say. Technical skills can be learned, and chasing motivation is the study of a lifetime, but finding something to say sits at the heart of every writer’s journey. After all, an unexamined life might not be worth living, but there is definitely nothing to examine in an un-lived life [Kalinithi, 2016]. (Sadly these aren’t my words, but what Kalinithi proposes as a question I am quite content to declare as a fact.) So what do I have to say? The archetype of the traveler chasing tales across the seven seas is ancient, but I can’t honestly admit that what happened next was intentional. At this cavernous creative impasse I threw myself headfirst into what I believe to be the worlds most convoluted maelstrom. I drafted into the Israel Defence Force; three years and a lifetime later I definitely believe that I found something to say.
So then, Mr. Fancypants writer man, what do you have to say?
I want to comment on the state of Israeli society and political discourse.
I want to talk about old feuds and modern habits.
About optimism and realism. About culture and religion. I can talk for hours about all these things. And I want to connect them to the big wide world. To the state of humanity as it is. To who we are and how we could be if we don’t stumble along the way.
So get to it then already.
Well you see it’s not so simple-
Start talking or the reader will lose interest.
Well… I’m not sure where to begin.
Start at the beginning. What do they want to hear? Try and be concise with the context.
My father is a South African Socialist Zionist Jew. Funnily enough, so is my mother. As I grow older these labels feel more and more relevant. Somehow, I was born in England. I grew up living in Hong Kong. I came to Israel when I was 14. All my life I had found myself surrounded by progressive international individuals. At 18 I drafted to the military.
It is important for me to preface my experience by explaining that Israeli politics are inseparably tied to national security and identity - for better or worse/ to the detriment of democracy. My ideas and I are not separate and by extension both sides caricaturize the other. Your beliefs are your identity, and to argue over ideas is to risk offending character. In this political climate everything is polarised.
The whole world and it’s mother had warned me about culture shock - having grown up in Asia I considered myself well equipped to tackle this challenge. In hindsight I find this hilarious. I remember the very first time our Sargent spoke to us: “I can see we have a mixed group here, tall - short, thick - thin, gingers and Sephardim and Ethiopians, hopefully there’s nobody here from the left,” (I’m paraphrasing from Hebrew). I’m not sure what I was expecting, but there’s a common understanding that politics is off the table in the military. This too is hilarious in hindsight; In Israel rules are guidelines to be disregarded. At the time I didn’t give it much thought. My unit is famous for being extremely conservative, but I had grown accustomed to the exaggerations that ran wild in the army (the Golani brigade do not in fact eat Crayons…) I took this in my stride.
A few months later, a little way into basic training, and the people who stood with me as strangers in that first conversation were becoming friends. I can’t say we loved each other - high stress environments, contrary to popular belief, do not necessarily foster love. We were however building a different kind of bond, maybe even stronger than friendship. It’s our twenty minute lunch break, between gruelling training blocks, and we’re swapping jokes between shovelled mouthfuls. And then somebody drops a derogatory comment about leftists again. I don’t remember what they said, or even who said it. I vividly remember only the immediate impasse at which I found myself. I know very well what I believe and why I believe so. This is and always has been important to me; that I hold a set of values and by extension live them. But I’m an outsider, just coming to grips with the language, barely scratching the surface of the culture. Hesitant to rock the boat. In that moment I made my choice: How could I hold beliefs I was willing to hide in the dark? So I outed myself as a leftist then and there and was met with awkward silence. Then awkward silence and assurance that I hadn’t understood - to this day the most patronising response I can receive is that I can’t possibly mean what I’m saying, it’s simply my failing to overcome the language barrier. “No no,” I reassured them “this is what I believe,” and I’m happy to explain why. Here -at a time when I struggled before the challenges of the language barrier, the culture gap, and the ridiculous physical demands of our commanders - I decided to open a fourth frontier.
I think that most of the world equates their own ideals with virtue. Those who understand what I understand share an appreciation of the “truth". The rest are unenlightened. I am not exempt from these prejudices. The language used in the army is precise and effective, but also vulgar, violent, and brutal. I chalked up most of the language used to context. At some point, however, my suspicions were raised that the widespread use of homophobic slurs might be intentional - not simply a product of a hyper masculine traditional vocabulary passed down from commander to trainee. I took an immediate stance and challenged the concept. The results were shocking and immediate. Not only was I was almost alone in my belief in the innate equality of all human life, regardless of sexuality (that sexual preference doesn’t invalidate humanity), I was almost shunned for it. Much of this, I would come to discover, was indeed a result of ignorance, of a misunderstanding of total lack of facts. Sometimes it was a result of senseless cultural bias (a close friend from the Druze community, intelligent, worldly, and well educated was absolutely disgusted that I entertained the concept). I did however succeed in engaging several of my religious team mates. Marriage, according the the old testament, is a communion between man and woman sanctified by God. Our ancient text is the bedrock of their moral system and the guiding force behind their rejection outside of the heteronormative status. To them I am “unenlightened,” distanced from the teachings of an almighty force. I never gave up trying to convince them otherwise (and them me), but I know to respect their beliefs despite how abhorrent they seem looking outside in. This was in no way however the greatest ideological clash I would experience as a part of this team.
My beliefs on the Arab-Israeli conflict are complicated, well considered, and probably confused. I am willing to die for problems I don’t know can be fixed. In general however, I don’t support the Israeli government’s control or oppression of the Palestinians in the West Bank or Gaza. This puts me, in the immortal words of Beyonce, “in a box to the left.” I argued my beliefs tirelessly but as a lone voice, with enough trouble communicating as it was, I made little headway.
One particular incident has stuck with me though. We had reached a fairly advanced stage in our training - counter terror course. We’d been taken down to the ranges and had a shooting drill explained to us - we were to administer an effective burst to the centre of mass, advance, fire one shot to the head to confirm the neutralisation of the target. Simple, traditional combat technique. We lined up facing our targets, donned ear protection, and began the drill. I remember firing my last shot, flicking the safety, and not understanding why I heard burst fire in the periphery. After every drill is a debrief. A teammate misunderstood the drill. The instructor asked why he thought it would ever be legitimate to unload a magazine into a downed terrorist’s head. In his defence, I don’t think he felt comfortable questioning the drill (discipline was strict, enforced with physical punishment, not an environment that encourages questions). A close friend of mine mentioned a video he’d seen of eight policemen discharging their weapons into the body of a fallen terrorist. From the side of the discussion chimed a voice: “I see no issue with that.” I could feel myself reacting before I could stop myself. “Are you serious?” came my snapped response.
The debate that followed - about when and how much force to use, and why - was heated. The official doctrine, despite our political opinions, is to neutralise with one bullet and avoid killing when possible - to avoid being charged with murder. There is no imperative to kill a terrorist de-armed and neutralised (handcuffed, pinned, wounded). This being said, there is no space for hesitation and sometimes there is no other option to neutralise the opponent beyond death. Here is a fine line between murder and duty. I had to take some time to return myself to my centre before engaging the debate, and I remember seeing my fury matched in those opposite me at this explanation. The concept, that they could face criminal charges for serving their country, infuriated them as much as their casual suggestions of brutal murder ignited me. We were at an impasse.
These violent intentions do not exist in a bubble. They are a direct result of a dangerous and political reality. In time I’ve come to realise that the ideals I sympathise with were taught to me by my parents, and are almost by definition humanistic. I find equal, irrevocable value in every human life, irrespective of race or creed. These divisions are real and valid, but I choose to maintain a belief system that allows them relatively little power. It has been said that we are all equal in the eyes of god (it is important to note that this is mostly a new testament sentiment, in the old testament the Jews are unquestionably the chosen people and separate from all others, which is probably relevant considering the situation), and that we are made in His image. I find this quite fitting. This belief, among others shape my approach to the conflict plaguing my country. A belief that is quite pointedly not shared. I, like so many others, came to the table with the intent of dispelling ignorance. I know what I believe and why I believe it - here, let me enlighten you. And so we began to talk. And I love to talk. Having run the biggest debate conference in the middle east in High School I didn’t think it would take long to get my points across. Looking back, that is how I approached the situation - to address and deliver points. Time passed and arguments were drawn out. It was a long time before I came to realise that opposing arguments can be equally valid. Everything in life is a matter of perspective. And the situation isn’t so simple. The boy in the bunk below me is occupied by a boy who’s been pelted with rocks more times than he can remember. My commander’s told me stories of preparing to defend his home from aggressive mobs. Others have lost friends, or even siblings to terror attacks. In hebrew there is no difference in the words for terrorist and enemy in war. In this conflict everyone is a victim, and it’s hard, maybe even impossible, to remain find the humanity in your enemy. We stand worlds apart and try and make the same sense of things nobody can fix. I’m not convinced that my beliefs are wrong, but they have begun to sway my faith. And I don’t know if I can say for sure that the other side is wrong too. The world is grey: this is the first thing forgotten once a problem becomes personal. And so I am left on my own and they are surely right.
My team became a microcosm for the politics of this country. So polarised, so black and white looking down on a world with so much depth. I no longer claim to know wrong from right - I have trouble picking sides. I have however learned to listen, and to search for depth in every story. And the greatest gift I feel I’ve been given is the most ironic. Our weakest point as a nation: the ability to look at a person before me, disagree with them, and still find value in their story and their character. “They called me a traitor, I was in good company (Amos Oz).”
Short Story
The First Question
The uncomfortable niggling that sits just before the back of the head was first experienced about three million years ago - the product of a nameless but powerful hominid's post coital moment of clarity. It had all begun with an incredible stroke of luck falling upon an already incredibly lucky tribe leader. His daughters had found a small copse of extremely felable dead wood close to their camp, and the the last few week’s hunting had been plentiful - almost to excess. Today alone he had wrestled with a wildebeest that looked killed, but was in fact only unconscious. It roared to life as he attempted to clean it before carrying it back. One wrong flinch from death he'd entered combat with the beast, fighting tooth and nail, body pressed against writhing body, and emerged, surprisingly, the victor. This ridiculous feat of courage and strength quelled any burgeoning doubts regarding his leadership, and cemented his position at the top of the tribe. Life was good. He had returned to camp a champion - a halo of adrenalin and exhaustion, exhilaration and pride, hung over him. He passed slowly and purposefully through the- his, camp, turning every head, and entered his tent. There he found his wife, and had his way with her. And then again. And then again very loudly just in case anybody in the vicinity was unsure about who lay with the most beautiful women. As he lay on his back with his hands behind his head, her sedate body draped across his wide frame he was unable - not needing, to sleep. And then the question came to him. "What do I do now?"
The sudden realisation that the brutal goals he had spent his life in pursuit of were satisfied sunk his stomach. An unfamiliar emotion, a sort of ephemeral terror, overcame him. What was he supposed to do now? He stiffened suddenly, throwing his dozing wife and began to pace back and forth. Suddenly, his tent flap opened. A young boy called him to attend a ceremony. Their Shaman wished to thank the Sky for the bountiful harvest. Now with something to do the wave of angst angst receded leaving again his mind a calm waters. Still, a ripple remained, niggling and insidious, deep within him. In the following days however, his luck changed, and the feeling never returned.
The question in itself remained relatively unasked in the years to come as times worsened and humanity struggled to step out of the darkness. With success however, the question returned, but never for long.
The first to truly fixate on it came in Mesopotamia. Sitting on his throne, he looked out the vast, arched, opening of his palace. His Capitol stretched out before him. Farmers as small as ants worked the fields from afar. Shapes whirled and bustled in the market. A line of black, amidst the roiling, haggling mass: the spoils of his fruitful overseas conflicts. He was a powerful, benevolent King. And he was bored.
"What can I do that I haven't done?"
"There is yet land to conquer to the South, my Lord."
And so he rode South - the benevolent King on a throne of gold, drawn by beasts of the world. And when he tired of sitting above the fray he came down and brought death with him. And then he stopped. Truth be told the war was fought too far away - it was costing him. And besides, he was king of the world - a god - could he really only profit from lesser people's pain? So he returned to his palace, and set out to improve the lives of his people. He began to micromanage his kingdom, but again he found his efforts unneeded. His hands on approach was beginning to alienate his appointed ministers, and as a humble leader he admitted they did their jobs better than he did. After all, he had, in his infinite wisdom, chosen them for their appointments. So he stopped. And sat back. And sighed. And pondered. When all is said and done, what is there to say and do? Beyond mortal doings, what is there? Life doesn't end once you've achieved your goals, but what about life itself makes it worth living? He could find no innate purpose to his existence, and by extension, to anybody's. He was god - he wrote the rule book for others to follow. But now he sat in his gilded throne, above the land, without a thing in the world to do. And the discomfort began - and grew to a never before seen proportion. He refused to eat, refused even to get out of bed. So consumed he was with his own meaninglessness - with his own lack of direction, of purpose - that he descended, slowly at first, and then rapidly, into madness. And one day he was found, hanging by a gilded rope, behind his throne.
The question had claimed its first victim.
And the world continued to turn. And the question spread further, and faster. It still only occurred to an unlucky few, but the few numbered in the thousands, and then the hundreds of thousands as the years rolled by. Still, daily life provided a convenient distraction, and many found solace in simply not thinking about it. Then, as a marbled society developed in a Southern corner of Europe, thinking became especially popular. Self proclaimed philosopher-teachers sprung up across the country championing thought and reason. Thought with depth and breadth. To simply “not think about it,” became repugnant to many, and the question returned with a passion. Among the enclaves of shared learning could be found a smattering of students unable to reconcile an uncomfortable worry. One in particular, especially bright and particularly curious - obsessive to jealous peers - struggled without reprise. “Beyond it all, in the end - the very end, the end of days and the end of need - what was the point?” As teachers argued the origins of language and knowledge, he brooded. Increasingly he would abandon his studies to drink himself into a stupor. There alone, in the violent mindlessness of a spinning world, was peace. The jealous watched with disdain, praying to see their betters unseated, but not everybody held him in contempt. An elderly teacher of his approached him one morning in his chamber. Struggling with the aftermath of the night’s destructive escapism, the brilliant, hungover, young man struggled to comprehend his teacher’s stoic preposition. But one thing cut through the fog; “I cannot pretend to understand the demons that plague you, but I know this much: A man must face his fears, not run from them. It is like running from one’s shadow. As you move, so does the darkness.” Keeping his composure long enough to respectfully see the wise elder off, he collapsed and did not wake again till that evening. His eyes opened on the moon, and it’s piercing glow in the dark sky triggered a memory. The phrase of that morning. In that moment, he resolved to not return to the amphora till he had resolved his query. He would face the question head on. He gathered what he felt necessary, bade his tutors goodbye, and began his search for uninterrupted solitude. He would attack his task head on, but alone. Some shred of pride, or maybe guilt, prevented him from enlisting others. And so he went, and as was that fashion of the time, found a cave by a stream and sat down. Vowing to not return till he was satisfied, he began at the beginning.
“What must I do now? I must eat. And once I have eaten? I Must sleep? And when I am not tired? I must become comfortable. And when I am comfortable?”
This line of thinking occupied for many days and nights. “Eventually,” he thought “I will reach the end, and have an answer.” But then he was shocked by the realisation:
“What if I want more?”
Both proud and exhilarated by his breakthrough, his resolve was renewed. He was taking steps. Enough steps always brought one where they needed to go. Up till this point he had considered every piece of life a race, to be run, and completed. But some races could not be won. Nobody can ever learn all there is to know. Wise men loved to claim they knew nothing. So was the answer to run for ever, never succeeding? This seemed a wrong, cruel existence - why not end it here and now? He teetered on the edge of this concept, death a beautiful unattractive solution. But no; He concluded that the answer was not more, but returned to square one. For now, the question was cheated a life. He simplified the question again, with the hopes of eliciting clarity; “What am I going to do?” This he felt, failed to encapsulate the nuances of the problem at hand, but proved helpful for progressing his understanding. The reply, he concluded was to answer the question. But they had a name for this back at his school of logic, and he knew he had not succeeded. Tautology. Circular reasoning. So he sat back down, and in his stubbornness never stood back up. He found no satisfaction, never left the cave, and by extension never passed his progress to fresher, younger minds to tackle. When he passed, the question had not claimed his life but consumed it.
And time went on. And man returned to darkness - and then emerged again in a renaissance of thought and beauty. But society turned quickly away from thought and beauty, towards utility and efficiency. And the question remained, sometimes gaining and losing facets like the face of a wave. Schools of thought rose and fell around it, and great men debated it in fashionable rooms. The question was approaching it’s heyday.
Among the different theories arose a particularly attractive possibility of a solution. A play was released in an attempt to propagate the idea. Two men - alone and bickering on stage for two hours. They too ask each other repeatedly: “What should we do?” They too debate suicide, and they too forget and remember when convenient. They wait for an answer to be handed to them, and in doing so make a case for the contrary. The solution is to take up your tools, mix your mortar and lay, brick by brick, the foundations for your own answer. Nobody else can do it for you, and there is nothing to be found by searching. You must build it from the bottom up and accept it as all encompassing, ultimate, and congruent with who you are as a person. For many, this call to action allowed them respite. They could accept their own creation and live within their own framework. Others interpreted it as an argument to step back into the framework as old as the years themselves. God had a house for them, with an open door. They had not built it personally, but it had lasted long enough that they trusted the strength of it’s foundations above their own ability. Both sides however, had to accept one thing without question - the foundations of the answer they built had to be solid. And yet, life has a way of rocking one’s world just enough to bring any and all towers of faith crumbling down. Many however, failed to even recognise the sacrifice they were making, that they were balancing their live’s on the head of a pin, and for a time, the question seemed to be answered.
Roughly sixty years later, a teenage boy sat in front of a computer screen, clicking in specific patterns to manipulate the pixels displayed. He was just commanding his pixel man to kill a pixel dragon, when he stopped and wondered “Why?” Killing this dragon would gain him nothing; He’d be better off fishing in the village to the South. But why fish down South? To improve his ability to fish? What for? Well that was obvious - to sell the fish of course. Satiated for all of a moment, he prepared himself to head south and catch fish, before it came again: “Why?” What did he need the money for? To level up? To make more money? Suddenly, the game seemed pointless. Each objective only seemed relevant in comparison to the others. Arbitrary the lot of it. None of it meant anything when it all fed back into itself. He stood up, no longer able to justify his time spent in front of the screen. Pushing himself away from his desk he rose and found himself another activity. Soon enough however, the question came back to him. After all the time he’d spent in front of the screen, how had he never seen how pointless it all was. He still felt the call to play, video games were always addictive, but now it was tempered by something else. One day, upon leaving the house, and feeling particularly bitter about the time he’d poured into such a purposeless pursuit, he consoled himself “At least you know now, and at least real life isn’t like that.” Thirty seconds later he stopped in his tracks. Why not? Dread welled inside him. What if the real world was equally pointless? Every goal equally arbitrary, with no ultimate end. Scared, he sought an answer in the video game. “Ultimately, I’m playing for fun. That’s the point. The same is true of life.” This answer didn’t sit particularly well with him at the time, totally unable to reconcile all the things he did that weren’t for fun, but he resolved not to think about it, as had so many before him. Years passed, and he approached the end of his time in high school. Suddenly, in the face of the looming future, his dread returned. He was now older and wiser, and had accepted that the purpose of life could not be solely to have fun. This philosophy had been disproved frequently enough. There were other things to chase. Money, fame, success - each and every option presented itself before him, ephemeral and unsatisfying. Hundreds of years before his birth, a man in a cave had resolved not to spend his life running a race that could never be won. Decades before, others had refused to build their lives on foundations that they could not be sure would hold. All of this he knew, and accepted, and yet none of the knowledge of his predecessors provided him with solace. And it was then, that the question hit him with full force. Following his predecessor of three million years, equally unable to answer, he broached the question of the world. “What should I do now?”
We live in a post satisfied world and in light of the last century, the question is beginning to consume us.
Short Story
They're Cutting down an Old Tree on my Street
They’re cutting down an old tree on my street. I know it’s old because it’s a lot thicker than the tree we have in our back yard, and that one is older than me. I like the tree in my back yard but I don’t think about it a lot. The old tree on my street curves kind of weirdly at the trunk. There are trees every 20 meters down the pavement but only this one curves inwards, away from the road. I guess it makes sense; it couldn’t curve into the road. With a trunk so thick and so curved it leaves quite a small space to pass. I like fitting myself through the gap, ducking my head in time with my stride. I haven’t really paid much attention to it though. Doesn’t really matter now anyway because they’re cutting it down.
The tree will be cut down on the first workday of the month of January. The city council simply wasn’t able to find a contractor that would work over Christmas. This caused mild upset, but not too much. Until then the bicycle will remained chained to the tree. There is a sign, 50 meters before, “DANGER! Obstruction ahead.” Other than that, the neighbourhood has returned to normal. Maybe it’s a bit quiet.
There will be a court case and a trial but nobody expects anything to come of it. Misses Christenden won’t even be there to press charges. She will however be there when they cut down the tree. I liked Emma, but I hadn’t actually been in contact with him in about four years. At some point you look outside the neighbourhood. And I’ve been busy, so I guess I never looked back. His Dad isn’t doing so well though. He doesn’t come to council meetings. Doesn’t come to much of anything. Hard to say if he even really exists. If Misses Christenden didn’t keep mentioning his name alongside her own we might even think he doesn’t care about the tree. I see him sometimes when I’m up late smoking, walking the dog slowly down the street. His lonely late rituals and mine. Emma’s sister is back at college. She’s studying far away. She was actually was home when it happened and stayed home for an extra month. Now she’s gone back to the third year of her degree. To me that makes most sense. I bet she’s feeling the best.
Misses Chistenden definitely isn’t feeling the best. Even if she didn’t make it a point to tell everybody I think they’d be able to tell. If she goes too long without stepping outside for some air her hands begin to shake. Outside she drags heavily on her little brown cigarettes. The air on its own doesn’t seem to have the same restorative effects. She comes back fiery as if she’s drawn the smoke into her soul. We all saw this first at the wake. I don’t like passing her by on the street any more. It’s not that I don’t feel sorry for her. We all hold the greatest sympathy. But sometimes I’ll be busy or laden with shopping and I don’t exactly have time to be recruited for The Cause against the tree. Besides, the tree will be cut down on the first working day of January. Last week the rubber marks were painted over on the road and the pavement re-bricked.
Sometimes I think about The Driver. They aren’t from around here so I don’t know them. Couldn’t even say if they’re a man or a woman. I can’t imagine they’re doing too well either. It can be shocking having an accident — even with no consequences. I remember when I was just learning I knocked over a parked motorbike. They’re not to blame though, not really. Emma was too tall to just duck through the tree-trunk-pavement-fence window that’s all. Especially on his extra large shiny mountain bike. I’ve done it myself, riding back down that route; a little dip off the curb and a little hop back on a few meters later. The Driver can’t be doing too well at all. Once the insurance company agreed to pay damages on the car I think even Misses Christenden forgave them. They’ll meet in court, probably, at some point, but there’s no ill will there any more. No, she’s waging war against the old tree on my street. This is where she’s drawn her line. So they’re cutting down an old tree on my street and that’ll be the only other thing missing when Emma’s sister comes home in the fall.
This is a compliation of some short poems that submitted as together for a competition.
Poetry Competition Submission
A Life in Pieces
The lights are all on, and by extension the shadows,
Our shitty Latin pop is beating that of the restaurant next door.
Interrupted only by the sound of the waves or a laugh from one of the three seated sets of customers
The air does not hang pregnant,
There is no tension, no heat, no expectation, no tip
——
I’ve fallen in love a thousand times over the past few days
As I learn to look at love less simply
I only know hurt
I discover
Yet I scatter my heart like birdseed
Naively jumping time and time again
Like lemmings to the sea
——
I’m standing in a hipster food market in the center of Tel Aviv
In my new red combat boots and paratroopers tunic
Watching a lobster writhe and roll in a tank
It’s got bands on its claws holding them shut
All the other lobsters are resigned to their fate
They stand still in the tank
But I watch this one
This one’s a fighter I think
Be like this one
I want to cheer him on
I want to be the lobster that doesn’t stop
I remember what my commander told me
You’re a real fighter Adam
A Fighter Amiti (אמיתי)
But remember to rest
I don’t want to rest
I want to be this lobster
——
The days are short,
The sun a spark,
Hung thin between
The dark and dark.
Fat snowy footsteps
Track the floor.
Milk bottles burst
Outside the door.
The river is
A frozen place
Held still beneath
The trees of lace.
The sky is low.
The wind is gray.
The radiator
Purrs all day.
——
I saw a bee crawling along the floor,
And sat, legs folded to watch it’s passing;
It seemed to struggle with the wind, clinging to the floor as to not be blown away.
I wondered why it did not fly
Indeed it was this wondering that ensnared me in the first place,
It continued its strugglecrawl, me enraptured, for some distance until it encountered what seemed to be a heavily decayed carcass of another bee
There it stopped and turned around.
After such an effort, I felt as though the work has been wasted;
I guess to the bee there was no work, no effort
But to me it seemed an awful shame
——
Imagine your growing garden gone
and your grave grey grave.
See the sand structure settle
sifting beneath soft surf.
Feel the love leaving, lost
listen to whats left, and learn.
In this lack is clarity of contrast
to feel the warm bath bite cold toes
to remember how much farther down there is halfway up.
An Essay I wrote in my first year at Cambridge on Milton's Paradise Lost.
Exegetical Essay
The Defence of the Father: God’s Queen Sacrifice
Milton is a genius; he subverts the very basis of Christian theology so effectively that he makes a sympathetic, romantic hero out of Satan. This effect is achieved, however, solely through facade. Paradise Lost is written as a chess match between the forces of light and dark, but it is told from perspective of the black pieces. Underlying the work is a truth aligned with a traditional understanding of God, the Bible, and free will. Satan’s attraction derives from his edge, his wit, and his appeal to the individualist tendency of human nature: the attraction of freedom, defiance, of teen-spirit and rock and roll. The epic nature and formal subject of the poem lends credibility to what would otherwise be easily recognisable as angsty rebellion without a cause. By forcing this perspective, Milton creates a dynamic in which the reader fulfils the role of the child, reinforcing God’s status as “The Father.” We can relate to Satan because we all have a child within. We all, however, must grow up eventually. With time an adult comes to understand, if not necessarily agree with, their parents. God, being all knowing and all good, is the role-model dad. This essay is not complicated or revelatory, but serves to highlight the truth that Milton subverts aesthetically to give his work “flavour”; It is not an argument but an attempt at exegesis. This essay intends to demonstrate that, although Milton’s perspective is unique in presenting Satan as his protagonist, at the end God, by virtue of being God, cannot ever really fail.
Paradise Lost is crafted to provide a negative impression of God in contrast with a heroic Satan. At the end of the work, however, God’s ultimate message is revealed. It becomes clear that he has been working towards the ultimate good of mankind; In order to reap the reward of heaven one must have faith in His ultimate supremacy. As readers, we come to this understanding at the same time as Adam. Adam conveys his newfound wisdom to Michael claiming “Henceforth I learn, that to obey is best,/ And love with fear the only God,” (Book. XII, Li. 561-2). While this knowledge is new in the poem, in reality he is expressing the very basis of Christian faith. At this point in the narrative God refuses to speak to a fallen Adam, introducing the first ever conception of “faith” as we know it. God must be loved and obeyed without ever being seen or interacted with. Adam has disobeyed God, and fallen, and as a consequence has come to two realisations. The first is the full comprehension that he can make his own choices, God will not force him to obey. The second is that these choices have consequences, God will indeed enact punishment if defied. While this may seem obvious, especially considering Adam was very much forewarned, it is a lesson he, like all people, must learn for himself. Adam and Eve are children attracted to a glowing coal; They must burn themselves to learn of danger, even after been told to stay away. Adam is even cognisant of the value of his metaphorical trial by fire “Taught this by his example, whom I now /Acknowledge my Redeemer ever hell.” (Book. XII, Li.571-2) and Michael congratulates Adam on his understanding replying “This having learned, thou hast attained the sum/Of wisdom;” (Book. XII, Li.74-5) Michael tells Adam that with faith he “shalt possess/ A Paradise within thee, happier far.” (Book. XII, Li 87-8) A pious faithful life is the best, happiest, most virtuous possible way to live.
To have faith is to be tempted by sin and to resist it; Sin being the urge to act in contrary to the command of God. It is this exact “contrariness” that attracts Satan and defines his sinful state. God proclaims himself above all, as the highest and most complete good with nothing and nobody above him. Satan’s aspiration to individualism and control, in opposition to God’s supremacy, can be seen in his own expression: “I sdeined subjection, and thought one step higher/ Would set me highest.” (Book. IV, Li. 50-1) This wilful inability to submit ensures that “nor from Hell/ One step, no more than from himself, [Satan] can fly/ By change of place:” (Book. IV, Li. 21-3) Satan represents the ultimate failure of faith by rejecting God’s omnipotent superiority even after it is explicitly revealed to him. In certain interpretations of the Islamic hierarchy of hells, the lowest most terrible level is reserved only for those hypothetical sinners who know God’s truth with certainty and reject him. Satan complains, once cast down from heaven, that God as “his strength concealed/ …tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall.” (Book. I, Li. 642-3) From this point on he is aware of God’s full might, but regards it as spiteful trickery as opposed to the motivation it should be to repent and prostrate oneself. Satan embodies sin (in the work it is literally his child) and as a result exemplifies a complete lack of faith. He is not unaware of his situation. As he flies towards Eden in book four he expresses his doubts, knowing full well that God rewards faith “But say I could repent, and could obtain,/ By act of grace, my former state… ” (Book.4, Li 92-3) but also that he is unable to forgo sin and would again — “how soon unsay/ What feigned submission swore?” (Book. 4, Li 94-5) He cannot resist temptation.
The importance of the temptation cannot be understated. In order to truly choose to reject sin, there must be another option, a reasonable alternative. Without a choice there is no free will, and therefore no true faith. To have faith is to choose to obey, but to obey is only a choice if there is another option. God himself expresses this directly:
Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell. Not free, what proof could they have given sincere Of true allegiance, constant faith or love, Where only what they needs must do appear'd, Not what they would? what praise could they receive? What pleasure I from such obedience paid, When will and reason (reason also is choice) Useless and vain, of freedom both despoil'd, Made passive both, had serv'd necessity, Not me?
(Book. III, Li. 102-35)
It’s the sincerity of the allegiance, that he emphasises. He continues saying that reason and will would be worthless without a free will to exercise them. It is the overcoming of temptation that gives the act of faith its value. This explains the placement of the tree of knowledge in the garden of Eden. A critical view of God may assume that allowing Adam and Eve access to the cause of their downfall is an act of malicious intent. Instead it is this very access that allows them to earn their virtue by abstaining.
It would appear then, that God set man up for failure. Despite having all of Eden to themselves, God knew that Adam and Eve would eat from the tree of knowledge eventually. God addresses this specifically, however, on two occasions. In book three he refers to the problem generally, referencing the philosophical question of whether foreknowledge implies predetermination and therefore a lack of free will.
[Adam and Eve] nor can justly accuse Their Maker, or their making, or their fate, As if predestination over-rul'd Their will dispos'd by absolute decree Or high foreknowledge they themselves decreed Their own revolt, not I; if I foreknew, Foreknowledge had no influence on their fault, Which had no less proved certain unforeknown. (Book. III, Li. 112-9)
Here God is referencing a specific argument, outlined most famously in Boethius’ The Consolation of Philosophy justifying the coexistence of an all knowing God and individual free will. Later, God makes a more active, practical effort to aid his children. He sends Raphael to “Tell him [Adam] withal/ His danger, and from whom; what enemy,” (Book. V, Li. 238-9) preparing him for his challenge to come. This serves the double purpose of divine assistance but also absolves God of responsibility for the Fall. The latter, while seeming trivial, is actually more important than the former. God makes it clear in conversation with Raphael the purpose of the message.
This let him know, Lest, wilfully transgressing, he pretend Surprisal, unadmonished, unforewarned.
So spake the Eternal Father, and fulfilled All justice: (Book. V, Li. 243-7)
Adam may be under no illusions, the fall is his own responsibility to bear.
Mankind falls and loses their right to paradise. It would seem that, at this point in the poem, Satan has triumphed over God. God enacts vengeance upon the fallen Angels in Hell but it is trivial compared to the victory that Satan has achieved in corrupting the Father’s newest, and purest, creations, and it is man that must pay the price. “But Mercy, first and last, shall brightest shine.” (Book III. Li.35) God was never under any impression that Adam and Eve would not eat the fruit of knowledge. As God is omnipotent and therefore cannot be beaten, it makes sense that all attempts against him fail. Paradise Lost ends with a kindness from God to Adam. He sends Michael to give him a vision of humanity’s future, split into books XI and XII. The eleventh book ends with a vision of the rainbow shown to Noah after the flood, the twelfth with Jesus’ death for the sins of mankind. Both showings represent an ultimately positive result, delivered by God, following periods of sin and evil. Noah and Jesus are used as parables to explain to Adam the meaning of his tribulation. Adam says
I revive
At this last sight; assured that Man shall live,
With all the creatures, and their seed preserve.
Far less I now lament for one whole world
Of wicked sons destroyed, than I rejoice
For one man found so perfect, and so just,
That God vouchsafes to raise another world
From him, and all his anger to forget. (Book XI, Li. 871-8)
He comes to see the flood not as a tragedy, but as a blessing from which virtue may grow. This parallels the crux of the poem; The fall is, ultimately, a gift for mankind. If true faith is the ultimate path to virtue, and can only be achieved by an active rejection of sin, then the fall allows mankind to experience sin and turn away from it. Knowledge of sin, not just awareness, is therefore essential for the achievement of the highest heights of heaven. You must be burned by the coal to respect its heat. Michael tells Adam that when the end of days comes “then the Earth/ Shall all be Paradise, far happier place/ Than this of Eden, and far happier days,” (Book. XII, 463-5) for “His faithful.” This eternal paradise is attainable to all, they must only follow the “umpire conscience… [that god does] place within them as a guide.” (Book. III, Li. 193-4)
Milton’s chess match is a game that God cannot lose and yet the devil chooses to play anyway. A plan is devised, prepared, and executed by the King of Hell (The Edge Lord), but God sees through it from the start, and has his own trick in store. As Eve eats the apple God has sacrificed his queen and Satan is certain he has won the game. Man falls, and yet his position is improved. He is one step closer to ultimate reward. This is the purpose of any effective sacrifice and the positional advantage gained far outweighs the temporary material loss. God knows this; Satan, satisfied with his temporary advantage, does not. The truth of the ultimate necessity of the fall comes at the very end of Paradise Lost because it is the concluding message of the work but also because it helps Milton delay the revelation of God’s virtue. For a sacrifice to work the piece offered must be taken. Milton write’s Satan as Satan sees himself, confident in his own success until it is too late. Satan embodies teenage hubris in front of the Father who stands, arms folded, with a knowing smile. Adam falls, but he falls forward, and in doing so begins his archetypal journey from innocence to experience. The path does not end there however. The third and final step in this process is a return to innocence, not by wiping the slate clean but with intentionality. To be innocent of sin is pure, to know sin and renounce it divine.
O Goodness infinite, Goodness immense!
That all this good of evil shall produce,
And evil turn to good; more wonderful
Than that which by creation first brought forth
Light out of darkness! Full of doubt I stand,
Whether I should repent me now of sin
By me done, and occasioned; or rejoice
Much more, that much more good thereof shall spring;
To God more glory, more good-will to Men
From God, and over wrath grace shall abound. (Book XII Li. 469-79)
Bibliography
Milton, John, Paradise Lost / [by] John Milton (Harlow: Harlow : Longman, 1971., 1971)