Truth and Reality?!

Truth is something that agrees with or conforms to reality. Reality is the objective state of things. That is their relationship - they might as well be synonyms. Blog over.

Oh. I guess I should write a little bit more than that, huh. Well, let's see... Reality isn't something that can be changed or altered by perception, because reality IS reality. Truth is the same thing really, but truth is more often associated with people, or what people see as reality. So truth can be distorted by perception, whereas reality is always reality.

I kind of wrote a bit about this when blogging about 1984, and my position is more or less the same. There is an objective reality, but people can only perceive it in the mind, and who knows if the mind is right or wrong. If everybody says up is down and you have no frame of reference to disagree, then that is your truth - it isn't reality, in reality up is up, but because nothing is challenging you from thinking up is down, your mind has been deceived into accepting a false truth. I'm pretty sure this is what Plato was getting at, at least to an extent. The people in the cave only see what's directly in front of them as shadows, so for them, there is nothing but those shadows and the cave they're in. While those shadows and the cave are, in reality, there, the prisoners' perception is distorted because that is all they know - their truth is the cave and nothing more, when in reality there's obviously much, much more.

Plato's allegory is more concerned with the concept of philosophical thinking than really determining the difference between truth and reality, however. The prisoners represent the general population of the world, people that don't know the nature of the universe and don't really care to. The one who 'sees the light' is one who breaks free of that apathy and starts questioning and trying to discover reality, the the best of the human minds' ability. There's no real need to discover the relationship between truth and reality in the allegory, because the point (or, at least, the point I understood) is that while reality exists, we can only perceive it in the mind, and some of us spend lots of time on that kind of philosophical thinking while others are content with going only by what the see.

Journal 8: Is it better to burn out than to fade away?

"Do not go gentle into that good night" is a pretty cool poem, I guess. There's a lot of fairly interesting philosophical concepts floating around in it that give it depth, so, to be perfectly honest, I don't think it'll be that hard to write about. The following is my test of that hypothesis.

First of all, the impression I got from it was sort of similar to that Neil Young song "Hey Hey My My"... you know, the one that makes a bunch of sweeping statements like "rock 'n' roll will never die" and, of course, "it's better to burn out than to fade away." How accurate Neil's words ended up aside (rock 'n' roll as he knew it is essentially gone), the second statement is fairly powerful, whether you agree or not. Probably the most famous person to disagree with this was John Lennon, who said he hated the line because the people who did 'burn out' kind of went out in depressing, unnecessary ways. A lot of these people were pretty close to Lennon, so it doesn't surprise me - Keith Moon, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Brian Jones, etc, all of them pretty well known rock musicians who died too soon. That being said, however, the line can also be interpreted more closely to the general idea of this poem, which I don't think I really considered before - instead of 'burning out' meaning going in some notable way, maybe it means fighting as hard as possible not to let death get you.

And isn't that one of the biggest themes of existentialism? Apparently I learned quite a bit from Mr. Ingram, because that's what it sounds like to me. This whole poem is a denial of impermanence - maybe Dylan Thomas was having a bit of a moment of existential angst when he wrote it. He's telling his father - who is already dead - not to accept death lightly and to try to counteract it. He doesn't seem to be comfortable with the idea of his father's death, which can be more broadly applied to people in general. According to existentialism, the idea that we die causes inescapable suffering and that we all end up trying to ignore it or deny it in any way we can. This poem gives off a very similar vibe - the speaker can't see past his existential angst because he's, presumably, still grieving the loss of his dad. The poem doesn't appeal much to logic and instead takes a more pathos-oriented approach, which also seems consistent with these existential ideas. It isn't logic that causes us to deny impermanence, logic is what lets us know it exists. It's a more emotional thing, as is this poem.

Hm... I wonder if John Lennon would've changed his mind had he read Neil Young's line more like this. Unfortunately, he ended up being another prime example of the first interpretation, and as far as I'm concerned, a prime example of why that interpretation is a bit flawed.

Journal 7: Moooooore Nineteen Eighty-Foooooooour

Everybody knows 1984 is pretty politically oriented, but like I said in my last post about it, not all of it has to be analyzed with that in mind. Particularly interesting was the last third of the book, when poor Winston was tortured by O'Brien to the point of accepting Big Brother. Not a very happy ending, but then again, Orwell wasn't really about making you feel good, he was about making you think - and what better way to make you think than throwing an assortment of highly psychological concepts at you one after the other?

Kind of like this (that and the other thing).

For example, lets consider that Soviet propaganda message "2 + 2 = 5" that Orwell used in different context. You look at that and say no, it's 4, and that is a FACT. You can't change that 2 + 2 = 4 because that's just how the world works, it's undeniable! Like O'Brien implies, however, if everybody in the world told you 2 + 2 was 5, then you'd be wrong - or, rather, you have no way of proving yourself right, so you're either crazy OR wrong. Winston tried to fight this - he knew the truth, and like us he clings to 'reality'. But really, what is 'reality'? Reality is only what we think it is, everything that exists exists only in the mind. The mind can only believe what it's told, and if it's told by everyone that 2 + 2 = 5, then you really have no logical choice but to accept it as fact. I mean yeah, you can try to deny it and hold onto your perception of reality, but, well... that didn't work out so well for Winston, did it?

There's a lot of examples of this concept ALL over the place, in legitimate experiments, other works of fiction, and Abbot and Costello routines.

I know it's PROBABLY not the most logical thing to take a literal approach to something like the above video, but I'm gonna do it anyway. Costello insists that 13 x 7 = 28. He proves it using blatantly wrong methods, but Abbot doesn't pick up on it. So, by the end of this video, Abbot is convinced that 13 x 7 actually does equal 28. You'll say he's just wrong, but to him he isn't, he's sure that he's right. The only difference between this and 1984 is that in Oceania, you get kidnapped and tortured if you think differently. That's right everybody - 1984 is a depressing and political version of everyone's favorite 40s/50s comedy duo.

And what about the Asch conformity experiment? You know, the one where people agreed with other people even if those other people were obviously 'wrong' because of they were the majority? Yeah man, put that in this analysis too. 1984 really is a study in conformity in many ways, so much so that it would probably make Ralph Waldo Emerson cry if he read it. That being said, if you gave him some Emerson, Lake, and Palmer to listen to, he'd probably get over it... although, on second thought, prog rock probably isn't the most accessible music genre for a transcendentalist. Maybe a CD of ambient rainforest noises? Who knows... the point is, the world of 1984 is a one of complete conformity to one idea, that idea being Big Brother. Nobody is permitted to think their own way, and even worse, if you DO try to think your own way, you're tortured until it isn't possible. The scary thing, of course, is that based on psychological experiments and just pop culture in general, the ideas presented in 1984 really don't seem that far from impossible - sure, I don't think the political situation regarding the 3 states or anything would ever actually happen, but from a strictly psychological viewpoint it all makes sense. The in-depth examination into the workings of the human mind and social behavior just help make 1984 all the more chilling.

Journal 6: uhhhhhh Drive

So the best movie of 2011 was undeniably Drive, a film by a director you've never heard of starring Ryan Gosling as a stunt driver who says about 3 words the entire movie and, surprisingly, drives rather minimally. Having loved the movie so much, I figured I'd check out the book it was based on, also called Drive, written by James Sallis. How does it hold up? Well...

Pioneers of the "the book is always better" group tend to forget the fact that a good deal of the most famous movies ever made were based on books. Let's name a few you might not be aware of - Die Hard, Blade Runner, The Big Lebowski, Goodfellas, The Godfather, and so on. What's interesting about these movies in particular is that nobody remembers the books they were based on - the movies are what took on life and became ingrained in pop culture. The truth is, there are just as many superficial novels as there are superficial movies, and to say that any one medium is superior to another is pretty silly. Especially when a superficial novel is sometimes adapted into a movie and it becomes something more.

Such is the case with Drive, which, as a novel, is an incredibly superficial crime story. Sure, the story isn't told in chronological order, but I can't think of any significant literary advantage this has. Sure, the Driver (who is the main character) is never named, but this doesn't really pique your interest like it does for Graham Greene's whiskey priest. Sure, the story is interesting and has occasional moments of greatness, but they take a back seat to the plot. Essentially, the novel is light on character development, light on interesting ideas, light on literary greatness, and really heavy on 'coolness.'

The fascinating part, of course, is that the movie is far, FAR more interesting thanks to Nicholas Winding Refn's excellent direction and some really inspired performances. I won't elaborate too much here since this post is about the book, but if you haven't seen the movie, I very highly recommend it - it's a perfect example of filmmaking at its best. The book, though, is a perfect example of how a story can be really dull in the wrong medium.

Journal 5: (Oceania was at war with Eurasia; Oceania had always been at war with Eurasia)

(Yeah, I guess there are spoilers here, but I feel weird having the obligation to mention it since this book came out in the 40s)

So, 1984. A few weeks ago, I posted a blog that I had started reading it, and oddly enough, it wasn't until maybe earlier this week that I picked up where I left off. That being said, after I started reading it again, I didn't stop, and I actually finished it. I read for something like 2 hours straight today, completely mesmerized. I'm still not entirely sure what I thought about it, but that's what these journal entries are for, right?!

First, what surprised (and impressed) me. Whenever somebody talks about 1984, they generally only mention the dystopian premise and the images/words that came from it - Big Brother, Newspeak, etc. What they leave out is how easy it is to become emotionally invested in the characters. I was expecting political intrigue and harsh allegory/satire; what I got was that and extremely well-defined and interesting characters that were far more than just tools to further any greater purpose. The book appeals to much more than just your intellect - you actually end up caring about Winston and Julia, and it's absolutely heartbreaking when they're both tortured to the point of submission. At the end, when it was abundantly clear that Winston had become an 'unperson,' I was legitimately angry and maybe even saddened. Sure, I knew the story could never end well, but this was particularly depressing in that it served to make Winston and all of his struggles, all of his thoughts, every bit of depth the book had given him completely worthless. Nothing is more depressing than seeing a character you like be made ineffectual and pathetic.

Remember this?

Don't get me wrong, though - I'm not comparing 1984 to the abysmal Star Wars prequels, because that would be a horrendous insult to the greatness of the novel. Plus, when it happens in 1984, it isn't hilarious like Vader's "nooooooooooooooooooooooo". Instead, it's deeply disturbing, and it makes you think about the true nature of The Party and what they're capable of. Certainly the book never implies that there is any end in sight to them, it in fact implies almost everything to the contrary, particularly in how O'Brien is written. Every single thing Winston thinks, O'Brien knows, and this just proves that Winston is not a unique case - again, this is pretty heartbreaking. It isn't until the end of the novel that you realize everything you just read, every aspect of Winston's story, was probably in the context of the story fairly common, and it makes him pretty expendable. Any attachment you had to him suddenly feels strange, and you come to realize that there was absolutely no hope for him - or any person - from the beginning. The Party is simply too powerful.

This emotional aspect of the story is definitely what got to me the most - that and the psychological, which dominates most of the third section. What didn't interest me was the political. Some people might think it's strange that I say I like George Orwell yet I don't care much for politics or international intrigue, but it's these people that drastically underrate Orwell's ability to forge interesting characters and relationships. Maybe there are millions of people out there who were profoundly affected by the very, very long excerpts from Goldstein's The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism (do you italicize fictional books?!), but most of it was uninteresting to me. I don't really care about the political situation regarding the 3 states or how the Party maintained such control - Winston said it himself, he already knew, all the book did was reaffirm his thoughts. To me it didn't really matter how the Party maintained control, at least not in such excruciating detail. What I cared about was motivation, action, and seeing the characters react to their situations, and 1984 delivers this quite gracefully.

I'm probably going to be thinking about 1984 for a long, long time. Few stories have so many facets to them that blend together into one really fantastic finished product, and few that can boast this are as interesting or readable. Don't be surprised if I journal about this one again - there's still a lot to say.

Journal 4: Tuesdays With Morrie part 2

I was going to cleverly title this post "*current day* With Morrie," but then I remembered it was Tuesday. So yeah, that's a shame. :I

Anyway, so, Tuesdays With Morrie! Now that I finished it and did reasonably well on the quiz we had in Death in Dying (well, reasonably well for an Ingram test), maybe now I can more appropriately talk about it. I'll admit, I enjoyed pretty much the whole thing. Finished it in two sittings... after I started reading, I became so interested I literally didn't want to put it down. This was a strange phenomenon for me... reading a book and... enjoying it?! I think I need to see a doctor.

No, not him!

So, what made this book work so well that even I couldn't stop reading? I want to say it was the subject matter - Mitch Albom is very, very lucky that he had this experience (not that it's good that Morrie died this way, but... you know what I mean. I hope), because it was basically a winner from the start. A cold, rich journalist changes his ways after meeting with his former, dying professor for one final 'class'? If Tuesdays With Morrie were fiction, I would condemn the story for being too convenient. But since it's real - real enough, anyway - I had no excuse to find the book contrived. Instead, all of Morrie's sayings, all of Mitch's metaphors, all of the interviews, everything had to be taken as completely sincere. And since it's sincere, it's great! Mitch works as a flawed individual that any reader can identify with, and Morrie works as the kind of teacher everyone in the universe wishes they could have. The setup is so perfect that the writing style is almost completely unimportant.

The writing, of course, isn't bad by any means. After all, Mitch is a professional journalist, so I wouldn't have expected chicken scratch. That being said, though, I don't know if I can justify my former comment saying that Mitch could potentially be considered a 'great' writer. Sure, Tuesdays With Morrie is a fantastic book, but after finishing it, I'm pretty much entirely sure all of its appeal lies with the perfect conditions of its plot. A truly great writer, I suppose, would have created the setup all by themselves - Mitch, for lack of a better way to put this, just got lucky. The conditions that led to this book's creation were almost entirely accidental, but they were so perfect that Mitch didn't even need to be a good writer to make the story great. Still, sometimes luck is better than creativity. Faulkner may be a genius to literary critics, but I'll always prefer Tuesdays With Morrie to As I Lay Dying.


Tuesdays With Morrie is not a perfect book - there are a few things in it I feel should have been elaborated on or explained further. For example, numerous times, Mitch reads the newspapers in Morrie's house and recounts horrific stories about murders or similar situations, yet each time he just puts them down and never elaborates. I was expecting him to maybe have a strong reaction to these things after seeing Morrie weep for others he didn't know, or at least have some reaction; instead, he reads it, tells us about it, and that's that. I could have done without these parts, now that I know that Mitch never takes them any further than the straight up shock factor. Additionally, I think the "final class" analogy sometimes comes off as a bit contrived, but I respect the attempt to make any analogy at all. It definitely gives the book a unique sort of feel, though, one it certainly doesn't need since the subject matter is so inherently interesting.

So yeah, great book! I don't say that very often, so such a judgment should not be taken lightly. If you have functioning emotions/aren't a robot, you will undoubtedly fall in love with it. After reading it, I don't think it's possible not to.

Journal 3: Tuesdays With Morrie

For Death and Dying, we have to read Tuesdays With Morrie, Mitch Albom's first hit book before he got even more money from The Five People You Meet In Heaven. Ok, ok, perhaps that's a bit accusatory; the reality is, Tuesdays With Morrie sounds very sincere, and the lessons the dying Morrie Schwartz had to give Albom are very though-provoking and inspirational. Of course, I think the highlight of my experience reading it so far has to be realizing that it is, in fact, a book, and that I could write a journal about it. Reading one book for two classes? Now that is efficiency!

Joking aside, this is another book that is brilliant in its simplicity. Mitch Albom is a great writer because he isn't a 'great' writer - or, at least, he isn't pretentious. A more obnoxious writer may have overloaded the very emotional material with existential banter and pseudo-intellectual observations, but instead, Albom takes a far more approachable stance. The book is told like a novel, which certainly works towards its advantage. Instead of just telling us what happened, Albom ends up being his own main character with legitimate depth. Morrie is magical, intelligent, and endearing, and his personality and dialogue seem almost too good to be true. The kicker, of course, is that they are true, or at least they certainly seem that way. I'm not going to bother researching how sincere Albom is actually being in this book because it really doesn't matter; the fact is, you can't help but be hooked in by the story. It tugs at all the heartstrings you have, even on someone as cynical as myself. I wish my writing was as gripping as this!

I still have quite a ways to go in the novel, but I think it's saying something that a book like this is wildly more interesting and readable to me than anything we've covered in class so far. I don't get caught up in books often, but Albom's got me wanting to know more. Perhaps we should re-evaluate what makes a great writer so great... Tolstoy, Fitzgerald, Faulkner, and Albom? Somehow I don't think the Art Police would like that one.