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Ratiocination

I like my new room.


Candles and incense are a great way to feel better about life. I highly recommend them.



My room, my stuff, my space--clean, neat, and organized. My personal living and work space hasn't been this personable and functional in years. The studio is assembled and in working order (Fatar controler, Roland JV1010 synth, et. al.), candles are in full array, a Z poster is on the wall facing the bed, and my core wardobe is recently laundered/stowed away.

Classes start tomorrow. This semester, I'll be ready for them.

I don't have the gift of forsight, but my class-of-the-semester predictions are as follows: Platonism with David Hunt will remain neck and neck with Gregg Ten Elshof's Self Knowledge seminar until early May. At this point, I will tire of Hunt's teaching personality but not of the class's subject matter. The converse will likely occur in Self Knowledge.

In the coming weeks, I'm facing a difficult decision. I've been invited to an IHS Advanced Topics in Liberty conference to study Frederic Heyak. I've also submitted two papers to the annual Pacific University undergraduate philosophy conference--sources tell me both have an extremely high chance of being accepted. Both events are scheduled for the same weekend. Easy choice, it seems--ditch IHS and pad my CV with two presentations, right?. Not so fast. IHS has also offered me a plane ticket, lodging, and a $500 honorarium if I spend the weekend with them in downtown San Francisco. Who can say "no" to that? At least this is a pleasing dilemma to be faced with. If my life consisted soley of decisions like this--well, it would be nice. =)

"Symbology"


In The Boondock Saints, a rather dull cop refers to "symbology." He is, of course, ridiculed for his linguistic faux pas. I discovered today, however, that symbology is indeed a real word. Strange but true.

Symbologize this:

Speaking of symbology, here are a few thoughts I had about Zach Braff's Garden State. Spoilers ahead, btw. The film is replete with symbols and motifs. Each of these parts is masterfully crafted into a whole that I have to admire. Two of my favorite were Andrew's wallpaper shirt and the infinite abyss at the bottom of the quarry, representing his initial character state and the uncertainty he learns to face.

For the first twenty minutes, we know little more about Andrew than that he is internally dead. He does not speak until spoken to. That he experiences tragedy (the death of his mother) and annoyance (annoying customers, a severed gas pump, a pointless cop encounter) without trepidation is telling. That he does so seemingly without any reaction at all is unsettling. Braff's character is emotionally numb to the world around him. He exists, but he does not live. In the opening airplane sequence and after-funeral party, others move while he remains static, passive, and ultimately, we find, inhuman.

The unifying trait behind (the pre-Samantha) Largeman is highlighted by one brief shot. We are presented with Andrew and his new shirt, received as a gift from a friend of his mother. The shirt perfectly matches the wallpaper behind him; they are made from the same material. His living humanity is camouflaged. In this moment, the viewer most plainly sees Andrew’s place in the universe; he is relegated the background as a piece of furniture or set piece. An object, not a subject.

Largeman doesn’t remain in his deadened state, of course; Samantha is a catalyst to an eventual transformation… or something close to one.

One symbol Braff uses to illustrate this character change is the local geological phenomenon at the bottom of a quarry: a deep gash in the ground. How deep? No one knows. And that is what matters the most, it seems. In this dearth of knowledge, we see the abyss’ function as a symbol of uncertainty, unpredictability, and uniqueness. The object of representation is best seen as the self, I think. (Mad Props to Brian for initially pointing this out to me)

Until his moment of catharsis, Andrew Largeman has been blind. Through his anti-depressants, conversational subject-changing, and nine-year disengagement from Home, he has refused to look at himself with eyes that see. Andrew leaves the pit, and as he does, he calls out to its caretaker, “Good luck exploring the infinite abyss.” The caretaker replies, “Thanks… Hey, you too.”

These lines foreshadow and represents the final portion of the film; Andrew’s first tear in a decade falls that night. It’s telling that the next morning he is not reunited to his estranged father, but he does forgive him. He has only one life to live (his own) and he lives it. How his father chooses to respond is not his concern. This shows the first half of his transformation: he has faced the uncertainty, doubt, and pain in himself. He has gazed into the infinite abyss of the psyche and lived. It's interesting to note the song playing at this key point--Simon and Garfunkel's The Only Living Boy in New York. The lyrics correspond nicely with the instant of Largeman's resurrection.

But it is not enough. Being content with some uncertainty is a mark of maturity, but certainly not a complete one—I, at least, sense that there must be something more than acquiescing to finitude. So does my namesake, it seems.

Andrew remains empty-handed and blank-faced as other passengers board the return flight. While he remains still, others frenetically move about the cabin, hearkening back to the opening dream sequence. But then, a realization dawns upon him:

Andrew: You remember that idea I had about working stuff out on my own and then finding you once I figured stuff out?
Sam: The ellipsis?
Andrew: Yes, the ellipsis. It's dumb. It's dumb. It's an awful idea. I'm not gonna do it, okay? 'Cause like you said, this is it. This is life. And I'm in love with you, Samantha. I think that's the only thing I've ever been really sure of in my entire life.

In this way, the final state reached by Braff's character is one of equilibrium--between doubt and knowledge, between passivity and action.

And it is enough. It is enough to find doubt and scream ever-so-uniquely in its face (but not in frustration); it is enough to discover a certainty and to cherish it.