Surrealist Manifesto/ Poetry

I wish I understood the Manifesto. At times I could understand, like when he discussed the injustice, in his mind, of the waking reality being considered by most to be of greater importance than the sleeping reality. And when he talked about the importance of dreams. But the rest of the time, I must admit, I had difficulties following his train of thought. The Surrealist poetry, however, I found much more enjoyable. Probably the one that made the most sense to me was 'The Manless Society' by Pierre Unik. I especially liked his comparison of the closely arranged houses to pores on the skin. How, even though that world is filled with man-made objects and machinery, there's no natural or human aspects to it. The rest of the poems, although I didn't always understand what they were trying to tell me, I liked as well. Even though I have no idea what they're getting at, at least I can enjoy the series of interesting images they present me; especially Breton's 'Postman Cheval', when it says, "It is made of the backs of swans with a spreading wing for banisters/It turns inside out as though it were going to bite itself/But no, it is content at the sound of our feet to open all its steps like drawers/Drawers of bread drawers of wine drawers of soap drawers of ice drawers of stairs," it reminds me of a dream I had once in which I was descending a staircase and the stairs opened into more stairs which opened into more stairs so that there were an infinite number of directions in which to climb.

Civilization and Its Discontents

Today's lecture was extremely helpful. Some of the things Freud said about civilization were confusing, so it was nice to get a little background on what theories he is basing this book on. The question concerning someone loving their neighbor as themselves is a tough one. I mean, ideally, it would be great for a person to love the whole of mankind. But realistically, its very impractical if not impossible. I have to agree with Freud when he says that some men are undeserving of one's love. Its a huge waste of energy and effort to try and love everyone, and loving one's enemies can prove dangerous. It's a nice thought and all, but in the end self-preservation wins out. And, if we are as Freud believes, we are generally incapable of it. As he says in chapter five, "The element of truth behind all this, which people are so ready to disavow, is that men are not gentle creatures who want to be loved, and who at most can defend themselves if they are attacked; they are, on the contrary, creatures among whose instinctual endowments is to be reckoned a powerful share of aggressiveness. As a result, their neighbor is for them not only a potential helper or sexual object, but also someone who tempts them to satisfy their aggressiveness on him..." On this point I cannot disagree, there's no denying we are aggressive beings. And because of our tendency to aggressive behavior toward one another, loving all one's neighbors would be to contradict mankind's nature. A depressing thought, I have to admit. But the fact that people try anyway leads me to believe that there is more to human beings than Freud proposes.

A Doll's House

I can see now how this play was quite a shocker when it came out. Nora was a horrible wife by the standards of the time. She borrowed money without consent, committed forgery, lied and manipulated her husband, defied her husband and up and left. A woman, thinking for herself, shunning those standards, probably upset some people. Modern readers, though, like myself, can see where she's coming from. I mean, true, she did lie and forge. But no one seems to take motive into account, she did it for her husband. And even when Torvald finds out and she tells him she did it for him, that fact seems to just zip right over his head until he's read the second letter. Torvald's reaction to the second letter is really what broke the last straw with Nora. She was all set to go drown herself in the river when that letter arrived. The turning point in her thoughts is almost palpable. Torvald is going on about how he's forgiven her, he thinks she's worried he doesn't mean it, which is pretty self-centered I have to admit. Watching it on film, I and everyone around me just cringed, because we knew she'd finally had it. Then she has that talk with him and leaves. He even tries to forbid her leaving, to which she says, "It is of no use forbidding me anything any longer." His last ditch effort to prevent her leaving is to bring up the children. This is really the one part of her argument with which I do not agree. She's abandoning her children, doesn't know if she's ever coming back or if she even wants to. Her thoughts that she's not suitable are noble, but she's just running away. I'm not saying I agree wholeheartedly with Torvald's notion of "sacred duties" and that she's a mother and wife before a human being, but I do believe she has a responsibility to help raise those she brought into the world. Of course, back then she really had no say in how they were raised, and her husband actually tells her to leave them alone after reading the first letter. I don't approve of her leaving, but really, what options did she have, being a woman with no authority?