Ambiguity in Tennyson's "Ulysses"

Alfred Lord Tennyson famously remarked, "There is more about myself in 'Ulysses,' which was written under the sense of loss...but that still life must be fought out to the end." While the poem does express the benign aspects of the heroic condition, there is a definite undercurrent that complicates that view.

The situation in "Ulysses" is borrowed from Dante's Commedia. Ulysses convinces his men to leave hearth and home behind once more to sail beyond the Pillars of Hercules into unknown waters. On one hand, the Greek hero is striving for more than just enough, to just "hoard, and sleep, and feed." He embodies the impulse for discovery and achievement.

However, the text contains elements that point to a less favorable view of Ulysses' impulse. For example, the image of "lights [which] begin to twinkle from the rocks," paired with Ulysses' exhortation to "follow knowledge like a sinking star," suggests a disastrous outcome for the mariners. Another problematic element is the echo of Milton's Satan in Ulysses' purpose, to "strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." Interestingly, in Dante's earlier version of this voyage, the crew keep a course "to the left," indicating the root meaning of "sinister."

Harold Bloom has commented, "Tennyson is the most extreme instance I know of the imagination going one way, and the will going quite another." The ambiguity in Tennyson's verse no doubt contributes to the lasting acclaim bestowed on the work. Remarkably, despite his death in 1892, the poet can be found on YouTube, reading "Ulysses."

The five wits

If you were to ask any nine-year-old to name the “five senses,” there’s little doubt that you'd receive a prompt and correct reply. However, it would be far more difficult these days to find anyone, young or old, who has even heard of the five wits. What was once known to every member of society – from the smallest child to the most sophisticated adult – is all but forgotten today.

The five wits, or interior senses, complement the exterior senses of taste, touch, hearing, sight and smell. As useful as these familiar senses are, a clue to how essential the interior senses are is found in the expression “to lose one’s wits.” Comprising memory, judgement, fancy, imagination and common sense, the five wits are employed as we go about our business every day.

An extremely popular animated film from several years ago featured to great comic effect a sincere but hapless fish who could not recall anything of her past, even up to the moment. Memory enables us to move forward, drawing upon our experiences, usually unconsciously. Without memory, we would be quite at a loss, blundering through every moment with no frame of reference.

Another of the wits that sustains our daily activities is the power of judgement (also known as estimation). Facilitating a reasonable assessment of our abilities in any given situation, judgement is critical to decisions ranging from the appropriate response in a social situation to projecting future outcomes for any endeavor. It is to be hoped that this faculty is in operation when we are planning any long- or short-term course of action.

The interior sense that permits us to step outside of ourselves and our direct experience is fancy. Shakespeare’s minstrel asks, “Tell me, where is fancy bred/Or in the heart, or in the head?” This faculty might be associated with dreamers – and rightly so. It is what sets innovators apart from the crowd. The iPod, for example, is a product of fancy; its invention was a radical departure from any gadgets that were in existence at the time, and illustrates the power of this seemingly lightweight faculty.

The fourth wit, often confused with fancy, is imagination. This sense is a great facilitator, reconciling particular ideas to universal principles, as well as shaping our recollections into a mental vision. While fancy conjures up the previously unknown, imagination sorts out what is known and applies it creatively.

Finally, common sense, the fifth wit, helps us to keep our feet on the ground and enables us to make sense of our world. Although (as has often been observed) it may not seem to be very common sometimes, this faculty is essential for all of us. A healthy supply of common sense, in fact, makes having a sixth sense (or would that be an eleventh?) superfluous.

Reaching across divisions

Those who enjoy good cinema might want to check out two wonderful Iranian films. "Son of Maryam," directed by Hamid Jebelli, and Kamal Tabrizi's "The Wind Carpet" are very different, at first glance. The first is a serious, almost mystical drama, and the other is a mostly lighthearted comedy. However, there are interesting similarities that would resonate with anyone who appreciates ardent narratives conveying hope.

Both stories include a blind child who reaches out to touch the face of someone who exemplifies an alien group. In storytelling, blindness often signifies spiritual insight or wisdom. The blind child would seem to be a surrogate for the community itself. This rapprochement occurs between Christians and Muslims in "Son of Maryam." "The Wind Carpet" connects members of an intimate Iranian community with representatives from a foreign society, Japan.

In "Son of Maryam," the tension between Muslims and their Christian neighbors is expressed in the juxtaposition of the rooftop "adhan," or Muslim "call to prayer," and the presence of the village's lone Catholic priest on a nearby roof, climbing a ladder to affix a cross to the church spire. The potential discord is also expressed in a dream in which the young protagonist, Rahman, fulfills his religious duty by loudly vocalizing his Islamic faith in opposition to the prayers of Christian mourners. This tension is reconciled by the coincidence of Muharram, the annual Muslim mourning period, and Rahman's personal mourning for the deceased priest. The cultural tension in "The Wind Carpet" manifests itself in language barriers, which are overcome with much difficulty. Also, the obvious cultural differences are reconciled in the development of personal relationships.

Another similarity between the two films is the generosity shown to strangers. The local Persian community pulls together in "The Wind Carpet" to fulfill the dream of a Japanese visitor's late wife, whose carpet design was selected for an upcoming festival. Everyone races against the clock, working in triple shifts, using skills passed down over generations to complete the carpet in time. In addition to the great sacrifices made by everyone involved in the making of the carpet, many small kindnesses are extended to the foreigner and his little girl. In "Son of Maryam," the village imam visits the injured priest and charges young Rahman to take good care of "this man of God." Moreover, on his journey to the city to find another priest to come to the sickbed, Rahman is aided by a Christian boy, with whom he forms a very cordial bond.

The reconciliation between divided communities that is envisioned in these films might inspire some constructive peacemaking in our time. One publication is attempting to help readers to "see alternatives to conflict" as part of its "peace journalism" initiative. One can only hope that The International is successful in this endeavor. For more information on Iranian cinema, click here.

Japanese lessons

The study of "nihon'go" (the Japanese language) is an immersion in "reigi," or etiquette. Evaluating the proper thing to say (and do) in any given situation is a nuanced but critical component. This aspect, in addition to the necessity of mastering three writing systems (Kanji, Hiragana and Katakana), makes learning Japanese quite a challenge.

First of all, it is imperative to use politer forms of speech when addressing a person who is older or otherwise superior in rank. For instance, while it is acceptable to greet peers in the morning with "Ohayo," the more formal "Ohayo gozaimasu" must be used to address a superior (such as one's manager). Similarly, the informal "ee" (yes) would be replaced by "hai" in speech directed at someone higher up in the social hierarchy. 

Moreover, men and women employ different usages and even differing pronunciations. The verb "desu" (to be), for example, is pronounced as one syllable by men and as one and a half by women. All of this is further complicated by the general indirectness of Japanese expressions.

Upon entering the office of a superior or in leaving it, the expression "shi-tsurei shimasu" (meaning "to lose etiquette") is often used, overtly illustrating the importance of reigi in Japanese culture. However, "gomen kudasai" is the thing to say when entering a shop, if the shopkeeper is not in sight. For other situations, the all-purpose "sumimasen" serves to get someone's attention, to excuse oneself or even to express gratitude. 

There is at least one nihon'go phrase now widely recognized throughout the world: sayonara.

All atwitter

As tempting as it might be to maintain a Twitter-free zone here (just for the novelty of it), credit must be given to the microblogging innovators for one thing in particular. No, it's not the "revolution" in global communication. Neither is it the proliferation of the use of terms such as "tweet" and "twittery." The most impressive feature, by far, is the presence of the comma in direct-address salutations. The initial notice sent to a member who is being "followed" (which actually sounds a bit creepy, when you think about it) by another member remarkably includes a comma between "Hi" and the user name, conforming to correct punctuation standards. So, against the tide of current convention, this latest social network is upholding traditional usage. Perhaps a revolution is afoot, after all.

Subtexting in cinema

Films, like literature, tend to be more interesting when multiple levels of meaning are in operation, adding texture to the fabric of the story. A subtext enriches a film, engaging the viewer's mind to complement the immediate sensory appeal of images and sound.  

This is illustrated very overtly in "O Brother, Where Art Thou?", which references Homer's Odyssey. With a protagonist named Ulysses (played adroitly by George Clooney), a danger-fraught journey home, alluring sirens and other obvious correlations to the epic poem, the movie exemplifies how effective the use of a subtext can be.

"Lisbon Story" is another film that incorporates a subtext to anchor the surface action. Examining the purpose of cinema, the drama features a thin plot about a filmmaker's descent into near-oblivion, with a playful glance at Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness (which, of course, also supplies the subtext for Coppola's "Apocalypse Now"). 

Subtexts have long been employed in storytelling, probably emerging from the ingenious use of allegory as practiced by medieval writers. The technique has been perpetuated in modern cinema to great effect, continuing an ancient conversation. 

 

Cultural diversions

It's remarkable that the entertainment that fascinated audiences thousands of years ago somehow still manages to fascinate 21st century theatergoers. Across centuries upon centuries, surviving translation and performed in whatever space is available, classic dramas such as Aeschylus' Agamemnon and Sophocles' Elektra continue to enthrall us. Recent back-to-back performances of these two Greek tragedies in downtown New York offered an expert alchemy of forebodings, intense dialogue, much-needed comic relief, bloodcurdling screams and, well, blood. However, neither the sight of a gory Clytemnestra striding across the stage, swinging an ax, nor the sound of the agonized cries of Elektra could deter one attendee from furtively texting her (no doubt urgent) messages. Perhaps Aeschylus had to deal with distracted Athenian audience members back in the day, although without mobile phones and playbills to conceal the phones, it's doubtful that such improprieties were as easy to get away with! 

Tempus fugit!

Festivities are underway in Rome to commemorate the founding of the city in the 9th century B.C. According to tradition, one day in April in the year 753 in the pre-Christian era, Romulus founded a community on the Palatine Hill. Some decades ago, archaeologists discovered what appear to be remnants of this early settlement, substantiating the persistent legend. During the imperial period, the magnificence of the residences of the emperors on the Palatine was unrivaled, engendering the term "palace." Today, surveying the magnificent ruins on the Palatine and in the Roman Forum below is what would be called in literary terms an "ubi sunt" experience. Gazing upon the triumphal arches and temple facades, and recalling that this was once the center of the world, even the most casual visitor cannot help but think, "Where are they now?"