On The Good Life and Games

1. Introduction

I aim to assess the fictional life of Herman Hesse’s protagonist Joseph Knecht, of The Glass Bead Game. I address two central questions in relation to his life: (i) Was Knecht’s life a good life for its subject? Furthermore, (ii) was Knecht’s life a life of playing games, and, if it was, does it count for or against the goodness of the subject’s life? In my reply to (i), I engage in serious discussion with Hurka’s work, The Best Things in Life; likewise, in my reply to (ii), I discuss central issues from Suits’s work, The Grasshopper. In pursuing these questions, I conclude that Knecht’s life was, indeed, a good life for its subject, his life was a life of games, but was not itself a game, and his involvement in game-playing contributes to the goodness of his life.

1. Framing the Questions

The answers provided to questions often depend on the nature of the question itself. Slight differentiations in phrasing can lead to exponential differentiations in the answer given. It is important, then, that the questions asked are fully understood before providing an answer. Let us take each question individually:

 

• Was Knecht’s life a good life for its subject?

 

A possible point of contention here lies in the phrase, “a good life for”. Is “a good life for” equivalent to “a valuable life relative to S”? Or, is “a good life for” equivalent to “a healthy life for S”? There are, then, two ways that this question can be taken, one of which I address in this paper and the other I do not. The first interpretation can be better understood when phrased, (i) “Is Knecht’s life a valuable life relative to its subject?”; the second interpretation can be better understood when phrased, (ii) “Is Knecht’s life a healthy life for its subject?”. I address the former and do not confront the latter.

 

• Was Knecht’s life a life of playing games, and, if it was, does it count for or against the goodness of the subject’s life?

 

I see at least two ways to interpret the question at hand. Namely, (i) “Was Knecht’s life numerically identical to a game, and, if it was, does it count for or against the goodness of the subject’s life?” and (ii) “Was Knecht only ever playing games during his life, but have the option not to, and, if he was, does it count for or against the goodness of the subject’s life?”. The first of these two questions yields a far more interesting discussion, seeing as it is fairly clear that most of Knecht’s life was engaged in game playing (as we will shall see in due time). Therefore, I will engage in a detailed response of (i) and will only briefly examine (ii).

 

• Moving Forward

 

Here are the questions at hand:

1. Is Knecht’s life a good life relative to its subject?

2a. Was Knecht’s life numerically identical to a game, and if it was, does it count for or against the goodness of the subject’s life?

2b. Was Knecht only ever playing games during his life, but have the option not to, and, if he was, does it count for or against the goodness of the subject’s life?

With these refined and further understood questions, it is now possible to move forward and begin an assessment of Joseph Knecht’s life.

III. A Good Life Relative To Its Subject

 

• An Overview of Hurka

 

In his book The Best Things in Life, Hurka provides an account of what things one may pursue in order to attain a good life. Hurka offers a pluralistic view, suggesting that there are a number of goods that one can pursue, but it is best to seek a well-rounded life with only slight specialization in a certain good. Here are a few examples of goods that Hurka discusses:

1. Pleasure,
2. Knowledge,
3. Achievement, and
4. Virtue.

Hurka’s view, then, can be demonstrated by relating two of the goods to one another in a counterfactual life. Consider a person who has the competing goods of achievement and knowledge (it is easiest to simplify and only compare two goods, rather than all four). This person can either (i) pursue as much achievement as is possible, (ii) pursue as much knowledge as is possible, (iii) pursue a well-rounded amount of both, or (iv) pursue both, but specialize in one more than the other.

(i) and (ii) inevitably lead to diminishing returns, suggests Hurka. For if one pursues as much achievement as is possible, at some point a finite amount of further achievement will have drastically less value than gaining a finite amount of knowledge. The same holds conversely. (iii) also has problems, though. For if one pursues a balanced, well-rounded amount of both goods, then one will be unable to attain a significant amount of either good. Hurka shows this with a simple example:

“The pursuit of well-roundedness is therefore most counterproductive when it stops you from acquiring any fundamentals, as when trying to learn twenty languages leaves you knowing the grammar of none”.

A well-rounded life has the problem of dissipating one’s energies and ultimately yielding little gain. This leaves the individual with (iv): pursue both goods, but specialize in one more than the other. Aiming for (iv) avoids the problem of diminishing returns associated with (i) and (ii), while also avoiding the problem of counterproductivity associated with (iii).

 

• An Overview of Joseph Knecht

 

Let us now turn to Joseph Knecht, the protagonist of Herman Hesse’s novel, The Glass Bead Game. In the fictional biography, Knecht is a talented young student of music in Castalia, the world’s hub of intellectual activity. Knecht excels to great heights throughout school, becoming “Magister Ludi”, a sort of director of the Glass Bead Game. The game focuses exclusively on making deep connections between various art forms and philosophy, but is only ever described vaguely and with no concrete detail. Ultimately, and through much introspection, Knecht chooses to leave Castalia to pursue the uniting of Castalian ideals with the outer-world. Soon after his departure, Knecht drowns as a consequence of never having learned to swim.

 

• Hurka and Knecht

 

The question of goodness in relation to Knecht’s life is particularly intriguing, considering both his vast life achievements and apparent gaining of knowledge. Let us take each life good individually.

1. Pleasure

Knecht’s pursuit of pleasure is not something covered in the book, for the most part. It is fair to assume, however, that Knecht gained pleasure through the attainment of the other goods, for many times when someone achieves or comes to know something, they experience pleasure over its being reached. It is fair to assume, then, that Knecht did come to experience pleasure as a consequence of the other goods.

We can draw an important distinction, here, which Hurka does not make in his book, but needs to be shown. Of the goods in one’s life, one can have intended goods and/or one can have side-effect goods. An intended is good is such a good that one attains through the activity of the will, while a side-effect good is such a good that one attains as a consequence of the attainment of other goods. A person that attains great achievement through his activation of the will is gaining an intended good. The pleasure that he consequently has from his achievement is a side-effect good.

A clear question then arises: Is the attainment of a side-effect good of the same value as the attainment of a good that one intended to come into the possession of? The intuitive answer is “no”. Our feeling toward this question suggests that working toward something adds some amount of value to the object, once it has been acquired. Nonetheless, a side-effect good is certainly of some value, which must, then, add to the good of one’s life.

1. Knowledge

There are two sorts of “knowledge” that Knecht encounters throughout his life. The first is the ethereal knowledge found in the glass bead game, which is, arguably, the vast majority of Knecht’s knowledge; the second is an introspective/extrospective knowledge of the world, which is a definite minority of Knecht’s knowledge (evidenced by his absurdist death, due to the lack of knowledge of basic life skills).

Hurka argues that there are three kinds of knowledge: knowledge of the self, knowledge of the world, and knowledge of how the self relates to the world. If this is the case, then a vast majority of Knecht’s knowledge does not fit in with Hurka’s definition. The glass bead game does not necessarily yield knowledge (as Hurka defines it) for it does not seem to require an accurate reflection of the goings on of the world, self, or the relation between the two. Rather, it only requires that one makes “deep connections” between the various art pieces and philosophy. But, again, it is not necessary that these connections hold true in the world outside of the game.

By the end of the book, Knecht realizes the weakness of Castalia and sets out to experience the outer-world. This directly implies that he realizes some truth about the world and his relation to it (namely, that he desires the uniting of Castalia and the outer-world). Furthermore, throughout the novel Knecht displays vasts amount of self-knowledge. Therefore, Knecht achieves knowledge of the world, self, and the relation between the world and the self (however limited this knowledge may be).

1. Achievement

The final good that is left for discussion is also the most obviously attained good in Knecht’s life. Hurka defines achievement as “master[ing] reality by imposing an idea on it”. One forms a goal in one’s mind and makes it so that the idea is realized in the world. Knecht clearly engages in this pursuit. All things that Knecht puts his mind to, he excels at. But not only does he excel, Knecht manages to be recognized for his talents, leading to many societal achievements (but primarily that of becoming Magister Ludi).

1.  Sub-Conclusion

Knecht satisfies at least three of Hurka’s criteria. He is able to have the side-effect good of pleasure, and the intentional goods of knowledge and achievement. Under Hurka’s view, though, the best life is one that has a number of goods but is able to “specialize” (to some degree) in one good, in particular. Does Knecht manage this? I think, “yes”.

Taking the three goods we have discussed, let us see if any can be considered a “specialized intentional-good”. The first in our discussion, pleasure, is merely a side-effect good in Knecht’s life, which immediately disqualifies it, for intentional goods have greater value. Secondly, much of the knowledge gained in Knecht’s life may be meaningless connections made for the perpetuation of a game, which do not correspond to reality, the self, or the relation between the two. Because of this, it is safe to assume that this is not the good we are looking for. Lastly, then, we have achievement. This good is surely something that Knecht managed to specialize in. This is evident simply in the fact that Knecht achieves a number of things throughout the novel and they fulfill Hurka’s definition of achievement.

We have therefore seen that Knecht fulfills Hurka’s criteria. If we assume that Hurka’s view is the correct view on the good life and Knecht does fulfill his criteria, then Knecht’s life is, indeed, a good life relative to its subject.

1. Game as Life and Life as Game

 

• An Overview of Suits

 

In The Grasshopper, Suits defends the thesis that a central property of life is the playing of games. But even more than this, Suits suggests that the good life is the life spent playing games. How, though, does he define a game? He offers four properties that are necessary to call something a game:

1. A prelusory goal,
   1. This can be understood as the aim to achieve a certain state of lusory affairs.
2. Lusory means,
   1. This can be understood as the accepted rules, by which one attempts to reach the prelusory goal.
3. Constitutive rules,
   1. These make it so that the player is unable to use more efficient means for reaching the goal; or, in other words, it makes the task of the game more difficult by eliminating efficient ways of winning (or achieving the game’s end).
4. Lusory attitude.
   1. This is the state of being that accepts the rules for the sake of the game.

With these four conditions, we have Suits’s definition of “game”:

Definition: x is a game only if and because x has a prelusory goal, lusory means to reach that goal, constitutive rules that restrict one from using efficient means to reach that goal, and a lusory attitude toward the activity.

 

• Knecht’s life is not a game

 

If it is the case that Knecht’s life is numerically identical to a game, as in Knecht’s life=a game, then his life must fulfill all of Suits’s criteria. I argue that Knecht’s life (and life in general) does not fulfill Suit’s criteria. Which implies that Knecht’s life (and life in general) is not numerically identical to a game. If it can be shown that he fails to fulfill one of the properties of games, then a simple modus tollens argument can show the negation of Knecht’s life being numerically identical with a game.

To begin, I do grant that the “life-game” may be able to fulfill the prelusory goal, lusory means criteria, and lusory attitude conditions. I will not attempt to define or explain how the latter two conditions might be fulfilled in any substantive way, though; later, I will offer some explanation of the first condition, for clarification. I argue that Knecht fails to fulfill the constitutive rules condition. Here is my argument in Standard Formulation, for lucidity in our discussion:

1. If Knecht’s life is numerically identical to a game, then there are some rules set in place that limit his efficiency in reaching his prelusory goal.
2. There are no rules set in place that limit his efficiency in reaching his prelusory goal.
3. /:. It is not the case that Knecht’s life is numerically identical to a game. (1,2,MT)

The argument is valid. Premise (1) is true, by definition; for if we grant Suits’s description of a game, then his third necessary condition must be fulfilled. Our conclusion also follows logically from the premises. The question, then, is whether or not (2) can be defended. If the premise does go through, then our conclusion will also be true.

Suits’s third condition is dependent on his first, in that the rules must make the goal more inefficient to reach. So, for example, if one’s game is to reach the top of a mountain, then some of the constitutive rules for the game could be to not fly to the top, take an escalator to the top, or teleport to the top. This adds the inefficiency of having to climb the mountain. What then, are some options for the prelusory goal of life? I will discuss the two that I find most intriguing:

1. The prelusory goal in life is to die well.

This option is enticing, since all humans die and the vast majority of humans want to die well. It can be argued further that much of living is done in order to achieve this end. Because of this, (1) is a possible candidate for the prelusory goal of the “life-game”.

1. The prelusory goal in life is to live well.

The second option is equally as enticing, for (perhaps aside from sociopaths, psychopaths, and self-destructive people) most humans desire to live well. This desire is manifested in vastly different, and often contradictory ways (ie. Hitler and Mother Teresa both desired to live well, but manifested these desires in drastically different ways). Even still, the base goal is often the same: to live well.

If (1) and (2) are our strongest candidates for life’s prelusory goal (which I assume to be the case, for an exhaustive list would require a paper of its own), what would be some constitutive rules that universally decrease the efficiency of achieving said goals?

All humans are born with certain limitations. Here are two of the most pertinent, which fall to two different problems:

1. Physical laws and natural laws,
2. Medical conditions, natural abilities, and social class.

(1) applies universally to all humans. Every person experiences the effects of gravity, the inability to experience the hottest of hots and the coldest of colds, and the inability to survive without certain nutritional necessities; moreover, the universality of physical and natural laws limits many things that persons could do in their absence. This universality is one possible benefit to physical laws being the constitutive rules of the life-game. There is a fatal flaw, however: physical laws do not limit a persons ability to reach the goals in question. Whether one can defy gravity holds little to no control over the efficiency to which one can either die well or live well. Because of this, (1) cannot be our constitutive rule.

(2) does decrease the efficiency in reaching the goal of the life-game. Medical conditions, natural abilities, and positioning of social class can all limit the ability to both die well and live well, to a certain degree. A problem arises, however, in the fact that they do not apply universally. One person may come into existence with critical medical conditions that inhibit their ability to live, while another does not (and the same holds true for natural abilities and social class). Constitutive rules apply universally (much like our mountain climbing case), which rules out (2) as a serious option.

We have, then, two possible prelusory goals for the life-game, each with two sets of possible constitutive rules. It has been shown that the rules do not fulfill Suits’s criteria. This defends the second premise of the argument, which allows the argument to go through. It is not the case, therefore, that Knecht’s life is not numerically identical to a game.

 

• Knecht’s life is a life of games

 

In the novel, Knecht certainly has a life of games. For one, he belongs to a society that has already set a prelusory goal, lusory means, and constitutive rules. Knecht is the variable that fulfills the final condition of having a lusory attitude. The bureaucratic structure of Castalia suggests that the prelusory goal is to contribute to the intellectual society (for Knecht, that is through the glass bead game). Moreover, Castalia has lusory means to reach this goal: the participation in their education system, and the escalation to greater, more prestigious schools, until one becomes part of the Order. Lastly, Castalia contains a number constitutive rules instituted through various hierarchicies, bureaucracies, and inefficient ways to reach the prelusory goal. Three of the conditions are fulfilled, then, by the society that Knecht lives in. The fourth condition is fulfilled by the individuals who resides in Castalia; they are the factor that perpetuates their life as a game. Knecht does decide to reside in Castalia with the lusory attitude that allows for the game to continue. Therefore, much of Knecht’s life is a life of games.

Of course, toward the end of the novel, Knecht departs from the Castalian society and aims to reconcile Castalian ideals with the outer-world. This part of Knecht’s life is not a game, for the same reason that Knecht’s life is not numerically identical to a game: he fails to fulfill Suits’s third criterion of constitutive rules. The argument runs quite similarly to the argument from the previous section:

1. If Knecht’s post-Castalian life is constituted by games, then there are some rules set in place that limit his efficiency in reaching his prelusory goal.
2. There are no rules set in place that limit his efficiency in reaching his prelusory goal.
3. /:. It is not the case that Knecht’s post-Castalian life is constituted by games. (1,2,MT)

Again, the argument is valid. And still further, (1) follows by Suits’s definition; (2) is justified by the same arguments provided in the past section; and (3) follows by modus tollens.

1.    Knecht’s life of games does add goodness to his life

It has been shown, thus far, that Knecht had periods of life consumed in game-playing. But the “goodness” of these periods depend on the conditions of Hurka’s view, which were discussed in depth earlier. If his life experiences a number of the goods and he minorly specializes in one, then he has lived a good life. The fact that Knecht has a life constituted primarily of games does not interfere with these goods being attained. In fact, two of the goods that he explicitly gains–pleasure and achievement–are achieved through his involvement with the Castalian game. His knowledge, as was shown, is primarily achieved outside of the game, for the Glass Bead Game does not necessarily produce true belief (let alone justified true belief concerning the self, the world, or the relation between the two), and thus does not necessarilly produce knowledge. Considering this, we have two goods added to Knecht’s life through game-playing and one good added to Knecht’s life outside of game-playing. It is quite clear, then, that his engagement with games did add to the goodness of his life.

1. Conclusion

It has been argued in this paper, through the philosophical views of Hurka and Suits, that the fictional life of Joseph Knecht is a good life relative to its subject. I showed this by first providing an account of Hurka’s conception of the good life, and an explanation of how Knecht fulfills his criteria. Next I demonstrated that Knecht’s life is not numerically identical to a game. This sub-conclusion was derived from discussion of Suits’s third necessary condition of game-playing. This led to the suggestion that his life was a life constituted by games. Consequently, these games added substantive goodness to Knecht’s life by providing an avenue for him to attain at least two of Hurka’s goods.

Works Cited

Hesse, Herman (1990). The Glass Bead Game. New York: Picador.

Hurka, Thomas (2011). The Best Things in Life: A Guide to What Really Matters. New York: Oxford UP.

Suits, Bernard (2005), The Grasshopper: Games, Life and Utopia, Broadview Press.

On David Lewis and Penal Substitution

I. Introduction

David Lewis’s famous essay Do We Believe in Penal Substitution offers insights into the Christian Theory of Penal Substitution (STPS) and Secular views of penal substitution, of which, there are multiple versions. Lewis defends the thesis that Christians are of two minds in relation to penal substitution, however, every person, Christian or non-Christian, is of two minds in relation to penal substitution; thus, non-Christians should not rebuke Christians for their two mindedness.

I will begin this paper summarizing primary tenets, definitions, and arguments that Lewis provides. Following this summary, I will evaluate Lewis’s responses to a specific argument against penal substitution, concluding that it does not sufficiently counter it. I will argue that the theory of penal substitution is not a viable theory and another theory should be adopted.

II. Preliminary Summary of Lewis

David Lewis begins his paper with a scenario designed to appeal to one’s intuition. Suppose that a criminal has been justly sentenced to be punished. In the courtroom, while the sentencing is occurring, an innocent friend of the criminal stands up and declares, “I will take the punishment for my friend.” The judge, considering the situation, has two options: either (i) allow the innocent friend to serve the criminal’s sentence, or else (ii) do not allow the innocent friend to serve the criminal’s sentence. It appears, intuitively, that (ii) is the more just option.

The fact that (ii) appeals to our intuition gives rise to an important question: What should we consider as the function of criminal punishment? Lewis addresses this question with six possible answers; they are:

(i) it is the paying back of a moral debt,

(ii) it is better for the wicked not to prosper,

(iii) it is an expression of society’s hatred of the wicked’s actions,

(iv) it is a means to reforming the character’s of the wicked,

(v) it is a way to deprive the wicked of their resources, or

(vi) it is a compensatory function.

It is clear that (i)-(v) do not allow for the substitution of an innocent friend to satisfy the function of punishment. (vi), however, does. Lewis, then, narrows his focus on the compensatory function of punishment (CFP). Here is his definition:

CFP: x is compensatory iff&b x provides a benefit to the victim of a crime.

It follows that an innocent substitute could serve the sentence instead of the guilty party, so long as it provides a benefit to the victim. There are a number of problems with CFP; two in particular are:

(i) A murderer’s victim cannot be compensated, as they are no longer alive, and

(ii) An innocent friend is not sufficient compensation to a given victim.

Lewis notes, then, that it seems that no reason exists for believing in penal substitution, given that penal substitution is defined as

Penal Substitution: a is an act of penal substitution iff&b in performing a, an innocent substitute is punished to repay the moral debt of a guilty person, rather than the guilty person repaying the moral debt.

There are many people who do believe in penal substitution, though; specifically, many Christians. According to a specific theory of the Doctrine of the Atonement (The Theory of Penal Substitution), (i) humans are guilty of sinning and have a “moral debt” to God, (ii) Christ served as an innocent substitute to pay the moral debt, and (iii) God recognizes Christ’s substitution as a valid payment. Thus, Christ is a valid penal substitute for our sins.

Even given the theory, outside of the context of theology, Christians still tend to deny penal substitution as a sufficient way to deal with crime. Lewis argues from this point to conclude that Christians are of two minds. They both believe in penal substitution and do not believe in penal substitution. Lewis, rightly so, thinks of this as a bad state to be in.

Lewis then discusses a second problem for the Atonement, of which I will primarily focus on in this paper. Here it is in Standard Form:

The Insufficient Payment Argument Against the Theory of Atonement (IPTA)

(1) Though death by crucifixion is a terrible occurrence, one soul suffering eternal damnation is an even more terrible occurrence.

(2) If (1), then Christ did not “pay the debt” for even one sinner by dying on the cross.

(3) /:. Christ did not “pay the debt” for even one sinner by dying on the cross.

The punishment we face for our wrongdoings is eternal punishment. Christ did not endure eternal punishment (which is far worse than crucifixion). So, he did not pay our debt. Lewis offers two replies to this argument:

(i) A denial of premise (1): Christ had to bear the sins of every human and be forsaken by God, so he was not only crucified.

And,

(ii) A denial of premise (2): Christ paid enough of the debt to save the sinners; an equation can show the denial’s strength: [death by crucifixion+the bearing of our sins+being forsaken by God]=a finite amount of damnation that is enough to forgive our wrongs.

Lewis suggests that these denials are sufficient to discount the IPTA argument. He then states that, in fact, all people (Christian and non-Christian) are of two minds about penal substitution, concluding that non-Christians should be tolerable of the Christian two mindedness, for they also are two minded. I, however, will focus on his denial of the IPTA argument.

III. Refutation of David Lewis

In this section, I will argue that Lewis did not sufficiently respond to the IPTA argument. From this argument, I will conclude that either (a) The Christian Theory of Penal Substitution is false and there is some alternative view, or (b) Christians must offer a sound response to IPTA. I will suggest that (a) is the preferable position to hold.

A. Response to the Denial of Premise (1)

What does “to bear the sins of x” entail? Let us say that I have sinned against my younger sister, seeing that I owe a moral debt to her, and failure to pay the debt will result in punishment, my older sister “bears my sin”, so as to reconcile my sibling relationship; what would that look like? I take at least two options for what it would entail:

(i’) She experiences the emotional response to the realization that I have sinned; ie. felt my guilt of wronging my sister.

Or,

(i’’) She experienced the literal transfer of my sin on to her “being”.

So, (i’) would entail an empathetic response; (i’’) would entail an incredibly strange metaphysical and moral “swap” of sin. Both options are clearly absurd, though. Empathy has no agency, it is only a personal response to another’s situation; an empathetic psychological state does not lead one to the “bearing” of the state of another person (ie. If one person empathizes with a starving person, they do not experience or bear the weight of starvation). (i’’) is even more absurd, though. Moral wrongdoing cannot be transferred to another person. I take it, then, that (i) is false, and premise (1) of IPTA still stands.

B.  Response to the Denial of Premise (2)

The second denial of Lewis appeals to an equation. Dealing with punishment of infinite proportion is tricky, so perhaps it would be easier to see an example of what Lewis is arguing. Consider a burglar case:

A burglar has just been convicted. An innocent bystander stands up and states, “I will serve the sentence for him. However, I will only serve the sentence until it has been sufficiently paid off! If the sentence is for 10 years and the victim feels the moral debt has been paid after five years, then I would like to be released after five years.”

The case, then, shows that, so long as the moral debt is sufficiently paid, full payment is not necessary. But this seems strange to say. It is trivializing the punishment. If we should suffer eternal damnation for our wrongdoings, no finite amount of suffering from one man will suffice for its payment. The proportions are simply incomparable.

What’s more, the second objection of Lewis appeals to the first objection, which has been shown to be flawed. Thus, it can be concluded that Lewis’s response to the IPTA argument is not sufficient. We cannot ignore the argument.

C. A Way Forward

Thus far, it has been shown that the IPTA argument still stands; penal substitutionists do not sufficiently respond to it. I see two directions forward:

(i) Do away with penal substitution as a theory of Atonement and look for alternative theories,

or

(ii) Offer other responses to the IPTA argument that do sufficiently respond to it.

I, myself, cannot see (ii) as feasible; the theory of penal substitution is riddled with flaws (many of which haven’t been presented in this paper). If (ii) is most likely not feasible, then we must do away with penal substitution as a theory of Atonement and look for alternative theories. I will not offer any substantive analysis of the other options, but they do exist. Namely, those of Eleonore Stump and Richard Swinburne, to name two.

IV. Conclusion

I have argued that David Lewis’s treatment of IPTA is insufficient in its refutation. The two responses, when looked at closely, do not hold weight. Because of this, IPTA still stands as a good argument against penal substitution, which leads us to only one option: do away with the theory of penal substitution and adopt another theory.

Animal Rights

Over the past 40 to 50 years, a powerful movement against the ill treatment of animals has grown and flourished. The animal rights activists differ in their of concentration and expertise. Some, for example, focus on marine mammal life, such as whales and dolphins; others focus on the factory farms of America; and, still, some focus on the use of animals in biomedical research. But the message is the same: animals, as sentient beings, must be provided a set of rights in order to ensure their safety from the irresponsible nature of humankind. It is clear, and it is doubtful that any person would reject this, that humans have manipulated nature and her course to benefit their immediate needs and desires, largely ignoring the long-term effects. For too long, mankind has disregarded animals as “beasts” and “monsters.” The time, for some philosophers, has come to question our moral treatment of our biological counterparts. The time to consider animal rights has come.

What these animal rights entail is a large, controversial and speculative area of moral philosophy, though. Take, for example, humans’ basic rights. Any and every person, according to American values, has the right to engage in free speech; now take this right and apply it to dolphins. Would it work? Would it benefit them in any way? Of course not. A dolphin is a separate being that is incapable of speech, and thus, deserves a separate, but equal, consideration of what is right for them. The primary task before humans today, in regard to animals, is to learn to consider them as sentient beings and, in some cases, as self-conscious entities. If humans accomplish this, animals’ rights will follow quite easily.

The ethical theory proposed in this paper is in no way solely found here. In fact, the arguments made in this paper are highly dependent on a single man, Peter Singer. In an essay titled Animal Liberation, the philosopher proposes the idea that humans must, at the very least, morally consider other animals. From this consideration, he argues, different beings will be treated with different and unique sets of rights. However, it seems necessary that before the summarizing of his argument continues, the question must be asked, “Must a human even consider the consideration of animals?” This, I believe, is an essential question to any person writing on this topic. The answer proposed here is quite simple; humans must take the consideration of animals seriously simply because of the fact that animals are sentient beings. And if animals do feel pain, which they do in as much as the have nervous systems, humans must consider the morality behind the instituting of laws allowing such pain. And once a human begins to consider the morality behind the laws, one is considering the animal’s pain as, at the very least, potentially immoral. Moreover, as rational agents within the world, human beings are responsible to act as such. Humans are morally obligated to aide in animals’ flourishing because they have the capacity to realize that a wrong act is taking place.

Now, to continue on Singer’s train of thought, Singer believes that following from this moral consideration, the establishing of rights for animals (by species) is a quick jump. He argues that when a human sympathizes with the pain of an animal, they will want for the animal to be out of pain. A short, quick example of this phenomenon will aide in its blatant truth. If one has watched any significant amount of TV, one will see, very quickly, commercials against animal abuse. Now, I am in no way advocating for the specific groups behind these commercials (I know very little about them), but the pictures and videos of abused dogs and/or cats is truly disturbing. To understand that the animal is feeling what it is going through certainly stirs up deep emotions. Of course, though, the pain felt by an animal is drastically different from a human’s pain. As humans, we are self-aware, and thus, humans experience the world in a unique sense; animals are not necessarily self-aware, some are, though (ie. dolphins). With this as one’s nature, one must approach the world knowing that one is responsible for it, for one is so uniquely gifted (reason/rationality) that one must use one’s gifts to further benefit the world as a whole, not solely oneself.

Before continuing to the ramifications of Peter Singer’s views, the opposing viewpoint must be properly dealt with. Moral philosophers such as Carl Cohen have proposed arguments that support the use of animals in biomedical research. His argumentation begins, though, where Singer begins, mainly: do animals possess rights? Cohen answers with a resounding “No.” He begins his argumentation by stating that humans have rights because humans have the capacity to be moral agents in the world. Cohen proposes that a right “is a claim… that one party may exercise against another. The target against whom such a claim may be registered can be a single person, a group, a community, or (perhaps) all humankind” (95). This definition of “right” is incorrect, though. Cohen fails to acknowledge how the notion of rights comes about. Why, for example, does a person feel the need to have rights? Conveniently, Cohen fails to answer this simple question. Singer, though, confronts the question by saying that rights are recognized as rights if the person who is lacking the right is in pain. If one lacks a right, not realizing that what one is lacking this right, one will be in pain, quickly realizing that one is lacking a right. Now, if this definition of the origin of rights is true, and that animals feel pain, animals, it clearly follows, have rights. Perhaps they cannot rationally propose the rights they lack, but the right remains nonetheless. In this sense, then, Cohen’s definition of a “right,” is incorrect. He proposes that a right must be claimed, thus excluding animals from having rights. But this creates all sorts of problems with human morality throughout history. For a brief example, consider the early slave trade in America; most, if not all, rational people claim that this form of slavery was immoral, no exceptions. Now, according to Cohen’s definition of a right, the slaves were not having their rights infringed upon, for they had not yet claimed that they must be treated as proper men and women! So, if this is true, what exactly was the immoral act during slave times? It is not as if as soon as a black person claimed their rights as a human the morality changed. It was the mindset of the people that was incorrect. It was the mindset of the people that aided their destruction of Blacks’ rights (Singer’s definition). It was the mindset of the people that lacked the equal consideration of the African Americans. So, as is shown, the mere presuppositions that Cohen uses in his argument for animal use in biomedical research, renders the rest of his essay illogical and meaningless.

Now, the consequences of such a view as the one presented in this paper are vast. It follows logically that, if animals are equally considered, any act that produces physical and/or psychological pain or stress is immoral and impinging upon the rights of the animal. This conclusion would include the shutting down of the mass meat farming industry, the destruction of the whale/dolphin killing industry (fish are exempt because of their unsophisticated nervous system), an immediate halt to animal testing for biomedical research and cosmetic research, and, as is already recognized as wrong, the end to domestic animal abuse. The aftermath and economic side effects will be dangerous; however, this was the argument used by those against the end of slavery in America. The slave owners thought that the end of slavery would, quite literally, be the end of America and her economy. However, look where the country is now (well, maybe 40 years ago). The point is that America had an up swing to a global power; the economy was neither slashed nor irreparable (though there was a recession). There are bright days in the future of mankind, we must simply realize that the earth and all of her creatures are mortal and, for that matter, must be given equal consideration.

 

The Sickness Unto Death*

Hopeful, my soul reaches for far off stars,
forgetting the finite, my other half,
the relation of self is strewn afar.

Stuck in eternity, dread fills my chest;
my self will never end, everlasting.
Never, to the end of tim, will I rest.

A blend of the finite and infinite,
my self will forget its own reflection,
bringing what I fear: death of the spirit.

*A prolific book written by Soren Kierkegaard

Justifiable War

War, in the American society, has grown in relevance over the past decade. Having engaged in two direct combat missions, the necessity to debate over just war theory is clearly rising in prominence. Religious views and philosophical debates over the topic of war have grown in popularity and pertinence; moreover, presuppositions in one’s religious views have highly affected the debate. A Christian perception of just war has, from the beginning of America, been heating up beneath the surface of society. In the early 2000s, our culture saw, for the first time (in our generation; surely this has happened before), an American Christianity that desires to rule over and spread by means of war. However, in a biblical sense, just war is, above anything else, nonsense. Through the example of the ‘War on Terrorism’, one may see that Christian ethics are, in fact, being blurred in order to favor leaders’ agendas. However, if, in fact, Christianity is against war, how does one then deal with living in a secular nation which may favor war?

 

To one with the presupposition of Christianity, talk of ‘just’ war contradicts the very teachings of Jesus of Nazareth. The man upon which Christianity is based is, most clearly, a pacifist, or more accurately, an advocate of non-violence (I would hardly call Jesus  ‘passive’; however, for simplicity, I will refer to his view as pacifism). Jesus’ views may be made clear quite simply. In two short verses from the Bible, Jesus appears to be sympathizing with pacifism. To begin with, one may find in Matthew an explicit comment against fighting: “But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also” (Matthew 5: 39 NIV). Here Jesus tells his listeners and followers that if one is struck by an evil person, one must submit one’s self to further torment by accepting a second strike. Now, of course, this alone lends little evidence to denounce war (it says, however petty this may be, nothing about being the first to strike); however, if this verse is accepted systematically, one must reject striking in retaliation. A second verse, which expands upon the first, perhaps helps solve the issue of being the first to strike. The quote is from Matthew, as Jesus is being captured:

 

Then the men stepped forward, seized Jesus and arrested him. With that, one of Jesus’ companions reached for his sword, drew it out and struck the servant of the high priest, cutting off his ear.

“Put your sword back in its place,” Jesus said to him, “for all who draw the sword will die by the sword. Do you think I cannot call on my Father, and he will at once put at my disposal more than twelve legions of angels?” (Matthew 26: 50-54)

In this case, Jesus’ companion attempts to attack first, before Jesus is harmed. If Jesus allowed this attack, it would justify preemptive strikes and preventative war (forms of war in which one side strikes before the other is prepared to attack). However, Jesus does not allow the attack, he stops his friend before he can succeed in fighting off the enemies. Instead, he instructs his follower to stop and put the sword away, for those ‘who draw the sword will die by the sword’. What is truly interesting, though, is Jesus’ question. He appears to accept that war is justifiable, saying that his Father has the ability to send angels to fight for him. Some may take this quote as saying that Jesus is not a pacifist, however, it means the exact opposite. War, he is claiming, is only allowable if God the Father justifies it supernaturally. Jesus is limiting humans’ decisions in beginning wars or fights, claiming that this choice is God’s (and only God’s), not mankind’s. Hence, when looking at the Bible, upon which Christians depend, war is not justifiable, on the grounds that war must be treated supernaturally (which makes sense when Paul talks about spiritual warfare in Ephesians).

Oddly enough, though, in a nation with a Christian president, war was seemingly justifiable. Of course, there has been much speculation over whether Bush went to war because of ‘God’s will’, or not, but no research is conclusive. The most important fact, is that a supposed Christian leader, with the backing of a primarily Christian nation, engaged in two wars. As stated in the past paragraph, though, Christianity (as in, the Bible) is clearly against war, unless supernatural powers come into play. Now, this either means that Christian citizens and leaders are appealing to some other moral principle than Christianity, or that these leaders and citizens have an incorrect interpretation of the Bible. It is important to understand that religious belief (or non-belief) is, perhaps, one’s most fundamental moral decision-making aide; people use religion to see what is moral and what is immoral. So, this makes it all the more important to understand what one’s religion actually states about certain moral and ethical acts.

The fact is, however, that not every person in the world is a Christian (or for that matter, religious). With this fact in mind, what are simple criteria to justify a war? Traditionally, eight separate criteria are proposed to help aide leaders in examining the justness of their war. These eight criteria are as follows:

1. Just cause
2. Right intention
3. Competent authority
4. Reasonable chance for success
5. Proportionality of ends
6. Last resort
7. Proportionality of Means
8. Discrimination

If the potential act of war passes these eight criteria (interestingly enough, thought of by Thomas Aquinas, a famous catholic theologian), the war is justified. It is obvious that these criteria make it nearly impossible to have a just war. For example, what is a ‘last resort’? How does one know whether they have attempted every possible way to prevent war? Perhaps one last attempt at diplomacy would change the enemies mind? All of these questions put just one of the eight points under doubt. Hence, the extreme vagueness of these criteria leads one to doubt that a justifiable war is even possible, and even far less probable.

However, in the most pure sense, is a justifiable war possible? Or, more accurately, is justifying war something that must be done? If one must justify the war that one is participating in, is it even, then, a justifiable war? The paradox of war is that a justified war is one that needs no justification. As soon as one begins the justification of a specific war, one becomes like a child justifying why they did something wrong; or like an addict justifying why they took one more hit of their preferred substance. So, in a sense, if one begins to justify their war, the war can instantly be declared as unjust, and must be stopped immediately. So, I propose one criterion for the notion of justifiable war:

1. No need for justification.

Now, of course one may argue that war would then be taken advantage of, and rightfully so. And, since we live within a democratic context, I suppose one further criterion must be added:

1. Rightful intent

This intent does not apply simply to the leader, but to the nation. If the nation has good intent in the war and feels no need to justify itself, the war is justified

 

Euthanasia

In the fall of 1989, Stephanie Lynn Marshall, a physically and mentally handicapped girl, who physically exists, yet possesses little to no mental capabilities, becomes known over a controversial desire that her parents have. Witnessing their child suffer in such immense quantities, the parents long for the ability to euthanize the 12-year old girl. Stephanie suffers from a terminal brain illness, known as Batten’s disease, and also endures many physical deformities; recuperation is highly unlikely, perhaps even impossible. The young girl is unable to move or speak, but manages to moan in pain as her hipbones are forced to leave their sockets due to the malformation of her legs. The parents desire a simple solution, however no answer has presented itself. They decide they want to have her euthanized to stop, not only her physical pain, but also their own emotional pain. Do they have the right to perform this act? Are they justified in their decision? In this paper, I will argue that the parents are justified in making such a decision. By means of the argument from mercy (and care theory), it is more than clear that the parents have the right to put an end to their severely ailing child’s life.

To begin, it is necessary to know exactly what euthanasia is, and the various forms it may take. Euthanasia, as defined by J. Gay Williams, is the act of “intentionally taking the life of a presumably hopeless person” (319). This, I believe, must be narrowed down even further; it must be added that the life is physically hopeless. In William’s definition, the possibility of emotional or spiritual hopelessness brings euthanasia far too close to the more general definition of suicide. Moreover, there are two different forms that euthanasia may take, one in the form of passive euthanasia and the other active euthanasia. Passive euthanasia entails stopping treatment for the patient, as in, the patient who is receiving treatment, is taken off of the pills or machines that sustain life, forcing the person to die. Active euthanasia involves the killing of a patient. The doctor or patient (depending on the physical or mental state of the person) puts deadly substances into their body (through either an IV or shot) in order to end the patient’s life. Now, with these definitions in mind, the parents of Stephanie have two options:

1. Take Stephanie off of her medications, allowing her to die over a certain period of time. Or,
2. Inject Stephanie with a life ending substance.

The first route is passive euthanasia; the second is active euthanasia. Seeing as the parents desire to end their child’s pain, it seems that the second would be far more desirable. But I doubt that the first choice is out of the question (assuming that, for example, they are unable to perform the second).

Two primary arguments can characterize the philosophical offense against the act of euthanasia. The first is the argument from nature. In this argument, Williams proposes that euthanasia upsets the natural process of life and death. All humans, he says depend upon natural processes [such as natural “reflexes and responses” (320)] that add to the definition of being human. And, thus, one must not perform the act of euthanasia because it disturbs the natural cycle of life and death. Moreover, humans have the capability of rationality, raising us above mere animals. This fact, he argues, must play an important role in proving that euthanasia is unethical. The second argument suggested (though Williams believes the first argument provides enough proof to deny euthanasia as justifiable) is that of self-interest. Williams argues that medicine makes mistakes; and when the error may cost a life, the risk is too great (although this is a completely counter-factual argument). Moreover, in the midst of pain and suffering, it may seem as if there is no hope; decisions may be made that one will later regret. Thus, says Williams, euthanasia must not be performed; the risk of mistaken diagnosis is too great, diminishing our self-interest in euthanasia.

The weaknesses in the arguments are far more than apparent. Gaping holes in Williams’ logic allows for an easy rebuttal. First, in the argument from nature, Williams does not include passive euthanasia as a form of euthanasia. If passive euthanasia is supposed as euthanasia (which it is, in as much as it is the decision to take one’s life), Williams argument falls apart on the grounds that passive euthanasia allows a person to die a natural death (a death that one would die in a world without medicine). Moreover, even if passive euthanasia is denounced as a form of euthanasia, Williams does not thoroughly refute the action of active euthanasia. Williams argues that humans are capable of higher intelligence than animals, and because of this, human life must be treated with utmost respect. However, when looking at Stephanie, how can one say that she possesses higher rationality than an animal? Obviously, she is loved by her parents, making her valuable, but, in all honesty, her intellect and rationality are non-existent. Does this make her not a human? If she is not (which she is not, by the definition Williams uses to separate humans from animals) then this argument does not even apply to her!

The second argument, the one from self-interest is no stronger than the last, perhaps it is even more weak. In this argument, Williams supposes that medicine makes mistakes, and because of this, it is in one’s self-interest to not take the risk of taking one’s own life. The supposition Williams uses (medicine makes mistakes) is clearly true. Doctors misdiagnose patients; operate on incorrect limbs, etc… However, this does not mean that all of medicine makes mistakes. If one is so afraid of medicine and its mistakes, one should never go to the doctor out of fear of being given an incorrect drug prescription, or, if you need surgery, do not trust that the doctor will actually accomplish his task; because these actions would also follow from the supposition provided. Moreover, one is making a gamble on whether there is a chance of a cure. In this sense, Williams’ argument reflects that of Pascal’s Wager (an argument, or more of a gamble, having to do with the existence of God), which no rational philosopher would accept. The argument does nothing more than tell the listener or reader to gamble on whether you will survive or not; and if one must go through unnecessary pain, so be it.

Stephanie’s case remains though; it has been proven in the past paragraphs that there is no reason not to perform euthanasia, now it is necessary to explain why this is what should be done. When looking at the argument from mercy, through the eyes of the care perspective, it is more than clear that euthanizing Stephanie is the correct thing to do. First it is necessary to define and explain the “care perspective”. Care theory (another way of saying care perspective) is, as defined by Douglas Birsch in Ethical Insights, “[T]he ethic of care is that ethics is primarily concerned with relationships between persons. The additional idea essential to developing an ethic of care that the ultimate relationship, in an ethical sense, is caring” (97). Caring, as I will define it, is the action of displaying concern for another person or persons. Concern, in the definition of caring, I will define as the ability to relate to something or somebody. In this sense, the care perspective is to desire, first and foremost, a relationship that revolves around care, which revolves around concern.

From this perspective (care), it is now possible to present the argument from mercy, which will provide a solid affirmative argument for euthanizing Stephanie. The simplicity of the argument may be staggering, however, the strength is immediately apparent. The argument begins with one premise: terminally ill patients are forced to endure unimaginable amounts of pain. Pain that James Rachels (a main advocate for this argument) refers to as “so horrible that it can hardly be comprehended by those who have not actually experienced it” (324). Based off of this fact, Rachels says that euthanasia is simply to stop “that” (the pain). In a nutshell, this is the argument. It is necessary, though, to understand it from the care perspective because the care perspective is, as proven by the definitions, most concerned with concern (the ability to relate to somebody). If, as in the care perspective, one may relate oneself to the ailing patient, one will immediately wish for the patient to be put out of their pain. Not only can this argument be applied to the act of euthanizing, it may also apply to the family of the ill person. If, looking in upon Stephanie’s case, one is able to empathize with the parents (and Stephanie) and recognize that euthanasia will put an end to the pain, who would not choose to euthanize the girl? In this sense, the act of active euthanasia is not only justifiable, it may even be preferred.

 

An Analysis and Comparison of Heavenly Creatures and King Kong

Peter Jackson, in his brilliantly original movies, explores the nature of human existence. With movies ranging from fantasy to non-fiction and realistic fiction to historic events, the human imagination is stretched into new worlds that reflect our own. Through symbolism and cinematic genius, Jackson takes the movie attendee along for a journey through the human mind and psychology. More specifically, in his movies Heavenly Creatures and King Kong, the newly famed director explores the very nature of human relationships and the potential danger involved. In each movie, an unnatural and bizarre romantic relationship manifests itself in the world and begins to wreak havoc.

In Peter Jackson’s first highly recognized film, Heavenly Creatures, two families in New Zealand, the Parkers and the Hulmes, are thrown for a loop after the brutal murder of Honora Parker, the mother of Pauline Parker (Melanie Lynskey). After a fast investigation, it is discovered that Pauline and her best friend Juliet Hulme (Kate Winslet) are guilty of the murder of Honora. The first hints of trouble occur, though, in the two girls’ art class. The two ‘to be’ partners are paired up for a simple art project and instantly find themselves to be fascinated by the other. Seemingly instantaneously, the girls are attached by the hip and a clearly homosexual relationship begins to thrive, driving each other further and further into a make-believe world. The two girls conjure up illustrious dreams of becoming famous in Hollywood with their intricately constructed fictitious dramas; but problems arise. Juliet’s parents get a divorce and they think it best to split the two girls apart. Henry Hulme, Juliet’s father, then decides to send Juliet to South Africa to continue her recuperation from her newly onset tuberculosis. Though Juliet is clearly heart broken, Pauline develops into a bloodthirsty brute, seeking to blame somebody for her agony. The seemingly obvious choice for a victim is her mother, whom decided to restrict the two girls’ interactions; with the victim decided, Pauline constructs a feeble murder plot with Juliet, which is discovered in Pauline’s journals the day after the horrific event. Peter Jackson, through the story of this relationship, is able to illustrate the danger and unpredictability of relationships; what started out as innocent fun, quickly descended into a far more troubling situation. What went wrong? Who is to blame? Before these questions may be answered, it is necessary to define friendship.

Friendship, though an obscure part of being a human, plays a central role in human’s lives. It seems to be necessary for our survival. After all, humans are social creatures that use one another to add meaning to their lives. However, these innocent relationships can be destructive if one is not careful. The problem with the relationship of Juliet and Pauline is not its homosexuality; the problem is the combination of two clearly disturbed and psychotic girls, who know nobody but each other. When trapped in such an isolated friendship, one may lose track of reality. Also, it is painfully obvious that human relationships depend on the sanity of its participants, when two insane people have a relationship, trouble may be imminent. Peter Jackson uses the example of the murder of Ms. Hulme to provide proof of the past statement. Trouble may erupt if and when an unnatural relationship of this sort unfolds.

In Peter Jackson’s 2005 movie, King Kong, a similarly destructive and unnatural relationship develops. In the movie, Ann Darrow (Naomi Watts) encounters a movie director who convinces her to play the lead role in his most recent film. The film, he claims, is to be shot on a boat heading to Singapore. Carl Denham (Jack Black), the director, is lying though; he intends to take the cast and crew along for a perilous and precarious search for an undiscovered island, withholding the truly last ‘uncivilized’ society. In the course of the journey, many difficulties arise and present themselves to both the fictional cast and fictional crew. For one, a mysterious monster on the island captures Ann Darrow. While under the beast’s control, an odd and comical relationship emerges; one in which man has rapport with a beast. Though it is never explicitly said, it is implied that a quasi-romantic relationship evolves between a woman and ape.

Eventually Carl Denham captures the giant ape and takes it back to New York City, calling the monster the ‘Eighth Wonder of the World’. The animal apparently longs for Ms. Darrow, and breaks free from his chains. One thing leads to another, and King Kong falls to his death from atop the Empire State building. This blatant and undisguised unnatural relationship ends, once again, in death and destruction.

Through the lens of Peter Jackson’s camera, he once again makes something very clear: unnatural relationships are destructive. Now, one may respond to this by saying that the movie is fiction and that no such ape would ever exist, therefore, no such relationship would manifest itself, etc…. However, I believe that Peter Jackson is using the image of King Kong to symbolize a far deeper issue than bestiality; Jackson uses the ape to exemplify the danger of emotion. Passion is self-destructive, yet, paradoxically, humans search for it in hopes that it will bring them happiness. In search for a cure to our loneliness, we seek togetherness with another entity, pouring all that we have into the relationship, emptying our self to the point of death. Peter Jackson, in other words, is agreeing with the existentialist philosopher Soren Kierkegaard, when Kierkegaard popularly says, “Don’t forget to love yourself.” If one’s self is lost amidst one’s relationships, one will descend into the hollow of loneliness; ironically, one will come to an end with nothing more than one’s self.

Though the destructiveness of the relationships in these two bizarre movies is more than evident, there are also visible differences. In Heavenly Creatures, for example, Juliet and Pauline’s relationship results in an outward retaliation leading to its end, whereas, in King Kong, the relationship implodes. The processes in which these results come are also different. Pauline, in Heavenly Creatures, produces the end of the relationship through the defense of her unique self and the way it relates to Juliet and their stories. She is defending not only the relationship, but also the interests she has. However, Kong in his remarkable downfall is not concerned with his self at all, pointing toward his animalistic and passion-driven nature; he is far more concerned for Ann’s well being. However, the conclusion of the relationships is the same: destruction. Jackson is pointing to the fact that, in life, one can have the same outcome multiple times, yet the process by which the outcome proceeds may vary.

Examining these movies (and Jackson’s plot lines) has yielding valuable advice and clues to the nature and action of friendships/romantic relationships. In Heavenly Creatures, the viewer is advised to be wary of the isolation of relationships; as in, an isolated and anomalous relationship may produce vulgar and distasteful results. When one, like Pauline, puts too much trust into one’s self and the relationship, one is clearly destined to outwardly attack one’s surroundings (although, I am sure, not as explicitly as the results allowed in Heavenly Creatures). Likewise, in King Kong, Peter Jackson recognized that if one cares too much about the other in a relationship, the relationship will implode, paradoxically, in an outward backlash, like a supernova (there is an outward explosion and the creation of a black hole). Kong, in the movie, attempts to protect (in his naive wisdom) Ann Darrow; the results are nothing short of catastrophic. Through these two movies, Peter Jackson makes two things perfectly clear: one must accept the danger in relationships and one must engage carefully in relationships based on the knowledge of their danger.

 

The Climb- Slightly Revised

The sun shone through the leaves of the tree, casting all in its shadow into a dark green backdrop. A girl stood there at the base of the tree; she watched the scene unfold, amazed with its beauty. The oak was tall, perhaps 30 feet or so. Craning her neck upward, the cracks of the purple-streaked sky reflected in her glassy brown eyes. She blinked, thinking of the first, and hardest, step of the ascent. A thumping on the girl’s leg forced her to look down and pet the excited dachshund at her side.

It was late in the afternoon and the sun was setting. The girl realized her time was limited; she had to begin the climb to make it home for supper. Having snuck out of the house, her stomach did a somersault at the thought of her parents looking for her. But she had come all this way… it would be a waste if the tree were not climbed.

“Okay Peppi, I’ll be right back,” the girl told her dog.

With this, she extended her arms for the lowest branch. Realizing it was inches out of reach, she bent her small knees and braced herself for the imminent jump. The soft, petite fingers of the girl latched onto the limb of the tree, refusing to let go. Swinging her left arm around onto the other side of the branch, she was able to walk her way up the thick trunk.

The bark of the tree was rough, and unappealing to a child’s hands. She was not used to these activities; her soft palms had seen little labor. The natural agility of the girl was surprising, though; she made it on top of the first branch. Stopping, she steadied herself and looked down at her pet. The dachshund waited at the base. He had his forelegs on the trunk as he watched his friend ascend. Perhaps a loud bark would have stopped her, but for once the dog was quiet and clearly concerned.

The youngster stopped observing the dog. Doing a quick scan of the golden horizon, she resumed her scaling of the tree. Toward the sky she headed. The next three boughs she climbed with ease. They brought her, however, to the opposite side of the tree, exposing a new set of scenery. The sun now hit her face directly, for she lacked the comfortable shade of the old oak.

The base of the sun was now flirting with the horizon as the earth spun, ever so slowly. Nature was running its course, oblivious that it was providing a show for the girl. Likewise, her brain’s neurons were running their course, unaware that the girl was using them for her pleasure. Upward she went, though. Time was not available for her.

Perhaps 15 feet up, the back of the girl’s thighs began trembling with fear, and her stomach felt queasy. “Maybe 3 more branches, then I’ll start heading down,” she thought to herself. The branches were beginning to thin out, as she had already passed through the densest part of the tree. The tree’s limbs now felt and acknowledged her weight; they displayed this knowledge by bending. Weighing no more than 60 pounds, the child posed no threat to the tree’s health, so she continued climbing.

Meanwhile Peppi, cried and howled at the sight of his master. How could she put herself in such danger? What was her reason? Alas, nobody may answer these questions.

The girl sat down on the second to last bough that she meant to climb. She gazed into the dimming horizon, knowing at that instant she would never forget the scene. An old, abandoned barn sat amidst a field of glowing corn, perhaps a stone’s throw away; a strip of dense woods enclosed the heavenly farm. The trees, with their backs turned to the sun, cast long shadows onto much of the crop, but at its center, the sun’s light remained. The distant song of a mockingbird was caught by the wind and carried to the girl’s ears, casting her under its spell. She sat, in a trance, for a few minutes, captured and held hostage by nature.

Her mind released her as she realized it was near dark and that she must be going. The descent, she noticed would be much more difficult in the time of the shadows, so she began down. The branch which she first had to reach was just inches from her small foot. She hugged the tree and reached a second time, hoping for a more successful result. Nothing but air wanted to touch her. An idea hit her suddenly. To the back of her was another branch, one that was closer. She slowly spun herself around and took a more critical glance at the limb. It was thin… thinner than any other she had stepped on that day, but it was the one realistic way of getting down to earth, and Peppi.

As night enveloped the child, stars began looking down upon her. There was no moon, so the Milky Way was going to have a blast entertaining the girl. But some things even the stars cannot predict. As the sun left the stage and gave way for the finale, the girl, oblivious to the beauty, decided to step on the branch. With her weight shifted onto it, the wood began to crackle. Worried, the girl panicked. The loud snap of the branch was drowned out by one last howl from the girl’s best friend. The bay lasted as the girl fell all thirty feet and landed at the roots of the tree. Nothing made a sound, but the song of the mockingbird was caught in the wind, once more, this time with no ears to reach.