17. Karl Rahner; Ulysses; Bullying

Friday 15 May. 

8:30 a.m.  Further notes: God does forgive, even in the Old Testament, but the people keep turning away!  (Almost as if the writer wants to emphasize how bad the people were.)

Karl Rahner, Servants of the Lord (1968) (re: celibacy):

There is no human freedom without decision.  But decision means giving up other alternatives in favor of one limited good, which thus--by being chosen--becomes a living reality and as such establishes a more positive relationship to the alternatives sacrificed than a man can have who, wanting "everything," never makes a choice and therefore never really gets hold of anything.  Do not forget the weighty truism: you only live once.  Of all the alternatives that life offers, only one can really be lived.  Only once do we step into the stream of life at a given point.  We cannot try everything out for ourselves.  When all is said and done we cannot first tentatively explore each different opportunity life offers and then go back and start living the right one, the one that suits us best, in earnest this time.  There is much that we can only experience in its true, complete being by really giving up--having no desire to experience its contrary. . . .  At bottom human sexuality is not a fixed quantity but a task, a challenge, an opportunity, a tremendous riddle. . . .  Christianity is still a very unmodern thing.

10:15 p.m.  A touch of light in the evening sky.  It began raining this morning, from about 5 to 7:45, then gradually cleared, till, by later afternoon, it was blue again and warm, though not as warm as Wednesday or Thursday.  As always, the breeze bordering on windy. 

Just closed the window in the drawing room, where the cool night air reminds me of Pasadena, always cooler than the beach (and hotter) though even the beach was cool at night, yet never bordering on cold as did Pasadena.

Read first five chapters of Ulysses, along with the guide to tell me what's going on!  There is so much there, and I couldn't help but be impressed by Joyce's grasp of so many different backgrounds, from Hamlet to Tennyson to early Christian heretics, as well as by his humor.   As impressive as all that erudition was, I couldn't help but think that this is what must be called modernism, making something so complicated that you need an extra book along to help translate it, make sure you know what's going on.  It's great once you understand it, but most of us don't have the background any more to properly appreciate everything that Joyce has going on.  He is, in a sense, then, a writer's writer, for those educated enough to discover what he's doing.  From what I remember of Proust, he adds the extended dimension to the present not by references to history and literature, but by references to his own memory, increasing the meaning of the present.

In summary, I couldn't help but think how wonderful it was, properly explained, but also, whether or not it was worth all the effort.  (I would answer an enthusiastic, yes, as of the moment.)

At various points, Joyce finds himself on the side of England, the Catholic Church and Ireland, then wonders who he is writing for, feels like a slave to all three, doesn't want to write for any of the three.  Who, then, is he writing for?  (Who else is there?)  Perhaps it is the individual?  I do not know.  Maybe that's it, the individual, rather than the culture.

Meanwhile, I am enjoying Thomas Keneally's book (our Thomas can read his own name) about Africa, and enjoying it immensely, as it tells of the stories of African revolution with the details, but without the background depth of Joyce.

Sunday 17 May.  10:30 a.m.  Cloudy, bit of a breeze, looks like another warm day once the clouds blow over.

The Highs and Lows of England.  Yesterday walking in Cambridge was a day which gave real meaning to the "merry month of May" or "May Day."   I knew exactly what all the fuss was about: spring in its peak, trees filled with fresh leaves, still many flowers and blossoms, sunny and warm, but a delicious breeze keeping the day on the cool side of warm.  It reminded me again of Southern California, and I thought of how wonderful it would be to live always in a place like this.

And that is the bright, green side of living here.  Last night we heard the other side.  About a young girl who killed herself, probably as a result of bullying by the other kids in her class (she looked to be about 15).  After the show was over, Robert told us of how the boys in his class pick on a classmate, C., who walks on tip toes because he has no ligaments in his toes or feet (something like that).  Boy on television told how other boys call him "spastic," "queer," etc.  Robert says this is just what happens in his class, the other boys calling C. names, like spastic, and actually hitting him, kicking him.  It is so routine now that the other boys, the particular group that picks on C., line up before him every day and say, "Dailies," which means that they want their portion of C's break snack.  Robert says he gladly gives it, seeming to believe that C. is resigned to this, or, better, accepts that this is the way things are and willingly accepts them.  I tell Robert it is like protection money: one guy beats you up and his friend says I won't let him beat you up if you pay me.  Robert thinks it is much different, that C. does this out of his good nature, I suppose.

We try and talk Robert out of this dream, but he doesn't really get it.  Perhaps refusing to believe that people can be evil.

Meanwhile, towards the end of the discussion, Jeffrey is getting more and more upset until he finally cries, and then Cathy is in tears as well, dwelling on the plight of this halfway crippled boy who is so abused and yet appears to accept it.  It is a pathetic picture.

Cathy tries to tell Robert he must stop it, tell the teacher, etc.  (She says she will.)  I tell Robert I don't expect he can stop it, but perhaps he can try and be a peacemaker.  (I discuss Jesus' sayings here and also how St. Peter gave into group pressure in his denial of Jesus.)

8:30 p.m.  Ideas to explore: a story called "Driving all Night."

The idea that US is a lot like the quotation from Karl Rahner.  That is, it can't be everything, it has to decide.

Idea that I am preoccupied with the ordinary natural world because I grew up in the country: Malibu, Flintridge, Horley, rather than the city, yet it wasn't a farm, either, it was easy life of rural/suburban middle class.  (Thinking of Joyce's relationship to Dublin.)