Final Thoughts

Reflections on Tuesdays With Morrie (pp. 130-Final)

            “Morrie believed in the inherent good of people.  But he also saw what they could become.

            “‘People are only mean when they’re threatened,’ he said later that day, ‘and that’s what our culture does.  That’s what our economy does.  Even people who have jobs in our economy are threatened, because they worry about losing them.  And when you get threatened, you start looking out only for yourself.  You start making money a god.  It is all part of this culture.’

            “’…Here’s what I mean by building your own little subculture,’ Morrie said.  ‘I don’t mean you disregard every rule of your community…The little things I can obey.  But the big things—how we think, what we value—those you must choose yourself.  You can’t let anyone—or any society determine those for you.’” (p. 154-155).

            Each individual, born on this planet, has been brainwashed as Morrie stated earlier, into believing the assumptions and standards of society.  We accept them as if some universal law.  In many instances, this is good and right.  However, often, our assumptions—based upon what our society is telling us—are problematically wrong.  The assertion that we must fit the mold of culture strips us of individuality.  According to society, we must be sexy, we must be rich, and we must be more so than others.  Society claims if we fail in any of these categories, then our life is in vain.  This idea is a falsification of magnitudinous proportions.  If these are the standards for success, then many die unhappy and their life is a disappointment.

            The sooner we quit measuring ourselves with the distorted measuring stick of the world, we will be more content with our life and see things that matter for what they truly are. 

            The development of a subculture, as Morrie stated, is essential to surviving among the pugnacious people of the world.   This entails treating others respectfully—society fails to.  This entails helping others—society often fails to.  “If we saw each other as more alike, we might be very eager to join in one big human family in this world, and to care about that family the way we care about our own” (p. 156).  We would be more caring, more compassionate, more forgiving, more understanding, and more prepared to die.

Reflections on Tuesdays With Morrie (pp. 80-130)

            “‘Mitch,’ he said, laughing along, ‘even I don’t know what “spiritual development” really means.  But I do know we’re deficient in some way.  We are too involved in materialistic things, and they don’t satisfy us.  The loving relationships we have, the universe around us, we take these things for granted’” (p. 84).

            Morrie emphasized the importance of individual spiritual development.  The words “spiritual development,” through their frequent usage, have become opaque and vague.  This phrase has become a buzz word which people throw around haphazardly hoping it will germ some idea of its true meaning.  Even Morrie says he is unsure—with the many definitions—what the phrase really means.  Nevertheless, he knows that it is vital to mankind.  His assumptions appear to suggest that it signifies our dependence on love and an appreciation for things around us.

            Morrie frequently comments on “material possessions.”  Mitch even notices this, he cannot recall a new object purchased by Morrie in their time together.  There is, in America, an existential attachment to stuff.  Indeed, “things are in the saddle and ride mankind.”[1]  An 18 year-old girl from Pakistan, who recently moved to California, wrote in the Huffington Post, “Unfortunately, the American dream is becoming more and more materialistic. I guess it was always a bit materialistic, but when I look at America today, I see a nation obsessed with shopping and buying unnecessary products. Previously, people aspired to have a nice house in the suburbs with a couple of cars. Now, there is no end to the products that people want: the latest IPhone, expensive cars, designer bags—the list is endless. The American dream revolves around luxury goods for most people.”[2]

            What does this communicate regarding our “spiritual development” as Morrie put it?  Humankind seeks satisfaction.  Everyone carries the innate desire to feel needed, to feel wanted, to feel appreciated.  This accumulation of articles of clothing, the obsession with odds and ends, and the charm of cars, all these are pseudo-satisfaction.  Things give immediate rise.  Things are visual clues to our importance.  The sooner America realizes their epidemic, the sooner we can address the problem.

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[1] Emerson, Ralph W. "Ode, Inscribed to William H. Channing.", accessed June 18, 2013, http://www.emersoncentral.com/poems/ode_inscribed_to_william_h_channing.htm.

[2] Khurram, Shanzeh. 2013. "Is the American Dream Becoming Too                                                   Materialistic?" Huffington Post, Feb. 17.

Tuesdays With Morrie

Reflections on Tuesdays With Morrie—Pages 1-70.

            In moments of extreme emotions, the inward man or woman is revealed.  Who we truly are—in all of its splendor or sorrow—is expelled from the confines of the soul for all to behold.  Some emotions are certainly permissible such as the sudden or hasty frustrations brimming from the boiling moment.  Nevertheless, there are undoubtedly moments of understanding.  Such an instant arose with Morrie, when told he had Lou Gehrig’s disease. 

            “But my old professor had made a profound decision, one he began to construct the day he came out of the doctor’s office with a sword hanging over his head.  Do I wither up and disappear, or do I make the best of my time left?  He had asked himself.

            “He would not wither.  Hew ould not be ashamed of dying.

            “Instead he would make death his final project, the center point of his days.  Since everyone was going to die, he could be of great value, right? He could be research.  A human textbook.  Study me in my slow and patient demise.  Watch what happens to me.  Learn with me.

            “Morrie would walk that final bridge between life and death, and narrate the trip” (p. 10). 

           

            Always, in the most sallow darkness, we can find reasons to persist.  We can find reasons to endure. 

            “There are some mornings when I cry and cry and more for myself.  Some mornings, I’m so angry and better.  But it doesn’t last too long.  Then I get up and say, ‘I want to live…’ (p. 21). 

            This exemplary decision can and should be reciprocated in each of our lives.  Rather than moping in the mire of melancholy, if we come to accept our lot and press forward, we shall be endowed with a bestowal of piercing perception.  This perception shall penetrate the woes of the present and allow us to see life for what it truly is.  Then with resolution and resolve we declare to the world: “Your best has not bested me!  Keep your woes, keep your pity, and keep your sour sulking sadness!  I need them not, for I have problems enough of my own!” 

            Although our physical state be filled with pain, why force this anguish upon our mental capacities.  Often the suffering of body comes coupled with the shooting suffering of mind—but according to Morrie, we don’t have to accept it.  We can reject this poisonous plague, which if allowed, will engulf our entire world, enveloping all in grotesque black.

            Undeniably this is all easier on paper than it is in practice.  Without question, circumstance yields to men and women misery too immeasurable to bear.  Yet always there remains a part in which, we are still sovereign.  Our autonomy doesn’t flee at the sight of affliction—the two sit along side each other—autonomy only surrendering because it is easier.  Misery is easy, self-pity is facile, depression is effortless—rather they appear to be.

Announcement of a New Book!

            With the completion of The Great Gatsby, it is necessary that we choose a new title to read for THE FINER THINGS CLUB.  If it is allowed, I should like to choose the next novel, after which, someone else can choose—similar to the process undertaken last summer.  The novel I have chosen is Tuesdays With Morrie by Mitch Albom.  My interest in this book was stimulated when my Personal Finance Professor, Craig Israelson, would often begin class by quoting some of its passages.  Of what I heard, I was very impressed by the depth, intensity, and presentation of the subject.  Tuesdays With Morrie is a book about death.  The Boston Globe called the book “An extraordinary contribution to the literature of death.”[1] 

The work covers several timeless themes all seen through the lens of an incapacitated man, dying of Lou Gehrig’s disease.  Knowing that the setting suns are becoming increasingly fewer, Morrie makes the conscious decision to continue living—not allowing death to claim him as its fearful victim—rather as the calm, reasonable person that he is.  This resolve, borne in the forge of one of life’s greatest adversities, is inspiring to experience. 

With the recent passing of my father, of course, anything written on the mysterious subject of death magnetically manipulates my attention.  One passage particularly resonated the chords of understanding.  Death, in our family, came as an unexpected guest.  He glided in, silently stealing away someone we thought belonged to us.  Morrie reports: “Everyone knows they’re going to die,…but nobody believes it.  If we did, we would do things differently.”[2]  This doing things differently speech is particularly penetrating.  I am thrilled to commence this book.

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[1] Albom, Mitch.  Tuesdays With Morrie. New York: Broadway Books, 2002. Print. P. 81.

[2] Ibid. Back Cover.

Final Musings on The Great Gatsby

Final Thoughts on The Great Gatsby

            The Great Gatsby has slid into a sterling spot amongst the classic novels of the ages.  Forever it will be enshrined next to many of the other classics works.  I appreciate the novel because of the descriptive and elevated language that Fitzgerald used to sculpt his masterpiece.  The words rise up off the page and create an illustrative imagery assisting the reader into the fantastic world of Jay Gatsby.  The Great Gatsby exudes elegance, it presents a picture of the nineteen-twenties that a reader can see before him/her.

            That being said, the plot and storyline of The Great Gatsby is deceptive and unpleasant.  I think this is as far as I could ever delve into any sort of romance novel (sorry Twilight fans).   Although I am not in the place or circumstance of any of the main characters, I find myself reeling with frustration by their poor and petty decisions.  I do not presume that my decisions would warrant any different results from a modern audience; however, I should think I would not have pursued Daisy after the finality of her marriage. 

            Above all else, this novel serves as a warning.  It tells us to beware fixating feelings toward one idea or dream.  If we continue in pursuit of something, which is so harmful to us, it will prove our utter ruin.  Undoubtedly, the most depressing part of the novel is the lack of realization of Gatsby.  Often those who are most deviant and deranged in their thinking are completely oblivious to the fact.  What voice of reason can penetrate their loaded ears?  Whose heavy hand will rise to indicate the correct course?  In this novel there is none.  What Gatsby needed was a better friend.  That is easy to say with the facility of hindsight, but Nick Caraway should have expressed some sentiments concerning his obsession with Daisy.

            Recently, I heard a wonderful story, “about a girl that [Jeffrey R. Holland] had tried to reach and could not, that her mother had tried to reach and could not, that her bishop had tried to reach and could not, that her stake president had tried to reach and could not. Nobody could reach her—except her girlfriend, who took her by the collar, shook her, started to cry, and said, ‘Don't you see? Don't you see what you're doing to me? You break my heart!’ She sobbed. She just shook, and she shook her friend. That girl, when nobody (it appeared) on the face of this earth could touch her,... her mother could not reach her; her bishop could not reach her; but a friend reached her and literally grabbed her and shook her and said, ‘You're breaking my heart!’” [1] 

            What Gatsby needed was a friend who would shake him.  Although Caraway said, somewhat hesitantly, “you can’t repeat the past.”  He needed to get his attention, being bold about it.  Although, this also possibly could have not made one lick of difference, Nick Caraway could at least say to himself, I did all that I could.

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[1] (Holland, Jeffrey R. "Remembered and Nourishedby the Good Word of God." speeches.byu.edu. 2012.Web. <http://speeches.byu.edu/?act=viewitem&id=867>.)