The Namesake, author Jhumpa Lahiri’s Pulitzer Prize winning sophomore novel, follows the lives of those in the Ganguli family. The story begins in medias res with a displaced, newlywed, and pregnant Ashima. While still in India, she submissively obeys her family’s wishes and married Ashoke Ganguli, a Bengali man that lived in Boston, a complete stranger, and the man that becomes her better half. The son she is about to have grows to be the protagonist of the novel, who by a string of accidents is named Gogol. This bildungsroman follows him into adulthood and maturity by showing his journey of coming to terms with his own name, and through that, his identity as well. Gogol dealt with his identity in three fold: within his family, within himself, and within the romantic relationships he has.
Within his family
The irony of his name is that Gogol himself grows up not knowing why he was named after an author from Russia, of all places, or the utter significance of it until years after he legally changes his name. He belittles his name constantly. It was supposed to be his daknam , or pet name, and used formally only until the letter from his maternal grandmother would arrive from India. However it happened that the grandmother had a stroke, and the letter never came. His father chose it and his mother agreed because she knows that “the name stands not only for her son’s life, but her husband’s” (pg. 28). The Overcoat by Russian author Nikolai Gogol was the book that saved Ashoke’s life after a fatal train crash back before he was married. The search team only found Ashoke’s mangled, bloodied body when the page fell out of his hand, saving his life. However, the experience is one Ashoke keeps for himself; and in America, only his wife knows the story. This story, for those that know, is a secret pain, yet also a strong part in their identity. That train ride brought Ashoke to America allowing their story to begin. If their lives were like a tent, the pain and sense of hope this memory equally brings would be the stakes that hold it in place.
Many years later, Ashoke finally tells his son the story of that one train ride that changed his life. Here, Gogol finally learns the significance of his name. It is no longer just the name of a writer his father liked, but a gut wrenching story: the story of one incident that could have taken away his loving father’s life. Now every time he thinks about his name he also remembers his father. The two unite as one through the five letters Gogol once hated.
Within Himself
Throughout high school Gogol lives under not only embarrassment of his name, but fears that in a potentially romantic situation, a name like Gogol could only ruin the perfect moment. He soon finds himself in such a situation with those circumstances for the first time in his life, and as he severely “wishes there were another name he could use, just this once, to get him through the evening.” Then he remembers that he doesn’t have to lie. Technically, he did have another name: Nikhil. This moment is pivotal for Gogol. Here he realizes that there is “an invisible shield” he can wear that blocks out his fears, inhibitions, and the person he grew up being, the person named Gogol. He takes on his good name for the same reason’s his parents wanted to give it to him; he takes it on “represent dignified and enlightened qualities(pg. 26).” However, he does this, also, to break away from who he was. With a new name he feels like a new person altogether. After his incident with Kim and his friends question him, he almost says “It wasn’t me (pg.96)”, but he stops himself, nor does he continue “that it hadn’t been Gogol who’d kissed Kim. That Gogol had had nothing to do with it (pg. 96).” Gogol, here, still in high school, has separated mature Gogol, by a new name, from the childhood Gogol.
Within months, Gogol legally changes his name to Nikhil, allowing for a complete remake of himself. This is his chance to start anew. He tells his parents that with a name like Gogol, no one will take him seriously. However, “the only person that who didn’t take Gogol seriously, the only person who tormented him, the only person chronically aware of and afflicted by the embarrassment of his, the only person who constantly questioned it and wished it were otherwise, was Gogol (pg. 100).” Coincidentally, this new name collides with independence and beginning university, furthering the illusion of a new person. Nikhil writes freshman papers, opens a checking account, smokes Camel lights at parties, and loses his virginity. This is what he wants all along, but now that it is his, it is not complete because “he doesn’t feel like Nikhil (pg. 105).” His shield only covers him on the outside. Inside, he is still the young man struggling with a long term identity crisis. Nikhil and Gogol are “indistinguishable to the naked eye yet fundamentally different (pg 105).” This struggle for identity will never be won. Anybody can put on a front, but nobody can put on a new person. In time Gogol will have a new found respect for his daknam; and at this point, hints of that sense of security in the name Gogol manifests itself when his parents refer to him as Nikhil, for his benefit, when a roommate picks up the phone and it troubles Gogol “even though he has asked his parents to do precisely this (pg. 106).” It makes “him feel in that instant that he is not related to them, not their child (pg. 106).” It seems like subconsciously he wants what his parents had intended: a home name and a public name, but Gogol was so set on a complete turnaround. To show that Gogol has not truly changed, Jhumpa Lahiri as narrator continues to refer to his as Gogol throughout the novel, even after his new name is accepted by the entire outside world, even when it collides with Nikhil in the sentence. Nikhil is always Gogol, but Gogol is not always Nikhil.
It is near the end of novel when Gogol comes to terms with his first name. He is at his home on Pemberton Road, his first home, for the last time since his widowed mother is moving out. The occasion is the last family Christmas and Gogol is told to fetch the Nikon upstairs, searching through his the few remaining, unpacked contents of his old bedroom, he comes across the book The Short Stories of Nikolai Gogol that his late father had gifted to him on his fourteenth birthday, almost twenty years prior. Inside the inscribed words “For Gogol Ganguli…The man you gave you’re his name, from the man who gave you your name.” capture Gogol’s heart. This name he so detested was the first thing his father had given Gogol; this book held the remnants of Ashoke Ganguli.
“Without people in the world to call him Gogol, no matter how long he himself lives, Gogol Ganguli will, once and for all, vanish from the lips of the loved ones, and so, cease to exist. Yet the thought of this eventual demise provides no sense of victory, no solace. It provides no solace at all.” (pg.289)
To let the name Gogol die, is to kill who he is. If there is no one inside, what is the point of the shield in the first place? There need not be Nikhil if there is no Gogol.
Within Romanic Relationships
If finding himself in his given name was the last piece to the puzzle, then realizing that home is where the heart is was the recognition. Even after years of trying to distance himself from his origins, and “for all his aloofness toward his family in the past… he has always hovered close to this quiet, ordinary town (pg 281).” Gogol comes full circle not with his literal home, but also in romance. His girlfriends were white and completely different from everything that could be associated with his family. His first serious love interest is Ruth, a child of hippies. He is flattered when she shows interest in his own heritage. Heritage is something Gogol tries to hide with the shield. Ruth gravitates to something that belongs to Gogol, and Gogol returns the attraction for Ruth equally if not more so. But Gogol still cannot let her in any closer to his culture and origins; “he cannot picture her at the kitchen table on Pemberton Road, in her jeans an her bulky sweater, politely eating his mother’s food. He cannot imagine being with her in the house where he is still Gogol.” As it turns out, Ruth must leave to study abroad and the separation damages this relationship and both parties move on.
The narrative continues and reveals that Gogol has no ABCD friends at his college because “he avoids them, for they remind too much of the way his parents choose to live, befriending people not so much because they like them, but because of the past they happen to share (pg. 119).” It is with this mindset that Gogol finds Maxine Ratliff and allows himself to get lost in the tantalizing life she lives. He, attracted by her contentedness with her own life, envies her family and even joins it. Within months of dating, Gogol almost completely moves into parents home. He drowns himself in the classy lifestyle, expensive cheese, and perfectly aged wine. He adopts a new culture and disregards his old life completely; all the while “he is conscious of the fact that his immersion in Maxine’s family is a betrayal of his own (pg.141).” Sadly, even so assimilated, he remains an outsider. When at his own birthday party, with a mix of people who know him well and those he meets there for the first time, his American-ness is questioned. Gogol finds so much confidence through his relationship that even when people question his American-ness, it does not deter him. At night “at Maxine’s side…he is free (pg.158).” During that time of separation from his own home and family is when he receives a call from his sister. Their father, Ashoke, who was in Cleveland by himself on a work trip, had died suddenly. He now is holding his family closer than ever before and Maxine doesn’t fit into this picture. His family is first; they need him and he needs them. She invites him to take a trip for the upcoming holiday and get away from his family for a while. Gogol responds with “I don’t want to get away (pg. 182).” He is mature enough to know that running away from grief with his girl friend cannot help him. He needs his home; he needs his roots more than ever before. Their relationship ends.
Months pass and Ashima worries about her son. She offers the telephone number of a Bengali family friend’s daughter who just came out of an engagement to an American man that ended badly. Gogol, though closer to his family, isn’t ready to let his mother set him up with woman. Nor does he want a Bengali girl to date. But after dodging the semi blind date, he obliges and surprisingly, he hits it off with Moushumi Mazoomdar. They both fought their cultures long enough and found a kindred spirits within the other. It’s nice to know that she knows what growing up American in a Bengali family is like; she even walked the halls of his home and washed her hands in his sink. These little comforts make loving her all the more natural. It is almost like a battle lost, giving into their parents wishes like this, but a battle they are willing to lose for love. Gogol has figuratively moved himself even closer to home by choice, Moushumi a little less ready to be a married Bengali girl. Gogol can look around his new home with Moushumi and know her made the right choice, but Moushumi needs to delve back into her old lifestyle to be satisfied. Within a year of their marriage, begins to see a French man that infatuated her for years when she was young. A full affair is underway by the time Gogol finds out. Heartbroken, he finally hates a name more than his own. It is the name of the man Moushumi was privately seeing. Gogol finds himself drawn close home all over again. Another year passes, and it’s that last Christmas on Pemberton Road when Gogol realizes that there his heart was all along. In distancing himself from his family, he distanced from himself. When he realizes that his parents were the trendsetters in the Bengali community, he realizes they did it all for him and his sister. With each small epiphany, respect for his parents grows deeper still. This is his home; where his heart found comfort all along.
Identity: the Indian American Experience
Many of the struggles Gogol faces are common to second generation Indians in America. I myself fall into this category; I am born American but my parents were both born and brought in India. Lahiri paints a surprisingly realistic and completely relatable version of what it is like to be caught between these two cultures and not knowing which takes the more dominant role. In the balance is either your family or your friends. Many times growing up I felt the embarrassment that Gogol felt. I hated how we’d take month long trips to India just to travel from one home to the other, drink tea and eat traditional Indian sweets. I hated the parties the adults threw where all the kids watched television, just like Gogol attended in the novel. I sometime consciously try not to associate myself too often with many other Indians today like Gogol does at Yale. I am not at all ashamed of my culture. I am proud of it; however, I am not proud of the way certain people in the same culture behave and it makes me distance myself from it. Every page of The Namesake, captured my attention not only because it was blissfully well written, but because it I inhabit an almost parallel life. Unfortunately, the simililarities continue. My own father died suddenly in a hospital much like Gogol’s father did; differently though because my mother was there. On a lighter note, another random similarity is that both Gogol and myself and Indians with Russian names. Although Nikita is also an Indian name, people often ask why my parents would name be after Nikita Khrushchev and, like Gogol did in Literature class while learning about Nikolai Gogol, I hide in my seat as we learn about Russia. No, most second generations do not share every one of these similarities with Gogol as I do; but some overarching struggles are there. First the search for identity: in a school like my own where the social divisions fall on lines of black, white, and Hispanic race relations, it is hard to find the right groove when you cannot be labeled. Being a minority makes you constantly conscious of how people may judge you based on skin color. At the heart of the novel, Lahiri is presenting this struggle with identity, a struggle that comes from within oneself, within your family, and within your social realm. However, but by allowing for Gogol to come to terms with his own name and his identity, Lahiri shows gives proof that every second generation Indian in America can do the same.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
World Literature Paper 2
Statement of Intent
The relationship between Siddhartha, portrayed in the novel Siddhartha, written by author Hermann Hesse, is complicated by a blind love from father to son, and spiteful hate from son to father. This dysfunctional relationship is a repetition of Siddhartha’s past. He, like his son also named Siddhartha, is highly regarded by his parents, and he, too, chooses to discover a life beyond his parent’s intent. Siddhartha, the father, forgets what it is like to be young and curious. The man that learns from his own mistakes and the mistakes of others repeats the error of his father, the error of not allowing his child to formulate his own view of the world.
To shed new light on the hypocrisy in this relationship, Larry King, host of television’s most widely known talk shows, Larry King Live, will interview both Siddhartha the father and young Siddhartha, who goes by the name of Sid. Also joining them will be guest Vasudeva, the ferryman, as an insightful and objective member of this interview. The transcript of this conference follows the format of a theatrical skit’s script.
Both Vasudeva and Siddhartha, the elder, will speak in the manner they speak in the book, passively and calmly until emotions enter the picture. Then both begin to speak in the first person. Sid speaks in modern English. He feels it unnecessary to speak like his namesake. Siddhartha speaks in the same manner Hesse wrote his character to speak.
When direct quotes are pulled from the text, page numbers in parentheses follow. If this piece was to be acted out, those page numbers would be omitted from the script.
**********
Larry: Good Evening. This is Larry King Live. Today our guests are Siddhartha, the Illustrious One; and his son, who is also named Siddhartha. But to minimize confusion we’ll refer to the younger as Sid. Is that okay?
Sid: Of course. I’m cool with anything that distinguishes me from my namesake.
Larry: *smiles, nods, and continues* Also with us is Vasudeva, the ferry man, an objective, yet knowing and wise third party. Thank you all for joining us tonight. Hermann Hesse, the renowned author, recently published an up close and personal account of your life, Siddhartha. Through your journey, you have attained a sort of peace. All that is well and good; but, it amazes me how the relationship you share with Sid, was never peaceful, nor were the issues properly dealt with. Let’s discuss that. I read here that, and Hesse is referring to you, Siddhartha, when he says “by friendly patience, he hoped to win him [Sid] over.”(pg. 118)You honestly believed unending patience was the best way to go about teaching your son?
Siddhartha: As a child, my parents taught me many things. My mind teemed with all sorts of facts and formulas. Yet, from personal experiences, I have understood that wisdom is much more desired than endless knowledge. I also believe that peace and wisdom go hand in hand. I firmly accept as true that “wisdom is not communicable.” (pg. 142) I could have chose to impart much knowledge to my son, but what use is that; “knowledge may be communicated, but not wisdom. One can find it, live it, be fortified by it, do wonders through it, but one cannot communicate and teach it.” (pg. 142) I suspected this when I was still a youth and it was this that drove me away from teachers.” I wish to impart the wisdom I have attained. Although this may be impossible, it is my wish that at least he can learn by immersion. Spending time with Vasudeva and I can potentially change him. And the river. He must learn from it. He must learn to listen.
Larry: You say he has to learn from the river. That’s understandable, yet surprising. You yourself left the river, it says here: “Since young Siddhartha was in the hut, the old men had shared the work. Vasudeva had taken over all the work at the ferry and Siddhartha, in order to be with his son, the work in the hut and fields.” (pg. 118)
Siddhartha: Yes, I sacrificed my time at the river for my son. I favored time with him, instead of time with the river, even though it meant sorrow and trouble when I could have happiness and pleasure. I waited day after day for him to understand me, for him to accept my love, and maybe even for him to return it. I believed fervently that one day he would see and understand through my love and patience.
Larry: Hmmm, Vasudeva, you saw all of this first hand. Tell me, what might your opinion be?
Vasudeva: Let me speak to Siddhartha as a friend. You are correct in saying he has much to learn, but as do you. After throwing away the life of simplicity, and being sickened by the life of indulgences, you chose this life. Your son was never given that choice. He was forced to put those things behind him, to pursue life with you.
Larry: Why are you shaking your head Sid? What do you have to say about this?
Sid: Preach it Vasudeva. The old man is so confused. He wants me to become a copy of himself: “so pious, so gentle, so wise, but just to spite [him], I would rather become a thief and a murderer and go to hell.”(pg. 123) I hate this man. He may have had sex with my mother a dozen times. But that doesn’t make him my father. And you know what, Larry? There is nothing about this man that attracts me, nor am I fearful of him. He is a good and perhaps even a holy man, but all of that means nothing to me. He doesn’t know how to be a father. I would have more respect for him if he at least disciplined me. He doesn’t even do that.
Larry: Is that why you want to leave, Sid?
Sid: Yes. But there’s more. I know that his journey brought him peace only after he had experienced everything else. I need to experience life too; I have to endure my own struggles and joys. I needed to embark on my own journey. Who knows? My own path may lead me in another direction altogether.
Larry: That’s an interesting perspective. *pause* Siddhartha, you look troubled.
Siddhartha: How can I allow my child to wander in this world alone? “I am fighting for him, I am trying to reach his heart.” (pg. 119) Someday….someday the river will speak to him. I know this.
Vasudeva: Siddhartha, dear friend, I have asked you this many times, in many ways, but you need to consider it again. Is your son obedient to you? Do you teach him what he needs to know? Does he understand the consequences of his actions? It is your duty as his father to instill in him both values and limitations. Yes, love is stronger that force, however, there is cause for me to think that failure to put your foot down is a mistake for which you, Siddhartha are to blame. Let him interact with people other than us. Your mistakes can not spare you son. You cannot protect him forever. Who spared you? Your own father couldn’t spare you, why do you assume you can spare young Siddhartha. Maybe you like to believe this because you want your journey to count for his as well. Can’t you see?
Siddhartha: *almost in tears* Vasudeva, you know I can not let him go. I love him too much. I am afraid of losing him. My heart is tied to him. It is like nothing I have ever felt before.
Sid: * voiced raised and on the verge of breaking* I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE. You think this is showing me love. You make me feel so small and irreverent. It is worse than any punishment you should be giving me. The worst part is that I don’t want to be like you, and until I do, you will continually punish me like this. So how then can I ever escape?
Larry: Wow, this has gotten much more emotional than I expected. *laughs nervously* Vasudeva, from what I hear, you’re not a man of many words, but you’re on a roll. I’ll let you continue… Wait, I think we’ve lost our connection to Sid. Hello. Sid? can you hear me? Sid! Sid? *camera goes to Sid’s seat, which is empty, Sid has left the premises*
Siddhartha: What!?! Where is he? Where is my son? I must find him. I must bring him back. He is but a child. Help me Vasudeva!
Vasudeva: Siddhartha, you must pause. Let him go.
Larry: Wait, he’s left a sketch. It’s an image of two men, one young and one old.
Siddhartha: *barely a whisper* my father. It is me leaving behind my father the Brahmin. He let me go; now I must do the same.
Vasudeva: Yes my friend, you finally understand.
Larry: What a night! Well, that wraps up tonight’s episode. Thank you all for watching. Good Night.
The relationship between Siddhartha, portrayed in the novel Siddhartha, written by author Hermann Hesse, is complicated by a blind love from father to son, and spiteful hate from son to father. This dysfunctional relationship is a repetition of Siddhartha’s past. He, like his son also named Siddhartha, is highly regarded by his parents, and he, too, chooses to discover a life beyond his parent’s intent. Siddhartha, the father, forgets what it is like to be young and curious. The man that learns from his own mistakes and the mistakes of others repeats the error of his father, the error of not allowing his child to formulate his own view of the world.
To shed new light on the hypocrisy in this relationship, Larry King, host of television’s most widely known talk shows, Larry King Live, will interview both Siddhartha the father and young Siddhartha, who goes by the name of Sid. Also joining them will be guest Vasudeva, the ferryman, as an insightful and objective member of this interview. The transcript of this conference follows the format of a theatrical skit’s script.
Both Vasudeva and Siddhartha, the elder, will speak in the manner they speak in the book, passively and calmly until emotions enter the picture. Then both begin to speak in the first person. Sid speaks in modern English. He feels it unnecessary to speak like his namesake. Siddhartha speaks in the same manner Hesse wrote his character to speak.
When direct quotes are pulled from the text, page numbers in parentheses follow. If this piece was to be acted out, those page numbers would be omitted from the script.
**********
Larry: Good Evening. This is Larry King Live. Today our guests are Siddhartha, the Illustrious One; and his son, who is also named Siddhartha. But to minimize confusion we’ll refer to the younger as Sid. Is that okay?
Sid: Of course. I’m cool with anything that distinguishes me from my namesake.
Larry: *smiles, nods, and continues* Also with us is Vasudeva, the ferry man, an objective, yet knowing and wise third party. Thank you all for joining us tonight. Hermann Hesse, the renowned author, recently published an up close and personal account of your life, Siddhartha. Through your journey, you have attained a sort of peace. All that is well and good; but, it amazes me how the relationship you share with Sid, was never peaceful, nor were the issues properly dealt with. Let’s discuss that. I read here that, and Hesse is referring to you, Siddhartha, when he says “by friendly patience, he hoped to win him [Sid] over.”(pg. 118)You honestly believed unending patience was the best way to go about teaching your son?
Siddhartha: As a child, my parents taught me many things. My mind teemed with all sorts of facts and formulas. Yet, from personal experiences, I have understood that wisdom is much more desired than endless knowledge. I also believe that peace and wisdom go hand in hand. I firmly accept as true that “wisdom is not communicable.” (pg. 142) I could have chose to impart much knowledge to my son, but what use is that; “knowledge may be communicated, but not wisdom. One can find it, live it, be fortified by it, do wonders through it, but one cannot communicate and teach it.” (pg. 142) I suspected this when I was still a youth and it was this that drove me away from teachers.” I wish to impart the wisdom I have attained. Although this may be impossible, it is my wish that at least he can learn by immersion. Spending time with Vasudeva and I can potentially change him. And the river. He must learn from it. He must learn to listen.
Larry: You say he has to learn from the river. That’s understandable, yet surprising. You yourself left the river, it says here: “Since young Siddhartha was in the hut, the old men had shared the work. Vasudeva had taken over all the work at the ferry and Siddhartha, in order to be with his son, the work in the hut and fields.” (pg. 118)
Siddhartha: Yes, I sacrificed my time at the river for my son. I favored time with him, instead of time with the river, even though it meant sorrow and trouble when I could have happiness and pleasure. I waited day after day for him to understand me, for him to accept my love, and maybe even for him to return it. I believed fervently that one day he would see and understand through my love and patience.
Larry: Hmmm, Vasudeva, you saw all of this first hand. Tell me, what might your opinion be?
Vasudeva: Let me speak to Siddhartha as a friend. You are correct in saying he has much to learn, but as do you. After throwing away the life of simplicity, and being sickened by the life of indulgences, you chose this life. Your son was never given that choice. He was forced to put those things behind him, to pursue life with you.
Larry: Why are you shaking your head Sid? What do you have to say about this?
Sid: Preach it Vasudeva. The old man is so confused. He wants me to become a copy of himself: “so pious, so gentle, so wise, but just to spite [him], I would rather become a thief and a murderer and go to hell.”(pg. 123) I hate this man. He may have had sex with my mother a dozen times. But that doesn’t make him my father. And you know what, Larry? There is nothing about this man that attracts me, nor am I fearful of him. He is a good and perhaps even a holy man, but all of that means nothing to me. He doesn’t know how to be a father. I would have more respect for him if he at least disciplined me. He doesn’t even do that.
Larry: Is that why you want to leave, Sid?
Sid: Yes. But there’s more. I know that his journey brought him peace only after he had experienced everything else. I need to experience life too; I have to endure my own struggles and joys. I needed to embark on my own journey. Who knows? My own path may lead me in another direction altogether.
Larry: That’s an interesting perspective. *pause* Siddhartha, you look troubled.
Siddhartha: How can I allow my child to wander in this world alone? “I am fighting for him, I am trying to reach his heart.” (pg. 119) Someday….someday the river will speak to him. I know this.
Vasudeva: Siddhartha, dear friend, I have asked you this many times, in many ways, but you need to consider it again. Is your son obedient to you? Do you teach him what he needs to know? Does he understand the consequences of his actions? It is your duty as his father to instill in him both values and limitations. Yes, love is stronger that force, however, there is cause for me to think that failure to put your foot down is a mistake for which you, Siddhartha are to blame. Let him interact with people other than us. Your mistakes can not spare you son. You cannot protect him forever. Who spared you? Your own father couldn’t spare you, why do you assume you can spare young Siddhartha. Maybe you like to believe this because you want your journey to count for his as well. Can’t you see?
Siddhartha: *almost in tears* Vasudeva, you know I can not let him go. I love him too much. I am afraid of losing him. My heart is tied to him. It is like nothing I have ever felt before.
Sid: * voiced raised and on the verge of breaking* I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE. You think this is showing me love. You make me feel so small and irreverent. It is worse than any punishment you should be giving me. The worst part is that I don’t want to be like you, and until I do, you will continually punish me like this. So how then can I ever escape?
Larry: Wow, this has gotten much more emotional than I expected. *laughs nervously* Vasudeva, from what I hear, you’re not a man of many words, but you’re on a roll. I’ll let you continue… Wait, I think we’ve lost our connection to Sid. Hello. Sid? can you hear me? Sid! Sid? *camera goes to Sid’s seat, which is empty, Sid has left the premises*
Siddhartha: What!?! Where is he? Where is my son? I must find him. I must bring him back. He is but a child. Help me Vasudeva!
Vasudeva: Siddhartha, you must pause. Let him go.
Larry: Wait, he’s left a sketch. It’s an image of two men, one young and one old.
Siddhartha: *barely a whisper* my father. It is me leaving behind my father the Brahmin. He let me go; now I must do the same.
Vasudeva: Yes my friend, you finally understand.
Larry: What a night! Well, that wraps up tonight’s episode. Thank you all for watching. Good Night.
Theory of Knowledge Paper
There is no knowledge I value more in this world than that which I have gained from my experiences in my faith, Christianity. If the definition of value is to regard or esteem highly, and knowledge is true justified belief, then I should not only believe it, I must also justify it. Say, for example, when someone asks how I know, I need to be able to validate it or explain through language, sense perception, reason, and emotion.
The basis of all religion comes from language: texts and teachings. As a child I memorized scripture and learned the stories that fill each page of the Bible. But at that point, it was only information to me. Tales of old that meant about the same to me as the elephant Babar I watched on television after school. However, I continued to hide all I learned in my heart, and through some sort of process, the information grew into data that I could study and learn from, and then it blossomed into sincere belief. Language brought me to believe. From there originated what I now hold dear. Through texts and teaching that usually communicated emotion or passion for the belief, all which is written in the Word became real for me. Yet I have to question, can language be trusted blindly? Language is second hand knowledge. Often, such knowledge can and should be trusted. Other times, reliability should be questioned. Especially considering I had limited background information, I had absolutely no idea whether or not some Sunday school teacher said something incorrect. If gullibility can only lead to danger therefore, how could I trust the voice of language? I could trust it because over the years that followed, the information I learned then confirmed itself through experiences and other sources.
Time passed, as my mindset changed; my perceived view of the world was artfully painted with the colors of my faith. If the sensation, or stimuli, provided included inhaling the scent of a rose in full bloom, my interpretation brought me back to “in the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth (Genesis 1:1).” Simple lessons such as obedience and kindness became lessons of what God wants from his children. From the beliefs that language allowed, perception came along and nursed until faith, as in being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see (Hebrews 11:1), emerged in the form of believing for miracles, whether big or small. Through prayer and faith, my mother was healed from cancer without one day of the radiation doctors told her was necessary. Through prayer and faith my bothersome skin condition, allergies, and severe asthma were cured. Through prayer and faith, a woman in
Each and every opinion, however, had to make sense. I hit middle school, and for the first time ventured into the world of public school. Now all of a sudden, I wanted to know why I chose to live the way I did. Was it reasonable? First, it needed evidence, and for me, it was miracles that I couldn’t deny. But my evidence all came from my own perception. It had to be more solid. Something others could relate to. So I looked to history, an area of knowledge. That year, sixth grade, we studied Nebuchadnezzar. For the first time, ironically in a public school, I learned about biblical figures outside the settings of the Bible. At that age, that was all the confirmation I needed. Coherence, the second criterion for deciding if my opinion was reasonable, came more easily. Coherence: did it match what I already knew? Yes, it followed everything I had been taught, because that was what I had been taught. Therefore, logically, Christianity was reasonable. Of course Pascal’s wager came into play; I took into consideration that if there was a God, then I might as well take my chances because just in case he is up there, I do not want to end up in hell. Second, the Old Testament foreshadows Jesus’ birth and crucifixion more than Romeo and Juliet foreshadows death. The prophetic passages, written hundreds of years in advanced, speak of the virgin birth, his escape to Egypt, his ministry, his crucifixion – to details such as the casting lots for his clothes, and his resurrection, astound me. Considering the counter argument, it could be how I read into the passages, but look at a specific passage: Psalms 22 written by King David. The first verse is literally the words Jesus says while hanging on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” If you don’t want to call that legitimate evidence because Jesus knew Scripture well, it is understandable. However the psalmist continues by saying “All who see me mock me; they hurl insults, shaking their heads: “He trusts in the LORD; let the LORD rescue him. Let him deliver him.” At the actual crucifixion, these are the same words the surrounding spectators and soldiers actually hurled at Jesus, and it is not realistic to say the masses were familiar, to that extent, with Old Testament passages. When they stabbed his side to check if he was still alive, unexpectedly water and blood poured out. This too is mentioned in the Psalm. Lastly, David says, “they divide my garments among them and cast lots for my clothing.” With this being only one of the countless examples of confirmation, how could it then all be less than true? It had to be knowledge; it had to be true justified belief.
The last way of knowing is through emotions. Emotions have to do with how it all feels, and to me it just feels right. After all the years of living life following, I cannot imagine living any other way. Many people look at Christianity as a series of rules and regulations. I look at it as freedom. For a believer, this life is the only hell they will ever encounter, for the non believer, this is the only heaven. All that I learned has now become second nature to me; the acquired knowledge has morphed into wisdom. No, I’m not on some pinnacle of religion, nor is my head in the clouds. Each new day is another step. I am climbing day by day and I will never stop pursuing. Deep, deep, down in my heart of hearts, I know that this is right, that this is true, and that this is deeply justified.
My journey to justification took me through all four ways of knowing: language, perception, reason, and emotion. What started out as simple information became data and then belief, shifted in to faith and opinion, developed into knowledge, and matured into wisdom. Now when asked about what I believe, I know exactly what to say, I know how I arrived there, and I know where it originated, and I know that it is justified.
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