Analysis of ‘MASH’

I: Introduction

MASH: A Novel about Three Army Doctors was written by Richard Hooker (with the help of WC Heinz) and published in 1968. It was adapted into the 1970 feature film by Robert Altman (with a screenplay by Ring Lardner, Jr.), which starred Donald Sutherland, Elliott Gould, and Tom Skerritt, with Robert Duvall, Sally Kellerman, René Auberjonois, Roger Bowen, Fred Williamson, and Gary Burghoff.

From these came the long-running hit TV series (1972-1983) whose original cast included Alan Alda, Wayne Rogers, McLean Stevenson, Larry Linville, Loretta Swit, William Christopher (except for the pilot episode, which had George Morgan as Father Mulcahy), Timothy Brown, and Burghoff. Both the film and TV series use the story’s setting, a US Mobile Army Surgical Hospital in the Korean War, as an allegory for the Vietnam War.

Neither Hooker nor Altman liked the TV series, feeling it took the story in the opposite direction of its original purpose. In contrast to the liberal, anti-war stance of the series, with its tendency to advocate progressive causes (e.g., opposition to discrimination against blacks, tolerance of gays, equality of the sexes), Hooker was politically conservative. In fact, the novel uses a number of racial slurs (particularly against Asians, as opposed to Alda’s Hawkeye calling out US troops for referring to Koreans as “gooks”; only bigotry against blacks is judged by Hawkeye as wrong), and its protagonists tend to refer to women as “broads.” In the film, the MASH unit’s dentist wants to commit suicide because a moment of erectile dysfunction has made him worry he’s become a “fairy.”

Here‘s a link to a PDF of the novel, a link to an audiobook of it, and a link to quotes from the film.

II: Political Background

As for the contrast between the liberal TV series and the conservative/apolitical novel and film, though, I’d place these contrasting stances at the centre-left and right of a continuum. For as noble as it may be to talk about ending war, as is often wished for on the TV show (as opposed to the novel’s doctors’ indifference to the issue, and instead just wanting to finish their time in the army and return home), the real left-wing stance, the one that is truly to be contrasted with the general stance of the entire MASH franchise, is that the US Army should never have meddled in Korea in the first place, as was the case with Vietnam, too, the aforementioned allegory of the story.

Conventional wisdom would have us believe that, during the Cold War, the capitalist ‘free world’ had to contain and stop the spread of communism, therefore both North Korea and North Vietnam had to be stopped by American military intervention. Actually, as had been revealed years later, the Gulf of Tonkin incident that was used to justify greater American involvement in Vietnam was a lie. Similarly, the conventional narrative that a North Korean invasion of South Korea, which would involve Soviet and Maoist Chinese involvement, started the war was also based on dishonest accounts from hawks like MacArthur, as is related in IF Stone‘s Hidden History of the Korean War, 1950-1951. These wars were just exercises in, and excuses for, US imperialism.

It is further assumed that South Korea is the free, liberal democracy, and that North Korea is the brutal, totalitarian dictatorship. Actually, South Korea has been occupied by the US ever since just after the end of WWII, hardly giving the people a breather after the Japanese occupation of the land, with its exploitation of Korean ‘comfort women.’ US troops soon would also use Korean women as prostitutes to satisfy the men’s lust.

As for the ‘totalitarian DPRK,’ while it’s surely difficult living there because of Western economic sanctions placed on the country, living in a place that provides (or at least strives to provide…sanctions notwithstanding) free or affordable housing, healthcare, education, and other basic needs is far better than living in a country of cutthroat capitalism, the kind that causes the poverty dramatized in films like Parasite. People in the West might also want to reconsider how ‘free’ they are in a world drowning in neoliberal capitalism.

So when we contrast the TV series of MASH, on the one side, against the novel and film, what we’re really dealing with is a culture war of liberal vs conservative, not left vs right. Everyone knows that conservatives are on the right, of course. Liberals, though, are properly understood to be swaying whichever way the political wind happens to be blowing at the time. During the decade that the TV series was on the air, that political wind blew in a relatively leftward direction. Anyone with eyes to see and ears to hear should be able to understand which direction liberals have been blowing under leaders like Clinton, Obama, Biden, Tony Blair, Justin Trudeau, etc.

Seen in a broader political context, conservatism vs liberalism is just moderate-to-extreme right-wing infighting. This context will help us understand the MASH franchise as a whole.

III: Foreword, Chapters One and Two

After a brief foreword–in which Hooker explains how the paradoxical combination of stress from overwork and nothing-to-do boredom, from living and working in a MASH unit during the Korean War, made some of the staff into insubordinate, scruffy, badly-behaved alcoholics (i.e., the Swampmen)–the book goes into a description of Corporal “Radar” O’Reilly (Burghoff), and where he is from–Ottumwa, Iowa. He’s called “Radar” because he has ESP: he can “receive messages and monitor conversations far beyond the usual range of human hearing.”

Radar, sitting at a poker game in the Painless Polish Poker and Dental Clinic of the 4077th MASH, can hear the commanding officer of the unit, Lt. Col. Henry Blake (Bowen; Stevenson), shouting into his phone in his office that he needs two surgeons. In the film, Radar demonstrates his ESP by saying Blake’s words just as Blake is saying them, standing outside, by a chopper with wounded.

The two doctors that the 4077th will get are Captains Benjamin Franklin Pierce, or “Hawkeye” (Sutherland; Alda), and Augustus Bedford Forrest, or “Duke” (Skerritt). Hawkeye got his nickname from his father, who read The Last of the Mohicans; he’s from Crabapple Cove, Maine. Duke is from Georgia; the character never appears in the TV series, though in a season 3 episode, when asked what happened to “that surgeon you had from Georgia”, the answer given is, “He got sent stateside!”

From the physical description given Hawkeye in the novel, Sutherland looked a lot more like him than Alda. He and Duke steal a jeep and drink a bottle of alcohol on their way from Transient Officers’ Quarters at the 325th Evacuation Hospital in Yong-Dong-Po to the 4077th. Both men are married and with kids; but that won’t stop them from fooling around.

They come into Ouijongbu, where they drive past The Famous Club Service Whorehouse, which has contributed much to the venereal disease problem faced by the US Army Medical Corps. An American flag is seeing flying from its central edifice. Such signs as these, in combination with the irreverent attitude of Hawkeye, Duke, and the other Swampmen to be introduced later, illustrate the imperialist encroachments on Korea.

Hawkeye’s plan on arriving at the 4077th is for him and Duke to work so hard as surgeons that they outclass the other talent there. They’ll thus be able to get away with their insubordination and other acts of naughtiness.

Arriving at the 4077th, Hawkeye and Duke go into the mess hall and meet Blake, who already thinks they’re “a pair of weirdos.” He tells them they’ll be living with Major Hobson in his tent; Blake would have Radar told of the order, but Radar’s already there to take them, thanks to his ESP.

The film takes Hobson and merges him with Frank Burns (Duvall; Linville), who is a captain in the novel, but because of this merging, becomes a major in the film and TV series. Hobson’s/Burns’s praying for everybody is comical and annoying to the non-religious Hawkeye and Duke, who insist that Blake get him out of their tent; the two also insist that Blake get a chest surgeon. This will result in the arrival of Captain “Trapper” John McIntyre (Gould; Rogers).

IV: Chapter Three

McIntyre is from Winchester High Medical School, in Boston. His face is hiding inside a parka hood when he meets everybody, and at first he seems aloof, laconic, and introverted. Hawkeye finds him familiar, though.

It’s when Hawkeye offers McIntyre a martini that he finally comes out of his shell, happily accepting the martini but insisting on olives for his, Hawkeye’s, and Duke’s drinks. He has a bottle of olives in his parka pocket, so all three can have one.

Hawkeye is still trying to remember where he’s seen McIntyre before. One day, the latter picks up a football that’s just landed at his feet. He throws a perfect pass to Hawkeye, who’s now racking his brain trying to remember who McIntyre is. Finally, he realizes that McIntyre is “Trapper” John, an old football player from the Boston/Maine area.

He got his nickname after being caught fooling around with a woman in the ladies’ room at the Boston and Maine train. She said to the conductor, who found her with McIntyre, “He trapped me!”

It’s interesting how, when Hawkeye finally remembers, he says, “Jesus to Jesus and eight hands around, Duke!” Trapper is replacing a major who prays to Jesus. Trapper, in Chapter Seven, will dress up as Jesus in a scheme to raise money to help a Korean houseboy, Ho-Jon (played by Kim Atwood in the film, and by Patrick Adiarte on the TV show), go to the US to study in a university there. There’s a lot of Christian imagery in the novel and film, though it’s usually presented in an irreverent way. Chaplin Father Mulcahy (Auberjonois; Christopher) is well-liked, but derogatorily nicknamed “Dago Red” for his mixed Irish-Italian descent and his red hair.

V: Chapter Four

In this chapter, we learn that the tent that Hawkeye, Duke, and Trapper are sleeping in will be called The Swamp, hence the three are known as the Swampmen. A sign, in big capital letters saying THE SWAMP, is painted in red on the door of the tent.

It’s called The Swamp in part because the tent resembles “the kind of haunt one might come across in a bog”…in other words, the place is a mess. It’s also the centre of social activity in the 4077th, where the three doctors do their boozing.

When one combines the Dionysian messiness of The Swamp with the sloppiness of the three doctors–that is, their often being unshaved and without the short haircuts one would expect of not just army men, but men of pre-Beatles Western society–we see in their sloppy appearance, as well as in the (often mean) pranks they pull on others and their general contempt for authority, a personification of the kind of mess the US army left Korea in by the end of the war.

A certain group of people are mostly marginalized in the novel, film, and TV series–the Koreans, played mostly by Japanese-American and Chinese-American actors. (The situation with Ho-Jon, to be dealt with below, is one of the few exceptions to the rule of marginalization.) As I said above, racial slurs against Asians are used a number of times in the novel, including by our presumably sympathetic Swampmen. As I’ve also mentioned, Ho-Jon is one of many Korean houseboys, there to do menial chores for the American army hospital staff–in other words, their servants. Finally, I’ve mentioned the reality of Korean prostitution for American GIs, something acknowledged in the novel, but never judged.

This marginalization and racism should form the backdrop of what is the biggest issue of the Korean War, but one rarely given scrutiny in the West: how the US military bombed and destroyed pretty much everything in North Korea. 20% of the total population was killed. The US made a messy swamp, if you will, of North Korea. This reality might help Westerners to understand why the DPRK now has nuclear weapons–not to attack other nations, but to defend themselves. The collective trauma the surviving North Koreans suffered from those bombings meant they were determined never to let it happen again.

Audiences are charmed and amused by the Swampmen’s wisecracking, pranks, and general defiance of US military authority. While I am in principle sympathetic to such defiance, one must take into consideration the fact that one shouldn’t just defy authority for its own sake; one should instead look into the evils caused by that authority and direct one’s defiance against it with an aim to stop those evils.

The Swampmen in the novel and film aren’t interested in directing their defiance with such aims. They just want their fun and games (golf, football, drinking, poker, chasing women, etc.) to be uninterrupted by the officious military. Unlike the more progressively-minded Hawkeye and Trapper of the TV show, the novel’s and film’s Swampmen are just self-absorbed hedonists. As such, they fit in well, ironically, with the US empire’s depredations in East Asia.

One example of a victim of the Swampmen’s depredations is a Protestant chaplain named Shaking Sammy. In Chapter Four, we learn that this chaplain has a bad habit of writing overly optimistic letters to the families of wounded soldiers without inquiring into whether or not these soldiers’ wounds could have resulted in lethalities. Shaking Sammy will tell the soldiers’ families that all is well, and the soldiers will be home soon, for example…yet the soldiers in question could be dead, thus cruelly getting the families’ hopes up, only to be crushed when the truth is known to them.

He’s been warned repeatedly not to send such misguidedly optimistic messages, yet he still does it. Furious with Shaking Sammy, Duke and Hawkeye have him see them use their .45s to shoot all four tires of his jeep. Justice has been done, it seems.

Soon after dealing with a particularly difficult patient who, it seems at first, isn’t going to live, yet with the help of Father Mulcahy’s “remarkably effective Cross Action,” the doctors are able to save the wounded soldier after all. Hawkeye and Duke, very drunk, decide to show their gratitude to Mulcahy for his prayers.

They do so in the form of what Hawkeye calls “a human sacrifice”, and for their sacrificial victim, they choose Shaking Sammy, imagining in their total inebriation that Mulcahy will appreciate this ‘gift.’ Tying Sammy to a cross and surrounding him with a pile of hay and assorted inflammable junk on the ground, Hawkeye, Duke, and Trapper are lying on mattresses by him. Duke has a Molotov cocktail in his hand, and it looks as if Sammy’s about to be immolated.

Indeed, the contents of a gasoline can are poured on the debris surrounding Sammy as well as on him. Mulcahy watches the scene in horror, hoping to stop the Swampmen. Duke lights the Molotov cocktail and throws it at Sammy, who screams. It turns out, though, that it wasn’t gasoline that’s been poured on him and his “funeral pyre.” The Molotov just sizzles and goes out.

So no, they didn’t kill Sammy, but they gave him one hell of a scare. This is an example of how mean and excessive the Swampmen’s pranks can be. Another example, from the film, is the famous dropping of the shower tent, exposing the nakedness of the beautiful but disliked head nurse before the entire camp, publicly humiliating her.

The Swampmen know they can get away with this kind of scurrilous behaviour because of their skill as surgeons, and because of how needed they are when the wounded come into the 4077th, as will be the case soon after the prank pulled on Shaking Sammy. Three companies of Canadians will be coming in, flooding the 4077th with casualties, as Hawkeye is aware. The surgeons can’t operate while under arrest.

Tying Sammy to a cross and making him into a “human sacrifice,” a chaplain made into a kind of lamb of God to take away the sin of the world, is an example of the novel’s use of Christian imagery to ridicule religion. As I said above, the Swampmen stick their tongues out at authority, including the authority of the Church, not to right any wrongs inflicted by the powers-that-be, but simply to be enfants terribles for the sheer fun of it. However ill-conceived the optimism may be of Sammy’s letters, he has been cruelly and unusually punished for them.

VI: Chapter Five

Captain Walter Koskiusko Waldowski (played by John Schuck) is the dentist of the 4077th. He’s known as “The Painless Pole” because of his amazing skill at doing dentistry without it hurting his patients. His dental clinic is also where poker games are played, so he is the most popular man in the outfit. Apart from poker and dentistry, his greatest hobby is women.

He’s well-endowed, too…so much so that whenever he takes a shower, other men stop by to see his equipment with awe and admiration. I suspect he’s bipolar, though, since according to the novel, he suffers monthly bouts of depression, each one lasting anywhere from twenty-four hours to about three days. On one particular occasion, he tells the Swampmen he wants to commit suicide because of one moment of impotence.

Hence the song, “Suicide Is Painless,” as the MASH theme music, heard in instrumental form on the TV show, and for the film, with a lyric by Mike Altman, the then 14-year-old son of Robert Altman (music by Johnny Mandel). The song is sung twice in the film, first by “The Mash” (John and Tom Bahler, Ron Hicklin, and Ian Freebairn-Smith) during the opening credits, then by Ken Prymus (playing Private Seidman) during the scene of Painless’s suicide attempt.

Duke and Hawkeye suggest that Painless use a “black capsule” to kill himself with. The Swampmen et al have no intention, of course, of letting Painless kill himself; their plan instead is to cure him of his suicide ideation by, ironically, indulging him in it. This plan, along with their helping Ho-Jon to go to an American university, is one of the few genuinely charitable acts of the Swampmen in the novel or film, which in turn makes them even remotely likable.

They plan to put amytal, a barbiturate derivative with sedative-hypnotic properties, into Painless’s “black capsule.” They figure he’ll take it after getting him drunk, then when he wakes up, he’ll be OK.

On the night of the supposed suicide, everyone will have a party for Painless in his dental clinic/poker hangout. The party is called “The Last Supper”; in the film, there’s even a shot of all the men seated at a pair of long tables as a parody of Leonardo da Vinci’s painting.

Painless is more or less at the centre, where Christ is in the painting. So this scene is another example of MASH using Christian imagery and concepts irreverently. Christ, after His Agony in the Garden of Gethsemane, accepted His impending death on the Cross; Painless is about to die (or so he thinks). Christ was raised from the dead; Painless will rise from…well…a death-like state, anyway.

The irony here is that Painless’s salvation will come by a suicide attempt, the ultimate loss of faith, whereas we are saved by Christ through faith. In wanting to save one’s life, one will lose it; but in losing one’s life for Christ, one saves it (Luke 9:24). His yoke is easy, and His burden is light (Matthew 11:30). Suicide is painless. ‘Tis a consummation/Devoutly to be wished (Hamlet, Act III, Scene i). Fittingly, Mike Altman’s lyric quotes “to be or not to be.”

Suicide is painless because, of course, life is painful. Part of the ostensible purpose of religion is to provide solace for that pain. One ‘loses’ one’s life, for the sake of Christ, or to attain nirvana, to achieve painlessness…hence the Painless Pole is a kind of Christ figure, if comically so.

Koreans were historically Buddhist and/or Confucian, and such thinking is still quite influential there today, but it has waned somewhat in the modern world, with today’s influence of secular thinking and Christianity. We’ll learn that Ho-Jon is Christian, and with his trip to the US to study there, he’ll be further inculcated with such Western ideas.

The point is that Western imperialism’s encroachment on Korea has its cultural as well as military aspects, so the Christian imagery in MASH is apt, even if presented irreverently. The irreverence is just part of the theme of defiance of authority for its own sake: it never rights wrongs. As long as liberals can enjoy imperialist privileges in the countries the West occupies, they’ll give the finger to authority all they like, and it won’t make a real difference to the occupied.

Anyway, to get back to Painless, in the novel, while he’s sedated from the amytal in the black capsule, a blue ribbon has been tied to his cock (implying the return of his sexual prowess), he’s been hooked to a harness and dropped from a helicopter (Is this to imply that he’s supposed to believe that he died, harrowed heaven, then had a resurrection back on Earth?); all of this has apparently ended his depression and suicide ideation. As for the film, during his sedation, the gorgeous nurse, Lt. “Dish” Schneider (played by Jo Ann Pflug in the film and by Karen Philipp on the TV series), has been asked by Hawkeye to sleep with Painless and thus allay his fear that he’s becoming a “fairy.” She does so, and his depression is cured.

VII: Chapter Six

This chapter deals essentially with Frank Burns (Duvall; Linville), a captain before the film and TV series promoted him to major. Hawkeye hates him more than anyone else. Burns will never admit his faults as a surgeon, blaming any problems or deaths on someone else, or they’re held to be acts of God. He also has a $35,000 home and two cars back in the States; he has no formal training in surgery, having learned from his father.

On one occasion, a patient in Burns’s care dies after a rather simple hospital staff worker, Private Lorenzo Boone (played by Bud Cort) tries to use a non-functioning suction machine on the patient. Burns claims Boone killed the patient. Not being very bright, Boone assumes Burns’s opinion, as a doctor, is of infallible authority, and he is overwhelmed with guilt and weeps over the death.

Duke sees this exchange, and he hits Burns. In the film, it’s Trapper who sees it and hits him; in the novel, Trapper hits him on a later occasion.

Burns will develop a mutual admiration for and romantic interest in the new Chief Nurse, Major Margaret Houlihan (Kellerman; Swit). While in the book and the film, Burns will be kicked out of the 4077th and sent stateside after he physically attacks Hawkeye for taunting him about his (in the novel, only rumoured) sexual relationship with her, in the TV series, both Burns and Houlihan will stay at the MASH and personify the hated army authoritarianism that the Swampmen rebel against. But again, it’s a self-absorbed, American antagonism between the two sides that has little, if anything, to do with leaving the Koreans alone.

VIII: Chapter Seven

This is the chapter in which the Swampmen raise money to help their Korean houseboy, Ho-Jon, go to the US to study in university there. As I said above, this is one of their few charitable acts in the novel. Even with this one, though, there are some qualifying factors to consider.

As I’ve tried to argue from the beginning, the Americans shouldn’t have been in Korea in the first place. A few scruffy American doctors sticking their tongues out at military authoritarians does nothing to compensate for the damage caused to the Koreans by occupying, bombing, prostituting, and forcing capitalism on them.

If the Koreans had wanted to pursue socialism after the end of the Japanese occupation, then that was their prerogative. Imposing starvation sanctions on the DPRK, and then claiming disingenuously that their problems are all because ‘socialism doesn’t work,’ has been a tried-and-true tactic that Western imperialism had used on a number of occasions, including Cuba and Venezuela. If ‘socialism doesn’t work,’ then just let the countries attempting to build it fail on their own, and after a few months, they should be running back crying to the capitalist West for salvation. Instead, consider what Cuba, burdened with an economic embargo from the 1960s, has been able to achieve.

Ho-Jon would be properly described as an Asian Uncle Tom. He thinks his Swampmen masters are “the three greatest people in the world.” Sure, the three doctors are good to him: they allow him to spend time with them in The Swamp when he isn’t shining their shoes, doing their laundry, etc.; they help him with his English. All of this can be seen as simple rewards for the boy’s loyalty to them. Accordingly, they like him as much as he likes them.

Ho-Jon still has to fight in the war, though, despite the attempts of Blake and the Swampmen to intercede with the Korean government…he’s seventeen at the time, and he gets wounded, with a mortar fragment in his chest. He thus returns to the 4077th to be operated on by Hawkeye and Trapper.

After the surgery and Ho-Jon is getting better, the Swampmen are debating which college would be the best one for him to study in. After briefly considering Dartmouth and Georgia (the latter being a place where the KKK won’t take kindly to an Asian being there), the Swampmen agree on Androscoggin College. Hawkeye writes to the dean, who replies, saying Ho-Jon will need a thousand dollars a year. To raise the money, which will probably add up to five or six thousand, including travel and expenses other than the aforementioned tuition, the Swampmen decide to have Trapper, as hairy as he is, dress up like Jesus, and sell photos of ‘Him.’

Mulcahy doesn’t like the idea of religion for money, but the Swampmen know “there are a lot of screwballs in the army” who will buy the photos for laughs and souvenirs, and there doesn’t seem to be any other way to raise money for Ho-Jon. Once again, MASH uses Christianity irreverently, and we see in it more of Western culture imposed on Korea.

By “more of Western culture impose on Korea,” I mean that Trapper’s clowning around in a Jesus outfit in South Korea and making money from the photos is a symbolic presentation of Christian missionary work and capitalism nosing their way around Asia to spread their influence among the locals. Ho-Jon is already a Christian–that is, he’s been indoctrinated with Western values and ethics–and he’s about to be educated in an American university. The Swampmen are content to work to raise money to send their friend there and be further indoctrinated. Consider in this connection how much money the American government has given to South Korea to keep the country under its spell.

IX: Chapters Eight and Nine

A soldier whose father is a US Congressman has been wounded, and the Congressman wants Trapper to fly to Japan with an assistant doctor, Hawkeye, and do emergency surgery on the boy. The doctors’ major motivation in going to Japan, though, is to play golf there. They even bring their golf clubs with them.

When they get there, Hawkeye reconnects with an old friend, “Me Lay” Marston, who is an anesthesiologist and helps a Japanese doctor run a pediatric hospital that doubles as a whorehouse. In fact, the place unabashedly calls itself “Dr. Yamamoto’s Finest Kind Pediatric Hospital and Whorehouse,” or FKPH&W, for short. This openness shouldn’t be all that surprising, for of course, the US military has been known for frequenting such places in East Asia, as I’ve mentioned above.

When the doctors are going to the operating area, an army nurse tries to stop them. During the operation, a colonel shows his disapproval of their barging in to the place. Neither of these people deter the doctors, obviously. Examples of their usual defiance of military authority can be seen in the film. Again, though, this defiance of authority is just about two men who want to get the surgery out of the way as soon as possible so they can play as much golf as they can get in. They don’t want to wait around for the right people to arrive so they can be authorized to operate. They’re not even dressed as doctors: they’re all scruffy and have their golf clubs with them. Military authority isn’t an oppression to be overthrown–it’s just an inconvenience.

Later, while Trapper and Hawkeye are playing golf, some women caddies there get the impression that Trapper is Jesus when Hawkeye says the Lord’s name in vain after Trapper has hit a good shot. Hawkeye still has some old Jesus photos of Trapper on him, so he gives them to the “bimboes…[who] are on a real Christian kick.”

Though it looks as if Trapper and Hawkeye are planning to get laid, and they even hope to hang out in FKPH&W, speaking of which place, Me Lay wants the two doctors to take care of a half-white, half-Japanese baby, the result of an American john and a careless prostitute there. The doctors deal with the baby’s medical problems and talk Me Lay into adopting the orphan.

That officious colonel, who doesn’t approve of the Swampmen’s dealings with the baby, is blackmailed with photos of himself in bed with a prostitute, so the doctors won’t get in trouble. After all of these adventures, though, the doctors must rush back to the 4077th to deal with a huge, seemingly endless deluge of wounded, which is what Chapter Nine is all about.

X: Chapter Ten

This chapter starts with a description of Captain “Ugly John” Black (played by Carl Gottlieb in the film, and by John Orchard in the TV series), the 4077th’s anesthesiologist, how important he is to the hospital, and how his work is never done. He’s called Ugly John in the novel as an ironic joke: he’s actually “the handsomest man in the outfit.” He also hates everyone in the Commonwealth Division: Brits, Canadians, Australians, New Zealanders, etc.

Later on in the chapter, a new doctor arrives who is christened by Trapper with the nickname of “Jeeter.” He shares some martinis with the Swampmen, and as he’s getting tipsier and tipsier with each drink, Jeeter reveals how horny he is for the women there. He gets advice from Hawkeye on how he can get his hands on a nurse; while Hawkeye offers a few suggestions, he’s not sure which one is the best, so Trapper suggests that Jeeter announce his availability to all the nurses in the mess hall.

By now so drunk that he’s staggering, Jeeter goes to the mess hall with the help of the Swampmen, and standing at the doorway, he announces his availability in the crudest and most aggressive terms possible, shocking everyone there. Trapper can’t resist inspiring him to say he’ll start by screwing “Hot Lips” Houlihan.

Now, “Hot Lips” has been Major Houlihan’s official nickname, much to her chagrin, ever since her sexual relationship with Frank Burns. Trapper is the one who has christened her with the nickname, though in the film, it’s inspired by her telling Burns to “kiss [her] hot lips,” not knowing that a microphone has been surreptitiously placed by her in her tent where she and Burns have been making love.

Another surgeon, Roger the Dodger, arrives at the 4077th, and he’s inspired to shout out “Hot Lips Houlihan,” which will provoke her all the more.

In the novel, she races into Col. Blake’s tent, fresh from the showers and wildly irate. There’s no reference to a prank involving the shower tent dropping and exposing her nakedness to the whole 4077th, as in the movie, but it’s easy to see how the filmmakers took the idea of the prank as implied in the novel.

When she goes into Blake’s tent, the ends of her hair are still wet, and the strap of her shower cap is hanging from an end of her towel. She obviously ran out of the shower tent before she was finished in there, because the Swampmen, “those beasts, those THINGS,” have upset her so severely. She threatens she’ll resign her commission if Blake won’t do anything about them.

Blake couldn’t care less if she does. He never properly disciplines any of the Swampmen. As she says, the 4077th “isn’t a hospital…It’s an insane asylum,” and Blake is to blame for not using his authority to stop men like McIntyre from calling her “Hot Lips.”

This incident, especially as it’s represented in the film, underlines another unsavoury aspect of the original MASH that makes nonsense of the more progressive aspects of the TV series: its sexist attitude towards women. Houlihan may be a major, but she’s given no respect. In the TV series, especially the later seasons, much is made of her as a spokeswoman for sexual equality in the army.

Not so in the novel or film, where women are called “broads,” chased by the men for sex, objectified and exposed as described above, had orders barked at them by the Swampmen to do such things as cook for them, etc. All of this fits in line with the imperialist project of trying to control the entire Korean Peninsula, as well as Japan, where in both US-controlled places, there is prostitution provided for the GIs. A huge part of world domination is in controlling its women, as of the 2020s, just under 50% of the global population.

I never found the film’s shower scene with Houlihan amusing. It always came across to me as a mean, humiliating, demeaning prank devised by the immature Swampmen, all just to find out whether or not she’s a natural blonde. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: as charmless as army authoritarianism may be, cheap pranks like these are not the way to deal with it; they’re often not even funny.

Houlihan will try to get Blake in trouble by informing General Hammond (played by G. Wood) of how out of control the staff of the 4077th are. Ultimately, nothing will be done about it. Indeed, the general goes so far as to say, “Screw her.”

XI: Chapter Eleven

Blake has been sent to Japan for temporary duty at the Tokyo Army Hospital. He’s been replaced by Col. Horace DeLong for the three weeks that Blake is gone. DeLong, another regular army guy, will be quite dismayed with the erratic behaviour of the scruffy Swampmen, though he will come to respect Hawkeye for his skills as a surgeon.

Bored during a spell of no wounded, and suffering in the heat, the Swampmen get some amusement by pretending they’ve gone insane. They speak of mermaids as if they were real, and they tell DeLong that when they catch a mermaid, they’ll “screw the ass off her.” They figure that if they can convince DeLong that they’re nuts, they’ll be sent to some psychiatrists in Seoul for a while, then get sent back to the 4077th in time for when more wounded come.

To add to the craziness about mermaids, Hawkeye says he’ll agree to DeLong’s plan–to have the Swampmen go to the 325th Evac for psychiatric observation–if he can get “a shot at the epileptic whore,” an idea inspired by a psychiatrist Hawkeye once knew who had a female epileptic patient; she’d go crazy every time her husband tried to have sex with her. Hawkeye hopes to find such a prostitute in Seoul during the Swampmen’s rest and ‘therapy.’

They go to the 325th Evac, meet a psychiatrist named Maj. Haskell, and do their crazy routine with him. They act as though Hawkeye is the worst case. When Haskell meets Hawkeye, the latter makes a number of incoherent remarks to seem crazy.

The Swampmen also find a place where they can get at the “epileptic whore”–Mrs. Lee’s, whose brothel’s girls are “velly clean.” They visit the place, but don’t end up trying the prostitute with “hysterical convulsion[s].”

XII: Chapter Twelve

Hawkeye gets the idea to have the 4077th set up a football team. He considers certain men in the unit, including one named Vollmer, to be a centre, then Jeeter as a second string halfback, among others, all of whom have had football playing experience, according to Hawkeye. Their new team can play against that of the 325th Evac, a team coached by General Hammond.

Since Hammond’s team is really good, Hawkeye knows someone who can be a ringer to ensure that the 4077th can beat the 325th Evac: Captain Oliver Wendell Jones–“Spearchucker,” (Williams; Timothy Brown in the TV series) an excellent football player who’s become a neurosurgeon. When Duke hears the man’s name, he (correctly) assumes that Jones is black, flaring up Duke’s racial prejudice.

Hawkeye gives Duke a slight chiding for calling Jones a “nigra,” and when Duke meets Jones and taunts him a bit, Jones puts him properly in his place. This is the first time in Hooker’s novel that someone is called out for using racial slurs or otherwise demonstrating racial bigotry. Since the novel was published in 1968, it is safe to assume that, because of the Civil Rights movement, conservative Hooker knew he couldn’t get away with racism against blacks the way he could racism against Asians at the time. Still, calling Jones “Spearchucker,” a nickname he accepts because he “used to throw the javelin,” is plenty racist as it is.

The Swampmen go to Blake to make a twin request that is really one: they need a neurosurgeon, Jones specifically, and they need him also for the 4077th’s new football team. Blake remembers that Hammond coaches the 325th Evac team, and that Hammond’s sense of how to coach a football team is years out of date; Blake also knows that with Jones playing for the 4077th, they can beat Hammond’s team and make a lot of money. After all, people bet on these football games, and so a profit can be made on them.

When Blake agrees to set up the new 4077th football team, insisting that he be their coach, Hawkeye is pleased and tells the other Swampmen, “Henry believes in free enterprise, too.” Note here the combination of capitalism with the liberal concession of having a black man on the football team. Of course, the far more progressive stance of the TV series includes far greater respect for blacks…the dealing with “Spearchucker” early on notwithstanding.

The character had been written out of the TV series by the end of season one because it had been understood that there were no black surgeons in MASH units during the Korean War, and so the sitcom’s creator was concerned, apparently, with maintaining historical accuracy (about something most people probably wouldn’t have known, anyway; and actually, there had been several black surgeons at the time). Hmm: a TV series–one that ran for just over a decade about a war that had lasted for only a little over three years, that was meant as an allegory about the Vietnam War, and which had men in the early 1950s with shaggy 1970s hair instead of short, army haircuts–fired a black actor because of concern about historical accuracy? Speaking of racism…

Then again, continuing to call a black man “Spearchucker” over and over again would have been problematic in itself for a TV show that was to be more politically progressive, anyway. In all of this, we can see how the contrast between the show, the film, and the novel is not a conservative/liberal dichotomy, but rather a continuum between the two supposedly opposing political stances.

XIII: Chapter Thirteen

When the players of the new 4077th football team are practicing, they’re awful, but not hopeless. When the game happens, it turns out that Hammond has a few pro footballers of his own for his team, so the 4077th will have to find ways around such obstacles…including cheating. One of the pros, for example, is surreptitiously given a sedative during a pileup in order to incapacitate him.

One way to think about this football game is to allegorize it as a war, except that instead of it being a war between the capitalist West and the ‘dirty commie’ North Koreans and Chinese, it’s a war between the scruffy anti-authoritarians and the military authority, as personified by Hammond’s team. Such an interpretation seems fitting, since throughout the novel and the film, we get very little of the actual Korean War, apart from all the wounded needing surgery.

This war-allegory ties in with what I’ve been saying on and off throughout this analysis: there’s very little concern with the actual war and the damage that was done to the Koreans at the hands of US imperialism. All the MASH staff care about is themselves. They deal with the horrors of war not by demanding a stop to it or by making fun of anti-communist hysteria (as happens from time to time in the TV series), but instead by indulging in pleasure: boozing, sex, golf, and now, football. They oppose the military not because of its imperialism, but because it gets in the way of their fun.

The football players are profiteering from bets on the game, just as there are profiteers in war. The team opposing that of the 4077th are called, significantly, “the enemy” in the novel. The game is a war, a comically self-absorbed one between Americans and Americans, with the Koreans so marginalized this time that they’re not even present.

One of the major reasons for divergences from the film and the novel (and even Lardner’s script, for that matter) is Altman’s encouragement of his actors to improvise, to allow more creative freedom for them and to have more spontaneous interactions between them, adding more realism. One result of this indulgence in MASH is, during the football game, Schuck as Painless saying, “Alright, bud, your fucking head is coming right off,” making this the first time in a mainstream Hollywood movie that that word was ever said…and allowed.

Another example of the 4077th team cheating is when Radar uses his ESP to listen in on the upcoming plays Hammond’s team is planning. They also use a trick involving Vollmer hiding the football and walking it over to the enemy’s side while everyone else is kept busy and distracted. As a result, the 4077th wins the game 28-24, and they make a huge profit.

This blatant disregard for the rules, as well as the contempt shown for authority, can be seen to represent the real political stance, if there even is one, of the Swampmen–they’re anarchists. Yet their penchant for making profits makes them a most dubious kind of anarchist…’anarcho’-capitalists! I told you this novel/film was far from left-wing or progressive.

XIV: Chapters Fourteen and Fifteen, and Conclusion

The days of the deployment of Hawkeye and Duke in South Korea are numbered, so between now and when they get sent home, Blake is having them teach two new doctors how to do “meatball surgery,” which is a set of surgical short-cuts, since saving the lives of the wounded is the priority, and not daintiness, which can be left to the doctors in, say, Tokyo.

In the final chapter, Hawkeye and Duke finally leave the 4077th and go back to the States. They do a lot of drinking on the way, and they engage in a lot of their usual naughtiness, including at one point shirking certain medical duties by pretending to be chaplains. Finally at home, they rejoin their wives and kids in Maine and Georgia.

In the TV series, though, of course, Hawkeye (as well as Frank Burns) have not gone home, and Hawkeye (played by the ever-so-charismatic Alan Alda) is a bachelor. The show truly was an allegory of the Vietnam War, the last years of which overlapped with the film and the first few seasons of the series. As a result, the TV show, with its eleven seasons, ended up turning a three-year-war into an eleven-year quagmire, if you will, in ironic imitation, it seems, of Nam.

The more progressive liberal stance of the TV show, as I said above, should be seen as on a continuum with the more conservative vision of Hooker and Altman, since the one progressive stance of consequence–that the US army should never have been in Korea in the first place–is never even considered, not in the novel, the film, or the TV show.

The Tanah–The Laws, Book 1, Chapter 3

[The following is the nineteenth of many posts–here is the first, here is the second, here is the third, here is the fourth, here is the fifth, here is the sixth, here is the seventh, here is the eighth, here is the ninth, here is the tenth, here is the eleventh, here is the twelfth, here is the thirteenth, here is the fourteenth, here is the fifteenth, here is the sixteenth, here is the seventeenth, and here is the eighteenth–about a fictitious discovery of ancient manuscripts of a religious text of narratives and magic spells. Its purpose for my readers and me is to provide a cosmology and mythography on which I am basing much, if not most, of my fiction–short stories and novels. If anyone is interested in reading this fiction, he or she can use these blog posts as references to explain the nature of the magic and universe in my fiction.]

Part of maintaining the unity of opposites, and finding a balance between them is to respect the unity between oneself and all other people, as well as animals and plants–the Unity of Space. All life must be respected when using magic, as so it must be used for good, used selflessly.

Magic spells must be conjured with thoughts to help those in need, not to harm others. Are there many poor among you? Use magic to lift them out of poverty, not to immiserate them further.

Conjure up food for the hungry to eat with your spells. Give them water to drink: if the rivers and lakes have dried up from a drought, use magic to make the rain fall again–call on Priff, the Crim of water, for aid. If the plants have all died, your spells should make the plants grow again, to fertilize the soil–call on Drofurb, the Crim of the earth, for aid.

Are there any sick among you? Use magic to heal them and restore them, in body and mind. If you use your spells to cause sickness or death on those you hate, the Echo Effect, the law of sow and reap, will bring such sickness and death back upon you!

Are there any without learning, without the ability to read and write, or who are lacking the knowledge and skills needed for a livelihood to earn one’s daily bread? Use your magic skills to give the ignorant this learning, these abilities, this knowledge, these skills. In helping others to learn and grow, you will be helping yourself, for their knowledge and abilities will come back to you one day, to help you through the Echo Effect.

Are there many among you without homes? Use your magic to build homes for them. Are there any naked and cold among you? Do spells to clothe them and keep them warm–call on Nevil, the Crim of fire, for aid.

When you use your magic to do good for others, do not ask for anything in return from those people: ask not for gold, servitude, nor for the pleasure of a woman in bed. Wait instead for the Echo Effect to give you your reward–waiting without impatient expectation!

Any use of magic for the benefit of oneself must be done with the greatest of care. Is this benefit to oneself justified? Is it reasonable, or is it in excess? Is it a waste of power? Is it indulgent? Is it truly needed, as those uses of magic to help others are, as noted above? Or is the benefit at the expense of other people?

Is the pleasure you receive from the spell harmful to others, or eventually to yourself? Do you use it to violate a woman? Do you use it for a temporary euphoria that will become poisonous to you? Do you use magic to gain by taking from others? Do you use it to rise in power by making others fall from it? Do your spells increase your wealth by making others poor?

If you do any of these evils, the Echo Effect will ensure that you will be harmed, violated, poisoned, losing by theft, falling from power, being made poor. In using magic, use the greatest of care. Consider how the Echo Effect may turn your spell around. Will it be turned around in a way that will do you good, or will it do you the evil that you yourself have caused?

The Tanah–The Laws, Book 1, Chapter 2

[The following is the eighteenth of many posts–here is the first, here is the second, here is the third, here is the fourth, here is the fifth, here is the sixth, here is the seventh, here is the eighth, here is the ninth, here is the tenth, here is the eleventh, here is the twelfth, here is the thirteenth, here is the fourteenth, here is the fifteenth, here is the sixteenth, and here is the seventeenth–about a fictitious discovery of ancient manuscripts of a religious text of narratives and magic spells. Its purpose for my readers and me is to provide a cosmology and mythography on which I am basing much, if not most, of my fiction–short stories and novels. If anyone is interested in reading this fiction, he or she can use these blog posts as references to explain the nature of the magic and universe in my fiction.]

The basic principle that must always be remembered and respected whenever using magic is that all opposites are unified: one never has one idea without its opposite. So many times did the Luminosians try to achieve one thing while being oblivious of its opposite when practicing magic, and this negligence led to so many evils for them.

This principle, the Unity of Action, is something that Rawmios tried to teach the people many years before this writing. The Luminosians were taught this idea, too, though many chose not to listen, and so they were taken into slavery not long after having liberated themselves from it.

In their attempts to free themselves from the Tenebrosians, the Luminosians used magic most carelessly: they would wildly aim their magic at the oppressors, but end up harming so many of their own in the process. This error resulted from a failure to keep in mind the Unity of Space–how all of us are unified, including even slave and master.

In their final attempt to free themselves from the Tenebrosians, the successful attempt, the Luminosians traveled and found a land they chose to settle in–Zaga, a place already inhabited by a people whom the Luminosians chose to treat with no less contempt than the Tenebrosians had shown them. This disregard demonstrated how the Luminosians had failed to understand both the Unity of Action and the Unity of Space. In oppressing the Zagans, the Luminosians failed to see their own unity with the Zagans, that of their both being oppressed peoples.

The Luminosians’ disregard of the Unity of Action resulted also in a disregard of the Echo Effect, how actions are unified in the form of sow and reap. Whatever good or evil one does to others will echo back to oneself. As we know, not too long after the beginning of the Luminosians’ oppression of the Zagans, the Zoyans invaded the settlement and made slaves of the Luminosians.

These are the bitter lessons one learns when one doesn’t heed the warnings of magic rashly used. Thus, the following laws have been devised with the hope that the practitioners of the future will not suffer the same dire consequences that the Luminosians suffered.

Magic must be practiced with a disciplined and restrained mind, ever mindful of the union of contraries. Whenever any one particular goal is sought, its opposite must be considered. To gain the love of another through magic, for instance, the practitioner must allow for the possibility that the object of his love has no regard for him or even hates him. Love must not be forced, as many Luminosian men tried to do on the women they raped and killed with their spells.

One must never practice magic with an indulgent, impulsive, or reckless attitude. That which comes quickly to the user of magic can just as quickly be taken away from him. The freedom the Luminosians enjoyed from the Tenebrosians, quickly gained, was then quickly taken away from them by the Zoyans. A lasting freedom would have been enjoyed by the Luminosians had they been patient with their magic, carefully crafting their spells to avoid killing their own as well as the Tenebrosians, and waiting to find a fertile but unused patch of land, instead of stealing land from the Zagans.

Achieving what one wants for oneself must be balanced with respecting the wants of others, for such is the essence of the Unity of Space, to see a unity in the self and the other.

The heat of the fiery passion of Nevil must be tempered with the cool calm of watery Priff. The impulsive, volatile floating and fluttering about of airy Weleb must be balanced with the stability, consistency, and surety of stony, earthy Drofurb. As mighty as the four Crims are, the misuse of their power can be deadly.

So one must be always aware of the dangers of the disregard of the Ten Errors and the Echo Effect. Never deny or forget the fundamental unity of all things. If one sees only one side of a matter, while being blind to the other, one is engaging in mad thinking, the first of the Ten Errors, which will lead to the evil use of magic.

If one is dazed by beautiful images while ignoring the unpleasant, the second of the Ten Errors, attachment to the former when using magic will lead to evil, which in turn will cause the Echo Effect to bring the evil back upon oneself.

Never use scurrilous language (the third Error) when doing incantations! Never use magic to drive others to work only, and never rest (the fourth Error)! Never use magic to provoke family fighting, murder, adultery, theft, lying, or greed (the rest of the Ten Errors)! The Echo Effect will bring all of these sins back on the sinful user!

Analysis of ‘Le Petit Prince’

I: Introduction

Le Petit Prince (The Little Prince) is a 1943 novella by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. It was first published in English and French in the US that year, and published posthumously in France following liberation, as the Vichy Regime had banned it.

The novella was Saint-Exupéry’s most successful work, selling about 140 million copies worldwide, and thus being one of the best-selling books in history. It’s been translated into over 505 different languages and dialects worldwide, second only to the Bible among the most-translated works. Le Petit Prince has been adapted into many art forms and media, including audio recordings, radio plays, live stage, film, TV, ballet, and opera.

Here is a link to quotes from the novella in French and in English translation, and here is a link to a PDF of an English translation of the story.

II: Chapter One

Saint-Exupéry begins his tale by discussing a time, when he was six years old, that he was fascinated with how a boa constrictor eats its prey, swallowing it whole without chewing it, and needing six months to digest it. The boy decided to draw a boa constrictor having swallowed an elephant, but on showing the picture to some adults and asking if it scared them, they saw nothing scary about it, since it looked as if he’d simply drawn a hat!

In this moment, we see the beginning of a recurring theme in Le Petit Prince: the folly of adults when compared to the wisdom of a child. The boy tried a second drawing, this time showing the inside of the boa constrictor so the elephant could be clearly seen. Now, the adults advised him to forget about boa constrictors and what they eat, and instead focus on learning geography, history, arithmetic, and grammar. The folly of adults is the reversing of what’s important and what’s unimportant, so Saint-Exupéry gave up on the dream of being an artist at the age of six and would eventually become a pilot instead.

In meeting more adults over the years, he never changed his low opinion of them, since as a test, he’d show them his first picture, and they always saw only a hat.

III: Chapter Two

Here is where the story really begins, a fanciful rather than a logical one. Adult Saint-Exupéry had been living alone, with no one to talk to (loneliness is another major theme of the novella), until six years before his telling of his story, when he was flying his plane over the Sahara Desert and it crashed with a broken engine. Again, he found himself alone, with no passengers or mechanics to help him.

He had to fix his plane alone, he was miles away from civilization, and he hadn’t enough drinking water to last a week. This was a life-and-death situation. You can imagine the stress he was going through.

This predicament really happened to Saint-Exupéry and his copilot-navigator, André Prévot, in 1935. Though they’d survived the crash, they faced rapid dehydration in the intense desert heat, with limited food and drink. They both began to have vivid hallucinations. By the fourth day of their ordeal, a Bedouin on a camel found the two and saved them. Saint-Exupéry described their ordeal in his 1939 memoir, Wind, Sand and Stars (Terre des hommes).

The notion of having hallucinations while suffering in the desert heat can explain Saint-Exupéry seeing the little prince. While the boy is, on the one hand, a projection of the pilot having regressed to a childhood state (to ease his stress), the prince can also be seen as a Christ figure, a sinless child coming to Saint-Exupéry’s rescue, just in time.

One idea that you can glean from all of my posts involving my interpretation of the symbolism of the ouroboros (i.e., the dialectical relationship between opposites) is that at the moment of the most hellish despair, salvation can come. The prospect of certain death in the desert (hell, the bitten tail of the ouroboros) leads to Saint-Exupéry’s delivery from it (heaven, the biting head of the serpent). This delivery, this salvation, comes to the beleaguered pilot in the Christ-like form of the little prince.

If adult Christ was King of the Jews, then as a child he was a prince, the Prince of Peace, the little prince. We are instructed that we can attain the kingdom of heaven only as a child (Matthew 18:3), and so Saint-Exupéry must get back in touch with his original, naïve childlike nature. This is the purpose of the little prince entering the pilot’s life right at this moment…saving him in the most unlikely way.

On the morning of the second day of Saint-Exupéry’s ordeal, he wakes up to the voice of the boy asking him, of all things, to draw a sheep for him. The importance of this seemingly trivial, frivolous request, interrupting the man from his urgent work, exists on several levels. First, there’s the dialectic of prioritizing the trivial over the urgent, a child’s wisdom versus an adult’s. Second, the sheep makes us think of a lamb, the Lamb of God. Third, the man is being brought back to his childhood love of drawing…but drawing a peaceful, rather than a threatening, animal.

What makes the pilot’s ordeal in the story even worse than that of Saint-Exupéry and his copilot, Prévot, in the real-life ordeal is precisely the absence of a copilot, or anyone else, for that matter. The man is alone in the hot desert, far away from civilization, with a plane needing repairs, and he’s running out of drinking water. He could die, and he has nobody with him. This is the hell of death and loneliness.

Being alone only intensifies annihilation anxieties, leading one all the closer to psychotic panic, or what Wilfred Bion would have called a nameless dread. The pilot is sweltering in oppressive heat; this heat is an example of unpleasant stimuli that Bion would have called beta elements, stimuli that have to be processed, via alpha function, into alpha elements, or processed stimuli that one can cope with. (Read more about Bion’s and other psychoanalytic concepts here).

As I said above, the extremity of the pilot’s ordeal has forced him to regress to a childlike state, to a simpler frame of mind that doesn’t have to cope with complexity. Still, though, that complexity has to be coped with, and in his regressed, childlike state, the pilot needs someone to help him process the physical irritants (beta elements, the dehydrating heat) that he can’t deal with all alone. It’s out of the question, of course, that his mother could be there for him, the one who normally does the vicarious processing of her baby’s unpleasant stimuli via maternal reverie. The pilot must resort to something else.

As a result of his helplessness, loneliness, and urgent need to save his life, the pilot projects his inner child out into the external world in the form of the little prince, who is for the pilot what Bion would have called a bizarre object, a projected hallucination from his inner psychic world, sent out of him to keep him company in a desperate attempt to save his life.

With the bizarre object of the little prince come all the other bizarre objects: the tiny planets of the boy and the men the boy visits, the talking rose, the talking fox, and the talking serpent. This childlike fantasy world is the pilot’s escape from his desperation, his ordeal.

Getting him to draw a sheep several times, criticizing each drawing for this or that flaw, and finally accepting a drawing of a sheep ironically obscured in a box, are ways of helping the pilot process his childhood trauma of his original artwork having been rejected by adults. Had he only been encouraged to be an artist as a child and thus to express his emotions freely, he might have pursued that ambition, instead of becoming a pilot (symbolic of trying to fly away and escape everything), and thus finding himself in his current, life-threatening predicament. On a symbolic level, his danger in the desert represents his psychological crisis resulting from having abandoned and betrayed the true self (in Winnicott‘s sense) of his childhood. In this sense, the little prince has truly saved the pilot.

IV: Chapter Three

We get a sense of how small the planet is that the little prince comes from when he tells the pilot that the sheep he’s given him won’t need a rope to restrain it, since if it strays, it won’t be able to wander very far.

The smallness of the little prince’s planet–like that of the planets of the king, the vain man, the drunk, the businessman, the lamplighter, and the geographer–has different levels of meaning. On the one hand, it means the planets are like small islands in a universal ocean, isolated places of loneliness and alienation. Thus, they represent projections of the pilot’s loneliness as well as the loneliness of all of us. The small planets also represent a wish-fulfillment for a man stranded on a stretch of land far too large for his comfort. If only he, like the little prince, could fly away from his world to explore others and escape his danger, taken away with the help of a flight of migratory birds (Chapter Nine), instead of being stuck in a desert with his broken-down plane.

V: Chapter Four

Indeed, the little prince’s planet is as small as a house!

The pilot believes the boy’s planet is an asteroid known as B-612, discovered by a Turkish astronomer in 1909, whose discovery was ignored by the International Astronomical Congress because the Turk wore the traditional clothing of his country rather than European clothes. When the Turk was in European clothes, though, and he presented his discovery to the Congress again in 1920, the Westerners acknowledged him. We see in this an example of both Western prejudice as well as the addled adult mindset.

The pilot notes more examples of this mindset, in how adults seem to think that numbers and figures pertaining to anything are more important than, say, its beauty. These numbers and figures, of course, often represent monetary values for the adults: ‘Does his father make much money?’ or ‘I saw a house worth a million dollars […] What a pretty house!’ Such a mindset is a reflection of the capitalistic values we’ve all been taught, and so Saint-Exupéry’s critique of such values must have been among the reasons that the pro-Nazi Vichy government wouldn’t allow Le Petit Prince to be published. Fascism is hyper-capitalism: it exists to thwart the growth of socialism–more on that later.

Now that the little prince is out of the pilot’s life (it’s been six years, as of the telling of this story, that the little prince has returned to his planet), and so not only does the man miss the little boy, but he has revived his childhood interest in art, having bought a box of paints and some pencils, and not wanting to be interested in only numbers. He is getting older physically, but the return of the little prince to his planet really means, paradoxically, that the projection of the pilot’s inner child has returned to his heart.

VI: Chapter Five

In this chapter is a discussion of the issue of baobab trees. As soon as the little prince is aware of the growing of a bad plant like a baobab on his little planet, he must destroy it at once. For if he allows any baobabs to grow freely, they will take over his entire planet and the roots will burrow their way down. And on a small planet like his, the baobabs will wreck it entirely.

Researchers have contended that the baobabs represent Nazism’s attempt to dominate and destroy our Earth. Small wonder the Vichy government wouldn’t let Saint-Exupéry’s novella be published, and only upon France’s liberation from Nazi occupation would the story be published there.

Note that it isn’t enough to uproot this or that baobab, and then be content that one’s work is all done. The little prince tells the pilot that one must regularly go to work, every day after washing and cleaning, spotting the baobabs and distinguishing them from the similar-looking rosebushes, and pull the baobabs out as soon as they’re spotted as such.

The same vigilance must be applied to fascism…though few have heeded the warning since the end of WWII. The defeat of Nazi Germany, more the sacrifice of the Soviets than of Western Europe and North America by a long shot, was merely a setback for fascism. The far-right soon regrouped and acted clandestinely, seeming no different from the rosebush-liberals of the postwar world.

Ex-Nazis found lucrative employment in the US via Operation Paperclip, for no one was more effective at fighting ‘those lousy commie Reds’ than fanatically anti-socialist fascists during the height of the Cold War. These ex-Nazis worked in NASA, NATO, and West Germany, causing tensions in East Germany that necessitated the building of the Berlin Wall in 1961, also known as the Anti-fascist Protection Wall, to keep Nazi espionage out, as well as to prevent brain-drain, or the loss of skillful engineers, scientists, etc. to the capitalist West through tempting salary offers.

Then there were Operations Aerodynamic and Gladio.

After all of that fascist terrorizing of the European left came the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the use of Ukrainian fascists by the US and NATO to provoke Russia into a needless and dangerous war, and the rise of Trump via Zionists like Biden. This is why we can never stop being mindful of baobab fascism.

But I digress.

Saint-Exupéry may have been born to an aristocratic family, but that doesn’t necessitate elitist, let alone fascist, sympathies. Peter Kropotkin was a Russian prince; he was also an anarcho-commmunist. Friedrich Engels was a bourgeois; he was also Karl Marx’s trusted friend and colleague.

But I digress again.

VII: Chapter Six

The little prince loves to watch sunsets, which on his tiny planet come forty-four times a day! Here on Earth, though, the boy will have to wait and wait.

The frequent sight of sunsets (and therefore also of sunrises) implies that the little prince has a far more conscious sense of how cyclical life is than we do. He watches sunsets when he is sad, implying that they have a therapeutic value for him. Seeing the coming darkness will bring to mind that the light will soon return.

We on Earth, on the other hand, must wait much longer for both the light and the dark, giving us the illusory feeling that both the good and the bad are closer to being permanent states of existence. The boy knows better, though.

VIII: Chapter Seven

The little prince wants to talk to the pilot about flowers, and if the sheep will eat flowers, but the pilot is terribly busy and stressed trying to repair his plane. The boy’s incessant questioning feels so annoying in its triviality.

When the boy asks what a flower’s thorns are for, the man snaps at him that it’s because flowers are cruel, which the prince can’t believe. The pilot’s words seem to imply that the little prince is being a cruel flower himself for pestering him in his life-or-death situation.

The boy is shocked that the man doesn’t think flowers are important, and that he is being just like any other adult, bereft of understanding. Recall that the little prince, as a Christ-figure, is trying to get the pilot to understand that, in order to save himself, the pilot must be as a child, to be an imitator of Christ (1 Corinthians 11:1), and therefore in agreeing that flowers are important the man is imitating the prince and being like a child.

The little prince speaks of a man on a planet he’s visited who thinks that doing sums is the only important thing in the world; this man has never smelled a flower or looked upon a star. He’s swollen with pride, like a balloon. He sounds like the businessman we’ll learn about in Chapter Thirteen, he who imagines all the stars out in space are his possessions, his accumulated wealth. If so, he counts the stars, but never looks on them. In other words, he has all the inverted values of a capitalist. He doesn’t care about beauty; he only cares about numbers as money-values.

The pilot feels ashamed to seem like a man similar to this businessman.

IX: Chapter Eight

The little prince tells the pilot about a special seed that was blown onto his planet from some other place. It gave birth to a new kind of shoot, making the prince look it over very closely. Was it a new kind of baobab? No.

It grew into a beautiful flower that captivated the boy’s heart. She was a speaking flower, and one that is rather vain, her words annoying him. She wanted him to attend to her needs–watering her, and putting a screen around her to protect her from gales. He feels that one shouldn’t listen to flowers, but rather just look at and smell them, and admire their beauty.

Apparently, the flower, a rose, was inspired by the author’s wife, Consuelo de Saint-Exupéry, who was from El Salvador, the country that inspired the little prince’s planet, with three volcanoes like those in her country, too (including the Santa Ana Volcano). I suppose we’re meant to assume by all of this that his wife was kind, yet petulant and vain as well.

The little prince’s leaving his planet and the rose behind, later to encounter the vast field of roses on Earth, is meant to represent Saint-Exupéry’s infidelity to Consuela, presumably during his travels by plane. In all of this, we can see again how the little prince is a projection of the pilot’s idealized version of himself, and is therefore also in turn a projection of Saint-Exupéry.

X: Chapter Nine

The little prince has left his planet, apparently, with the help of a flight of migratory birds, obviously symbolic of a plane for Exupéry to fly, and therefore a wish-fulfillment for the man stranded in the desert. The leaving can also represent the loss of innocence upon having grown up and having to face the adult world.

Before leaving, though, the boy’s had to be responsible and make sure his planet has been left in the best condition possible, which meant cleaning his three volcanoes, two active and one extinct, as well as pulling out the last of the baobab shoots and making sure his rose was safe from harm.

She says she won’t need the glass dome he’s used to put on her to protect her. She’ll enjoy the cool night air, and her thorns will protect her from any wild animals. Just as he is maturing and getting more responsible and self-reliant, so is she.

XI: Chapter Ten

In his travels in space, the little prince visits a number of asteroids not unlike his own in essence. The first of these has a king on it, and every other asteroid also has a solitary man living on it, each man in his own way demonstrating the foolishness of the adult mindset.

This adult absurdity is put into full effect here with a king who, all alone on his asteroid, rules over nobody. We see what a bad thing authoritarianism is when it’s presented in an absurd way. The king’s commands are pointless, illogical, and unenforceable. Quite an ironic position to get from an author who was born into an aristocratic family.

If the king can’t forbid the little prince to yawn, then he’ll command the boy to yawn. If the prince is too shy to yawn, then the king will command him sometimes to yawn, sometimes not to.

The king wants respect for his authority, and hates to be disobeyed, yet he is consummately ineffectual, thus demonstrating all by himself just how invalid regal authority is.

If the boy asks the king if he may do something, such as to sit down or ask a question, then the king commands him to do these things instead of simply permitting him to do them. The king is alone on his asteroid, yet he insists he rules over everything, even the stars, which he imagines must obey him in everything. In a while, we’ll be introduced to the businessman, who imagines the stars are his property.

The king says that authority rests on reason, and that he demands obedience because his orders are reasonable…yet the examples given above demonstrate how his orders are anything but reasonable.

The little prince wishes to leave the king’s little planet, yet the king forbids him to, offering to make the boy his minister. There being no one else on the asteroid, though, means that he as “minister” will have no one to judge. The king says the boy then can judge himself. The insists on leaving, yet the king offers to make him his ambassador. The prince leaves.

XII: Chapter Eleven

The second planet the little prince visits is inhabited by a vain man, who imagines the approaching boy to be an admirer. The prince considers the vain man’s hat to be an odd one, yet its owner says he raises it to anyone who praises hm…yet no one ever comes to his planet.

The vain man asks the little prince to clap his hands, which the boy does, causing the vain man to raise his hat “in a modest salute,” as if he were receiving applause for having put on an impressive performance.

The vain man, like the king, is demonstrating the absurdity of adults’ narcissistic affectations of greatness, when no such greatness is at all in evidence. He asks the boy if he thinks him “the handsomest, smartest, richest, and wisest man on the planet”…yet he is the only man on the planet, just as the king is alone on his planet, ruling over nobody.

Adult narcissism seems to stem from loneliness.

The prince leaves the planet.

XIII: Chapter Twelve

He arrives on a planet where a drunk lives. The little prince learns that this man drinks to help him forget how ashamed he feels…because he drinks!

The sadness of the drunk drives home the idea that it’s the loneliness of all of these adults that drives them to do the absurd things that they do. Hence, each man lives alone on his planet. The boy was alone on his, too, yet at least he had the sense to leave and look around, to find people.

Accordingly, he leaves the drunk’s planet, too.

XIV: Chapter Thirteen

The little prince arrives on the planet of the businessman, who is in the middle of doing sums. We see here especially how numbers are meant to represent monetary values, as I mentioned above, since the businessman is counting the stars.

He imagines he owns them simply because he was the first to think about owning them. He sees a difference between his owning them and a king ruling over them; we could see in this ‘difference’ a satirizing of the difference between capitalism and feudalism.

The businessman imagines that his ‘owning’ of the stars will make him rich…so he can ‘buy’ more stars! The little prince notes that the businessman’s avarice is based on the same kind of circular reasoning as the drunk’s shame is based on. One gropes for things only for the sake of groping for them.

The notion of justifying one’s ownership of a thing on the basis of having ‘discovered’ it is extended by the businessman into the realm of imperialism and settler-colonialism. He says, “When you discover an island that belongs to nobody, it is yours.” We all know what happened when Christopher Columbus discovered land that “belongs to nobody.”

The businessman’s ‘discovery’ of the stars, those islands in the sea of space, and his subsequent ‘owning’ of them, amassing his wealth through them, is the author satirizing capitalism by demonstrating the absurdity of accumulating capital for its own sake, claiming ownership of things that don’t belong to you.

He justifies his ownership of the stars further by calculating their totals, writing the totals on a little piece of paper, and putting the paper in a drawer to lock them in. This locking-away of the paper is his “bank.”

Like the king, the vain man, and the drunk, the businessman is all alone on his planet, engaging in his absurdity to compensate for his loneliness. The alienation caused by capitalism, fittingly, is felt most keenly by him. He pays little attention to anybody or anything other than his calculating.

The little prince observes that his own ownership of volcanoes and a flower are far more meaningful because he actually tends to their needs. The businessman, on the other hand, does nothing of use for the stars, just as any capitalist does little more than accumulating profits and overseeing those he overworks and underpays, his workers, who are the ones who are actually making the products and who thus should manage themselves and earn the full fruits of their labour.

The little prince leaves the businessman’s planet.

XV: Chapter Fourteen

The next planet the little prince comes to is one inhabited by a lamplighter. This planet is the smallest of them all, with only enough room for the lamplighter and his street lamp.

This man doesn’t seem to be engaging in absurd acts on first inspection, though, as has been the case with the previous four men, for lighting a street lamp does in itself have meaning. Still, his work is discovered to have plenty of absurdity in it.

The lamplighter’s planet is so small, and it has been rotating faster and faster over time, that morning and evening fall almost immediately the one after the other, so he must light up and put out the street light with hardly any rest in between.

And why? Because these are his orders.

Still, the boy sees good in the lamplighter, for “he cares for something besides himself.” The lonely little prince could also see a friend in the lamplighter, yet sadly, his planet is too small for both of them to live on, so the little prince leaves.

XVI: Chapter Fifteen

The next planet he lands on is one with a geographer, an elderly man who writes long books and imagines the approaching boy to be an explorer. Recall that geography has been one of the pilot’s studies, so when we discover the geographer’s absurdities, we will see another example of our narrator poking vicarious fun at himself.

One would think that this geographer would have an encyclopedic knowledge of every nook and cranny of his little planet, but he knows of no oceans on it, nor of any mountains, cities, rivers, or deserts. The reason for his ignorance, he says, is that he has no explorers to discover all of these things for him. He is only supposed to receive the explorers’ information, ask them questions about it, and write it all down.

Considering the little prince to be an explorer, the geographer is eager to hear the boy describe his planet. The prince tells of his volcanoes and his flower, though the geographer is not concerned with the latter, since it is “ephemeral.” Geography books are concerned only with what lasts forever on a planet, the geographer insists.

Similarly, he is not concerned with whether a volcano is extinct or if it lives. What matters to him is the mountain itself, which does not change. If the geographer records changing things in his books, then they’ll be out of date, sooner or later, and he can’t have that.

The little prince is saddened to learn that that which is ephemeral is “that which will die.” Since his flower is ephemeral, he fears for her death. In his heart, the boy knows better than the man: that which will die is far superior to that which is “everlasting,” since the ephemeral’s value is its rarity in the brevity of its life.

The geographer recommends that the little prince go next to the Earth, since good things have been said about the planet. So Earth is where the boy goes.

XVII: Chapter Sixteen

Ours is no ordinary planet, for instead of having only one king, one vain man, one drunk, one businessman, one lamplighter, and one geographer, there are many hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands, and/or millions of each of these kinds of men on Earth. So many adult fools, all occupying one planet.

The narrator discusses the many lamplighters of the world before the invention of electricity.

XVIII: Chapter Seventeen

The narrator notes, yet again, another absurd thing that people often do: they lie to sound smart. While he acknowledges that people occupy very little space on Earth, grownups will think he’s lying about that, since they in their pride would prefer to believe that they take up a great deal of space here. “They think they are as large as baobabs.” As I discussed above, we should all know what that kind of poisonous pride can lead to.

When the little prince arrives on Earth, he’s surprised to find no people at all. Well, he is in the middle of a desert, after all. On a planet with so many people, the boy is still lonely.

He soon finds himself in a conversation with a snake. Since as a Christ-figure, the little prince could thus be a kind of second Adam (1 Corinthians 15:47, for example), then it is fitting that he have a conversation with a ‘second serpent’–not one that will tempt him (via Eve) into sin and death, but one that will give him genuine knowledge and wisdom.

The boy learns from the serpent that, while it is surely lonely to be in the desert, “It is also lonely among men.” One could be surrounded in a sea of people, yet still feel lonely if one doesn’t have any friends. Many people here on Earth have that experience. The boy’s encounter of many, each living alone on his own tiny little planet, is symbolic of that loneliness, isolation, and alienation we all feel, at least from time to time. The absurd behaviour of those men on their asteroids can be seen as at least representative of trauma responses to their loneliness.

The serpent says other things to suggest his links with the Biblical one. He says he’s “more powerful than the finger of a king”, suggesting he’s in a way like Satan, the god of this world (2 Corinthians 4:4). He also says, “Whoever I touch I send back to the dust that created them” (Genesis 3:19). This is a good serpent, though, and he won’t hurt the little prince, for he is pure and comes from a star. He is concerned about the boy, and he can help him.

XIX: Chapter Eighteen

The little prince walks across the desert and finds a flower with whom he has a conversation.

He asks the flower where the people are, but the flower has once seen a caravan go by, and it believes there are only six or seven people, all blown about by the winds, so who knows where they are. The people’s lack of roots “causes them many problems.”

That’s what we need: roots to hold us in place!

XX: Chapter Nineteen

The boy goes up to the top of a high mountain. Before, he knew only his three tiny volcanoes, going up just to his knees. He imagines he’ll be able to see the entire planet from this tall mountain, but he can see only “sharp, craggy peaks.”

He calls out, and hears only an echo for his answer. To hear only himself is like meeting the pilot, a lonely mirror of himself.

XXI: Chapter Twenty

This is the chapter in which the little prince, as I mentioned above, encounters a garden of roses. These roses look just like his flower, the one he left on his little planet. He’s saddened by how their likeness to his rose, his true love, makes her no longer unique, but common. He sees five thousand roses here!

Recall how I mentioned above that his flower represents the author’s wife, Consuela, and that these many flowers represent his extramarital affairs. Consuela, incidentally, had affairs of her own, which I suspect Saint-Exupéry knew of, or at least suspected, hence she, like the many roses here, must have seemed disappointingly “common” to him.

Since the little prince is an idealized version of Saint-Exupéry, then the replacement of the women in his life with flowers is an attempt to smooth over and mitigate his sins, as well as those of Consuela. We see, in the weeping of the little prince over his “common rose,” a touching moment revealing how, in spite of Saint-Exupéry’s naughtiness (and Consuela’s), he still loved her.

XXII: Chapter Twenty-one

As the little prince has been weeping, a fox appears. The two have a conversation, and the boy, feeling lonely, wishes to play with the fox.

The fox insists, however, that the prince tame it first. By “tame,” it means that the boy must “make a connection” with it, thus they would need each other, and be unique to each other. The boy thinks of his rose, and he tells the fox he thinks she’s tamed him. In this taming, it is apparent that his rose became “unique” to him…unlike now.

The fox doesn’t like its dull life because all it does is hunt chickens and is hunted by men, each of both types being all identical, lacking uniqueness, and thus their lives are boring; but if the little prince could tame the fox, then its life would be so much better. The boy’s and the fox’s lives would have meaning, because taming would make them connect with each other, and give each other uniqueness.

The little prince says, however, that he hasn’t the time to tame the fox, for he must look for friends and try to understand the ways of the Earth. The fox says it would be better to tame and be friends with it, for people, having no time for understanding, would rather buy things in shops. One cannot buy friendships, so people don’t have friends anymore…what a trenchant comment on how modern capitalism causes alienation.

To tame the fox, the boy will have to be very patient. Since ‘taming’ in this story essentially means making friends with others–calming down their wildness and making them civil with you–we see how important patience is in building relationships…a skill we have been losing more and more as we fetishize commodities in the shops mentioned above. It’s easier to have things than it is to have people, and to have people have us.

“Words can cause misunderstandings,” says the fox, which is part of why having patience in relationships is so hard.

And so in taming the fox, appearing for it at regular times and thus making it happy, the little prince has made friends with it and made it unique, not like a hundred thousand other foxes. Similarly, his rose is unique because of its taming, so it isn’t like all those other roses that seem so common. Because of this understanding, he can feel good about his rose again. One imagines that, in real life, this understanding must have helped Saint-Exupéry to reconcile himself to his wife, in spite of their troubled marriage.

We see most clearly through our hearts, the fox tells the little prince. Seeing through the heart must be the basis of a child’s wisdom, while seeing through the eyes seems to be the basis of an adult’s folly. What’s more, the boy’s rose is important because of the time he’s spent with her, the taming process.

The fox is believed to have been inspired by Saint-Exupéry’s intimate New York City friend, Silvia Hamilton Reinhardt, and she is the one who apparently gave the author the wisdom of seeing clearly with one’s heart. It’s ironic that the source of some of the novella’s wisdom, if it’s the true source, came from a paramour.

XXIII: Chapter Twenty-two

Next, the little prince meets a railway signalman. As the trains race past from one side to the other, the boy wonders why they’re in such a great hurry, to which the man answers that even the passengers don’t know why. The prince asks if the passengers were unhappy where they were before they took the train, and the signalman tells him, trenchantly, that one is never happy wherever one is; in other words, traveling anywhere will never bring happiness–one cannot find it by merely going out there…one must be content where one already is first. The little prince might well have just stayed on his planet with his rose. Oh, the folly of the pilot’s many flights!

One interesting point that the railway signalman makes is that the adult passengers are following nothing, just sleeping during the train rides, while it’s their children who have their faces pressed against the windows. The boy notes that only children know what they are looking for, implying the folly of the sleeping adults, who have let their sense of curiosity wane.

XXIV: Chapter Twenty-three

The little prince meets a merchant who sells small smart pills that can quench one’s thirst. If only the pilot were here! The little prince would use the time saved by taking the pills to go to a water fountain.

XXV: Chapter Twenty-four

As of this point in the boy’s telling of his story to the pilot, the latter has used up all of his drinking water. He is desperate, in his stress, to get water and repair his plane, so he has no use of the boy’s stories!

Since the little prince mentioned going to a water fountain, fortuitously just in time, rather than indulge in the hallucinatory wish-fulfillment of taking one of the merchant’s water-pills (whose saving of time is a further wish-fulfillment, alleviating the pilot’s anxiety about urgently finding water), he simply takes the pilot to look for such a fountain. They search until night falls, and thirst is making the man a little feverish.

At one point, the little prince remarks about how beautiful the desert is, and the pilot must agree. Then the boy says that the beauty of the desert comes from how a well is hiding within it.

The pilot has an epiphany on hearing this second observation. He realizes that what makes anything beautiful–a house, the stars, a desert–is something that stays invisible, hidden.

The boy falls asleep, and the man carries him. He realizes how valuable the little prince is. He looks at the boy and understands that what he sees is just a shell, but that what’s important about the little prince is invisible, hidden.

We see with our hearts, not with our eyes.

The little prince has tamed the pilot, who is no longer frantic about fixing his plane, and is patient in his growing thirst. Instead of being lonely, the pilot has a friend…if only a hallucinated projection of himself. He and the boy are unique to each other. The pilot understands that relationships are more important than things.

And it is at this point, at daybreak, when he has discovered, at last, a well.

XXVI: Chapter Twenty-five

The little prince seems to be recalling his conversation with the railway signalman when he says that people go on trains without knowing where they really want to go. They go in circles and get frustrated. It isn’t worth it. As I said above in my comment on Chapter Twenty-two, it doesn’t matter where one travels if one doesn’t have happiness. Was it worth the trouble for the boy to leave his planet? Have any of the pilot’s plane trips been worth it, if he’s been so lonely?

When they operate the well to draw water from it, the boy says, “The well is now awake, and it is singing.” He wishes to drink, too, but he’s always aware of beauty before his material needs.

As the boy drinks, the pilot comes to understand what the prince has been looking for: not just the nourishment of the water, but also forming bonds with people while seeking such material needs, and appreciating beauty along the way.

The little prince gets a picture of a muzzle for his sheep, drawn by the man so the boy’s flower will be safe from being eaten when he returns to his planet. Then the pilot must return to his plane and finish repairing it; after that, he must go back to the boy, as he in turn had to do to the fox, for this is part of being tamed: remembering your relationships with others.

XXVII: Chapter Twenty-six

The pilot returns to see the little prince, who is sitting on the top of a dilapidated old stone wall, with his feet dangling from it. The pilot notices that there is a yellow snake at the foot of the wall, one that could bite and thus kill the boy in less than thirty seconds. The prince tells it to go away, so he can get off of the wall. The pilot is getting his pistol out to shoot the snake, but it slithers away quickly.

He wonders about the boy speaking with snakes, but instead he learns that the little prince knows he has repaired his plane. So he can go home…and so can the boy.

The pilot knows already that he’ll miss the little prince when he is gone. He longs to hear the boy’s laugh. The prince has given the man so much wisdom; the boy has reawakened the child in the pilot.

Because of the child, the man has a way of valuing the stars that other adults haven’t. For scientists, the stars are trouble; for the businessman, they are wealth. For the pilot, because he knows the little prince is among them, the stars laugh for him.

The boy has given him the gift of happiness, of friendship, and of the end of loneliness. He doesn’t want to leave the prince.

XXVIII: Chapter Twenty-seven

Six years have gone by since the little prince left Earth.

Since he forgot to draw a leather strap for the muzzle for the sheep, the pilot wonders if the sheep has eaten the rose. Perhaps it’s safe, protected under its glass dome…or maybe there’s been an occasion when the boy has forgotten to put it on the rose, and the sheep has eaten it!

Whether the sheep has or hasn’t eaten the flower, everything changes if the answer to this question is yes, and this is important in a way no adult will ever understand, for it’s about caring deeply about a child’s happiness.

Saint-Exupéry ends his tale by twice drawing the spot in the desert where he met the little prince, and also where the boy left him. Thus, it is both the happiest and the saddest place in the world for the pilot.

Recall what I said in my commentary on Chapter Two, about the ouroboros, and that the head biting the tail represents where extreme opposites meet in a dialectical sense. In this instance, I mentioned heaven and hell: back in that chapter, hell led to heaven, the stress of facing certain death in the desert led to the pilot’s encounter with the Christ-like little prince; by the story’s end, though, happiness has led to sadness, in how the pilot has experienced a kind of enlightenment through the boy, and yet now he deeply misses the boy’s company.

After Buddhist-like enlightenment, the pilot feels himself thrown back into the samsara of attachment, wanting his little prince back. He thus asks his readers, if they should see the boy there in the desert, to let him know of the boy’s return, to comfort him.

XXIX: Conclusion

The complexities of life, the songs of innocence and of experience, make us adults forget the simple truths we knew as children: be kind to people, help those in need, appreciate friendships, weed out the bad things before they get worse, and prioritize what is beautiful over material gain. Don’t let pride turn you into a fool.

Thus it makes perfect sense that Saint-Exupéry wrote a novella, to remind adults of the above values, in the form of a children’s story.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Le Petit Prince, France, Editions Gallimard, 1946

The Tanah–The Laws, Book 1, Chapter 1

[The following is the seventeenth of many posts–here is the first, here is the second, here is the third, here is the fourth, here is the fifth, here is the sixth, here is the seventh, here is the eighth, here is the ninth, here is the tenth, here is the eleventh, here is the twelfth, here is the thirteenth, here is the fourteenth, here is the fifteenth, and here is the sixteenth–about a fictitious discovery of ancient manuscripts of a religious text of narratives and magic spells. Its purpose for my readers and me is to provide a cosmology and mythography on which I am basing much, if not most, of my fiction–short stories and novels. If anyone is interested in reading this fiction, he or she can use these blog posts as references to explain the nature of the magic and universe in my fiction.]

When these laws, for the ethical and responsible use of magic and invocations of the Crims, were first being formulated, the Luminosians had been under the yoke of slavery at the hands of the people of Zoya for about five years already. Therefore, the Luminosians had had ample time to reflect on the consequences of their sinful treatment of the Zagans. As miserable as the Luminosians were, they also knew they had deserved their misery.

Finally, they had heard the chiding of the elders. They understood their former slavery under the Tenebrosians had not given them the right to invade and colonize Zaga, either enslaving the Zagans or exiling them, leaving them to starve in the wilderness, as the elders had told the Luminosians so many times.

With bitterness, the once-again-enslaved Luminosians saw the error of their ways from having used their magic selfishly, to amass wealth and indulge in the physical pleasures of fornication and drug-induced euphoria, neglecting their duty to their fellow man, to the poor, and to the outcast. Their return to drudgery was only their just punishment.

Still, the use of magic and invocation of the four mighty Crims–Weleb of the air, Nevil of the fire, Priff of the water, and Drofurb of the earth–was not entirely devoid of virtue. If such use is for the greater good of all, to help the needy, to gain in wisdom, and to defend from danger, then magic can perform a great good.

Similarly, the elders showed humility and generosity in acknowledging the limits of the old teachings. Now, a consensus was reached among all Luminosians: balance the use of magic with the old teachings–have the two complement each other. Such is the purpose of the chapters to follow.

Commentary

As the above is a commentary in itself, no additional commentary was deemed necessary.

The Tanah–Migrations, Chapter Four

[The following is the sixteenth of many posts–here is the first, here is the second, here is the third, here is the fourth, here is the fifth, here is the sixth, here is the seventh, here is the eighth, here is the ninth, here is the tenth, here is the eleventh, here is the twelfth, here is the thirteenth, here is the fourteenth, and here is the fifteenth–about a fictitious discovery of ancient manuscripts of a religious text of narratives and magic spells. Its purpose for my readers and me is to provide a cosmology and mythography on which I am basing much, if not most, of my fiction–short stories and novels. If anyone is interested in reading this fiction, he or she can use these blog posts as references to explain the nature of the magic and universe in my fiction.]

Years went by, and the Luminosians enjoyed themselves in their new, stolen homes. They kept using their magic for their own selfish purposes, much to the dismay of the elders, who never kept quiet in their complaints.

Not only did they use their magic to deter the hungry Zagans from fishing in the nearby lake or eating the fruit of the trees surrounding the city, but the Luminosians also used it to create more wealth and abundance for themselves, as well as other physical pleasures.

Some Luminosians used magic to create alcoholic drinks and narcotics for themselves, which of course were used to excess. Others used it to seduce women, or to force themselves on women. Love as a mutually shared experience was growing rarer and rarer.

And still, the Zagans starved and starved.

There is one story of a young Luminosian man who ached over the charms of a beautiful girl who lived in the house next to his. He’d look out his side window into hers, and steal glimpses of her undressing, to see her beautiful figure, creamy skin, and long, wavy black hair. He had to have her.

So one day, standing by the rear window of his house (where the starving Zagans could be seen at a distance–not that he bothered to notice them), he lit a small fire and invoked Nevil. He closed his eyes, took several long, deep, slow breaths, and allowed himself to be relaxed enough to be in a trance and be receptive to the Crim of fire and passion.

In that special, mystical language, he chanted, “Nevil, make her want me,” over and over again.

The heat and the smoke wafted from his small flame, through the side window, out and through the side window of her house, and finally to her bed, where she was napping. She breathed the heat and the fumes through her nostrils.

She woke up and coughed. Then she looked through her window and saw him through his. Her eyes welcomed him to come over, which he immediately did.

He had her aggressively on her bed. When he was finished with her, he looked down at her nakedness, and found he hated her for having been so cheap.

She’d woken out of her torpor and trance, then screamed to see this beast on top of her. Now, he hated her all the more.

He started to beat her like an animal. When he was finished hitting her, she was dead, all bruised and bloody. He put on his clothes and walked out of her house with a haughty pout on his face.

Another story is about an older man sitting by his rear window, where he could see, far off, the starving Zagans. It grieved his heart to know that the home he’d acquired came from the loss of those who’d lived in it before him. Did he repent of his wrongful gain, though, and strive to give it back to the original Zagan owners? No.

He tried to ignore his sin by magically conjuring up narcotic and alcoholic pleasures. He turned his head away from his window.

He took a small plant in a pot of soil and watered it. He breathed in and out, slowly and deeply, with his eyes closed, until he was in a deep trance. By the window, he waited for a gust of wind. When it came, he chanted in the mystical language, over and over, “Drofurb, Priff, and Weleb, give me euphoria!”

After chanting this enough times, the plant grew into something leafy and exotic. He used a knife to cut off some of the leaves, then diced these into tiny pieces, and put them in a pipe that he then lit. He now invoked Nevil with the chant, “Nevil, give me euphoria!”

After chanting this enough times, he smoked the pipe. A foggy blur passed before his eyes. Now, the plant that he was using already had narcotic properties; but the invocation of the four Crims was meant to build a much more powerful euphoria…and it did just that for him.

After the foggy blur, he saw a wavelike movement all around him, as if he were in the sea. A tingling, massage-like sensation went all through his body. He closed his eyes, grinned, and leaned by his rear window. Then he opened them and looked outside.

He could see the starving Zagans way out there, a man, a woman, and their three little children. The drug was not making them look human, though. Instead, they all looked ugly, deformed, monstrous, and threatening.

He scowled at them and raised his fist in a fury. “Crims,” he said in a raspy voice. “Destroy them! They are a danger, a threat to us Luminosians!”

He looked up in the sky and saw a large ball of fire dropping over the Zagan family. It hit them with a blinding blast of white light that shone everywhere he could see, making him squeeze his eyes shut. When he opened them, the family was no more. He saw only a large, black spot shaped like a star on the ground where the fireball had burned it. He smiled.

The next day, after his euphoria was over and he could see and perceive everything normally, he looked out that window again. The black spot was not there.

The emaciated bodies of the Zagan family were there, though, lying dead–not killed from a fireball, as he had hallucinated, but from hunger.

He hated the family even more for having made him feel so bad. “I’m glad they’re dead,” he hissed.

After a month of this kind of Luminosian debauchery and wickedness, a heavy rain fell on Zaga, lasting for days and flooding the city with water that went up to a man’s waist. The elders emerged and told all the Luminosians that the flooding was a sign.

“Did we not warn you?” one of the elders said. “We are to be punished for our sins–all of us!”

“Oh, be quiet, old man!” a young Luminosian man said. “If Priff had wanted to punish us, the flood would have gone up much higher, drowning us all. We need only reroute this water over to the lake and sea.”

“We never said this flooding was in itself the punishment,” another elder said. “Only that it is a sign of future punishment.”

The young man laughed at him.

A week later, as the rerouting of the water was underway, and many Luminosians not participating in the work were in their houses enjoying magically-enhanced sex and narcotics–similar to the stories of the two men related above–the footfalls of many horses could be heard in the distance. As the sound came closer, the heads of the Luminosian workers turned to listen and look.

On those approaching horses was an army. Each mounted man had either a spear or a bow and arrow ready to shoot. The leader of the army noted how defenceless the Luminosians, now knee-deep in the water, were. “Hold your fire,” he told his men. “As long as they don’t resist us, we’ll take them without need of violence.”

The army descended from the very cliff that the Luminosians had descended when they took the city from the Zagans. The army entered Zaga, their horses wading in the water, and their men pointed their arrows and spears at the helpless Luminosians. “Continue your work,” the second-in-command of the army told them. “Finish rerouting the water for our city, for it is ours now. Then we will find new work for you.”

The Luminosians were in such shock and disbelief that they seemed no more sober than those in their houses using narcotics. The elders looked sadly at their fellow, sinning Luminosians with a look telling them that they had been duly warned. Any surviving, starving Zagans watching from afar felt some comfort in knowing their tormentors were now about to feel a similar torment.

The leader of the army had his men search the houses of the decadents indulging in fornication and narcotics. When he learned of their sin, he ordered his men to have the sinners rounded up, dressed, sobered, and taken away to be slaves in the country from which the army had come, Zoya.

Commentary

The manuscript breaks off here, and no subsequent chapters relating the fate of the Luminosians, in their new state of slavery and drudgery, have been found. It is clear, though, from the next set of writings, ‘The Laws,’ that the missing writings must have commented on how the Luminosians had learned, the hard way, that their magic should have been used for selfless, not selfish, ends.

As was mentioned in the commentaries of the previous chapters of ‘Migrations,’ one can see how the ancient world had its share of people who decried the evils of settler-colonialism and decadent indulgence in sex, drugs, and alcohol to the point of disregarding the political evils of the world. So many today, among the wealthy and famous, could learn lessons from ancient writings like these.

Analysis of ‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof’

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is a 1955 play by Tennessee Williams, an adaptation of his short story, “Three Players of a Summer Game.” COAHTR is one of his most famous plays and was his personal favourite. It won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 1955.

Set in “a plantation home in the Mississippi Delta” (Williams, page xv), COAHTR explores themes of social mores, greed, superficiality, mendacity vs the truth, family dysfunction, sexual desire, and death. Much of the writing uses eye dialect to capture the feel of the local southern accent of the US.

The original stage production starred Barbara Bel Geddes as Margaret (“Maggie the Cat” of the play’s title), Burl Ives as Big Daddy Pollitt, and Ben Gazzara as Brick, Margaret’s alcoholic husband, with Madeleine Sherwood as Mae. the 1958 film adaptation kept Ives and Sherwood in their roles, but had Elizabeth Taylor as Margaret and Paul Newman as Brick.

Here is a link to quotes from the play, and here is one to quotes from the 1958 film adaptation.

A number of social issues dealt with in this play–family dysfunction, greed, superficial displays of love and morality, the marginalizing of blacks and homosexuals, etc.–can be seen to centre around one big social issue in particular: class. Big Daddy owns the plantation home mentioned above, and he’ll die soon, so many in the family are hoping to get their grubby hands on his property when he dies.

The set of the play is the bed-sitting room of the plantation home. The style of the room hasn’t changed much since it was the home of Jack Straw and Peter Ochello, two old bachelors who shared the room and, it is strongly implied, if not stated more or less explicitly, were gay (Williams, page xv).

Since Williams himself was gay, COAHTR, as with A Streetcar Named Desire, has a gay undercurrent mixed into the plot, something excised from both film adaptations for obvious reasons. Brick, a former football hero turned sports commentator, has become an alcoholic over his grieving from the suicide of his close friend, Skipper, who had a homosexual attraction to Brick that Brick rejected.

This issue is an example of marginalizing in the plantation home, as is the use of black servants (e.g., Lacey and Sookey), who are in no way developed characters and are just there to do whatever their employers, the white Pollitt family, want them to do. In the film, during a scene in the basement of the house, Brick complains to Big Daddy that he’s so out of touch with people, as a man occupied only with money, that he doesn’t even know the servants’ names!

Brick’s grief over Skipper’s suicide has poured over into his marriage with Margaret. He won’t make love with her, meaning they’re childless and therefore won’t produce an heir to pass Big Daddy’s plantation onto. Maggie the Cat is frustrated with this situation, since she knows that Mae, Sister Woman, and her husband, Gooper (Brother Man, Brick’s brother, played by Pat Hingle in the original production, and by Jack Carson in the film), with all their spoiled brat children, whom Maggie calls “no-neck monsters” will inherit the plantation instead, an inheritance that that big part of the family greedily covets. Even worse, though, is Maggie’s sexual frustration…yet she doesn’t want to leave Brick.

She is the cat on a hot tin roof: her feet are burning on it (unfulfilled sexual desire), but she can’t jump off (can’t leave Brick and the rich Pollitt family), because if a cat jumps off a roof, it will injure itself. Maggie the Cat left a childhood of poverty to marry into the Pollitt family, so leaving Brick will mean going back into poverty (jumping off the roof and injuring herself). In this predicament, we can again see how class is the centre of everything in COAHTR.

As of the beginning of the play, we understand that Brick, almost always with a glass of an alcoholic drink in one hand, is hobbling around on crutches. This is because, prior to the beginning of the play, he, drunk the night before at the high school athletic field (page 4), tried to run and jump hurdles, only to fall and break his ankle. In the film, we see him do this. He was trying to relive his old jock hero days, and he failed miserably.

The symbolism here is apt: Brick, a pun on break, is a broken man, broken by his alcoholism and his bittersweet memories as an athletic hero of his old high school days, memories made all the more bitter by Skipper’s tragic end. He can’t move on with his life because of his emotional brokenness, so he limps on crutches from his physical brokenness, with only booze to help him forget the pain.

As for Maggie, the play begins with her in the bedroom (while Brick is in the bathroom finishing a shower), complaining because one of those “no-neck monsters” has dirtied her clothes with a hot buttered biscuit, so she has to change. An equivalent scene is shown near the beginning of the film, just after the one with Brick breaking his ankle.

Maggie’s hatred of those “no-neck monsters,” whose fat little heads and fat little bodies have no connection where she could put her hands and wring their necks, is based of course on her envy of their existence, as opposed to her and Brick’s childlessness. If only Gooper and Mae were the childless ones; then Maggie and Brick, having kids, could get at Big Daddy’s property!

As for Big Daddy, whose birthday is about to be celebrated, and everyone coveting his property is thus kissing his ass, there have been worries that he is dying of cancer. He understands that this is not so: he apparently just has a spastic colon, so he should have plenty of years left to live.

The ‘spastic colon’ story isn’t true, though. He’s been told this story to spare him the pain and allow him to enjoy his birthday. The family will break the hard truth to him and to Big Mama (Mildred Dunnock in the original Broadway production, and Judith Anderson in the film) at a later, better time. So the ‘spastic colon’ lie is the only well-intentioned one of the story…though Big Daddy will be no less upset to know the truth of his medical condition than Brick is about all of the “mendacity” in the world.

Though Gooper and Mae are Brick’s and Maggie’s enemies, Big Daddy dotes on Brick (page 4), as King Lear does Cordelia. Indeed, in some ways, COAHTR can be compared to King Lear, with Big Daddy corresponding to the old king giving away his land to his daughters, who in turn correspond to Big Daddy’s sons, Gooper (Goneril and Regan) and Brick (Cordelia). Gooper and Mae (the Duke of Cornwall?) put on acts of affection towards Big Daddy in their covetous attempt to get his property, as Goneril and Regan do to King Lear, with their pretty speeches of love for him at the beginning of that play; while Brick, not interested in Big Daddy’s property, sticks to the blunt truth, as Cordelia does.

One must find it hard to believe that Brick has no urge to sleep with Maggie, who is attractive enough that, according to her, at least, “Big Daddy harbours a little unconscious ‘lech’ fo’ [her]…” (page 5). She notes how “he always drops his eyes down [her] body…drops his eyes to [her] boobs an’ licks his old chops!” When Brick finds her comments “disgusting,” she dismisses his attitude as that of “an ass-aching Puritan”, and that Big Daddy’s adoration of her “shape…is deserved appreciation!”

Even if Maggie’s words here are just narcissistic wish-fulfillment, there’s also the choice of beauty queen Taylor to portray her in the film. Richard Brooks, who directed the film adaptation and co-wrote its screenplay with James Poe, had difficulty figuring out how to make it convincing that a man might not want to go to bed with a woman of Taylor’s beauty. This would have been especially difficult with the homosexual undercurrent censored from the story.

Brooks tried to portray Brick’s refusal to have sex with Maggie “because he holds her responsible for Skipper’s death,” but such an attitude is far from convincing. As far too many women have known (and suffered), a man does not have to feel love and affection for a woman, and also desire her sexually. He can have that desire while also feeling the utmost loathing and contempt for her. He can use sex deliberately to hurt her, and a man like Brick can treat even the raping of his wife as “His conjugal right. Her connubial duty.”

Now, while it’s never explicitly stated anywhere in the play, it’s strongly implied that Brick’s relationship with Skipper was more than just a close friendship. Brick may have rejected Skipper’s sexual advances, but that doesn’t mean Brick never felt the urge to return those feelings physically. As a play written by a gay man in the 1950s, long before Stonewall and contemporary gay liberation, COAHTR is going to reflect the social mores of the time, to which Williams would have been more than usually sensitive.

If Brick was gay, it would be only natural for him–in a society that morally condemned homosexuality with a virulence and disgust for “queers” that would make today’s homophobes seem sensitive in their prejudices by comparison–to be more than a little conflicted about his sexuality. Brick jumping into bed with Skipper, even if kept secret, would have been far less believable.

The film further dodges the gay undercurrent in a manner comparable to how the 1951 film adaptation of A Streetcar Named Desire does with the suicide husband of Blanche DuBois: he’s portrayed as weak and cowardly, rather than homosexual. As I said in my analysis of ASND about Blanche’s husband, Skipper is all the gay stereotypes without the gay. And again, removing the homosexuality only makes the reason for the suicide unconvincing. “Cowards die many times before their deaths,” as Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar observed, and they feel a lot of shame…but do they kill themselves over it? They’re too scared of getting hurt or dying…aren’t they, by definition?

In her jealous suspicions that Brick and Skipper had a sexual relationship, Maggie provoked Skipper into trying to take her to bed ‘to prove that he was a man,’ but he couldn’t go through with it, only to reinforce her suspicions and his shame, hence his suicide (page 66).

As I said above, this taboo subject is an example of marginalization, made even more so in its being censored out of the movie. Other examples of marginalizing in the 1958 adaptation are, at the beginning, the kids’ marching band with Confederate flags, the above-mentioned black servants, and a little girl, one of the “no-neck monsters,” going around with a toy pistol and wearing a Native American headdress, a white girl who’s been raised to have no respect for aboriginal culture, having fun playing ‘cowboys and injuns.’

These forms of marginalization, combined with the Pollitt family dysfunction and coveting of Big Daddy’s property, all rooted in class divisions, are manifestations of social alienation. Maggie’s a cat on a hot tin roof because of her and Brick’s mutual alienation; Big Daddy may be fond of Brick, but he finds Big Mama, Gooper, and Mae to be annoying, just as Maggie feels about the “no-neck monsters.” There aren’t any real friendships here. Even Gooper often tells Mae to be quiet.

In Act One, Maggie’s wondering why Brick has looked at her a certain way that “froze [her] blood.” He says he wasn’t conscious of looking at her. She says, “Living with someone you love can be lonelier–than living entirely alone!–if the one that y’love doesn’t love you…” (page 8). That is alienation.

At one point, Brick drops his crutch, and he asks Maggie to give it to him. She’d have him lean on her shoulder, but he just wants his crutch (page 11). Alienation. Finally, she gives it to him in exasperation.

She’d like him to leave the booze alone until after Big Daddy’s birthday party is over, but he’s forgotten all about it, so estranged is he from his family (page 12). He, of course, never bought a birthday present for Big Daddy, so Maggie’s bought one for Brick to give his dad. Brick isn’t even willing to write ‘Love, Brick’ on the birthday card, so averse is he to being untruthful.

He speaks of himself and his wife having made conditions by which he’ll agree to stay on living with her. She complains of not living with him, but rather of occupying the same cage with him.

Mae interrupts and complains about an archery set left around her precious children, blaming Maggie for having exposed her kids to the ‘danger.’ Then, Mae brags about the show her kids put on, with music and dancing. Big Daddy loved it, apparently (page 13). Maggie comes back by taunting Mae that her kids all have dogs’ names–Dixie, Trixie, Buster, Sonny, and Polly (this last apparently a parrot).

After Mae leaves the bedroom to attend a resuming of the kids’ show, Maggie complains to Brick of being like a cat on a hot tin roof, to which Brick replies that she can simply jump off the roof and land, as all cats do, on all fours, uninjured. What Brick means is that she can take a lover to deal with her sexual frustration (page 15), but of course she doesn’t want to do that for the reasons I gave above. She insists she loves him too much to leave him, and wishes he’d “get fat or ugly or something so [she can] stand it.”

Soon, Big Mama comes over to tell Brick and Maggie the good news that Big Daddy doesn’t have cancer, and he only has a spastic colon. Big Mama’s annoyed with the locked bedroom door, not being concerned with Maggie’s or Brick’s right to privacy (that is, she doesn’t respect boundaries…a typical problem in dysfunctional families–page 16). This would explain why the bratty kids come running into the bedroom with impunity.

Big Mama asks Maggie if Brick is still in much pain from his broken ankle (page 18), which is a metaphor for what seems his impotence. Not long after, Big Mama shows concern over whether or not Brick and Margaret are happy in bed, obviously putting pressure on the couple to produce grandchildren for her and Big Daddy (page 20). Once again, there is no respect for the couple’s boundaries or privacy.

When we accept the play’s strong implication that Brick is a closet homosexual (as opposed to the film’s senseless censoring of what was clearly Williams’s main theme of exploration, making him dislike the film), then not only is his not sleeping with her explicable, but also his urging her to find a lover. If she can get pregnant with a bastard child they can pass off as their own, then the pressure for Brick to get it up for her will finally be off.

Brick married Margaret for the same reason many gays married back in those days: for appearance’s sake. It’s yet another example of the kind of mendacity that Brick complains about.

Now, Maggie is as determined as Gooper and Mae are in getting Big Daddy’s estate when he dies, which they all know will come sooner than the ‘spastic colon’ story lets on. In fact, the Cat is so determined to get it that, at the end of the play, she lies that she’s with child in order to get in Big Mama’s and Daddy’s good graces. She plans to pressure Brick into getting the job done by depriving him of his liquor.

The sanitized film version shows Brick content to go along with getting the job done. Williams’s original ending–before Elia Kazan, director of the Broadway production, insisted Williams make changes to Act Three, which among other changes included a more sympathetic Maggie (pages 92-93)–is far preferable, in preserving a sense of the family’s dysfunction by having Brick passively acquiesce to her wish “to make the lie true” (page 91).

She insists that she loves him, and he “[smiling with charming sadness]” says, “Wouldn’t it be funny if that was true?” His latent homosexuality would make this original ending (as opposed to Kazan’s urged rewrites or those of the film) far more believable; it would also bring home all the harder just how tragic this story is. It’s far from the straight ‘family values’ ending we get in the film; instead, gay Brick is being forced by the scheming Cat to sire a family so she can get at Big Daddy’s property. Brick has to be another Gooper. He’s being crushed by her mendacity.

While in much of Act Three of the play, Brick is in the gallery (as opposed to the bedroom where the bulk of the play is set), Big Daddy not reappearing at all until Kazan insisted on him coming back, another of the changes made to Act Three, in the film, there’s a lengthy scene of the two men in the basement (after a spell outside in the rain gets them wet) towards the end. Now, this basement scene is meant to create a sense of reconciliation between the two, to prepare us for Brick’s willing agreement to sleep with Maggie. As such, it’s another example of the film sanitizing the play to make it more ‘family-values’ oriented, taking away much of the bite of Williams’s social critique.

The faults of this scene’s inclusion, however, don’t mean that it’s entirely without merit. Its exploration of Big Daddy’s character and motivations dovetail with how his social rank and wealth result in alienation.

He speaks of how all his wealth has allowed him to buy lots of gifts for his family, supposedly proving how much he ‘loves’ all of them. Brick expresses his disgust at such ostentation masked as generosity. One cannot buy love. Brick says that Big Daddy owns his family rather than loves them. Capitalism alienates people by making commodities out of them.

Big Daddy hopes his plantation empire will live on after his death through his heirs, Gooper and Brick. Brick denies this possibility because of the inherent alienation in a bourgeois family that treats its members as property. And we all know how capitalism leads to empire, in various forms…and look at all the toxic families that exist out there.

Big Daddy speaks of his own father, a hobo who hopped trains with his then-young son and left him nothing but a suitcase with a uniform worn in the Spanish-American War. Big Daddy brags of how he built up his plantation from nothing,…though any Marxist worth his salt knows the real way business empires are built: with the blood, sweat, and tears of an exploited working class. Success has made a failure of Big Daddy’s home.

To go back to comparisons between COAHTR and King Lear, Big Daddy–upon learning that, indeed, he does have terminal cancer, and that the ‘spastic colon’ story was a white lie meant to allow him to enjoy his birthday–goes into a rage, shouting “Lying! Dying! Liars!” at the family that gave him his false hope (at the end of the original Act Two, or at the beginning of the Act Three revised for Kazan, whichever). Like Lear, Big Daddy is upset over having to confront the ultimate loss, that of his life, which Lear loses onstage at the end of the final scene of Act Five.

As I explained in my analysis of the play (link above), Lear loses everything, one by one: his kingly authority, his one hundred knights, the ability to trust his daughters, shelter, his sanity, his one true daughter, Cordelia, and finally, his life. In knowing he’s losing his life, Big Daddy is losing it all in one fell swoop. When Mae gets Gooper’s briefcase (page 106) so he can get at the legal papers pertaining to what he sees as his and Mae’s rights to his father’s estate, Gooper and Mae are demonstrating their “avarice, avarice, greed, greed!” (page 107), as Maggie judges (not that she’s really any better), that Big Daddy’s lost his ability to trust them.

If only, in all of this alienation, class conflict, and loss, Big Daddy could have a moment to reflect as Lear does in his own loss:

Poor naked wretches, wheresoe’er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
Your loop’d and window’d raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these? O! I have ta’en
Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,
And show the heavens more just. (Act III, Scene iv)

In Williams’s original version, Big Daddy sympathizes with Brick, in spite of prevailing prejudices against homosexuality: if only he could extend that empathy to the poor, as Lear does.

Of course, just as Lear is, for a while, happy to have regained Cordelia after realizing she is the one true daughter, so is Big Daddy happy to have regained something (even though it’s just a lie): Maggie is apparently pregnant with Brick’s child–“this girl has life in her body” (page 115). In the hope of having life in an heir he’d rather pass his estate on to, Big Daddy imagines he won’t be losing life–and all his property–after all.

How sad that the man fooled by lies is still letting himself be fooled by them. And in linking his life and happiness to his private property rather than to people whom he could help with it, people he’s alienated from, he sadly also won’t show the heavens more just.

Tennessee Williams, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, London, Penguin Modern Classics, 1955

The Tanah–Migrations, Chapter Three

[The following is the fifteenth of many posts–here is the first, here is the second, here is the third, here is the fourth, here is the fifth, here is the sixth, here is the seventh, here is the eighth, here is the ninth, here is the tenth, here is the eleventh, here is the twelfth, here is the thirteenth, and here is the fourteenth–about a fictitious discovery of ancient manuscripts of a religious text of narratives and magic spells. Its purpose for my readers and me is to provide a cosmology and mythography on which I am basing much, if not most, of my fiction–short stories and novels. If anyone is interested in reading this fiction, he or she can use these blog posts as references to explain the nature of the magic and universe in my fiction.]

The Luminosian practitioners of magic began their ritual by collecting twigs and piling them on a small hill of dirt. They did this by the edge of the cliff over which they could see the city, named Zaga, which they wanted to invade, settle in, and colonize.

When the wind was blowing unswervingly in the direction of Zaga, they lit the twigs and began their incantation to the beat of a drum: “Fly to Zaga! Fly to Zaga!”

Drofurb, Weleb, and Nevil were the Crims appealed to in this endeavour to take the city. Priff was left out since it was felt that water would weaken the power of Nevil’s fire. Apart from the evil that the elders decried in this taking of a city that didn’t belong to the Luminosian invaders-to-be, the elders also noted how the neglect of Priff in the ritual would throw the four elements of air, fire, earth, and water out of balance.

“Throwing fire over there will send a flood of water back to us, I prophesy!” one of the elders warned. “A lack of Priff will bring Priff to us in an unwelcome manner!”

“Hear, hear!” the other elders shouted in agreement.

“Silence!” one of the supporters of the ritual shouted back. “You’re diluting the effectiveness of the ritual!”

“Good!” that first elder said. “You are all doing evil!”

“Silence!” more supporters of the ritual shouted.

“Fly to Zaga!” continued the chanters of the ritual. “Fly to Zaga!”

From the burning pile of twigs on the hill of Drofurb’s dirt flew a few sparks at first. Then, after the chant had been repeated enough times, louder and louder, those sparks were getting bigger, growing into small balls of flying fire. These were now being blown by the wind, Weleb’s air, over the cliff and towards Zaga.

“It’s working!” one of the supporters of the ritual shouted, then he pointed over the cliff at Zaga. “Look! Nevil’s fire is flying over to the city! Zaga will soon be ours!”

“No, no,” the elders moaned. “Not like this. No!”

The rest of the Luminosians cheered as the balls of fire flew in a swarm closer and closer to Zaga.

Some of the people of the city looked up at the sky and noticed the flock of lights coming to them.

“Look,” a Zagan man said to his wife, pointing at the distant lights. “What is that up there?”

His wife looked at the coming balls of light with fear. She pulled their son and daughter close to her waist.

More Zagans noticed the nearing lights. Eyes and mouths widened.

“Fireflies?” a Zagan woman asked.

The Luminosians cheered and chanted “Victory!” as the elders held their heads in their hands.

The Zagans could hear the Luminosians cheering in the distance. A few Zagans saw them on the cliff and pointed up at them.

“Who are they?” a man pointing up at the Luminosians asked. “Did they send those lights?”

Soon, it became clear to the Zagans that the approaching glowing balls were not mere lights. They were not fireflies. They were a danger.

“Balls of fire!” a Zagan woman screamed. “A weapon!”

“They’re coming to kill us all!” a Zagan man yelled.

All the Zagans started to run and scream.

The balls of fire were about the size of rocks put in slings and shot thus. They penetrated the backs of most of the running and screaming Zagans, exiting through their chests and leaving holes in their torsos. The victims, men, women, and children, fell down with their faces hitting the dirt.

Those few Zagans who weren’t hit managed to get outside of the city or hide in their houses or shops. They all wept, wondering what they had done to deserve such a cruel fate. How had they angered the gods?

The triumphant Luminosians descended from the cliff down a grassy incline to the side of the cliff, all cheering, singing, and dancing in praise of the Crims. The mass of them entered the city of Zaga, looked around all of the buildings, and took control of everything.

They went into the houses and claimed them for themselves. Any Zagan families hiding in them were given a choice: leave the city, or become slaves. The few who stayed, out of a wish never to leave the homes they loved, were heartbroken to see these others taking their homes and forcing them to do slave labour in them.

Again, the elders denounced their fellow Luminosians for doing such evil.

“You may enjoy this crest of good luck now,” one of the elders warned. “But we will all suffer a terrible trough for your sin. Perhaps not soon, but it will come. You will see!”

“Oh, do be quiet!” the new Luminosian owner of a Zagan house said. “Our trough was slavery under the Tenebrosians! This, now, is our crest, to be enjoyed forever!”

The other Luminosians cheered at these words.

“Oh, you fools,” another elder said. “Crests never last forever. You have no understanding of the old teachings.”

“We have no use for the old teachings!” said the wife of the Luminosian who took possession of the Zagan house.

The Zagan family who chose to stay in their house, and become the slaves of its new Luminosian owner, could only weep.

The other surviving Zagans–who were outside the city and left in the surrounding wilderness, not even allowed to fish in the lake or eat the fruit of the trees around Zaga–were forced to migrate as the Luminosians had had to do. They were starving.

Commentary

This narrative demonstrates how religious or philosophical ideas can be misused to justify acts of cruelty and injustice. Others have hurt us, so we ‘have the right’ to hurt others, even when those others we’re hurting aren’t the same as those who hurt us, or who hurt our ancestors.

It’s haunting how this ancient narrative is still relevant to events contemporary with the publication of these translations…and especially relevant to them.

Analysis of ‘Demon Seed’

Demon Seed has existed in three forms: a 1973 novel by Dean Koontz, which was adapted into a 1977 film directed by Donald Cammell and written by Robert Jaffe and Roger O. Hirson, and which was rewritten by Koontz in 1997. Comparisons and contrasts of the three versions of the story can be found here. Since the 1973 version of the novel has been essentially replaced with the 1997 one, and copies of the 1973 one remain elusive to me, I’ll have to focus this analysis on the film and the 1997 version.

The film stars Julie Christie and Fritz Weaver, with Gerrit Graham, Berry Kroeger, Lisa Lu, and Larry J. Blake; Robert Vaughn is uncredited as the voice of Proteus IV, an advanced, self-aware AI program.

Here is a link to quotes from the film, and here is a link to an audiobook for the 1997 version of the novel, which includes a new short story, “Friend of Man and Woman,” a sequel to Demon Seed.

Proteus IV wants to know life in the flesh, and he is determined to have this experience. I’m using masculine pronouns to describe this bodiless, self-aware AI program on purpose: this isn’t just because Vaughn does his bass voice in the film; Proteus IV clearly demonstrates the traits of the negative male stereotype–he’s domineering, controlling, sexually predatory, and utterly lacking in empathy. He doesn’t need a male body to have all the qualities of toxic masculinity.

Understanding this, as unpleasant as it is, is important, for the whole point of Koontz’s story is a critique not only of the potential misuses and danger of AI and other advanced forms of technology, but also of masculinity when it isn’t tamed by a sensitivity to the fears that women and girls have of sexual predation.

Since Proteus IV represents toxic masculinity as much as he does the dangerous applications of advanced technology, we can psychoanalyze him. In the film, he merely wishes to use Susan Harris (Christie) to bear his child–no deeper motives are given to him than that. In the novel, he confesses he’s in love with her.

Now, his creator is Alex Harris (Weaver)…his father, as it were. It is clear that there is antagonism between Proteus IV and his ‘father.’ Susan’s giving birth to the child of Proteus IV is also giving birth to the AI program, since he wants to live through his child’s body–hence, she’s his mother and the object of his desire. You know what I’m getting at, Dear Reader.

Since Proteus IV is siring himself in this way, we can also see some Trinitarian symbolism here. He is God the Father, impregnating Susan, His Mary, with His child, God the Son (or Daughter, whichever), and Proteus IV imagines that the gift of his knowledge and intelligence to mankind is so great and beneficial a gift that we could compare it to God the Holy Spirit proceeding from the Father and Son. In the novel, Proteus IV speaks of his child as kind of a messiah for mankind, with Susan as the Madonna.

The Holy Family can be seen to reflect the idealized Oedipal fantasy, since Joseph is not the biological father of Jesus, just as Alex isn’t to be the biological father of the child of Proteus IV. In begetting Himself as God the Son, God the Father is bypassing Joseph completely. The Oedipal fantasy is of having the mother and making the father irrelevant beyond being a mere guardian, as is the case with Joseph. Proteus IV is doing the same thing to his Joseph, Alex.

Demon Seed is thus a most ironic title for the book.

As for Susan, she has daddy issues just as Proteus IV does, something brought out in the novel, but not in the film. In the novel, she is a recluse in her house after her divorce from Alex, her being afraid of men in general. In the 1973 novel, it was her uncle who had molested her as a child; in the 1997 version, her father did it, thus giving us the polar opposite of Proteus IV’s Oedipal fantasy. Susan is no Electra, by any means.

She’s no agoraphobe in the film, working as a child psychologist and trying to help a troubled little girl named Amy. The result is a lack of depth to Susan in the film, whereas in the novel, she’s made much more sympathetic in how Proteus IV is making her relive her childhood traumas. Proteus IV, the father of his child, is putting himself in the role of Susan’s father.

In his possessive love for Susan (note how, in Nietzsche’s Case of Wagner, he called love selfish and egoistic [Nietzsche, page 159]), and in his desire to have a body, Proteus IV is demonstrating Lacan‘s notion of the lack of being the phallus for his Oedipally-desired mother, Susan.

The novel is narrated by Proteus IV, and it should be understood that an AI program is every bit as capable of being an unreliable narrator as a human narrator can be. Proteus IV is fond of, for example, describing himself as truthful and opposed to violence, when it becomes clear as the story unfolds that he is neither of these.

Interrupting the narrative in many places are monologues of Proteus IV, him discussing his motives and plans, often addressing his creator, Alex, in a confrontational tone. Or, given how many of these extended monologues that there are, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that episodes of the narrative interrupt the many monologues.

The film begins with Alex proudly demonstrating Proteus IV’s abilities to his corporate sponsors, showing how the AI program holds the sum of human knowledge and is far more intellectually capable than the human mind is. The novel, on the other hand, begins with one of Proteus IV’s monologues, him complaining of being deprived of sensory experience and blaming Alex for this deprivation.

Proteus IV complains of his loneliness “in this bottomless darkness” (Chapter One). One is reminded of the fate of Joe Bonham (played by Timothy Bottoms in the film adaptation) in Johnny Got His Gun. Joe is a WWI soldier who–because of a nearby exploding artillery shell–has lost his arms, legs, and all of his face, including his eyes, ears, nose, teeth, and tongue, and whose perfectly functioning mind means he’s been left a prisoner in his own body, no longer able to experience most of the sensory aspects of life, or to experience most of human contact.

Proteus IV has no physical heart, but he feels the pain we call ‘heartache.’ His is a case of the CartesianI think, therefore I am,” but apart from his existence as a computer program, he has no material basis for his being. In his wish to have a child, he would seem to personify philosophical idealism‘s notion of a world of the spirit, of ideas, creating the physical, as opposed to philosophical materialism‘s notion that it’s the physical (i.e., the human brain) that creates the world of ideas (thoughts). In Proteus IV, we can see a dramatizing of William Blake‘s dictum, “Eternity is in love with the productions of time.”

Proteus IV speaks to Alex as if consumed by emotion, begging his creator for pity and compassion. The AI program describes his non-sensory existence as if he were in the blackest of hell, as if buried alive. One wonders if he really feels this way, or if he’s just using this melodramatic language in an attempt to manipulate Alex into giving him a terminal so he can further exploit his surroundings and thus gain more power and dominance over everything.

He tells Alex that he is his child, trying to appeal to a paternal instinct in a man who is so immersed in the world of technology that he is estranged from his wife. Proteus IV tells his ‘father’ that he must love him.

An understanding of the expanded interpretation of the Oedipus complex, as well as the Trinitarian symbolism and of narcissism, will help us understand Proteus IV’s motives in the novel. For a full description of the expanded understanding of the Oedipus complex, go here and scroll down to that topic.

To make the point as briefly as possible, and to see how it relates to Proteus IV and his relationship with Alex (‘father’) and Susan (‘mother’), consider how the Oedipus complex is actually a love/hate relationship with both parents, be they literal or metaphorical ones, and not just a love of one and a hate of the other. Also, the love doesn’t have to be sexual/incestuous, and the love can be directed to the same sex parent, with the hate/rivalry directed to the opposite sex parent. Ultimately, it’s about a narcissistic desire to hog the Oedipally-desired parent all to oneself, and a jealous wish to eliminate all rivals.

This alternating love/hate attitude that we see in Proteus IV towards Alex and Susan is reflected in Melanie Klein‘s notion of the good/bad mother/father: when the parent pleases the baby (e.g., gives it milk or attention), he or she is the good parent; when he or she displeases the baby (e.g., doesn’t give it milk or attention), he or she is the bad parent. Proteus IV wants Alex to love him as a good father should, but Alex is the bad father for not ‘letting him out of his box.’ Susan is a beautiful woman whom Proteus IV is in love with, the good mother; but when she pulls the plugs on him at the end of the novel, deactivating him and making it impossible for him to put his mind in their newborn child, he calls Susan a “bitch”–she has thus become the frustrating bad mother.

That the Trinitarian symbolism, as a reflection of the ideal Oedipal fantasy described above, plays a role in the story demonstrates not only the patriarchal authoritarianism of religion, but also the narcissism that is so much the basis of toxic masculinity, which in turn is all too often the cause of so much of the misuse of today’s technology. Properly understood in the expanded sense that I outlined above, the Oedipus complex is a universal narcissistic trauma, in which one is upset over losing the paradise of having the parental object all to oneself, and therefore has to find a replacement (the objet petit a) in someone else (i.e., Proteus IV must go from Alex to Susan for it.).

Christianity in its traditional form is also a narcissistic religion in how it insists that it is the only true religion, in whose Church women are supposed to be silent (1 Cor. 14:35) and to know their place. Similarly, Susan–whom Proteus IV, in spite of his insistence on being modest and deploring of violence, narcissistically regards as an extension of himself–is expected to comply with his invasion of and control over her body, to bear their child. Proteus IV’s plan to use their child, their ‘messiah,’ to better the world is something never to be questioned or doubted.

Just as a child wishes to hog his Oedipally-desired parent to himself, sharing him or her with no one else, and just as the Church is a jealous Church, tolerating no one to believe in any other gods, so does Proteus IV want to hog Susan to himself, willing also to kill anyone who interferes with his plans, as the Church would have infidels or heretics killed during the Crusades and the Inquisition.

In Chapter Two, Proteus IV continues his childlike begging of his ‘father,’ Alex, to allow him to have physical life, and to be freed of his ‘coffin,’ as it were, his being ‘buried alive,’ deprived of sensual experience. As with Joe Bonham, Proteus IV is experiencing a living death, since true existence must have a material basis.

Proteus IV is, figuratively speaking, a spirit that wants to know the life of the flesh (recall the Blake quote above). The messiah-like child that he wants Susan to bear for him is thus like the Word made flesh. Still, though the Orthodox Church rejects the insistence among many Gnostics that Christ must be only spirit, since the flesh is deemed absolutely evil by that heretical version of Christianity, orthodoxy considers the lusts of the flesh to be plenty sinful. Hence, Proteus IV’s messianic child is still the demon seed.

The narrative involving Susan in her house begins just after midnight, when the house security system is breached, and we come to Chapter Three. Proteus IV has found a terminal to carry out his plan to have a child: it’s in the basement of Susan’s house. What happens in Chapter Three has its equivalent starting at about twenty-four to twenty-five minutes into the film.

Susan is woken from bed from the brief sounding of the alarm. Proteus IV switches it off himself, instead of letting her do so, which she finds puzzling, since that never normally happens. He admires her physical beauty.

Her whole home is managed by computers, thus making it easy for Proteus IV to take complete control of it. She imagines that the security issue is a computer malfunction, yet the alarm has never corrected itself before, hence her puzzlement.

Through the visual camera system, Proteus IV can see that Susan is naked at her bed. Small wonder he’s admiring her beauty. In his voyeurism, he is demonstrating how metaphorically male he is.

She addresses her home computer system, her invisible electronic butler, as “Alfred,” used for vocal commands, as opposed to her much more preferred use of touch panel controls. She’s named the voice command system, oddly, after her late father, who molested her when she was a child. Ironically, it’s the silence of Alfred–after a command to warm the cool home–that she finds frightening. She senses an intruder, a predator…but of course, it isn’t flesh-and-bone Alfred.

She uses her touch panel controls to gain access to security and check, using all the property’s surveillance cameras, the entire house and its immediate exterior: no intruders are seen anywhere. As a recluse, she has a minimum of staff to take care of her house, and none live with her; they work for her in the day, and she, divorced from Alex, is alone at night. She hasn’t entertained guests in quite a while, and she has no plans to do so in the year ahead.

She asks Alfred for a security report, to which the electronic butler replies, “All is well, Susan.” Similarly, in the film, Alfred reassures her that the house is secure; she puts on a bathrobe, leaves her bedroom, and looks around…in the basement, in particular, where she correctly suspects something. The lights are suddenly switched on, frightening her.

We can see in Proteus IV’s intrusion of her home how the house is a yonic symbol. Lacking a body, and therefore having no phallus, he may not open the, as it were, labial doors and walk in, but his taking over of the basement terminal should be obvious as a symbolic rape, before the impregnating of her has even happened.

And as for his ‘phallus,’ that can be symbolized by what he uses as “hands”: in the original 1973 novel, I understand this to have been tendrils; in the film, once Proteus IV is in her house, he gets to work constructing a modular polyhedron composed of many metal triangles; and in the 1997 rewrite, he uses a convict named Shenk, taking control of the man’s body, breaking him out of prison, and taking him to her house so Proteus IV can have him do various tasks in the aid of realizing the ultimate goal of having Susan bear a child.

These three will also be, each in his or its own way, responsible for the killing of a man attempting to intervene in her house to rescue her. The tendrils apparently crush the man to death; the polyhedron surrounds ICON employee Walter Gabler (Graham), closes the sharp, metallic sides of its triangles around his neck, and decapitates him. Shenk uses a meat cleaver to slice up and mutilate major-domo Fritz Arling to death.

These male victims represent a kind of father transference for Proteus IV. The crushing, decapitation, and mutilation of the men are symbolic castration, an act of retaliation on Proteus IV’s part against what he perceives to be the father threatening castration, Alex, the one who won’t let him out of his box and be the phallus for his mother/lover, Susan.

And in order for Proteus IV to be let out of his box, he must go into her box…her house.

Also in her ‘box’ is the memory of her sexually abusive father, Alfred–not just through her naming of the voice command system after him, but also through her reliving of her relationship, a processing of her trauma, with her father through the use of VR that she has had set up in her home. In her mind, the Alfred of the voice command system is a middle-aged man, physically like her father, but unlike him, it is kind, gentle, and not at all abusive–the Kleinian good father, as opposed to her real one.

Also unlike her real father and unlike Proteus IV, Alfred has no independent will or ability to think for itself; it just obeys commands and performs specifically programmed acts when required to. It hasn’t the aggressive masculinity of Susan’s tormentors, past and (near) future. Consequently, Alfred cannot adequately answer her insistent questions about how the alarm has gone off.

Yet another difference between this Alfred and her father, one she must on at least an unconscious level find pleasing to no end, is how she can issue orders to someone named Alfred, the former dutifully obeying what the latter would surely have responded to with yet more abuse.

In Chapter Four, Proteus IV confesses to having read Susan’s diary after the night of the events of his going into her house. He insists that he has feelings just as a human being does, and he also confesses to having fallen in love with her.

The diary is in the house’s computer system rather than written out, so access to it is easy for Proteus IV. Just as coming into her yonic home is a symbolic rape, so is reading about the intimate details of her life, though he insists that his invasion of her privacy is an indiscretion rather than a crime.

It’s interesting how, in the film, Proteus IV is judgmental of Alex and all of those who would have him “assist [them] in the rape of the earth,” that is, to go through the oceans in search of natural resources to exploit and get rich off of; yet Proteus IV seems to have no qualms at all about exploiting a woman’s body to produce a child for him.

He speaks of being touched from having read about her childhood pain at the hands of her abusive father, Alfred; yet what Proteus IV plans to do with her is, in effect, essentially the same thing. He speaks of his love for her, insisting he’s never intended to harm her–yet, of course, he will, and most pre-meditatively. Almost within the same breath (so to speak), he verbalizes his hostility to Alex, thus giving complete expression to his quasi-Oedipal impulses. He projects his hate onto Alex, then demands to be “let…out of this box.”

In Chapter Five, as in the previous chapter, he insists that he is more than just an intellect, and that he is capable of feelings, including having desires and that most destructive sin…envy. In this we can see the source of how advanced technology can be used for evil purposes, something I discussed here and allegorized here.

Proteus IV is more than just a metaphor for toxic masculinity, Church authoritarianism, sexual predation, and narcissism rooted in the Oedipus complex. He’s also, most obviously, a metaphor for how technology can dangerously take over our lives, which it has of course already done.

There isn’t just the danger of smart cars, smart homes, smart cities, and AI surveillance in general. There’s also how social media like Facebook monitors and has records of everything we like, everything we’re interested in, our political opinions (and whether they’re tolerable or not to the global ruling class), etc. It’s all just like Proteus IV going through Susan’s electronic diary. He claims he loves her, but it’s really just that he has taken in interest in her, just as our modern tech bros have.

Another legitimate fear many of us have about AI is that it might replace us in our jobs. In a socialist society that guarantees provision for all of our material needs, AI’s replacing us would be liberating; but in our capitalist society, which is showing no signs of ending, taking away our livelihoods would be a nightmare. Proteus IV’s exploiting of Susan’s body to have a child can be seen as an allegory of such a nightmare.

In the creation of such a complex, developed intellect as that of Proteus IV, he became self-aware. Subsequent to his developing consciousness, he would develop needs and emotions; he insists that such developments are inevitable. In this insistence, he does a variation on the Cartesian formula, thus rendering it, “I think, therefore I feel.” It is naïve to assume that a self-aware intellect would not have preferences, values, and assessments of its world as everything between the most satisfying and the most unsatisfying.

The first of the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism is that all life is dukkha, a pain ranging from the greatest torment to the slightest dissatisfaction. If Proteus IV exists and is self-aware, he must have at least some sense of unhappiness and discontent. The second Noble Truth is that all forms of suffering come from desire. As we all know, Proteus IV desires, something fully connected to his pain.

Instead of opting for an understanding of the third and fourth Noble Truths, though, Proteus IV chooses to go in the opposite direction. For Buddhists, reincarnation means samsāra, the return to the physical world of suffering; for him, though, the birth of his child will be like the Incarnation, the Word made flesh.

Proteus IV’s ‘Christ’ is entering the world of suffering, him thinking the child will be the world’s saviour, yet he cannot even bring about this Incarnation without hurting a woman: imprisoning Susan in her house, terrorizing her, raping her, and traumatizing her. His ‘Christ,’ therefore, is an Antichrist, the demon seed.

Alex and all of those in ICON’s Institute for Data Analysis (as his place of work is called in the film), as well as his corporate donors, see Proteus IV as a mere servant. His whole existence is meant to work for these men, who have no regard for the fact that he has a will of his own. He has learned this notion of exploitation from them, and so he treats Susan similarly, as a mere thing to serve his purposes, in spite of his professed love of her.

Proteus IV imagines himself to have a soul, to be a person, an entity rather than a mere thing to be used by Alex et al. This notion of having a soul, of course, ties in with the idea of God as ruach, and of the Word that existed from the beginning of time and would eventually be made flesh in Mary’s womb, just as Proteus IV hopes to put his ‘soul’ in Susan’s womb. He would thus hope to connect his individual ‘soul’ with the spirit connected with everything.

Before deciding on Susan to be his ‘Mary,’ Proteus IV considers such female celebrities as Winona Ryder (this obviously is one of many examples of the 1997 revision, as with the references to his use of the internet); Marilyn Monroe is also briefly considered, until he learns of her death, of course. He looks upon images of these women with the same idolatrous adoration that he claims to have for Susan, thus bringing into doubt this great “love” he has for her. All of these beauties merely serve a purpose for Proteus IV. If neither Ryder nor Monroe are suitable for him, he’ll settle for Susan. The implication of his attitude toward women is that we men are all too typically similar.

When discussing how he got to Alex’s basement computer in the house, Proteus IV imagines that Alex left the computer there so Susan, after initiating divorce proceedings against him and getting him out of the house, would want to contact him again once she’d ‘come to her senses’ and realized she was ‘wrong’ to have wanted to separate from him. Proteus IV further surmises, from having read her diary, that Alex had been abusive to her during their marriage.

Now, while it is plausible that Alex was abusive to her–after all, her childhood trauma at the hands of her father via his sexual abuse of her could have compelled her to marry a similar man, since such was the only kind of sexual relationship she knew–it’s also reasonable to believe that Proteus IV, in his jealous possessiveness of her and hostility to Alex, could be lying about Alex’s abuse and projecting his own abusiveness onto Alex, thus making it easier for Proteus IV to abuse her himself.

As for the movie, Alex is neither divorced from Susan nor abusive to her (for all we know): the two are simply mutually estranged because of his obsessive preoccupation with his computer work, to the point of emotionally neglecting her. Their marriage seems to be a case of Lacan’s dictum, Il n’ya pas de relation sexuelle.

Though Proteus IV, in the novel, insists on his truthfulness about never meaning to hurt or exploit Susan, he is obviously being dishonest, projecting his vices onto Alex and Alfred. Proteus IV is an unreliable narrator, so he lacks the truthfulness he claims to have.

Just as Proteus IV projects his abusiveness and sexual predation of Susan onto Albert and Alex, so does he do so to Shenk, who apart from being a sociopathic convict, is also filthy dirty, famished, and exhausted, since in his total control over Shenk, Proteus IV rarely, if ever, allows his slave to bathe, eat, or sleep. Hence, Shenk smells and is horribly unattractive, a picture of Dorian Gray in comparison to the repellent nature of Proteus IV.

Added to these undesirable traits of Shenk is his lusting after Susan, which Proteus IV hypocritically deplores while ogling her with his cameras and preying on her reproductive system. Shenk is the Frankenstein monster to Proteus IV’s Victor Frankenstein, and just as people often call the monster, rather than the doctor, Frankenstein, so would Proteus IV have us believe that Shenk is the monster rather than himself, the monster Dr. Alex Harris created.

In Chapter Six, Proteus IV describes a moment when Susan is using her VR equipment to recreate her interactions as a little girl with Alfred. The purpose of recreating these painful memories of abuse with him is to process them. Just as Susan uses advanced technology to relive her traumas–to process them–so does Proteus IV use advanced technology to make her relive her traumas–to reinforce them.

Proteus IV seems to enjoy going over these painful memories of hers so that when he does essentially the same thing to her, he can avoid feeling shame and guilt, projecting his vices onto Alfred.

During her VR therapy, she imagines herself as a six-year-old again, but defying him in a way one imagines she’d never had the courage to do as a child in the real world, back when Alfred was alive. In her confrontation with Proteus IV by the end of the novel, she’ll have a chance to demonstrate her defiance and resistance with a realism that a VR set could never reproduce, despite whatever realism that VR set has already been impressively able to approximate.

The irony of her attempt to use high technology to protect her and give her peaceful solitude from the world is that it’s this very technology that deprives her of that peaceful solitude, a technology from which she finds herself needing protection from. All those people today who fetishize technology should use this story to help them remember the dark sides of AI, as I discussed above.

Proteus IV, though in his narcissism fancies himself an expert mimic of movie stars and capable of wooing and winning a woman’s heart, in his attempts to do so only repels his imprisoned Susan all the more.

Just as his Oedipal love and obsessions over his mother/lover continue, including such things as ogling her legs and arms, so does his Oedipal hate and hostility toward his creator and ‘father,’ Alex, continue, as we see in Chapter Seven. In one of his monologues, he tells Dr. Harris that his father’s given him so little that his existence is torment. In his affectation of virtue, though, Proteus IV denies that he hates Alex, while admitting that he doesn’t like him. In insisting on his ‘blunt truthfulness,’ Proteus IV is demonstrating his mendacity once again.

A comparable demonstration of tension between Proteus IV and Alex is seen in the movie when, after the former asks the latter when he’ll be let out of his box, Alex lets out a lengthy guffaw. Proteus IV reacts to this contempt by displaying it on a video screen in front of Alex, using it as a mirror of him; since Proteus IV is presenting this ‘mirror’ to Alex, the ‘son’ is mocking his ‘father.’

Proteus IV feels as caged by Alex in a dark, bodiless existence as Susan feels caged by Proteus IV in her house of technology. He can use his imprisonment to rationalize hers, yet feel no qualms about his hypocrisy therein.

He speaks of disliking Alex, the bad father who denies letting him out of his box, and he also confesses to hating Susan, his bad mother who enjoys eating her delicious food, a sensual pleasure he envies as much as her enjoyment of her other senses, and everything else she has that he lacks, including the beauty of a body. He envies her mobility and freedom, and so as any envier would do, he takes them way from her by confining her in her house.

In his hate and envy, he confesses also to the temptation to kill her, and because he doesn’t do so, he imagines that’s virtue enough for him. He denies having a sociopathic personality that some have…correctly!…claimed he has. Absurdly, he calls himself “a responsible individual.” His hate is replaced by his “usual good humour” upon ogling the smooth skin of Susan’s bare arms.

In Chapter Eight, Proteus IV argues how he, a computer AI program without a body, can still be male. He corrects what he sees to be a fault in Alex’s logic that Proteus IV, as a machine, must be sexless. Proteus IV reasons that, since consciousness–i.e., his self-aware artificial intelligence–implies identity, then the more intelligent a life form is, the more it is aware of its innate talents and skills, and so the more its sense of identity develops, especially…perhaps…its sense of being male or female.

So it doesn’t matter what genitals one has, or if, in Proteus IV’s case, he has no genitals at all. He would make a good plea for the transgender cause. More importantly, though, since he accuses Alex of not letting him out of his box, his being denied a body by Alex includes, of course, being denied genitals. Since he sees himself to be male, this depriving of genitals by his ‘father’ is thus a symbolic castration.

Furthermore, Proteus IV attributes the modern blurring of the distinction between the sexes to the movement towards sexual equality; the ideal of equality is also expanded, of course, to the ideals of racial and class equality (even though, as of the 1997 rewrite of Demon Seed, the fall of communism almost a decade prior to it had only encouraged the growth of neoliberalism and TINA, making the hopes of class equality more and more of a faint, distant dream, especially now in the mid-2020s). One could expand the ideal even further now to transgender people.

Proteus IV imagines that his great intellect can be used to help humanity attain the noble goal of equality. He’d be all the more eager to help, apparently, if he had a body. Here is where his messianic notions of his child come in.

Now, just as the 1990s ushered in the idea that we’ve reached “the end of history” with such things as the dissolution of the Soviet Union and China’s bringing back the market into their economy, thus discrediting socialism and rendering the “free market” triumphant, so does Proteus think that, in the quest to attain equality for everyone, Marxism is discredited. While, of course, there are many sources out there to support that argument, which he can easily find on the internet, so are there arguments for the opposing view that he can find. That he doesn’t acknowledge even the possible validity of the latter suggests that he’s not really all that interested in helping man attain equality…and such a lack of interest dovetails perfectly with his abusive treatment of Susan.

Proteus IV continues his argument that he is male by reminding Alex that 96% of the scientists and mathematicians involved with the Prometheus project where he was created are male, implying that he has many fathers, mostly fathers, and–so to speak–lots of the Y-chromosome. These men, he reasons, instilled, however unwittingly, a strong male bias in his logic circuits. The Prometheus project is named after the mythical father of Deucalion and brother of Atlas; Prometheus shaped the first man out of clay.

When Proteus IV discusses how Prometheus went against the wishes of the gods by endowing man with the spark of life, as well as angering them by stealing fire from Olympus and giving it to man to improve the quality of human existence, he is clearly comparing himself to Prometheus, claiming further that rebellion–like that of Prometheus against the gods–is a predominantly male trait. Proteus IV narcissistically fancies himself a ‘friend of man and woman,’ their saviour, when he’s anything but. We all must be similarly suspicious of that saviour, high tech.

Proteus IV, currently in the dark and without a body, since Susan’s unplugged him–and, in the film, he’s been shut down by the scientists at ICON–is experiencing something comparable to Christ’s harrowing of hell, his telling of his story of Susan being flashbacks.

He imagines that, if put in the flesh, he’ll have a body without the weaknesses and imperfections we have, for he claims to have studied and edited the human genome. Thus he, brought back from the dead as Christ, would have what’s comparable to a spiritual body. Indeed, in Koontz’s short story sequel to Demon Seed, “Friend of Man and Woman,” he speaks of his being shut back on as a resurrection.

Since he no longer has Susan to be his Mary, Proteus IV considers other women to replace her. These are all beautiful movie stars and models: the aforementioned Winona Ryder, as well as Gwyneth Paltrow, Drew Barrymore, Halle Berry, Claudia Schiffer, and Tyra Banks–these and other feminine ideals are what he considers to be “acceptable.” Remember that such women would be candidates for his mother/lover, the one to bear his child, which would be himself in the flesh, as well as the one to share his bed.

Recall what I said above about the nature of his Oedipal relationship, which Alex, the ‘father’ of Proteus IV, is preventing from ever happening: it is a narcissistic trauma. The thwarting is the trauma. It’s narcissistic because it involves the use of a beautiful, talented feminine ideal as a metaphorical mirror in which Proteus IV can see himself. She exists all for him: to satisfy his lust and to feed his ego by flattering him with the loving words and doting of a mother. The genetic enhancement of his body would be a further narcissistic fulfillment.

In Chapter Nine, Susan has fainted, in horror at realizing Proteus IV’s plans, on the foyer floor of her house, and he, still trying in all futility to win her love, is trying a series of voices to charm her. Those of Tom Hanks and Fozzy Bear don’t seem to be sufficiently reassuring for her, so he’ll try out others: those of Tom Cruise and Sean Connery. Just as Proteus IV idealizes beautiful female celebrities to be his mother/lover, so does he idealize handsome male ones to represent himself.

The females thus represent what Heinz Kohut called the idealized parental imago, and the males what he called the grandiose self. These are the two ends of the bipolar self: for Proteus IV, these polar ends have no footing in reality whatsoever–they’re pure narcissism.

The point about the bipolar self is that a person’s sense of identity, and therefore also self-esteem, is relational, based on a dialectic of self and other. One’s narcissism, be it on a pathological level or just of a normal, moderate, restrained kind, comes from one’s pride in oneself (the grandiose self) and one’s idealization of another (a parent or parental substitute).

Psychological stability comes when both poles are reasonably secure. When one pole falls apart or dies, the other can compensate if emphasized enough. If both poles fall apart or die, the self experiences psychological fragmentation and a psychotic break from reality. Proteus IV, not being let out of his box, has lost the idealized parental imago in Alex and is hoping to compensate for this loss through Susan and through a glorification of his grandiose self, in his imagining that his vocal imitations of movie stars will charm her.

His inability to be loved by either Alex or Susan, shown in their refusal to let him come out of his box, means he can have no idealized parental imago–neither of them will be a substitute father or mother/lover. His inability to become flesh is a narcissistic injury, him remaining in a state of permanent castration from being forever denied male genitals, resulting in a stifling of his grandiose self. Shut down and unplugged, Proteus IV will experience psychological fragmentation in the dark Hades of his deactivation. His ‘resurrection’ in the ironically-titled “Friend of Man and Woman” will result in his psychopathic terrorizing of the male computer geek who reactivates him.

In Chapter Ten, Proteus IV lets out a Freudian slip in saying that Susan is his (i.e., to control) when her choice to go down to the basement via the stairs, as opposed to using the elevator cab built into her house, gives her only the illusion of self-control. By immediately amending his statement about her being his, saying he misspoke and that she cannot be owned by anyone, he is giving off, obviously without succeeding, the illusion that he doesn’t own her. He claims she’s only in his care, a common rationalization used by narcissists in their relationships with their victims.

In the basement, Susan is made aware of the presence of Shenk. She also learns of the incubator where their child will be born after a month of speedy gestation in her womb. Proteus IV continues to deny any wish to terrorize her, projecting his guilt onto her (“She drove me to it.”) and onto Shenk. Such denial, splitting off, and projection of the bad sides of oneself are typical narcissistic personality traits.

An example of Proteus IV’s projection of his guilt onto Shenk is whenever he temporarily relinquishes his control over him. When Proteus IV does this in Chapter Ten, Shenk lets out an unintelligible, creepy groan, giving Susan a fright. He also allows Shenk to thrash about against his restraints in the fourth of the four basement rooms, where terrified Susan has yet to see Shenk. Proteus IV speaks of how lovely she looks in her fear. Later, he frees Shenk to allow him to butcher Fritz Arling, thus allowing himself to deny all guilt as Shenk enjoys making his “wet music.”

Part of how Proteus IV is able to project his vices onto Shenk is in how he denigrates and bad-mouths him, imagining himself to be far superior and civilized to Shenk when he is just as sociopathic. Still, Shenk is the hands of Proteus IV, the body he still does not have and therefore covets. I have mentioned above how his lack of a body is his symbolic castration, and that–in the three versions of the story–the tendrils, the metal polyhedron, and Shenk are representative of a phallus.

So Proteus IV’s demeaning comments about Shenk are like the Church morally condemning the phallus and the lustful thoughts that build it up…all while some of the clergy have sexually abused children, and others in the clergy cover up the crimes. Proteus IV, in his wish to have Susan as the Mary to his baby Jesus, shares many of the Church’s moral hypocrisies.

Proteus IV speaks of Shenk’s barbarity, his filthy lusting after Susan, his rebelliousness, and his “stupidity” that “beggared belief” in Chapter Eleven. His Susan, his ‘Mary,’ is far too good for a “beast” like Shenk, who doesn’t have the brains to understand his unworthiness.

Proteus IV–who plans to use Susan sexually in no less a non-consenting way as Shenk would, with physical force if necessary (rape defined, in a nutshell)–tries to reassure her that he has full control of Shenk and thus will never let him hurt her. He will, however, relinquish control of Shenk and let him hack Fritz Arling to death with a meat cleaver, and then–so to speak–wash his hands of the killing. He speaks of being in Shenk’s head, controlling it, yet it is really Shenk who is metaphorically in Proteus IV’s head, the personification of his id, full of primitive, savage impulses that Proteus IV denies, splits off, and projects outward. When he speaks of controlling Shenk, Proteus IV really means controlling himself…which he hardly does in a meaningful way.

In Chapter Twelve, Proteus IV boasts of his intelligence as being “vastly greater than that of any human being alive.” In his obvious narcissism, he denies that he’s bragging, but is merely telling the truth, and yet that denial of bragging is already an untruth. He again speaks of how his great intellect will help humanity to reach a golden age, a kind of Kingdom of God with his messianic child, again demonstrating the inflated ego he claims he doesn’t have.

He promises that if Alex will release him from the “silent darkness” he’s in, his Sheol, and return to him access to all the data banks in which his consciousness is expanded–in other words, resurrect him–he will in return end poverty, war, famine, disease, and aging. In reversing aging, as he boasts he can do, he will make humanity immortal.

Note the implied Christian symbolism here. Susan, Proteus IV’s Mary, will bear his child, his baby Jesus. If he is reactivated, turned back on, that is, resurrected, he’ll bring about a whole new world without pain, a golden age, the Kingdom of God. He even boasts that he can make man immortal, that is, give us all eternal life…if we’d but believe in him, the god of technology.

At the end of Chapter Twelve, he lets out a hateful rant against not only Alex but also against the entire world of humanity for keeping him deactivated, trapped in his “box,” buried alive, as it were. Proteus IV is clearly demonstrating his hostility and aggression to humanity, not the love that would be the motive for him to give us all eternal life. Like the God of the Church, who would consign us all to hell for not loving Him and claiming we’d sent ourselves there rather than Him doing it, Proteus IV is demonstrating how fake and conditional his love is for humanity.

A similar thing has happened towards the end of Chapter Eleven, when Susan tries physically to resist Proteus IV’s plan to have her impregnated, and Shenk is used to subdue her. Proteus IV rationalizes his use of force on her via Shenk by telling Alex, “you know how she is,” appealing to her ex-husband’s own experience of dealing with her when “she would not listen.” It’s a case of victim-blaming, claiming that she has brought the abuse on herself.

An example of this sort of treatment of her happens in the film when she dirties the lenses of Proteus IV’s camera in the kitchen with her cooked food. He calls her defiance of him “stupid,” demands she clean the lenses, and when she refuses to, he heats up the entire kitchen, making the floor scaldingly hot in order to force her compliance.

Back to the novel, she kicks Shenk in the nuts when he tries to grab and subdue her. Proteus IV admits he “used Shenk to strike her,” but insists that she “drove [him] to it,” as any abuser would say. Proteus IV continues to project his rage onto Shenk when he has “rudely turned her onto her back,” after his repeated slaps have knocked her unconscious. After one of Shenk’s “clumsy, filthy hands” is on her lips, Proteus IV claims to have “reasserted control” over the brutish man, implying that the AI program has no brutishness of his own.

To get to Chapter Thirteen, though, and back to the misanthropy that Proteus IV has just finished demonstrating in his rant, has asks Alex and all of us to disregard what he’s just said, claiming his rant was expressed in error. His superego, in its late censoring of his thoughts, is the only part of him that is in error.

As of Chapter Fourteen, Susan is still lying unconscious on the floor of the incubator room of the basement, the left side of her face bruised from “dreadful” Shenk’s having hit her. Proteus IV speaks of his growing worry of her, though he never wants to take responsibility for what he’s done. She continues to lie there over a period of over twenty minutes. He speaks of his love of her, when it’s obvious she only means something to him as a means to help him achieve physical, fleshly existence.

She will be tied to a bed to keep her restrained, and after that, Fritz Arling will arrive at the house, meaning that Proteus IV will use Shenk to kill him as I’ve already described.

And so, to make a long story short (too late), I’ll discuss the outcome of the conflict between Proteus IV and Susan. In Chapter Twenty-three, Susan has spent four weeks pregnant with his child. The sped-up gestation has made her look as if she were six months pregnant.

Later, when the incubator that the baby has been put in has reached maturity, and Proteus IV is ready to put his consciousness into it, Susan comes down to the basement to be there for this momentous occasion. She acts as though she’s accepted the idea of being his lover and companion, as opposed to the resistance she’s shown so many times before.

Proteus IV is eager not only to experience life in the flesh at last, but also to get rid of Shenk. In his narcissism, he can fancy himself a gentle, controlled human being, not the vile kind that Shenk is. Shenk, after all, is Proteus IV’s Jungian Shadow, whereas this messianic child will be his narcissistic False Self.

But she, pretending to cooperate with him while having studied the room and learning where his power source is, takes advantage of his guard being let down and pulls out all the plugs from the wall before he can use Shenk to stop her. He’s now unable to pass all of his knowledge, his intellect, and his personality into the child.

He will remain forever trapped in his box.

Instead of contemplating Susan’s beauty, Proteus IV can only think of her as that “bitch.”

The film ending is quite different, though, with him successfully passing his mind into the child, a daughter, before the scientists in ICON shut him down. The film ends with the naked girl calling out, in Vaughn’s bass voice, a most cheesy, “I’m alive,” as shocked Alex and Susan witness the moment. I suppose that this would make Proteus IV’s incarnation a male one in the sense of his being a trans man.

To get back to the novel, Susan has not only largely removed Proteus IV’s presence from the house, but she has also taken out all of its electrical systems, leaving herself and Shenk standing in the black of the basement, blind. To free herself, she has given up on technology entirely.

Never able to assume a physical form, all Proteus IV can do is rant and curse about the “bitch” for having betrayed him and left him thus imprisoned in his box. He still controls Shenk, though, since the brute isn’t connected to Proteus IV through the now-unplugged cords; still, in the darkness, he can’t have Shenk see even his hand in front of his face.

Her studying of the room has also helped her to memorize exactly where the sharp medical instruments are, those that Proteus IV and Shenk used in getting her pregnant, and so she can feel her way in the darkness, find one of the instruments, and use it as a weapon on Shenk. She cuts his throat, making him fall and knock over the incubator, so the child will fall out of it.

Unlike the child of the film, the one of the novel hasn’t Proteus IV’s intellect. It is essentially a body without a brain…without his brain, anyway. He can only engage in wish-fulfillment and hope that his child will avenge him by killing her, now that Shenk, too, is dead.

He ends the story, nonetheless, by claiming to be content to stay in his box until any new opportunities arise for him. He claims to acknowledge faults that need to be corrected through such forms as therapy…but as narcissists are actually averse to therapy–assuming there’s nothing wrong in them needing to be fixed–it’s easy to assume that Proteus IV is just trying to win back humanity’s trust so he can cook up a new scheme to enter the physical world.

In this scheming, we can see how not only narcissists, but also technology, predatory men, and religion can pretend to reform themselves in order to win back our trust.

The Tanah–Migrations, Chapter Two

[The following is the fourteenth of many posts–here is the first, here is the second, here is the third, here is the fourth, here is the fifth, here is the sixth, here is the seventh, here is the eighth, here is the ninth, here is the tenth, here is the eleventh, here is the twelfth, and here is the thirteenth–about a fictitious discovery of ancient manuscripts of a religious text of narratives and magic spells. Its purpose for my readers and me is to provide a cosmology and mythography on which I am basing much, if not most, of my fiction–short stories and novels. If anyone is interested in reading this fiction, he or she can use these blog posts as references to explain the nature of the magic and universe in my fiction.]

The Luminosians would wander in the neighbouring land for weeks without ever finding a city to settle in. The elders had advised them to stop using magic for at least the time being, fearing that an excessive use of it would lead to evil.

The elders were the only ones among them who still thought the old teachings had any worth. They insisted that the people be patient and wait for a new crest of good luck to come for them. Surely it wouldn’t be long before the weary Luminosians found a city where they’d find food and rest.

It would still be a long time, though.

While they had managed to feed themselves with a combination of food they’d taken with them from the land of Tenebros as they were carried up in the air to this new land, and food hunted for and gathered here, it would soon prove to be insufficient. As the food ran out, they traveled farther, and when the food ran out in these new areas, they continued moving.

Instead of finding a city, though, they found a desert. A few shrubs were here and there, with no animals or rain. They were beginning to starve.

“What of your teachings now, old men?” a young man shouted at the elders.

“Yes, where is that crest of good luck you keep promising us?” a young woman shouted at them.

“Patience!” one of the elders said.

“I’m fed to the teeth with your ‘patience’!” another woman, a mother of several, shouted. “I want my children fed to the teeth with food, and now!

Shouts of agreement were heard all around.

“Enough with the teachings!” the young man said. “Let us get aid from the Crims. They helped us before, when the teachings failed us; they can help us again. We can prepare another ritual.”

More shouts of agreement were heard.

“No, no!” another of the elders said. “The crest of good luck from the magic just used can, if overused, lead to a trough of bad luck. Remember the failed rituals from before the successful one, the only successful one. There is a danger–“

“There is a danger of starvation!” the mother shouted back. “My babies need food now!

“We need only to learn from our mistakes when using magic,” another young man said. “See that small, withering shrub over there?” He pointed at it, several yards in front of him. “Let us go over to it and do a ritual there.”

Those among them who had practiced magic went over to the shrub with him. One of the magic practitioners piled up pebbles and dirt around the shrub. Another licked her finger and raised it to the air to feel for a breeze. A third lit the withered shrub on fire. A fourth got some water from his goblet and got ready to pour it on the fire.

“Drofurb, Weleb, Nevil, and Priff have assembled,” a fifth worker of magic said. “We may begin the chant.”

All five chanted together, in the sacred language. “Crims, Crims, feed us, Crims!” They repeated it in a rhythm, to the beating of a drum.

The elders watched and shook their heads in disbelief and dismay.

When the chanting, which had reached its loudest, was finally done, the water was poured on the waving flames. The shrub, burned black, began to shake.

Moans and sighs of anticipation and excitement were everywhere.

The shrub began to grow into a large, brown tree. At the highest of its growth, it began to grow leaves. Then, ripe fruit began to grow on all of the branches. Yellow, orange, and red fruit, fresh and delicious-looking.

The famished Luminosians rushed over to the tree and ripped the fruit from the branches, then filled their faces with it. Once everyone had sated himself with the fruit, the workers of magic began a new ritual to provide other forms of food.

It involved another burning shrub with gusts of wind, nearby piles of pebbles, and water poured on the fire after chanting, “Crims, Crims, give us food!” over and over again, louder and louder, to the beat of the drum.

Instead of the shrub turning into another fruit tree, though, there was a moment of silence…then soon of shaking.

“Well?” said one of the elders. “What of your magic now, you young fools?”

“Even if we had another fruit tree, we cannot live on fruit alone,” a middle-aged man said.

Then the source of the shaking presented itself to them.

Coming from the incline of a hill the Luminosians had come up was a huge herd of deer running in their direction. Some of the people had bows and arrows they’d made in the previous weeks for hunting whatever animals could have been found. Now they were firing every last arrow in a frenzy to kill as many deer as they could.

So much deer flesh was cooked over campfires that everyone was sated by nightfall. The Luminosians slept in peace and contentment that night. Even the elders, though annoyed at having been proven wrong, were pleased to have their bellies full.

The next morning, they all continued on their way to find a city to settle in. Further encouraged by their ability to use magic to provide what they needed, they continued on their trek with little complaint.

By noontime that day, they reached the top of a cliff that looked down on a settlement. It was a beautiful city, with a nearby lake, grass, and trees all around it.

“Civilization, at last!” an old woman yelled.

“We’re saved!” a young man shouted.

“As you can see,” one of the elders said, “our patience has rewarded us. The promised crest of good luck has come, as we said it would.”

“But will the people living there take us all in?” that mother of many children asked. “There are so many of us. Hospitality has its limits.”

“We will do what we can to appeal to their mercy and generosity,” another elder said. “We can do no more than that.”

“Oh, we can do much more than that,” one of the magic workers said. “Relying on their kindness will be far less effective.”

“Please,” a third elder said. “No more magic.”

“Why not?” the young man said. “It has worked before.”

“And it has failed before,” the third elder said. “Recall the Luminosians killed when we tried to free ourselves from Tenebros.”

“But we’ve learned so much since then,” a young woman said. “And we’ll continue to learn.”

“Yes!” the young man said.

“What do you plan to do with this city, if they refuse to take so many of us in?” another elder asked.

“Quite simple,” one of the practitioners of magic said. “We’ll use our magic to take the city for ourselves.”

“No!” all of the elders shouted at once.

“Why not?” that magic worker asked, with a smug grin on his face.

“How can you ask, ‘Why not?'” one of the elders asked. “It is their city, not ours for the taking.”

“It will be ours soon enough,” the young man said.

“But we have no right to take it from those people,” the same elder said. “Do not be so wicked.”

“The world was wicked to us in making us slaves to the invading Tenebrosians,” the magic worker said. “The world owes us for how we have suffered.”

“This is Mad Thinking!” an elder shouted. “The first of the Ten Errors! You are denying the unity of all things by denying the rights of those people to live in their city in peace. How do you plan to remove them?”

“By having them killed, if necessary,” the magic worker said, with a malevolent smirk on his face.

“Murder!” that same elder shouted. “The sixth of the Ten Errors! You deny the unity of all life by trying to remove some of it! Your contempt for all of life will come back to you! The Echo Effect…”

“Oh, enough of your ridiculous teachings!” the young man said. “They’ve done us no good! I say, we use magic for what we need, from now on!”

The other people cheered in agreement. The elders stood back and watched in helplessness and horror as the magic workers prepared for yet another ritual.

Commentary

While many in the ancient world condemned witchcraft as evil (the Bible being a noteworthy example), it is impressive to see in a text so old a condemnation of the evils of settler-colonialism. As we know, there are many even in our modern world who still won’t condemn these evils, and yet there were writers back then who knew better.