Semicolon Spring 2014

F Z C N M

S

J E I

T H E

S W V

D F W V S

M

P Y U

B R F X P

I

T U I

T R Q R U

C

K Y L

G N P O F

O

W S T

F U B Y N

L

C M P

T W Q A I

O

V F R

Y P B H F

N

A Y T

Q P K

THE SEMICOLON

SPRING 2014

Editor-in-chief: Stephanie

Grella Creative Managing Editor: Pedro Pessoa Academic Managing Editor: Stephanie Taylor Copy Editor: Stephanie Shefler Layout Editor: Sabrina Yau The Semicolon is generously funded by the Arts and Humanities Student Donation Fund. The editors would like to thank the Donation Fund Committee, the students who submitted essays, and the professors who volunteered for the review board.

The Semicolon accepts A-grade essays written for courses within the Faculty of Arts and Humanities. For information and copies, please contact the Arts and Humanities Students’ Council in University College 112F.

Copyrights remain with the artists and authors. The sole responsibility for the content in this publication lies with the authors and artists. The content does not reflect the opinions of the Arts and Humanities Students’ Council (AHSC) or the University Students’ Council (USC). The AHSC and USC assume no liability for any errors, inaccuracies, or omissions contained in this publication.

CONTENTS A Message from our Student Writer-in-Residence.................................................................4 Classical Studies Artifact Research Paper: Mycenaean Artifact No. 171......................................................................................................................6

English Morality in Paradise Lost: God’s Insidious Plan.................................................................................................................................9 ‘I am not what I am’: Finding Iago and His Motives.......................................................................................................................11

Linguistics Challenging the Association of Autism with Intellectual Disabilities.............................................................................................14

Modern Languages and Literature The Question of Authenticity in Written and Visual Representations of Cristóbal Colón........................................................18

Philosophy Religion: A Natural Phenomenon .......................................................................................................................................................20 The Feminist Context of Scientific Inquiry.........................................................................................................................................22

Visual Art Representation of Today’s Meat Industry Practices: The Consumer’s Relationship to Meat and the Meat-Animal.................26 Picturing Art in Nazi Propaganda.......................................................................................................................................................28

Women’s Studies Catholicism and Female Sexuality in American Horror Story: Asylum ........................................................................................32

Writing An Analysis of Hannah Peck’s “Principles”.........................................................................................................................................36

Essay Writing Tips from our Student Writer-in-Residence

SCOTT BECKETT SUBJECT Essay topic selection is a more difficult practice that is initially apparent. Especially in classes where there are no set topics, the possibilities seem endless. Scope is important, and something with a lot of information will leave you at a difficult place as much as not having enough will. When selecting a topic, make sure that you are thinking about the arguments you are planning to make. Above all, make sure the topic is something you care about, so that the process is somewhat enjoyable.

CLARITY Overly poetic language, jargon, and incorrect usage of punctuation (by this I usually mean the infamous semicolon) can obscure an otherwise solid argument. The main goal of any essay is to transmit an idea and convince the reader that this idea has merit. Simplicity is not bad thing and avoiding words “commensurate” or “labyrinthine” when you just mean “equal” or “complicated” is a more effective method of communication. Though there are situations in which it may be more appropriate to use a complicated word, always check to make sure you’re your meaning is clear and that your purpose is acceptable.

AUTHORITY First-person voice is generally not used in academic essays, and many people struggle with how to state an opinion without resorting to “this author thinks—” or “this paper will argue—,” two phrases that are unnecessarily wordy. One of the best pieces of advice I ever got was that opinions and arguments should be stated as fact. Though it may seem harsh writing this way, and seem to be assuming a lot in matters of opinion, it is much more persuasive to be firm in the position of the paper.

TIME Though it is not always easy to follow, I always advise finishing an essay with two or three days to spare. Editing after stepping away from an essay for a while is an infinitely more effective method.

This leaves time to reorganize sections, alter a thesis that is not exactly what a paper is arguing, and gives a chance to catch where “definitely” has been changed to “defiantly.” Printing out the essay and retyping it is helpful in catching things that are not apparent while reading. This strategy is also helpful for maintaining composure. Though many people suggest that they work well under pressure, editing under pressure is a lot less nerve-wracking than finishing your first draft under pressure.

RESOURCES At this university, there are places that can certainly help develop your essay. TAs and profs have office hours set aside to help students, and the vast majority can help in developing ideas, noticing errors in an early draft, or suggesting ways to move forward. The Writing Center offers additional support by experienced essay writers. Have a friend in the same class? Arrange to finish your essays a day or two early, sit down and edit each other’s essays. Developing editing skills will only help to improve personal writing skills.

Classics

SEMICOLON 6

Artifact Research Paper: Mycenaean Artifact No. 171

BY MELANIE BENARD

Published in The Mycenaean World: Five Centuries of Early Greek Culture, artifact number 171 is a signet ring that is made out of gold. The diameter of the bezel is 1.55-1.8cm while the diameter of ring is 1.55cm, and it weighs 8.86g. The ring dates to the Late Minoan/Late Helladic II period, or more precisely around the 15th century BC. It was originally found in Mycenae within Chamber tomb 91 though it currently resides in Athens at the National Archaeological Museum, inventory number 3180. Engraved with a pictorial scene of two women flanking a central structure with various plants surrounding them and on the central structure, this ring would have been used as a seal to stamp clay sealings. Based on the material the ring is made of, the engravings, as well as its symbolism, I believe this ring is an imported object from Crete that was owned and used by some high status individual, possibly a priest or priestess-like figure due to the religious symbolism of the engraving, as a symbol of wealth, status, and possibly their role in Mycenaean society. Its meaning likely comes from a Cretan Vegetal ritual or festival.

Though the site of Mycenae was occupied earlier in the Middle Bronze Age the Mycenaean period began in the Late Bronze Age ca. 1650 BC, reaching the height of its society’s power and influence over Greece in the 13th century. Sometime during the 15th century, Crete came under Mycenaean control and the Mycenaeans adopted many Minoan traditions and beliefs, interestingly around the same time as the manufacture of artifact no. 171 (Gates 2011, p. 129). Trying to separate aspects of culture and society as being purely Minoan or Mycenaean is something that is highly difficult to do without sufficient evidence, and many scholars have failed to reach a conclusion on the relationship between these two cultures. The Mycenaean’s adoption of Cretan traditions and beliefs around the same time as the creation of artifact no. 171 leads me to believe that the Signet ring was an import from Crete itself rather than being made at Mycenae.

Just before the creation of this ring was the ending of the Shaft Grave period, whose grave goods indicate a wealthy warrior class, suggesting a hierarchical society was in place in Mycenaean society that included rich and poor individuals. So, that the Signet ring is made of gold suggests that someone of high status owned the ring, and it also indicates his or her wealth and status. Not only are metal objects rare to find, but also they are limited to high status grave goods and most of those that are found are made of bronze or possibly silver. Further, the engravings on the ring seem to represent some religious festival or ritual. The females seen on the ring are elaborately dressed while their arm position, raised up toward the central structure, suggests some form of worship or celebration occurring. Because of this apparent religious symbolism, the ring may also have been representative of the owner’s role in society, a Priest or Priestess-like figure; possibly the ring was owned by telestai or ‘men of obligation’ who “may have been important officials and land owners” as well as “priests” (Castleden 2005, p. 81).

The Mycenaeans adopted many aspects of Minoan culture, one of which is their religion. Artifact number 171 in particular has many aspects that are traditional to Minoan religious beliefs and practices. One in particular is the Minoan peak sanctuary, which some scholars believe is represented by the central structure on artifact number 171. Depending on how it is interpreted the structure in the middle can be seen as a number of things, but it was first interpreted as a peak sanctuary by Evans: “We may, perhaps, suppose that the whole represents a shrine on a peak sanctuary surrounded by a temenos wall, which is here made to descend in regular steps,” (Evans 1901, p. 183-184). This interpretation is plausible as the ascending/descending lines at the base of this central structure are similar to the wavy lines seen in other representations of mountains, such as the throne that stood in the throne room at the Palace of Knossos (Fig. 2).

Additionally, it is thought that the two objects on the top of the structure are a “pair of horns of consecration though of different appearance…the horns are thick and end in a tripartite ornament…[which] must be taken to be boughs,” (Nilsson 1968, p. 182-183).

Another interpretation seen by scholars is the tripartite form of the central structure, which is seen in many sacred buildings throughout the Aegean, such as the tripartite shrine of the central court within the Palace of Knossos (Fig. 3). In view of this, there seems to be a sacred or holy aspect in the tripartite architectural scheme, which further cements the idea that the scene engraved on artifact number 171 is some sort of religious practice or ritual. Evans, Persson, and Nilsson all eventually concluded that the central structure is some sort of tripartite cult building, either in side or frontal view. Additionally, Evans and Persson believe the engraving to represent some sort of “cult scene at a sacred spring,” (Persson 1942, p. 62). I agree with the interpretation of the central structure being some sort of cult building, but I disagree that this was located in some form of “free landscape…with a sacred spring,” (Persson 1942, p. 64).

The scene on the ring is framed on the bottom by double lines, which I believe to indicate a “paved area or platform,” which “suggest[s] that the cult was controlled by [an] official religion,” (Mycenaean, p. 196). If this was controlled by an official religion it is then likely that this occurred within a town or village, but “evidence for religious practice does not come from Mycenae itself,”(French 2002, p. 47) where the ring was found. Although it is possible the ring was imported to Mycenae from some other mainland site, some scholars have noted that there seems to be “little evidence for religious practices before that time on the mainland,” (Castleden 2005, p. 142). ‘That time’ would be the beginning of the Late Helladic period and the beginning of the Mycenaean period. Further, early on, around the Late Helladic I period, the Mycenaeans imported many, if not all, of their gold objects from Crete as they were known for their finesse in metalworking: “Minoan jewelry of the palace period bears out this picture of the high level of craftsmanship attained by metalworkers,” (Davis 1977, p. 100). Gold in particular is a rather hard metal to work with because it is soft and pliant. As a result, it is unlikely that by the time the ring was made Mycenae had many individuals who were practiced, let alone skilled, in the job of metallurgy and the making of gold jewelry.

SEMICOLON 7

Behind both women and on the central structure there are various depictions of plants. The inclusion of this vegetation to a high degree, particularly its placement on the central altar, suggests its importance is central to what is being depicted in the scene. Due to the vegetation on each of the lateral steps of the central structure as well on the top, Evans first interpreted this as a Minoan tree cult (Evans 1901, p. 183), of which there are similar depictions on other signet rings (Fig 4; Fig 5). But it is unlikely that this is simply a ‘treecult’ due to the variety of vegetation depicted in the engraving: “the erect plant motifs look like ears of grain whereas the items on top look like vegetation growing from a flower pot,” (Mycenaean, p. 196). There also seems to be what looks like trees or bushes to the very right of the scene. As stated before, Nilsson believed the two objects on top of the structure were “horns of consecration” (Nilsson 1968, p. 182-183). Although, due to the other vegetation I believe it more likely that these are indeed potted plants.

Additionally because of the variety of plants it is unlikely that this is simply an agricultural ritual or festival based around the worship for good crops. Rather, it seems more likely that is a vegetation festival. It is also plausible that this is centered on the worship of a vegetation deity, with possible ties to agriculture: “Tripartite constructions seem to have had a variety of functions. They were used as a platform, where the goddess (or rather her impersonator) was seated,” (Mycenaean, p. 196). Persson interpreted the object to the very right of the scene as being a “baetyl” (Persson 1942, p. 64), though this seems unlikely, as “there are no parallels for ‘baetyls’ with such a shape,” (Mycenaean, p. 196). Further, the top two-thirds of this object looks similar to that of the ears of grain on the central structure; therefore it is likely that this is also some sort of plant being depicted.

Thus, the material of the ring suggests a high status individual owned it and most likely had ties to Mycenaean religion, while the central structure and the vegetation suggest not only that artifact number 171 was made in Crete, but also that the meaning of this ring is the celebration of a vegetation festival or the worship, by the two elaborately dressed females, of a vegetation deity. Another interpretation seen by scholars is the tripartite form of the central structure, which is seen in many sacred buildings throughout the Aegean, such as the tripartite shrine of the central court within the Palace of Knossos (Fig. 3). In view of this, there seems to be a sacred or holy aspect in the tripartite architectural scheme, which further cements the idea that the scene engraved on artifact number 171 is some sort of religious practice or ritual. Evans, Persson, and Nilsson all eventually concluded that the central structure is some sort of tripartite cult building, either in side or frontal view. Additionally, Evans and Persson believe the engraving to represent some sort of “cult scene at a sacred spring,” (Persson 1942, p. 62). I agree with the interpretation of the central structure being some sort of cult building, but I disagree that this was located in some form of “free landscape…with a sacred spring,” (Persson 1942, p. 64).

The scene on the ring is framed on the bottom by double lines, which I believe to indicate a “paved area or platform,” which “suggest[s] that the cult was controlled by [an] official religion,” (Mycenaean, p. 196). If this was controlled by an official religion it is then likely that this occurred within a town or village, but “evidence for religious practice does not come from Mycenae itself,”(French 2002, p. 47) where the ring was found. Although it is possible the ring was imported to Mycenae from some other mainland site, some scholars have noted that there seems to be “little evidence for religious practices before that time on the mainland,” (Castleden 2005, p. 142). ‘That time’ would be the beginning of the Late Helladic period and the beginning of the Mycenaean period. Further, early on, around the Late Helladic I period, the Mycenaeans imported many, if not all, of their gold objects from Crete as they were known for their finesse in metalworking: “Minoan jewelry of the palace period bears out this picture of the high level of craftsmanship attained by metalworkers,” (Davis 1977, p. 100). Gold in particular is a rather hard metal to work with because it is soft and pliant. As a result, it is unlikely that by the time the ring was made Mycenae had many individuals who were practiced, let alone skilled, in the job of metallurgy and the making of gold jewelry.

Behind both women and on the central structure there are various depictions of plants. The inclusion of this vegetation to a high degree, particularly its placement on the central altar, suggests its importance is central to what is being depicted in the scene. Due to the vegetation on each of the lateral steps of the central structure as well on the top, Evans first interpreted this as a Minoan tree cult (Evans 1901, p. 183), of which there are similar depictions on other signet rings (Fig 4; Fig 5). But it is unlikely that this is simply a ‘treecult’ due to the variety of vegetation depicted in the engraving: “the erect plant motifs look like ears of grain whereas the items on top look like vegetation growing from a flower pot,” (Mycenaean, p. 196). There also seems to be what looks like trees or bushes to the very right of the scene. As stated before, Nilsson believed the two objects on top of the structure were “horns of consecration” (Nilsson 1968, p. 182-183). Although, due to the other vegetation I believe it more likely that these are indeed potted plants.

Additionally because of the variety of plants it is unlikely that this is simply an agricultural ritual or festival based around the worship for good crops. Rather, it seems more likely that is a vegetation festival. It is also plausible that this is centered on the worship of a vegetation deity, with possible ties to agriculture: “Tripartite constructions seem to have had a variety of functions. They were used as a platform, where the goddess (or rather her impersonator) was seated,” (Mycenaean, p. 196). Persson interpreted the object to the very right of the scene as being a “baetyl” (Persson 1942, p. 64), though this seems unlikely, as “there are no parallels for ‘baetyls’ with such a shape,” (Mycenaean, p. 196). Further, the top two-thirds of this object looks similar to that of the ears of grain on the central structure; therefore it is likely that this is also some sort of plant being depicted.

Thus, the material of the ring suggests a high status individual owned it and most likely had ties to Mycenaean religion, while the central structure and the vegetation suggest not only that artifact number 171 was made in Crete, but also that the meaning of this ring is the celebration of a vegetation festival or the worship, by the two elaborately dressed females, of a vegetation deity.

English

SEMICOLON 9

Morality in Paradise Lost: God’s Insidious Plan

BY LORI MADDIGAN

Some critics of Paradise Lost suggest that John Milton’s Satan, judged as a moral being, is superior to Milton’s God. To compare the characters, Satan and God, in terms of morality, we must first establish a definition of what it means to be a moral being. At the time Milton wrote Paradise Lost and to this day, the nature of morality can be viewed in two different ways: moral relativism and moral universalism. Moral relativism is a “descriptive definition of morality” meaning that morality is defined by “some code of conduct put forward by a society or, a. some other group, such as a religion, or b. accepted by an individual for her own behaviour” (Gert). Moral universalism, by contrast, asserts that morality is not contingent on a defined code of conduct; morality exists outside the boundary of formal constructs. “Morality is an informal public system applying to all rational persons, governing behavior that affects others, and has the lessening of evil or harm as its goal” (Gert).

Thomas Hobbes, a notable philosopher in Milton’s time, favoured the view of moral relativism. “Hobbes denied that morality is absolute and immutable; Milton affirmed it … Milton believed that the will is free, and made morality depend upon it” (Mintz 165). That Milton’s views were opposed to Hobbes’ ideas of morality signifies Milton’s belief in a universal moral code, where rational beings of free will act in a way to lessen evil or harm to others. As Milton favoured moral universality over moral relativism and because Paradise Lost lacks textual evidence to support the existence of a defined moral code of conduct in Heaven, I base my argument – that Milton’s God is morally inferior to Milton’s Satan – on a universal moral code, applicable to and inherently understood by all characters in the poem, including God. In his essay A Defense of Ethical Objectiveness, Louis Pojman identifies “ten principles as examples of the core morality” (48). I will focus on one of the principles: “Do not cause unnecessary pain or suffering”, and I will demonstrate how Milton’s God violates this principle more egregiously than does Milton’s Satan.

Milton’s stated aim in writing Paradise Lost is “to justify the ways of God to men” (1.26). To understand God’s ways, readers must assume that God and the angels are governed by the same universal code of morality as humans are. Otherwise, there would be no need or means to justify God’s ways as God’s morality would be incomparable to the morality which we as humans relate and Milton’s argument would be doomed for failure. Both Milton’s Satan and his God violate the universal moral codes readers understand by intentionally causing unnecessary suffering to others. However, their motives for harming others and the degree of harm inflicted differ; the harm imposed by God is more excessive than that caused by Satan, and God’s motives for causing such extreme harm are less noble than are Satan’s.

Satan commits two significant acts which some critics regard as immoral: the rebellion against God and the temptation of Eve. The Archangel Michael declares that evil was “unknown till [Satan’s] revolt/Unnamed in Heav’n” and addresses Satan as the “Author of evil” (6.262-3). Michael’s comments imply that evil is defined by failure to obey God’s commands and that prior to the revolt, no heavenly being had ever defied God, thus evil was unknown. In A Preface to Paradise Lost, C.S. Lewis devotes a full chapter to explaining the importance of Hierarchy, noting that “order can be destroyed in two ways: (1) By ruling or obeying natural equals… (2) By failing to obey a natural superior or to rule a natural inferior” (76). Lewis argues that Satan’s rebellion constitutes a failure to obey his natural superior.

This argument holds true only if God is naturally superior to Satan. Should the angels recognize God not as their superior but as their natural equal, submitting to God’s presumed authority would violate Hierarchical principles and rebelling against God’s tyranny would be considered good, not evil.

God is represented as a figure of authority in Paradise Lost and the angels appear to accept his leadership, just as they accept that Satan, prior to his fall, was a leader. Raphael describes Satan as “of the first,/If not the first Archangel, great in power,/In favour and pre-eminence” (5.659-61). Leadership authority earned through respect differs from arbitrary power imposed despotically, which violates the Hierarchical conception by placing equals in positions of relative superiority and inferiority. God violates the principles of Hierarchy by requiring “All knees in Heav’n” to bow to his newly declared Son, presumably an equal to the other angels, and “confess him Lord” (Milton 5.608).

At least one third of the population of Heaven, Satan included, must not have understood God’s natural authority. Had they knowledge of God’s status as omnipotent ruler, they would have realized that rebellion was futile. Instead they rise up against God in support of a noble cause: a belief that all residents of Heaven are equal. Satan asserts his belief that the Son, being equal to the angels, has been unjustly promoted by God: “Who can in reason then or right assume/Monarchy over such as live by right/His equals, if in power and splendour less,/In freedom equal?” (5.794-6). Because Satan’s reasons for rebellion are justified in accordance with the Hierarchical conception, the revolt against God, in my view, is not an act of immorality.

Having demonstrated that Satan’s rebellion and desire for revenge are morally justified by his belief that God has violated the principles of Hierarchy, I now concede that Satan’s decision to effect revenge on God by “wast[ing] his whole Creation” or “Seduc[ing] them to [the devil’s] party” (2.365-8) renders Satan immoral because he now intends to cause unnecessary harm to an innocent third party. While imposing harm on Adam and Eve is morally corrupt, Satan is not aware of the extent to which his actions will impact man.

He knows that God’s penalty for eating from the Tree of Knowledge is death; however, it is not clear that Satan knows the nature of death or understands that God’s wrath will be imposed on future generations of humans, not just Adam and Eve. As William Empson asserts in Milton’s God, “however wicked Satan’s plan may be, it is God’s plan too” (39).

God’s moral depravity exceeds Satan’s not only because of the extent of suffering God causes, but also because of God’s motive for devising the fall. C.S. Lewis suggests that the evil causing the fall of the angels and man was “the sin of Pride” and that Satan was “the first creature who ever committed it” (Lewis 66). Citing St. Augustine, Lewis argues that pride “arises when a conscious creature becomes more interested in itself than in God” (66). I argue that Milton’s God becomes more interested in his Son than in all other creatures

SEMICOLON 10 and is willing to cause infinite suffering to many in order to advance his elaborate plan for glorifying his Son. God regards his Son as an extension of himself saying, “Son, thou in whom my glory I behold/In full resplendence, heir of all my might” (Milton 5.719-20); to glorify his son is to glorify himself. Not only is Milton’s God guilty of the sin of pride, he is also a narcissist. Unlike Satan who acts immorally to advance a plan initially intended to seek justice for all in Heaven, God’s immoral behaviour is entirely self-centred, seeking to glorify his Son and by extension himself.

Satan’s plan unfolds as events occur: God’s promotion of the Son incites the rebellion, the fall to Hell motivates desire for revenge, and the idea of tempting Eve to eat the apple develops only when Satan overhears Adam and Eve talking in the garden. By contrast, God’s plan is well-orchestrated, demonstrating a great degree of premeditation. God foreknew of Satan’s rebellion and the fall of man. He tells the Son that Satan is making his way to “the new created world,/And man there placed, with purpose to assay/If him by force he can destroy, or worse,/By some false guile pervert; and shall pervert” (3.89-92). God accepts no responsibility for the unfortunate events he foresees because angels and humans are endowed with free will, asserting that his creatures “nor can justly accuse/Their Maker” (3.112-13). Not only did God fail to intervene and protect Adam and Eve, he insidiously constructed the set of conditions that would advance his diabolical plan.

Some critics may excuse God’s failure to intervene based on the free will defense. In Milton’s Good God, Dennis Danielson discusses concerns with the compatibility of “human freedom and divine foreknowledge” (154-163). Danielson supports the position that foreknowledge does not imply necessity. He cites Milton’s assertion that “neither God’s decree nor his foreknowledge can shackle free causes with any kind of necessity” (155). Having sight of future events, even for God, does not mean those events are destined to occur; actions taken in the present can alter events foreseen. Based on this argument, and accepting that free will is indispensable to morality, we can excuse God for his failure to intervene. However, we cannot ignore the evidence suggesting that God intentionally influenced events that led to the fall.

Although the action is not presented in chronological order in Milton’s poem, an analysis of the timing of events reveals that the fall of man was part of God’s plan even before man was created. Raphael tells Adam and Eve that by remaining obedient and loving God, their “bodies may at last turn all to Spirit … and winged ascend/Ethereal” (5.497-99). God, it seems, created man after the revolt in Heaven to replace the fallen angels. However, Beelzebub recollects an “ancient and prophetic fame in Heav’n” foretelling of “another world, the happy seat/Of some new race called Man” (2.346-8). If humans were intended to replace fallen angels, why was the plan to create man in place long before the angels fell? One could argue that although God cannot be certain that events foreseen will come to pass, as a responsible leader he should establish contingency plans to respond to events that are likely to occur, hence the plan to create humans. Alternatively, God may have structured a plan enabling him to both promote his Son and demote those angels who would challenge his decisions regarding Heaven’s organizational structure, with full knowledge that harm would befall angels and humans in the execution of his strategy.

While God’s lack of intervention in order to preserve free will is morally acceptable, his lack of transparency borders on malicious trickery. Bad decisions made by God’s creatures are the direct result of deficient or misleading information from God and his messengers. Referring to lines 209-220 from Book 1 of Paradise Lost, Empson proposes “that God’s actions toward Satan were intended to lead him into greater evil” (42). Empson’s assertion is plausible given that God, foreseeing Satan’s reaction, promoted the Son to rule over the angels without any forewarning. At least one third of the residents of Heaven were unaware of God’s son and his purported role in their creation, which Satan deems a “strange point and new!” noting “We know no time when we were not as now” (Milton 5.855,859).

God also failed to advise the rebellious angels of his omnipotence and allows them to fight, and experience pain, for three full days before sending in his Son to end the war. Delaying resolution seems to be a tactic God uses for dramatic effect to enhance his Son’s glory as God also allows humans to suffer for generations before sending the Son to redeem them.

God’s duplicity is most evident when Adam asks him for a companion. After frustrating Adam by rebutting all his arguments, God finally admits “for trial only brought,/To see how thou could’st judge of fit” (8.447-8). Misleading Adam as part of a test establishes doubt about God’s motives in general, creating a reasonable expectation that Eve may later call into question God’s true intent in commanding that they not eat from the Tree of Knowledge. Although God claims to have created man perfect, “just and right” (3.98), Eve is formed already possessing the sin of pride. Her first waking acts include admiring her own reflection on which she “pined with vain desire” (4.466). Eve’s inherent pride in conjunction with her suspicion that God’s command may simply be another trial renders Eve susceptible to Satan’s rational argument in favour of eating the forbidden fruit. Like Eve, Adam is also endowed with inherent weakness: his admiration for Eve’s beauty. He, at Eve’s behest, eats the fruit “Against his better knowledge … But fondly overcome with female charm” (9.998-9). I argue that God did not create humans perfectly but intentionally included character flaws sufficient to enable their fall.

Although both Satan and God inflict harm upon others, only Satan shows remorse. After being driven from Heaven, Satan “cast/Signs of remorse and passion to behold/The fellows of his crime, the followers … condemned … Millions of Spirits for his fault amerced” (1.604-9). In addition to feeling remorse for leading his fellow angels to a fall, Satan demonstrates compassion for Adam and Eve, “whom [he] could pity” because of the harm he will inflict upon them by actions he “should abhor” (4.374, 392). Although Satan causes harm to Adam and Eve by acting as the catalyst for their fall, he does so merely as a pawn in God’s elaborate plan, a position he would have avoided had God not masterminded Satan’s fall as well. Satan may commit immoral acts but he still has a conscience. By contrast, God expresses no remorse for the harm he causes, instead finding ways to deflect blame, primarily by referring to free will.

God’s willingness to perniciously use any and all of his heavenly and earthly creations as a means to achieve his goal of glorifying himself through his Son demonstrates his absolute moral depravity. His unwillingness to accept responsibility, his lack of remorse, and his egotistical motives for action make Milton’s God an inferior moral being to Milton’s Satan.

SEMICOLON 11

‘I am not what I am’: Finding Iago and His Motives

BY SEAN BORSHELL

There is a sense in which William Shakespeare’s Othello may be inappropriately named; after all, Iago dominates both the

action and the dialogue of the play, and as Tony Lynch notes, the Ensign has been an enduring source of puzzlement since the play’s first performance (Lynch 23). The reason for the enduring interest with the Ensign is quite apparent, even to the non-critical eye: we – as Iago himself rightly states – know almost nothing about him, nor can we determine why he decides to destroy the lives of Othello, Cassio, and Desdemona. Critical discourse over these two interrelated issues – that is, who is Iago, and what motives, if any, can unify his actions throughout the play – has become divided over whether to interpret Iago as an essentially decent man gone wrong, or as an example of a motiveless, passionless, and “impenetrably mysterious” (Lynch 21) force of evil. For the purposes of this particular examination, these two approaches to Iago shall be referred to respectively as the Moral Man approach and the Satanist approach, though the varying interpretations that exist under these broad categories will be explored. However, a critical examination of these two approaches will ultimately prove inconclusive, as neither adequately explains who the Ancient is or provides convincing reasons for his behaviour; though the Moral Man advocate attempts to uphold Iago’s humanity to reject the charge of evil, and the Satanist seeks to reject Iago the impassioned man to affirm his moral deficiency, we will find that Iago is indeed a man – though not a decent one – and a man driven by a passion: the passion of egoism. It is this passion which both affirms the Ensign’s humanity, and also simultaneously leads him to commit great evil.

In general terms, the Moral Man approach attempts to understand Iago as essentially “one of us” and as a man not entirely unjustified in his view, or in the actions he takes against Othello, Cassio and Desdemona (Lynch 23). The degree to which Iago is viewed as inherently decent, human and understandable tends to vary from critic to critic, without a general unified consensus. For instance, in his article “The Romantic Iago”, Tucker Brooke argues that Iago is “an honest soldier profoundly provoked and pushed into his actions” as any man would be in similar circumstances (Brooke 349). In a similar vein, J.W. Draper sees Iago as a man like Oedipus, essentially good, but brought – by fate, by destiny, or by divine intervention – to “commit enormities unforeseen” of which even Iago did not know he was capable (Draper 324). Draper and Brooke provide an overwhelmingly positive image of Iago within the Moral Man approach, yet there are others who espouse a more moderate view. Bloom – like Draper and Brooke – argues that Iago was an essentially good man, but concedes that he does not remain one throughout the play; instead, Bloom likens Iago’s transformation in the play to that of Satan himself – a genius, who through an “ontological shock”, in this case, being passed over for promotion, experiences a “great Fall” and descent into first immorality, and then eventually pure evil (Bloom 435-6). Bloom’s reading provides us with a necessary unifying criterion that must be met in order for any of these interpretations to work: to prove Iago’s decency, there must be a convincing, justifiable motive – or “shock” –for his actions.

The text provides no shortage of possible motives for the Moral Man approach: within the first act – within the first ten lines in fact – Iago gives one to Roderigo, stating:

Three great ones of the city,

In personal suit to make me his [i.e. Othello’s] lieutenant,

Off-capped to him; and by faith of man

I know my price; I am worth no worse a place

But he, as loving his own pride and purposes,

Evades them with a bombast circumstance… (Shakespeare 1.1.6-12) These lines perhaps represent a “Eureka!” moment for those who argue from the Moral Man position; here we see an entirely justifiable reason for Iago to seek vengeance against both Cassio and Othello. Iago is not just some man seeking pain and destruction for his own pleasure. He is a man wrongfully denied a promotion, and a man whose “natural honour” (Lynch 23) has been insulted; naturally he must react to such provocation by understandably, and almost inevitably, “slipping into wrong-doing” (Lynch 23). To not do so would be improper in the context of heroic Venetian society – to not seek revenge and reassert the “legitimacy of his self-identification” (Lynch 24) would perhaps be a greater crime than those Iago commits.

Of course, this view is somewhat ridiculous, as this motive for Iago’s actions proves problematic for a number of reasons.

Though William Drennan rightfully notes that contemporary audiences of Othello understood that Iago sees his rejection as “a heretical violation of Venice’s [and by extension, England’s] fabled commitment to established order” (Drennan 475) and that this motive “would have seemed both good and sufficient” (Drennan 475) to an Elizabethan audience, the motive is not in any way convincing in a critical – or even dramatic – context for two reasons. First, it does not adequately explain why Iago seeks the destruction of Desdemona; Othello slighting Iago for the promotion to lieutenant somewhat understandably leaves Iago angry with both the man who did the unfair promoting – Othello – and the man who unfairly received the lieutenancy – Cassio – but where does Desdemona fit in? Does Iago goad Othello into killing his wife simply because of her relationship with the Moor? This seems a tenuous motive at best for the murder of an innocent. Even if we accept though that Desdemona must die simply because she is married to the man who ignored Iago, there still exists another more glaring flaw with this argument: Iago does not care at all about the promotion. Certainly, he professes to Roderigo that he hates Cassio and Othello “as I do hell pains” (1.1.151) for robbing him of the lieutenancy, but if this was really the source of his hatred, why does Iago not stop once Othello utters the words “Now art thou my lieutenant” (3.3.479)? Surely, if promotion was the issue, Iago – Brooke’s “honest soldier” – should cease his vendetta against those who wronged him once he attains the job. Surely his lust for vengeance would then be sated, yet is not. Despite becoming lieutenant, Iago continues to engineer the downfall of Othello, Cassio and Desdemona. There is little doubting that Iago speaks the truth when he claims to hate Othello, ut if Iago is the decent man of the

SEMICOLON 12 Moral Man approach, this hatred cannot be caused by the promotion. It simply does not make sense.

Hatred then is the most significant obstacle encountered thus far in the Moral Man approach. The Moral Man advocate cannot simply say “Iago ruins Othello’s life because he hates him”; to be a logical motivation, such a statement requires a further reason that justifies this hatred. There is perhaps a credible reason for the hatred provided in the text: in one of Iago’s first soliloquies, he states:

I hate the Moor,

And it is thought abroad that ‘twixt my sheets

H’as done my office. I know not if ’t be true,

But I for mere suspicion in that kind

Will do as if for surety. (1.3.377-381) Being made a cuckold by Othello certainly would justify – at least in the Elizabethan context – the path of vengeance taken by Iago against the Moor, as it is another form of dishonour. This reason seems sound, and even adequately explains why Iago seeks retribution against both Othello and Desdemona; if Othello can sleep with Emilia without reprisal, why should Iago not be “even’d with him, wife for wife” (2.1.293)?

As is becoming a reoccurring theme though, this motivation on its own falls apart under close scrutiny. For one, there is absolutely no evidence in the text – in the form of comments made by Othello, or Emilia, or any other character aside from Iago – that this affair ever took place. Even if one was to accept the premise that this lack of evidence is not the point, as just the mere suspicion – even if it is paranoid suspicion – of adultery is enough for Iago to act, there is still the problem that Iago once again does not seem to particularly care about what supposedly motivates him, which in this case is his own wife. Marvin Rosenberg notes that claims of jealousy over the supposed affair between Othello and Emilia lacks any sort of weight when considering that in public Iago treats Emilia “at best with sadistic humour” and when alone looks upon her as “an inferior being” (Rosenberg 149). Emilia confirms her husband’s ill opinion of her, telling Desdemona that men “are all but stomachs”, and women are “all but food” to be used and then forgotten once the men grow bored (3.4.100-103). Iago’s obvious disinterest with his wife – coupled with the lack of any other character even suggesting the affair between Othello and Emilia took place – clearly undermines jealousy as a convincing motivation for the Ensign on its own.

The state of the Modest Man argument now reaches the desperate point in which there are few textual motivations for Iago left to consider, and explicit reasons for his hatred of the Moor seem to have vanished, yet there is an interesting argument to be made that Iago’s hatred is motivated not by something entirely definable, but instead by something much more subtle: racism and prejudice. As G.K. Hunter notes, there existed “a powerful, widespread, and ancient tradition associating black-faced men with wickedness” (Hunter 250-251) and that Shakespeare’s contemporary audience was familiar with this tradition. It follows then that Iago’s hatred being motivated by Othello’s skin colour would not have appeared entirely unreasonable to an Elizabethan audience (Hunter 251) and would still allow for Iago to be a “moral man”. There is ample textual evidence of Iago’s apparent prejudice: he tells Brabantio that his daughter is being “tupp[ed]” by “an old black ram” (1.1.84-85) and that the children of this union will resemble horses (1.1.107-110); he frequently refers to Othello as a “beast” (1.1.112); and finally, every instance in which Iago professes to hating Othello, he identifies him by race – “The Moor” – rather than by name.

There are not many reasons to outright dismiss this argument; however, we must again question how convincing prejudice is as a unifier for all of Iago’s actions in the play. Resenting Othello for being both a “black man” and his superior is one thing, but how can prejudice account for Iago’s actions regarding Cassio and Desdemona – both of whom are not only white, but also fellow Venetians. Even hatred of foreignness and blackness cannot entirely account for Iago’s feelings for Othello; considering the degree to which Iago stresses to Roderigo that outward appearance does not accurately display a man is in the “I am not what I am” (1.1.62) speech, we must doubt how much stock the Ancient truly puts into judging Othello by his physical appearance. Aside from providing an additional opportunity to belittle Othello, racism does not occupy a central place in Iago’s hatred for his commander, but rather a peripheral one. The true reason for the hatred ultimately appears to be that unlike Desdemona, the Duke, and Cassio – who see Othello as the self-image that exists in The Moor’s own mind (1.3.250) – Iago sees through the public image of Othello and knows the truth of the man: not a noble, exotic general, but a bragging, lying, prattling, old, lovesick fool (2.1.218-221). If this is where the Moral Man approach leaves us – Iago destroys Othello and the others simply because he hates The Moor for being a silly old man – the conception of Iago as inherently decent is mostly – if not entirely – flawed.

So perhaps the answer to the mystery of “What is Iago?” lies not within the Moral Man approach, but in another critical approach that treats the Ensign as anything but inherently decent. The Satanist approach in general eschews any need to find motive for the Ancient; Lytton Strachey describes Iago as “a monster” so vile that his behaviour “lies far deeper than anything that could be explained by a motive” (Strachey 145). The fundamental points of the approach were best laid out by Coleridge, who classifies Iago as a “motiveless malignity” and as a “passionless character” who dominates through “will and intellect” (Coleridge 231). Under this approach, the various motivations discussed thus far are nothing more than “pseudomotives” (Raatzsch 30), or excuses Iago makes for his behaviour to make him seem human. In reality, says the Satanist, “there is nothing of a soldier, nothing of a man, nothing of nature” (Rymer 203) in Iago: he is a force of evil, of chaos, and of overwhelming intellect that “employs its ingenuity […] to palliate its own crimes, and aggravate the faults of others, and […] to confound practical distinctions of right and wrong” (Hazlitt 222).

Nowhere is this approach more obvious than with those who interpret Othello as existing within the literary tradition of the morality play. William Harmon defines the morality play as an “allegory in which abstractions […] appear in personified form and struggle for a human soul” (Harmon 308), and it is easy to see how Iago fits into this structure. At the end of the play, Othello demands to know why Iago, “that demi-devil”, has “ensnared my soul and body” (5.1.304-305), and understood in the context of the morality play it is because Iago is “a devil in the flesh” (Stoll 231) – an embodiment of Pride, Jealousy, Temptation, Rage, and the other vices one most commonly associates with Satan and the forces of hell. At numerous times Iago seems to reinforce this interpretation,

SEMICOLON 13 appealing to “all the tribes of hell” (1.3.353) and “hell and night” to bring his “monstrous birth [i.e. his plan] to the world’s light” (1.3.394395). In the “Genealogy of Evil”, Anthony Di Matteo suggests that in this scene we see Iago ally himself to Hell, and “in an obvious inversion of moral values” look to the devil as both a parental “nurturer” and a “malign source of creative inspiration” (Di Matteo 332).

The case for Iago being an allegorical representation of Vice, Evil, and The Devil seems sound; after all, references to parental or family relationships are one of the most basic expressions of a relationship between concepts, and in this case Iago appeals to the beings of the underworld as his parental figures.

William Hazlitt touches upon an altogether different interpretation of Iago, yet one that also presents us with a man who is fundamentally inhuman and incomprehensible. Hazlitt characterizes Iago as “an amateur of tragedy in real life” who “casts the principal parts from his nearest friends” and acts the tragedy out because he would rather perform “fatal experiment[s] on the peace of a family” (Hazlitt 223) than be bored. Writing in the nineteenth century, Hazlitt does not go any further, but more recent critics like Fred West have rightfully noted that this description sounds quite similar to a psychological diagnosis of psychopathy. West argues that Iago is impulsive, and like the psychopath has “no real insight into his own true nature” (West 29-30); therefore, Iago has no conception of his own moral deficiencies – he does not even understand morality. Iago the psychopath acts not out of passion, or because he is an allegorical devil wrestling for the control of Othello’s soul, but out of a need to find excitement and pleasure in something, anything, whatever the cost (West 31). He is a playwright and a producer, designing plays that end with the destruction of those around him, simply because he is bored, intelligent, yet completely unable to understand the immorality of his “play” or the consequences for his “actors”.

However, the psychopath and morality play – and by extension the Satanist – approach are also not without issues. Fred West’s “psychopath” interpretation ultimately falls apart, as the suggestions that Iago is both unaware of morality and lacking insight into his own self are absurd. Iago occasionally feigns at not understanding that his actions are wrong, such as when he proclaims “How am I then a villain / To counsel Cassio to this parallel course / Directly to his good?” (2.3.336-338), but he immediately admits the irony of his words, proclaiming “Divinity of hell! / When devils will the blackest sins put on, / They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, / As I do now” (2.3.338-341). Evidently Iago understands the moral dubiousness of his actions; morality just does not concern him. Furthermore, Iago demonstrates that he is not only possessed of self-insight, but a master of it, telling Roderigo:

Virtue? a fig! ‘Tis in ourselves that we are

thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which

our wills are gardeners. So that if we plant nettles

or sow lettuce, set hyssop, and weed up thyme,

supply it with one gender of herbs or distract it with

many – either to have it sterile with idleness or manured

with industry – why the power and corrigible authority

of this lies in our wills. (1.3.317-324) This philosophy belongs not to a man who cannot understand himself, but one who is a master of self-control; Iago is so acutely aware of his “self ” that he believes he can change it, manipulate it, and use it to his own ends; for the Ensign, his “self ” is the only thing that truly exists.

Unlike the psychopath reading, the more general Satanist interpretation examined in this essay through the lens of the morality play does not have anything glaringly wrong with it, aside from the general feeling that there is something problematic with classifying Iago as “passionless”. When alone, Iago seems to boil with passion, a latent volcano ready to explode; he rages against slights both real (the promotion) and imagined (the affair). The Satanist again has a ready counterargument: Iago is simply playing at humanity, and none of these motives, as we have already seen, are quite enough to explain Iago. A.C. Bradley states that we should “not trust one word uttered by Iago” (Bradley, Lectures 211) and yet there is no reason to doubt that when Iago says he “hates the Moor” he means it. The Satanist argument, according to Marvin Rosenberg, is not exactly wrong, but in failing to recognize Iago the man, and downplaying his “flesh and blood qualities” (Rosenberg 146) to make him a symbol of demonic temptation the Satanist is falling into the emotive trap of condemning thoughtlessly rather than attempting to understand a man who could “smile and smile and smile and [still] be a villain” (Rosenberg 146-147).

To find a convincing answer to the enigma of Iago, we must reject any answer that involves a choice between the dichotomy that Iago is either a decent man, or the devil incarnate; instead, the answer lays in synthesizing these two approaches and appropriating the best aspects from each. Iago is evil. He is also a man. He destroys the lives of Othello, Cassio, and Desdemona without much remorse, but not because the Ensign is a symbol for demonic evil. Instead, he embodies an altogether more human evil: ego, raised to the ultimate level.

To make the claim that Iago is fundamentally a man –albeit an evil one – without making the sort of broad, uninformative moral condemnations of the Satanist approach, forces a return to the point of finding a unifying motive for the Ensign’s behaviour. All the past motives proved inconclusive on their own and inherently flawed in some manner, yet egoism – that is, the attitude of a person who “believes they are all that matters” (Raatzsch 11) – provides a means to unite these various motivations into a single passion that drives Iago throughout the play. There are a number of reasons to suspect Iago is an egoist. With egoism in mind, Iago’s “I am not what I am” speech takes on a different tone; Iago tells Roderigo that “we cannot all be masters” (1.1.40) and that there are those – like Iago – who though appearing to be “trimmed in forms and visages of duty / Keep their hearts attending on themselves” (1.1.47-48). Iago claims to follow nobody but himself, because as far as he is concerned none can judge him, save perhaps heaven (1.1.55-57). These are the words of a man, but a man entirely assured of his own greatness; as he tells Roderigo, a man should know “how to love himself ” (1.3.312).

SEMICOLON 14 If ego is the “what” of the question in Iago’s motivation, then we are left with the “how” it is provoked. For this, we can return to the old Moral Man motives: the promotion of Cassio; the imagined affair between Othello and Emilia; and Iago’s hatred of the real Othello.

More importantly, we now have the concept of egoism and Iago’s admission that Cassio must die because “if [he] do remain / He hath a daily beauty in his life / That makes me ugly” (5.1.18-20). Though this statement only names Cassio, it applies equally to both Othello and Desdemona: the lives of these three characters appear better than Iago’s – they are happier, successful, in love – and he cannot stand it. His ego will not allow them to continue to exist and make him appear “ugly”. Iago’s ego is angered by the unjust promotion, by the mere suspicion that his wife prefers another man, and by the fact that Iago – master of himself and servant to none – is seen by everyone as subservient to a bumbling, prattling, foolish, old Moor. His ego is burning at this point, for how can it stand such affronts? If these people remain, Iago is not “a master” in any sense: he is just another ugly servant. So he acts. A.C. Bradley argues that Iago is a man for whom morality is so foreign that “absolute egoism becomes possible” (Bradley, “Shakespeare’s Tragedies” 243) but in truth it is the reverse: Iago is not an egoist because he is evil. He is evil because the drive to satisfy his “absolute ego” supersedes in his mind the need to adhere to moral principles. Iago recognizes morality – as we have seen through his appeals to hell – but he dismisses it, or rather, ignores it. No person can judge him. In Iago’s mind, no person exists except for him.

Iago’s silence at the end of the play is unsurprising within the context of this synthesized approach to the character and his motives. Though Othello demands to know why Iago destroyed his life, the former Ensign retorts “Demand me nothing. What you know, you know. / From this time forth I never will speak word.” (5.2.308-309), and why should he? To justify himself to Othello is to make himself subservient to the Moor again; as far as Iago is concerned, his ego is sated. He no longer appears ugly compared to the disgraced Cassio, the murdered Desdemona, and the soon-to-be-dead Othello. He has won, and he will die. Let heaven be his judge, not these inferior beings.

Of all the characters in Othello, it is Iago who leaves the strongest impression. When the play ends the silence and painful death that await the Ensign perplexes, and sticks with us. Who was Iago? Why did he do what he did? Critical discourse over these questions has generally sought to either argue that Iago was a Moral Man, an inherently decent man gone wrong – but certainly still a man - or condemn Iago as inhuman: an embodiment of Evil and an allegorical representation of the devil. However, the true nature of Iago lies somewhere in between: neither decent nor the devil. The Ensign willingly descends into evil, whilst still remaining recognizably human and “one of us”. Iago is driven to his evil deeds by a decidedly human failing: egoism so pervasive that any actions required to satisfy it are justified, be they good, evil, or otherwise.

Linguistics

SEMICOLON 16

Challenging the Association of Autism with Intellectual Disabilities

BY ELIZABETH PARKIN

Autism is one of the most controversial and misunderstood mental disorders currently being studied. Researchers are still struggling to define the disorder, instead listing a range of characteristics, such as a delay or complete lack of speech development, and an absence of normal interest in others, which are commonly found in those diagnosed with autism. Because of the vastness of the symptoms, the disorder is referred to as the Autism Spectrum Disorder, with affected people ranging from low functioning to high functioning. Autism was once thought of as a rare disorder, but the number of diagnosis is increasing every year (Rapin 1997:97-100), requiring more research to be done to discover more about what it is like to live with autism, and how we, as therapists, researchers, and families, can help to make their lives easier and more fulfilling. One of the ways that this can be accomplished is by continuing to challenge current conceptions and stereotypes about the capabilities of autistic children, and by encouraging them to learn and communicate in ways that have not been attempted before. Although autism has previously been associated with intellectual disabilities, current findings show that due to extremely low or non-existent communicative skills, autistics are simply rendered unable to express their hidden intelligence.

Challenges in language development, including comprehension and communication, are the most predominant symptoms of autism. The language capabilities of children with autism ranges from verbal auditory agnosia, in which the child produces little or no language, and may remain non-verbal throughout their lives, to children who are able to form comprehendible language, but who lack pragmatics (Rapin 1997:97). This, however, does not necessarily imply an intellectual disability. Because most low functioning autistics struggle with communication, we need to find alternative ways of determining their intellectual capabilities and challenging the negative stereotypes that often come with the diagnosis. This can include using IQ tests that rely on skills such as completing patterns instead of skills that rely heavily on language, inventing technologies that work with their unique brains, and continuing to encourage low functioning children to communicate, which has been proven possible in a few rare but extraordinary cases.

Douglas Carothers and Ronald Taylor stress the importance of carefully investigating the use of the Wechsler Intelligence Scale for Children in assessing the IQ of autistic children. They argue that in order to ensure test fairness, it must be concluded that the test does not demand adequate capabilities in spoken language, language comprehension, attention, or social interaction, which are all skills that people with autism lack (Carothers et al. 2012:54). The study involved deciding which task demands could potentially be hindered by the features of autism as defined in the DM-IV. Each subtest was then labeled zero through four, depending on how many of those features were necessary to answer properly. Carothers and Taylor were able to conclude through their study that 84.7% of the subtests were affected by these features, meaning that the test is not a fair representation of the IQ of autistic children (56). Rose Eveleth agrees, arguing that there are other methods of assessment, including the Raven’s Progressive Matrices and the Test of Nonverbal Intelligence, which require children to complete patterns and designs, and therefore yield a fairer and more accurate representation of the intellectual capabilities of autistic children. Eveleth grew up with a younger brother who was autistic, and was always impressed by his mathematical capabilities. She explains that although their autism hindered some skills and caused them to not do well in school, it also gave them a fresh perspective on the world. Eveleth argues that acknowledging these strengths as assets can benefit not just autistic people, but everyone else too (2011).

Michelle Dawson and colleagues confirm this theory by performing a study on the intelligence of autistic children determined by the Raven’s Progressive Matrices, which she proves is more suited to the brain functioning of autistic children than the Wechsler Intelligence Scale for Children, the most commonly used test for assessing the intelligence in autistic children. Each of the five sets of the Raven’s Progressive Matrices has the same format: a series of geometric designs with one cell of the series left blank, and with six or eight alternative designs to complete the pattern. This type of testing requires minimal instruction. Autistic children were shown to score an average of 30 percentile points higher on the Raven test, while the average child achieves around the same percentile across all the tests.

Dawson and colleagues conclude that the intelligence of autistic children has been underestimated (2007:658), and they argue that “many of those who are considered low-functioning - if you give them other intelligence tests, you will find hidden potential. They can solve really complex problems if you give them material that they can optimally process” (Eveleth 2011).

Howard Gardner’s Theory of Multiple Intelligences suggests that there are at least eight independent intelligences that each student may excel, or be weaker in. The types of intelligence include linguistic intelligence, logical-mathematical intelligence, special intelligence, musical intelligence, bodily-kinesthetic intelligence, interpersonal intelligence, intrapersonal intelligence, and naturalist intelligence (Ormond et al. 2008: 79). This theory further argues that although autistic people may lack some types of intelligence, such as linguistic intelligence, or interpersonal and intrapersonal intelligences, they may simply demonstrate a different kind of intelligence.

Temple Grandin is an autistic woman who struggles with interpersonal skills, and has admitted to having a lack of interest in emotional issues and relationships. As a child, she struggled with language, and only began speaking at the age of four. She was often teased for her verbal ticks throughout her schooling. Grandin clearly demonstrated to the world, however, that she possesses intelligence in other ways. Her passion and interest in animals lead her to pursue an occupation in livestock-handling equipment design. She also holds a PhD in Animal Science (Grandin 2013), making it clear that according to Gardner’s theory, she possesses a naturalist intelligence, demonstrated by her application of her knowledge of nature in farming, landscaping and animal training (Ormond et al. 2008: 79).

THE SEMICOLON 17

In order to adapt to these different types of intelligence, new technologies and methodologies are being developed to accommodate the learning style of non –verbal people with autism, and allow them to communicate. Facilitated communication was a novel concept that became common in the early 1990s as a method for helping non-verbal people to communicate. Supporters of facilitated communication believed that people with autism actually possessed normal levels of intelligence, and that by providing them with the physical and mental support to help them communicate, they would be able to express their intelligence. Facilitated communication involves a facilitator holding or supporting the hand of a non-verbal person, while they type out their thoughts on a keyboard, or point to keys on a letter board. More extensive research, however, showed that even a well-intentioned facilitator often influenced what the autistic student said. This was proven when researchers noticed that the child was often unable to answer a question that the facilitator did not know the answer to (Facilitated Communication). While the failure of facilitated communication was disappointing for those who believed in it, the quest for novel support systems that allowed non-verbal autistic children to express themselves was only getting started. Even though unsuccessful, the theory propagated an entirely new, much more optimistic perspective on the capabilities of children with autism, and was inspirational for those seeking to prove the intelligence of low-functioning, non-verbal autistic children.

In order to continue to invent new technologies and support systems, researchers needed a better understanding of how the autistic brain worked, and what exactly it was that was causing them to struggle. One of the main deficits observed in autistic children is an inability to empathize and understand facial expressions, which has been demonstrated in their failure to copy other people’s movements. Recent studies have demonstrated that empathy and facial expression develop from the observation of other people’s movements as young children. Neuroscientists have attempted to explain this observational learning through the activation of a system of mirror neurons. These neurons have been found in particular sections of the frontal cortex. Studies have theorized that there may be a deficit in the activation in those with autism. Mirror neurons activate when observing a goal-directed behaviour, such as hand grasping. When children with autism are asked to do so, a particular part of the frontal cortex, which contains mirror neurons, is less active than in controls. In normal development, mirror neurons are active both when an individual observes an action, and when they execute the same action themselves. A link between a deficiency in the mirror neuron system and the inability for autistic children to learn from the observation and imitation of others has been suggested (Rizzolatti et al. 2004:169-172).

A study completed by Lindsay Oberman and colleagues explored the possible link between the mirror neuron system and the imitation deficits experienced by those diagnosed with autism. The study involved the use of electroencephalography to measure the activation of the mirror neuron system. Autistic individuals and matched control subjects were shown a video of three different hand movements, as well as their own hand movement. The control subjects showed activation of the mirror neuron system in both the observation and execution of the hand movement, whereas participants with autism only showed activation during the execution, not during the observation of the hand movement. This supports the possibility of a link between a dysfunctional mirror neuron system, and individuals with autism (Oberman et al. 2005:190). This theory is still being explored by researchers, and it does still have some inconsistencies in the categorization of imitation. It is clear, however, that the mirror neuron system does play a role in the learning and empathy development that many autistic children struggle with.

With this knowledge, researchers are able to invent new technologies to make up for an inactivation of the mirror neuron system. One of many apps that are now available for iPad users is called InnerVoice App. The app allows children to see themselves speaking on their iPads, giving them an image of themselves forming the words and using appropriate facial expressions, making up for a deficit in the activation of their mirror neuron system. The app was created by speech pathologists, Lois Jean Brady and Matthew Guggemos, who both claim to have experienced an increased desire for communication in their students with the use of the app (Leibs). These new types of technologies help to provide insight into how we can begin to adapt our teaching methods for autistic children. After determining exactly what low-functioning autistics are able to do, we can capitalize on their strengths and use them to help overcome their weaknesses. This may involve using different modes of communication, for example videos, games, touch screens, as well as different instructors, whether the child learns best from a speech pathologist, from family and friends, or from a combination of both. Working with the autistic children’s skills and interests will yield much better results than trying to employ regular teaching tactics.

Encouraging non-verbal autistic children to learn to communicate can be tireless and frustrating when results are minimal, but there are incredibly inspirational people from which we can learn. Carly Fleischmann was diagnosed with extreme autism at the age of two, and for many years, she was unable to communicate. At the age of 11, Carly ran to a computer and began typing. She has proven to skeptics that low functioning autistics who seem to have little mental ability have the potential to not only communicate, but to express themselves in a highly sophisticated, well-articulated manner.

Carly now has her own blog, and has co-authored a book with her father, retelling her break through, and providing insight into a life with autism. She is an advocate for autism awareness, and she provides scientists and parents all over the world with answers on how her brain works and what it is like to live with autism (Fleishmann). The ability to communicate with a low functioning autistic has greatly developed the current conception of autism, the capabilities they posses, and the challenges they face, as well as bringing our world one step closer to overcoming the demeaning stereotypes often associated with autism. Carly is only one of a few non-verbal autistic people who have been able to express themselves through other modes of communication, but with increased awareness and continually developing technologies, there is hope that many more non –verbal autistic children will also be able to find their inner voices, and express their hidden intelligence.

While some parents choose to simply accept that their non-verbal autistic child will never learn to communicate, others are not as easily discouraged. Soma Mukhopadhyay’s son, Tito, was diagnosed with autism when he was three years old, but instead of following the doctor’s advice to simply keep him busy, she decided to give up her career to personally educate her son. Soma developed her own method for teaching her son: Rapid Prompting Method (RPM). This method involved tactics that were contradictory to tactics commonly employed by people working with autistic children, such as speaking slowly, and minimally, in order to allow the student ample time to process the question and come up with an answer. RPM moves through a series of stages, the first of which teaches the autistic child how to make choices by asking them a question, showing them two possible answers, and prompting them to point to the correct answer. Soma then has the child practice their motor skills by using a letter board to spell out answers to questions. Teaching the child handwriting and typing on a computer are the final stages of RPM (Mukhopadhyay 2013). This teaching technique is especially effective because of the one-on-one approach, which allows the student to focus on one voice at a time, and become accustomed to the way in which that person instructs. The fast pace of the lessons keeps the students engaged, giving them little time to become distracted by other stimuli in the room, and gives them the instant gratification of getting an answer correct that will motivate them to continue to learn and improve.

THE SEMICOLON 18

Soma began instructing hundreds of autistic students in the United States, and is the founder of Helping Autism through Learning and Outreach, a non-profit organization whose goal is to help autistic children learn to communicate through RPM. Soma’s own son, Tito, who is a non-verbal, low functioning teenager struggling with autism, is now a published poet who is considered to be gifted by the United Kingdom National Autistic Society (Mukhopadhyay 2013). Tito’s story proves that with enough provocation and proper education, even non-verbal autistic children can show a high level of intelligence.

Tito’s ability to communicate has also helped researchers and parents of autistic children to answer many questions that have daunted them for years. For example, Tito tells us that the reason he flaps his arms around is so that he can find his position in space. He explains that he sometimes forgets that he has a body, and by moving his limbs around and constantly rocking, he is able to remind his brain that his body is there. Eric Courchesne, who studied Tito, began to speculate that each of his senses are coming in separately, but never meeting up (Iverson et al.). This provides an entirely new perspective on how the autistic brain works, and what they experience, revolutionizing the way autistic people are viewed. It also demonstrates the importance of putting in the effort to help non-verbal autistic children to communicate. Scientists now have new, accurate information on autism, and are no longer forced to speculate as to what may be going on inside autistic children’s minds. Without communicating directly with someone affected by autism, we can never fully understand what it means to be autistic, and will never be able to come up with new technologies and support systems to make life with autism more enjoyable.

Karen Sirota also has the goal of “expand[ing] current understandings regarding the socio-communicative capabilities and challenges of children with autism spectrum disorder” (2004:229). In her study of the positive politeness practices of children with both autism and Asperger Syndrome, Sirota was able to conclude that all 16 of the participants successfully employed idiomatic positive politeness practices in their day-to-day lives. She therefore argues that the children involved in the study were able to engage in community, agree upon each other’s opinions and create future possibilities for their society, through the use of social skills (2004:229-246). Studies like Sirota’s continue to diminish the degrading associations that many make with autism, and instead show the surprising capabilities of those who are diagnosed with the disorder.

Researchers, like Laurent Mottron, are also striving to work against the negative stereotypes and connotations that are associated with autism.

Mottron works alongside several autistic colleagues, and he is adamant that autism should not be viewed as a series of deficits, but instead, should focus on their unique talents. One of Mottron’s closest collaborators, Michelle Dawson, is affected by autism. Dawson has shown Mottron that autism, when combined with intelligence, and an interest in science, can be an asset to his research. Mottron argues that most autistic people outperform other individuals in auditory tasks, detecting visual structures, and mentally manipulating complex three-dimensional shapes. He acknowledges that autistic people’s brains work differently, but argues that there is simply more activity in their visual-processing network, than in their speech processing network. He clearly states that he “no longer believe[s] that intellectual disability is intrinsic to autism” (Mottron 2011 33-35).

Researchers, family members, and autistic individuals themselves are all working together to spread a new perspective on autism, proving that intellectual disabilities should not be associated with the disorder. It has been established that the previous measurements of the IQs of autistic children were flawed, in that the tests were not well adapted for individuals who struggle with communication. It has been suggested that linguistic intelligence is only one of several types of intelligence that can be displayed, and that autistic individuals may display other types of intelligence. New technologies are being developed to help enhance these intelligences, while working on developing communication skills. There is ample evidence that low-functioning, non-verbal autistic children can actually possess normal, or above normal levels of intelligence, and the ability to communicate with these non-verbal autistic children has, in turn, contributed to the research being conducted on how to provide appropriate support systems for autistics. The definition, connotation, and stereotypes associated with the Autism Spectrum Disorder are changing, and becoming more optimistic, as the number of diagnosis is increasing and researchers are fighting to shine a more positive light on the capabilities and intelligence of autistic individuals.

Modern Languages & Literatures

SEMICOLON 20

The Question of Authenticity in Written and Visual Representations of Cristóbal Colón

BY ANNA PALIY

Literature, history, and entertainment (i.e. film) function simultaneously as an intertwined network of information flow for the masses: when we gather them as a unit and disentangle their elements, we may find many common links, and perhaps an even greater number of disparities. In terms of the long standardized legend of the so-called “Discovery of the New World”, it is essential to pick apart this web and to investigate its nuances: many previously veiled layers may then be unmasked. Most significantly, the account of Cristóbal Colón’s voyages and the question of his character appear to become the subject of much discussion, speculation, and criticism in modern published works. Namely, it is through literature that unsatisfied parties may denounce the falsities which are the result of purification by the media: The film 1492: Conquest of Paradise seems like a borderline simplified version of the real Columbus tale (and its aftermath), as argued by Barbara Ransby in “Columbus and the Making of the Historical Myth”, by Michel-Rolph Trouillot in “Good Day, Columbus”, and by the brilliantly eloquent speeches of Rigoberta Menchú Túm. The two concurrent channels enter a dispute of historical accuracy versus filtered diversion, and although no definite answer is cemented, many obscure areas become transparent.

The 1992 epic action film 1492: Conquest of Paradise, undeniably a timely cinematographic endeavour, portrays Columbus as a kind-hearted and morally driven adventurer: he is a man of faith, a dreamer rather than a conqueror, a loyal husband and father, and a leader whose strength lies in remarkable levels of optimism and patience. This Admiral’s major dilemma arises within his internal struggle to please everyone. As Governor of his “discovered” lands, he must adapt to the preferences of both his compatriots, and the natives whose trust he must ultimately gain. Moreover, he labours to satisfy monarchy and his beloved family, the two being equally important to him, although radically different in their demands. Simply put, he is a torn man and a victim of his environment, more than anything.

For the brief two hours during which the viewer is allotted to familiarize with him, it is implied that empathy is the key response for which the directors aim; in contrast to the Utopianist protagonist, the native peoples as well as the other power-ravenous Spaniard explorers (ex: Adrian de Moxica) seem utterly aggressive. However, two hours do not seem like enough in the end; as it turns out, the saga of the Conqueror of the Americas lasted not hours, not years, but centuries.

The landfall of Columbus and his fleet is portrayed, in this film as much as in most current educational venues, like an instantaneous, momentary triumph, and falsely so, as stressed by Michel-Rolph Trouillot. It is made to seem that the discovery occurs within minutes, and the settlement is complete shortly after the first sightings of the continent: perhaps this is just a matter of efficiency, formulated for easier explanations to the hasty cinema audiences. However, some authors of critical theory prove unforgiving, as they claim that the motive for such drastic “editing” of the account is not merely a justification for laziness, but a deliberate (and offensive!) attempt to diminish a subaltern voice: that of the native identity. It can be argued that the film follows almost too adequately the notion of the historical myth denounced by Barbara Ransby: Columbus is depicted as a “brave and noble visionary” (73), and those instances which require him to act less than favourably are guaranteed to be validated (i.e. abandonment of wife and family, and a later bloody murder of a native tribesman). The film asserts that when Columbus acts disagreeably, it is because he has no other choice, and it is specified in later sequences that regret penetrates him (often too late) in regard to all his misdeeds. So, his hands and heart remain pure to the viewer.

Both Barbara Ransby and Rigoberta Menchú would find this saccharine image absurd. The native perspective, that for which Rigoberta so avidly advocates, is barely featured within the movie, as apparent in several narrative passages which suggest implications of abominable cultural injustice. Such flecks of bias appear in the following episodes: the implied objectification and sexual exploitation of a native woman by Moxica, the tense dynamics of discourse between Columbus and the native translator Utapan, and the crude “monkey” remark uttered, once again, by the rash Moxica during a linguistic transaction between the settlers and an indigenous chief (on the latter’s turf, no less). But, it is worthy to note that none of these incidents focally involve Columbus. The film’s directorial angle seems to have implemented cautious protective measures to shelter the virtue and integrity of the beloved Columbus the Dreamer, and in order to achieve this, the murdering of Cristóbal Colón the Ruthless Conqueror was necessarily at hand.

It would be more moderate to conclude that the “real” Christopher persona may dwell somewhere between the two proposed figures as they are represented in postcolonial cinema and recent literary criticism. Unfortunately, history – by effect of its nature – has been so muted and reshaped that there remains an insufficient amount of evidence to sustain a crisp illustration. The only angle of representation that may be acceptable and subject to further contemplation is, itself, derived from a context involving centuries of struggle and mutual resentment expressed by the descendants of the oppressors as well as the oppressed: it is, at best, fragmentary. Perhaps the best bet is to adopt an interdisciplinary paradigm by considering interrelations between literature, historiography, and film all at once, and to envision a hybrid of Columbus and Colón: a single man lost in a sea of contradictions, blessed with strength but at other times too plagued by weakness of will and character, burdened by the blended implications between ethics and ambition. Such a version of the colonial aetiology is much more palpable: it considers that the man who catapulted “America” into existence may have very well, after all, been a human.

Philosophy

SEMICOLON 22

Religion: A Natural Phenomenon

BY HENRY FEDERER

This essay will argue that religion is a natural phenomenon. It will do this by examining the natural phenomenon argument, as put forward by Daniel Dennett in his book, Breaking The Spell, a posteriori explanations for religion based on the existence of god, and counter-arguments of all of these arguments.

A natural phenomenon is a non-man made event, or in other words an event that happens naturally. This includes, but is not limited to, a sunrise, weather, and biological processes. In order to show that religion is a natural phenomenon, this essay will show that evolutionary biology and memetics are the most rational causes of religion. It will do this by examining Daniel Dennett’s argument for why religion is a natural phenomenon and by showing how other a posteriori arguments for religion are flawed.

In his book, Breaking The Spell, Daniel Dennett argues that religion is a meme that was created as a result of our evolutionary biology.

To start his dissertation, Dennett points out that everything that we take to be intrinsic, like how sugar molecules are sweet, once served an instrumental purpose and have only become intrinsic due to evolution (59, 69). Everything we value is valued for reasons and “our reasons are evolutionary, free-floating rationales that have been endorsed by natural selection” (Dennett, 93). Since everything originally had a purpose, religion must have had an original purpose too. To find this purpose Dennett begins to examine the biological basis of religion. Our brain has evolved over time due to the free-floating rationale process of evolution by way of natural selection (Dennett, 107).

Through evolution and the demands of our dangerous world, our brain has been deeply designed to notice “the things that mattered most to the reproductive success of our ancestors” (Dennett, 107). Some of the cognitive systems our brain has developed feeds the recipe of religion, including “an agent detector, a memory manager, a cheater-detector, a moral-intuition-generator” and the intentional stance (Dennett, 108). Humans now naturally adopt the intentional stance, meaning that we developed the belief that “other things in the world are:

• agents with

• limited beliefs about the world,

• specific desires, and

• enough common sense to do the rational thing given those beliefs and desires” (Dennett, 110).

Not only does the intentional stance come naturally to humans, it is so advanced that we intuitively know that other people have beliefs and desires like ourselves (Dennett, 111). Our innate urge to adopt this advanced form of the intentional stance is so powerful that we find it very difficult to turn it off. Our powerful intentional stance caused our ancestors to over attribute “intentions to moving things in the environment” (Dennett, 116). This is known as animism, “literally giving a soul to the mover” (Dennett, 116) and traces of it can be seen in ironic circumstances like us yelling at a slow computer. Animism was not always ironic though; our ancestors once thought that rain clouds had certain desires and beliefs (Dennett, 117). Every now and then rain dances rewarded our ancestors with rain. This illusion, and our “built-in love for the intentional stance” encouraged our ancestors to believe that there were invisible agents who controlled this “perplexing phenomena” (Dennett 118). The idea that an invisible agent is behind a rain cloud’s response to a rain dance is a proto-meme: an often recurring, often rehearsed obsessional idea that exists in an individual’s mind, but has not yet developed into a meme and spread though human culture (Dennett, 120). Ideas like this arise and disappear on an extremely regular basis and are always in competition with one another; like genes, only the fittest ideas survive (Dennett, 124). Our excess population of imaginary agents and our advanced intentional stance led us to be obsessed with “personal relations with others” (Dennett, 125), which in turn directed us towards the decision aid known as divination, which is the practice of appealing to something else, in particular a supernatural force, to decide what to do (Dennett, 132). It is important to note that divination does not come from biological evolution, but is rather a cultural meme (Dennett, 134). The process of attributing invisible agents to perplexing phenomena due to our intentional stance and the cultural meme of divination amounts to what we would call folk religion. Dennett says that the rituals our ancestors practiced as part of their folk religion were a “memory-enhancement process, designed by cultural evolution to improve the copying fidelity of the very process of meme transmission they ensure” (142). What this means is that through rituals our ancestors not only transmitted the meme of folk religion to others, like their children, but also improved it. To our ancestors, they would know their folk religions simply as their way of life (Dennett, 161). Eventually their folk religion was domesticated and transformed into organized religion. “There is general consensus among researchers that the big shift responsible [for this] was the emergence of agriculture” and the creation of larger settlements (Dennett, 167). This rise of agriculture and the creation of larger settlements gave rise to markets and forced people to start to work together. Organized religion arose as a way for different groups to work together collectively (Dennett, 168). These memes of religion eventually got stewards who would foster their propagation, improve them and protect them, leading to these memes to having assured survival.

Daniel Dennett’s argument essentially states that due to our intrinsic intentional stance, our ancestors assumed that invisible beings were behind things they could not understand. This idea was propagated and improved through rituals and was the basis of folk religions. Due to the rise of agriculture folk religions were domesticated and metamorphosed into organized religion, which has been preserved through human stewardship. This explanation for religion clearly argues that religion is a natural phenomenon because it shows that religion arose as a result of evolution. Furthermore, it is a good argument for why religion exists because it is rational and is based on empirical and scientific evidence.

SEMICOLON

23

Even though this is a strong argument for the existence of god, its second premise is flawed. It is flawed because there is no evidence that all beings cannot be dependent beings. Supporters of the cosmological argument say that its second premise holds up because of the Principle of Sufficient Reason (PSR), which states that “there must be an explanation (a) of the existence of any being, and (b) of any positive fact whatever” (Rowe, 87). The only problem with this is that we do not have any reason as to why we must follow PSR. Because the second premise of the cosmological argument is flawed, it cannot be rationally accepted and thus cannot explain why religion exists. The second major a posteriori argument for the existence of god is called the teleological argument. It is based on the idea that the universe is ordered and a supreme being (god) is responsible for this order. R.G. Swinburne argues for the teleological argument by pointing out that one of the two orders of the universe, known as regularities of succession, is almost always ruled by simple natural laws (102). By way of analogy, Swinburne argues that these laws cannot be explained without using the existence of god because they seem to be the product of a choice (104). Richard Dawkins contests this argument by showing that there is no design to the universe. He writes that the “strong illusion of purposeful design is now well understood” and that it is caused by “Darwinian natural selection” (110).

Dawkins argument for the design of the universe is much more practical than Swinburne’s because it does not use an analogy to make its point and does not make the grand assumption that there is a rational being powerful enough to create the universe. Due to this the teleological argument does not do an adequate job in reasoning the existence of god and thus does not explain the existence of religion.

The evolutionary argument for why religion exists is strengthened because it is the only a posteriori argument explaining why religion exists that is rational to believe.

In his paper, Is Naturalism Irrational?, Alvin Plantinga puts forward an anti-naturalist argument. The basis of his argument is as follows:

• Naturalism causes our cognitive faculties to work for survival, not for finding true beliefs.

• Our cognitive abilities give us true beliefs.

3. Therefore naturalism is irrational.

To a naturalist, our cognitive abilities would have arrived “after some billion years of evolution by way of natural selection, genetic drift, and other blind processes” and they would have had the ultimate purpose or function of survival (Plantinga, 126). Plantinga writes that both Darwin and Churchland’s view that evolution is only interested in behavior gives us reason to doubt that our cognitive abilities give us true beliefs (127). Our behavior is a causal product of our beliefs and desires: when we see a tiger we run away because we believe it is dangerous and have a desire to live. Plantinga believes that this “avoidance behavior”, which focuses on survival, “could be a the result of a thousand other beliefs and desires” such as we having a desire to pet the tiger but believe that the best way to do so is to run away from it (130), thus illustrating that naturalism can give us any belief as long as it allows us to survive. From here Plantinga concludes that the probability that naturalism gives us true beliefs is low, and as a result believing in naturalism is irrational (132).

Even though this argument is interesting, its supporting evidence has two major flaws. The first flaw is his use of Darwin and Churchland’s view that evolution only underwrites our behavior to support his point that evolution would not lead to our cognitive facilities producing true beliefs. It is false for Plantinga to use this view because to Darwin and Churchland evolution does not operate in mentalistic terms, meaning that they do not think true beliefs exist. The second flaw in Plantinga’s argument is the use of his tiger example. Although this example is intriguing, by using it to devalue an argument for naturalism, Plantinga must recreate all our beliefs to work in such a way in order to give this example merit. Doing this would be absurd and extremely difficult. Due to these flaws, Plantinga’s argument against naturalism is weak.

This essay argues that religion is a natural phenomenon by examining Daniel Dennett’s natural phenomenon argument, as put forward in his book, Breaking The Spell, a posteriori explanations for religion based on the existence of god, and counter-arguments for all of these arguments. This essay shows how Dennett’s argument uses empirical and scientific evidence to rationally explain how religion came about naturally. It further supports this by showing how arguments based on empirical evidence for the existence of god are weak or irrational, and as such the argument that religion exists because god exists is flawed. Lastly this essay refutes a counter-argument against naturalism, thus further supporting its thesis that religion is a natural phenomenon.

SEMICOLON 24

The Feminist Context of Scientific Inquiry

BY DAVID ISAAC

Introduction

This essay will offer a refinement of contextualism using elements of feminist empiricism to shore up a potentially problematic area of Williams’ theory. The contextualist theory of knowledge does a good job of dealing with the sceptical problem. It does so in part by delineating a “direction of inquiry” that our search for knowledge ought to take (Williams, 160). This is problematic for feminist epistemologists, who hold that men have traditionally controlled such directions. Longino’s contextual empiricism offers refinement of contextualism; one that maintains the contextualist reply to scepticism, but allows for a theory of knowledge that can lead to a more rigorous philosophy of science. Her theory treats experience as the foundation for scientific knowledge, but draws attention to contextual values in the construction of knowledge.

Williams identifies five factors that “influence the epistemic status of [knowledge] claims” (159). Here I will focus on the second of these: methodological constraints. Methodology is an important consideration for feminist epistemology of science. Specifically, many feminists are concerned with how the biases of scientists can affect the methodology of scientific research. Longino differentiates between two types of values that inform science: constitutive and contextual. Constitutive values are generated through an understanding of what constitutes good science, while contextual values are determined by the socio-cultural environment in which science is done. Through using Longino’s theory as a refinement of Williams’, we get a theory of knowledge that more accurately captures the context of scientific inquiry.

Contextualism

Contextualism is the epistemological theory that claims that the standards for justification are not fixed but subject to circumstantial variation (ibid). This theory is an alternative response to Agrippan scepticism, which traditionally has had two responses: foundationalism or coherence. This third alternative is based on the Default and Challenge structure. Williams claims that justificational questions always come about in a certain context, which consists of “a complex and in general largely tacit background of entitlements, some of which will be default” (ibid). As such, contextualism is similar to both foundationalism and coherentism, despite the fact that does differ from them in several important respects. It is akin to Foundationalism, because in a sense it rests on default entitlements as a foundation. However, these default entitlements vary by context. Contextualism is also similar to coherentism, insofar as both allow for beliefs to be revised and ultimately reject foundations for beliefs. Despite this, they are distinct in that contextualism only upholds local, context-specific coherence, not the global coherence that a coherentist would support.

Contextualism’s main idea is that the standards we use for claiming knowledge vary according to circumstances, or contexts.

That is, the default entitlements we hold can vary, causing us to change what we take to be acceptable standards for claiming to have knowledge. Default entitlements are a set of beliefs or assertions, which an agent is entitled to “in the absence of appropriate ‘defeaters’” (149). Williams identifies five branches of context that can cause variation in the epistemic status of knowledge claims. These are intelligibility, methodology, dialectical, economic, and situational. While all of these components are important, I will be focusing on methodological considerations for the purposes of this essay, as these are an especially important consideration for scientific knowledge.

Williams defines methodological constraints as “propositions that have to be exempted from doubt, if certain types of question are to be pursued” (160). This sort of default entitlement determines the line of inquiry that a pursuit of knowledge can take. It is from such entitlements that our knowledge is built up. If they set different criteria for what counts as knowledge, then they will allow for different beliefs to count as knowledge. And if a particular set of entitlements allows for biases to influence knowledge, whereas another set of entitlements does not allow this, then these two sets of entitlements will lead to two very different conceptions of knowledge. In this essay I will be focusing on scientific knowledge, whereas Williams is more concerned with the possibility of knowledge in general. That is, he is concerned with the “methodological limitation on doubt” (ibid). I focus on scientific knowledge because if Williams’ Contextualism is successful in defeating scepticism, then the type of methodological constraints one endorses may be problematic for science. To see why this is the case, I now turn to Helen Longino’s paper Can There Be A Feminist Science?

Feminist Empiricism

The titular question posed by Longino can be taken to mean, “what would it mean to do science as a feminist?”. That is, how can science—which is traditionally construed as objective and value-free—be done by feminists, who by definition have a set of values and ideological commitments they presuppose? To use Williams’ language, feminists have a particular set of default entitlements. Longino notes that there appears to be a distinction between two types of values: constitutive and contextual. Constitutive values are those that are generated from an understanding of the goals of science and determine what constitutes acceptable scientific method and practice.

For example, the idea that science ought to be objective is a value internal to science, and one that Longino would label as constitutive.

Longino notes that these constitutive values are not traditionally criticized by mainstream science. Insofar as there can be science that is done “well” or “poorly”, then there must be some value taken to be a part of science that is used to adjudicate this question. Such values are constitutive, and are not taken to be detrimental to doing good science. The values that are criticized by mainstream science are the contextual values: those that belong to the larger social and cultural environment in which science is done. These are values that might conceivably influence a researcher in a way that would have a negative impact on the objectivity of her research. An example of this sort of value that is identified by many feminist philosophers of science is the assumption that females are passive, and the influence that this had on research into fertilization. The crux of Longino’s argument is that “this construal of the distinction [between contextual and constitutive values] cannot be maintained” (Longino, 54). She believes that models which take external, contextual values into account may be more complicated, but if they are more empirically adequate, then so much the worse for simplicity. Her goal is to show how contextual values can play a role in good science without undermining the objectivity of the scientific enterprise.

SEMICOLON 25 Longino’s argument is as follows. Hypotheses are not merely the generalization of data. Rather, they are “established by means of assumptions that make or imply substantive claims about the field over which one theorizes” (55). These assumptions are where contextual values can have an influence on science. So since auxiliary hypotheses and value-laden contextual assumptions are linked, one cannot a priori get rid of the contextual assumptions without getting rid of auxiliary hypotheses in the process. This means that if “there is no a priori way to eliminate such assumptions from evidential reasoning generally, and, hence, no way to rule out value-laden assumptions, then there is no formal basis for arguing that an inference mediated by contextual values is thereby bad science” (ibid). Since “good” constitutive values and “bad” contextual values cannot be distinguished from each other, scientific inquiry is strongly tied to the culture in which it takes place. That is, science is not value free, and we cannot hope to completely eliminate bias from science. Indeed, attempting to do so could lead to the danger of “working unconsciously with assumptions still laden with values from the context we seek to change” (60). Instead, we ought to acknowledge the values we hold, and even “favour research programs that are consistent with the values… we express in the rest of our lives” (ibid). Longino is not advocating a radical break from how science has been done in the past, but rather arguing for “the deliberate and active choice of an interpretive model” (61). One’s political values are relevant constraints on reasoning, and this ought to be acknowledged by our epistemological theories rather than obfuscated.

Contextualism and Science

Contextualism, as noted above, rejects a strong form of both foundationalism and coherentism, instead borrowing parts from each theory. As part of her rejection of foundationalism, the contextualist gives up the idea that any default is universal or ultimate. As Williams says “The fundamental idea of contextualism is that standards for correctly attributing or claiming knowledge are not fixed but subject to circumstantial variation” (159, emphasis mine). That is, when we are engaging in knowledge-seeking pursuits, the standards for claiming we have in fact succeeded in them (i.e., identified a proposition as knowledge) are variable. Williams claims that contextualism “discourages the reification of all-encompassing ‘frameworks’ or ‘standpoints’” as these are too similar to holding a foundational epistemic position (225). However, if our standpoints vary according to contexts, then they are able to fit into Williams’ contextualist position.

How does this rejection of an overarching epistemic foundation fare when applied to scientific inquiry? Science seems to depend on just the sort of foundation that the contextualist wants to reject. Whereas contextualism rejects any rigid underlying assumption, science is unwavering in its commitment to neutral objectivity. The objectivity that science endorses is one that consciously rejects any cultural influences, and is treated as a standpoint from which proper science is done. The constitutive values of science are an attempt to eradicate any traces of the scientist’s values or goals from the project at hand. The standpoints that Williams rejects, and science’s adherence to erasure of epistemic location are opposite sides of the same coin. Science attempts a view from nowhere, which could be considered to be the opposite of inquiry from an epistemic location. On a cursory view of how science is done, this seems to be the case. Science as a whole does not have an epistemic location, because it attempts to eradicate epistemic locatedness from anyone who does science. Since each member of the scientific community actively attempts to erase their biases and prevent their preferences from affecting their work, it seems as though science as a whole must be free from any biases or preferences. If so, then proper science is not a position, but an absence of a position. Neutral objectivity is not a position, but a concerted effort at removing oneself from a position. But this is in actuality a commitment to a certain set of fundamental principles. Science makes a normative epistemological claim: it is better to eradicate one’s biases than to incorporate them. So the view from nowhere is really a set of commitments regarding what the best way to perform science is. Contextualism does not “[rest] on ‘ultimate’ commitments” (ibid), but what is science’s universal unwavering commitment to neutral objectivity if not an “ultimate commitment”?

This poses a serious problem for Williams’ contextualism. Contextualism must do two things to be successful. First, it must answer the sceptical problem. And second, it must be able to give an account of knowledge production in all its forms. But it does not seem like it can. His theory relies on a series of default entitlements that are subject to change based on varying context. This rejection of foundational knowledge, and the acceptance of fallibilism about knowledge are required for his theory to be able to deal with the sceptical problem. But this account of knowledge is at odds with a paradigm case of knowledge production: scientific inquiry. Responding to the sceptic requires giving up on foundations that do not vary according to social context. But these are just the sort of foundations that science presupposes. So in order to answer the sceptic, the contextualist must give up the fundamental values that underlie science.

Two Kinds of Contextualism: A Refinement

Through combining aspects of both feminist contextualism, and traditional contextualism per Williams, it is possible to salvage

the contextualist theory of knowledge without resorting to foundationalism. The problems for Williams’ contextualism arise from its traditional conception of science as something foundational. But if we consider science from a feminist position, the problems disappear.

If science is something that varies according to context, then it will not act as the firm foundation that proves problematic for Williams.

Longino’s conception of contextualism is able to provide a solution in this manner. For Longino, science is an endeavor that is composed of both constitutive and contextual values, and these values are inseparable. When a scientist is seeking a piece of scientific knowledge, she approaches the task with a set of values that cannot entirely be eliminated. It is impossible to completely erase one’s past, and by trying (unsuccessfully) to do so, while thinking that you have succeeded in doing so, biases will be introduced to one’s methodology. In this way science purports to be objective, but in fact unknowingly incorporates external contextual values into it. These values inform the methodology of experiments, thereby breaking down the barrier between the contextual and the constitutive.

SEMICOLON 26 An example of this can be found in Sarah Blaffer Hrdy’s Paper Empathy, Polyandry, and the Myth of the Coy Female. Hrdy is a philosophy of science and one of the first primatologists trained at Harvard. In her graduate work there, she studied infanticidal behaviour in langurs. She started with a traditional hypothesis: that infanticide was caused by competition between males for females. Males “killing infants sired by other males… fell in line with everything [she] had been taught at Harvard” (Hrdy, 150). But then Hrdy began to ask questions about why females would put up with infanticide. “Why not refuse to breed with an infanticidal male and wait until a male without any genetic propensity for infanticide showed up?” (ibid). Hrdy realized that these questions occurred to her because she was beginning to empathize with the females of the troop.

First came an unconscious process of identification with the problems a female langur confronts followed by the formulation of conscious questions about how a female copes with them. This, in turn, led to the desire to collect data relevant to those questions. Once asked, the new questions and new observations forced reassessment of old assumptions and led to still more questions (150-151). This example shows how simple questions caused by a researcher’s values morphed into a new line of inquiry for an old research problem. Now according to traditional science of the sort espoused by Williams, this would be an example of bad science, as deliberately incorporating external values into research methodology flies in the face of the constitutive value of neutral objectivity. But, as Longino notes, we cannot help but have values, and these values can be illuminating. By consciously incorporating her values into her research, Hrdy opened up new directions of inquiry, which might not otherwise have been discovered.

So a theory of science that incorporates both contextual and constitutive values does not create a problematic foundation in the way that traditional science does. Because the default entitlements—that is, the values—brought to scientific methodology by scientists vary according to the scientist, the ultimate value of neutral objectivity falls away, leaving a shifting foundation compatible with contextualism. Each scientist brings a unique set of values to their research. These can come from culture, education, socio-economic class, or political affiliation, but will be different for each person.

It is important to remember that for Williams, methodology is a source of default entitlements. Using a traditional conception of science, methodological claims lead to a foundational default entitlement. But using a feminist account of methodology, contextualism can have a default entitlement that is capable of changing based on context. But In this way, contextualism is able to capture the paradigm case of knowledge: scientific inquiry.

Feminist Contextualism and the Sceptic

Assuming that what I have said thus far is correct, we need to ensure that the changes we have made to contextualism haven’t compromised its ability to deal with the sceptical problem, as this problem is—at least for Williams—the main problem that contextualism addresses. The force of the contextualist argument against the sceptic is that the contextualist insists on an explanation as to exactly what the sceptic is looking for. Williams notes that the sceptic, in posing his question, presupposes that his interlocutor thinks that there exists some generic source of knowledge. This generic knowledge seems to be something like what a traditional conception of science is. So there is at least a prima facie reason to think that feminist contextualism deals with the sceptical problem better than traditional contextualism.

Possible Objections

I have said that science has a fundamental foundation that is not accounted for by the contextualist default entitlement. Williams is clear that values should not inform science. But it could be argued that scientific (as traditionally construed) values can vary by means of context. In this way, the foundations would work under Williams’ theory in such a way that the dilemma that caused the problem for his theory wouldn’t come about, and it would not need to be rescued by feminist contextualism. After all, science is not done by everyone; rather it is done only by certain people with a certain academic background. So perhaps the foundation that science rests on is relative to a certain set of the population: those that become scientists. However, this objection only comes about from making a distinction between contextual and constitutive values. It distinguishes between values held by those within the institution of science and values held by those outside the institution. But as we have seen, this distinction does not hold, and can even be harmful to science. Longino’s theory does not make this distinction, so it is free from the objection.

But, it might be argued, scientific methodology has changed over time. The constitutive values of science were not so rigorous two hundred years ago, yet work done then is still considered science. The methodology of Mendel was not the same as the methodology of Watson and Crick. So is science really invariable in a way that will prove problematic for contextualism? The problem with this argument—and indeed the preceding one—is that the values that underpin science do so every time science is done. No matter what the academic background, the hallmark of science is its erasure of the scientist’s personal background. And while methodology has changed, it has been changing toward this goal of neutrality. From Bacon’s five idols up through modern statistics, the goal of scientific methodology has been to prevent biases from affecting research. As such, the notion that science has a set of values that acts as an unchanging foundation is still secure, and still poses a problem for contextualism unrefined by a theory such as Longino’s.

Conclusion

In this essay I have shown how contextualism cannot successfully account for scientific inquiry as traditionally construed. Scientific inquiry rests on a foundation of neutral objectivity by means of erasure of the subject. It does not allow for this foundation to vary according to changing circumstances; scientists consciously attempt to eradicate their biases as part of doing proper science. As such, scientific inquiry constitutes a foundation which is antithetical to the contextualist project. The contextualist project needs to reject a substantive foundation in order to succeed in its response to the sceptic.

Williams’ contextualism must choose between its response to the sceptic, and its ability to account for science. Through using a feminist contextualist account of science, this problem can be resolved. Such an account allows philosophers to avoid the foundationalist aspects of science, and for scientists to incorporate their values into scientific inquiry. In feminist contextualism, the internal values of science (i.e., objective neutrality and the erasure of the subject) are not distinct from external values (i.e., values from one’s culture). Because of the breakdown of this distinction, the foundations of science are free to vary according to circumstances, thereby allowing science to be accounted for by contextualism without sacrificing the strength of the contextualist response to the sceptic.

Visual Art

SEMICOLON 28

Representation of Today’s Meat Industry Practices: The Consumer’s Relationship to Meat and the Meat-Animal

BY KACIE OLIVER

The manner in which we see (or do not see) something has a profound effect on our relationship to said thing. In multiple ways this essay explores the manner in which we see (or do not see) today’s industrial meat practices. Firstly, I discuss how the increasing invisibility of industrial meat practices, and the way in which they are represented, affects consumers’ relationships to meat. More specifically, I posit that the invisibility of the meat industry, and the way in which we do encounter it on a daily basis, has led to both the estrangement of consumers to meat as well as to a heightened sensitization to the visibility of those practices. Conversely, I discuss how exposure of the meat industry may or may not affect consumers. Additionally, throughout the essay I refer to various artists and artworks – from the seventeenth century to this year of 2013 – that directly or indirectly engage with issues of meat consumption. However, I will commence with some context which will help situate the invisibility of today’s meat industry within a broader historical framework.

Prior to the industrialization of society, the meat industry used to be much more visible to the general public. For example, the public would see animals being carted to markets in London, e.g., the Smithfield Market. They would also see arrangements of meat similar to that which is depicted in still-life paintings, e.g., The Meat Stall by Pieter Aertsen (1551) (Fig. 1). Aertsen represents meat in different stages of production from the entire carcass (suspended behind the table) to the assorted cuts of meat, e.g., sausages. Also produced when meat production was visible to the public would be Rembrandt’s The Slaughtered Ox (late 1630s) (Fig. 2) which depicts a “freshly butchered carcass.” Likening his image to a crucifixion, he references the daily suffering of animals to the advantage of humans.

Indeed, both Aertsen and Rembrandt remind us of “what it costs” to have unwilling victims die for our benefit. Jonathan Burt discusses the changes in the visibility (or lack thereof) of the meat industry which occurred during nineteenth-century London, England. He states that the visibility of animals before, during and post-slaughter were catalysts for the implementation of various bills, e.g., the 1809 Act to Prevent Malicious and Wanton Cruelty to Animals, because when animals are seen, they become “bearers of morality.” Thus, the visibility to consumers – as opposed to the slaughterers, etc. – ensured acknowledgement of the sacrifice which in turn ensured accountability on the part of the meat industry.

The counterpart to the historical visibility of the meat industry would, of course, be today’s invisibility. As Burt identifies, the slaughterhouses transitioned from town centers where the public could bear witness to more remote locations and were “made increasingly anonymous architecturally.” Steve Bjerklie also testifies to this idea in his visceral and repulsive descriptions of interiors of meat factories and of the slaughtering and processing that is done in “huge, faceless buildings beyond the edge of town.” This anonymity, in effect, literally takes (the reality of) industrial meat production completely out of the public’s sight and therefore out of mind. In fact, the invisibility of the meat industry has been directly correlated with the “void in the knowledge of Americans about where food comes from and how it is prepared in a processing plant.” Note that this statement does not suggest that Americans (and Canadians, too) do not know that their meat comes from an animal – that would be absurd. Rather, what Bjerklie implies and what I am arguing is that the invisibility of the meat industry estranges us from the animal, turning the relationship between consumer, meat and animal into a disassociated one. In such a relationship, the consumer no longer understands the sacrifice that is made on the part of the animal or comprehends the processes which the animal undergoes. In this way, arguments about consumers simply not caring albeit their understanding of where their meat comes from can be absorbed and deflected and thus conjure support for the effect that a visual order can have on consumers.

For example, when I asked Merritt Clifton, editor of ANIMAL PEOPLE, what he thought was wrong with the meat industry, he explained that the abundance of wrongness “didn’t have anything to do with people not knowing what it was and is.” He explains that “even if nothing else” reminded the public about the fact that their meat comes from animals who eat and defecate, the stench of manure, e.g., spreading “throughout the Yamaska River basin every summer,” would. Yet, as I noted, there is a fundamental difference between knowing where meat comes from and having knowledge, through regular visual exposure, about the processes from the meat’s origin to the final stage of production in North American stores. However, before discussing visual exposure, I want to examine the manner in which the general public does encounter the meat industry: grocery store display cases and marketing campaigns.

The most common forms of the meat animal with which consumers come into contact is in the forms of ready-to-eat items in restaurants, frozen in boxes, or, most frequently, raw meat freshly packaged on Styrofoam trays and wrapped in plastic. Grocery store displays are in stark contrast to displays such as those in Aertsen’s paintings in which the food was not separated from its production.

Today, although products at the grocery store or supermarket are the closest consumers get to a reference to the animal, they no longer signify the animal or the realities of the meat industry. This removal occurs because of the way the grocery store is set up: consumer supermarket experience of going to the store and picking up pre-cut and packaged meat is completely removed from the production that made the display and the experience possible. MacLachlan juxtaposes consumer experience of the grocery store as recent as the 1950s to today. He describes how consumers used to line up to request a specific cut of meat and each piece of meat was cut by the butcher right then for that individual as opposed to today’s precut meat in plastic-wrapped Styrofoam trays. Today, the consumer apparently has no time to wait for meat to be cut, let alone think about where it came from and how it got there. Moreover, even if the consumer had the time, the physical way in which meat is displayed, sold and consumed, i.e., in various smaller parts and processed forms, further removes us from the animal. Steve Striffler explains that consumers today come to know the chicken in various smaller parts, whereas consumers used to know the chicken as a whole for it was always consumed as a whole, or at least a whole cut up into parts. This idea is furthered when considering chicken products such as wings, strips, etc., which are even more removed from the animal.

This absence of reference to the animal contributes to our estrangement from the animal in and of itself, but this effect is furthered by what meat signifies instead: dishes or flavours associated with an image or activity of entertainment. Signifying images both aligns with the modern notion of branding and living life as an experience of images and provides a brilliant way to cloak the realities of industrial meat practices. Today’s procedure of consumption entails consumers buying a meal, not buying a part of a cow,

SEMICOLON 29 or at least that is how it is marketed. Consumers no longer associate specific cuts with anatomical origins but rather with specific desirable images, e.g., “slim ‘n’ fast,” with a type of dish, e.g., kabobs or fajita strips. In order to explain this relatively new symbolic meaning of meat Bettina Heinz and Ronald Lee appeal to Marxism, asserting that meat is a branch of commodity fetishism which, through the lack of information about production, “dramatically narrows the meaning of meat as a consumer product.” Hence, the marketplace assigns social meanings – about both dishes and entertainment – to meat in order to fill that void and ensure that meat connotes positive ideas.

For example, different types of meat are promoted for different types of and sources for entertaining. Heinz and Lee give the example of promoting hamburgers as fun, but another would be steaks as elegant and fancy. In fact, in terms of images of meat in marketing, they posit that akin to all of our apparent needs in today’s commodity culture, the “perceived need for meat is created” and “pure use value does not exist.” Although conventional science and food and nutrition discourse would disagree with this latter argument, it is valid in some respects, e.g., unhealthy, extensively processed versions of meat, and is intriguing nonetheless.

Daily encounters with boneless, skinless chicken breasts, rib eye steak, sausages, chicken strips, wings, etc., all of which are chock-full of symbolic constructions, in combination with the literal invisibility of the meat industry contributes to the consumer’s estrangement from the animal and the processes which the animal undergoes. The relationship between the consumer and meat is a disassociated one: we are in effect unaware of its origin and what occurred in order for it to be in existence under that plastic packaging.

The entire discourse surrounding what is visible to consumers about the meat industry “obscures the reality of production” and satiates the lack of meaning with symbolic constructions which in turn “dissociates the production of consumption from the living animal.” The perpetuation of the postmodern uncritical, unaware hyperconsumer contributes to an extreme form of estrangement, regardless of the fact that consumers understand that their steak came from a once-living cow.

Two relevant artists would be Mark Prent, an artist working in the mid-twentieth century and directly engaging with grocery store displays, and Kira O’Reilly, an artist whose nude performances indirectly engages with today’s experience of the meat industry.

Prent creates a wide variety of grotesque sculptures including …And Is There Anything Else You’d Like Madam? (1971) (Fig. 3), a sculpture installation which mimics a grocery store meat display or deli stand featuring human parts. Save for the pickled male genitalia, nothing is pre-packaged. For $4.93/lb, the potential buyer gets to choose how much of a human breast s/he would like; feet soles are only $0.72/lb! It may take a few long seconds to register what exactly is for sale but once it does, there is an immediate signalling to a whole human body. This would occur even without the upper torso and head placed on the scale. The potential buyer would really consider what exactly it is s/he is about to purchase and consider the processes which the human would have undergone in order to wind up in such a state. By forcing his viewer/consumer to think about these processes, his controversial artwork forces the viewer to think about the processes which an animal would have gone through. Thus, it works to re-associate the consumer at least for a moment.

O’Reilly posed, moved and danced naked with a recently slaughtered pig in her performance called Inthewrongplaceness (2005-9) (Figs.

4, 5 and 6). Inspired by her work with tissue culture in a bioart residency, her work invites the audience to engage “with the complexities of the relationship between skin, touch and species.” Such a controversial work induced media outcry, of course, which depicted her “performance as smutty, a waste of taxpayers’ money, and a violation of animal rights.” Regarding the notion of obscenity as well as animal rights within the context of meat production, various issues are raised. For one, the objection to her work alludes to the modern cultural taboo which mandates a certain invisibility of meat production, which brings about the consumers’ contemporary sensitization to seeing the actual realities of meat production, such acts of animal slaughter, or references to those realities, such as this dead pig. Additionally, although it would no doubt be seen as a waste of meat, had the pig been butchered into parts sold at the grocery store or further processed into ready-to-eat goods such as pulled pork, I would argue it would not have provoked the same reaction. This suggestion is in keeping with the idea that we now know the animal by its isolated parts. We are not accustomed to seeing the animal as a whole, as a slaughtered entity whereas we would be accustomed to seeing the same slaughtered entity butchered into ribs, sausages, loins, etc. Moreover, the would-be lack of reaction in the latter case is unfortunate because there is no material difference between the two situations; various cuts of pork should signify the same image, albeit bloodier and less preserved, as the pig in her performance. Instead, it would more likely merely signify a waste of potential bacon.

Another way in which we encounter the meat industry is via advertisements, most of which feature the various cuts and dishes discussed above, although some consist of simple text with only a vague, ambiguous reference to an animal or “imagery of happy cattle, pigs, chickens, etc.” The popular American “Beef. It’s What’s For Dinner” logo is mostly text with a red check mark in the middle of it, the interior angle of which creates the outline of a stylized cow motif (Fig. 7). Maple Lodge Farms features a stylized chicken motif superimposed on a monochromatic blue stylized image of a country farm (Fig. 8). As the most basic reference to where beef and poultry come from, this advertisement reveals nothing about the internal structures of the meat industry. Sometimes advertisements will also feature happy farm animals in the form of either photographs or cartoons “clamoring to be eaten.” Clifton claimed that these misrepresentations work to justify meat consumption as it defies the fact that “animals are animate in the first place to avoid being eaten,” and thus perpetuates the ideology of animals existing for human consumption. Moreover, they provide consumers with a false narrative about today’s meat industry: that these animals – realistic or caricatured – are happy and living the good life on a farm.

In October of this year of 2013, Banksy engaged with this narrative in a moving installation: Sirens of the Lambs (Fig. 9).

This installation features a meat truck with the text “FARM FRESH MEATS Inc.” driving around New York with children’s stuffed toy sheep, cows, pigs, chickens and horses. Within marketing campaigns, these figures are usually portrayed as happy and in some kind of light-hearted environment. In Banksy’s artwork, they are squeezed side-by-side out the front, back and sides, the heads of which peek out of the slats of the metal walls. An already disturbing image is made more disturbing by the various artificial squeals, cries and wails of the animals which induce children to scream and babies to cry inconsolably. The audio guide that accompanies the video on the website explains how Banksy is commenting on the “casual cruelty of the meat industry.” By re-appropriating the imagery of happy farm animals who exist and want to be eaten in such a distressed context, Banksy challenges the fabrication created by various marketing campaigns.

SEMICOLON

30

This technique causes his viewer to think critically about the kinds of images the meat media feeds consumers. However, and unfortunately, this is only temporary for there is no Sirens of the Lambs to actually accompany our grocery-store experience discussed above and there are other methods that would possibly have more of an effect, such as regular transparency of the meat industry.

As with any type of imaging, there are two ways that the constant visibility of a phenomenon can affect people: people can become desensitized to the images or, in the rare cases where images escape desensitization, it can elicit reactionary responses. The arguments for our desensitization surrounding industrial meat practices arise from either current or past ability of people involved in the actual killing to become desensitized or from the idea that it is due to the invisibility of today’s meat production that we are so sensitized. For example, obviously some people become desensitized to industrial meat practices, for they have to suppress any human sympathy they would have for the animal in order to work in today’s meat industry. Moreover, Clifton noted that children, exposed to animal slaughter in 4-H projects, develop desensitization as they often wind up in the agribusiness. He also alludes to the invisibility of meat production, implying that it is the cause of sensitization because animal rights activists and vegan and vegetarian philosophies mostly came out of situations that were not in close proximity with animals for slaughter. Clifton further points out that most historical societies, wherein animals were raised and killed in close proximity to the community, did not appear to have “the ethical and emotional issues with it that have occurred in our own time.” Thus, it seems that it is the invisibility that has birthed the moral issues today.

Therefore, in light of the discussions above, it seems that modern society is unique in the historical timeline in that the invisibility of meat industrial practices has simultaneously created the circumstances that make it easier to consume meat and, through sensitization due to lack of exposure, make it “more likely … to see animals as individual sentient beings, as opposed to future meat.” In this way, the idea that consumers would eventually become immune to the visibility of industrial meat practices through normalization could carry weight. Indeed, not being exposed to something will almost always produce a heightened sensitivity to seeing said thing, but it does not follow that being continually exposed to something will necessarily produce an insensitivity to it. (I am speaking on a majority, societal level – there will always be exceptions.)

In fact, I believe there are phenomena in this world that escape desensitization because they are just morally wrong on a fundamental level, e.g., child pornography, extreme forms of abuse like animal abuse. Moreover, animal rights activists, vegetarians and vegans do not come out of the agribusiness or 4-H projects because they either would not get involved with it in the first place and/or have not been conditioned to think that industrial meat practices are acceptable. Furthermore, I believe that the reason we have these ethical and emotional issues is due to our current mode of meat production, i.e., industrial, mass-produced, abusive and immoral mode of production. This mode of production is an example of something that, if constantly visible to the public, is incapable of being digested and desensitized on a mass scale and thus would elicit change.

Many experts, scholars and non-academics have commented on the visceral effects of constant visibility of meat production. Burt claims that in the nineteenth century visibility significantly influenced the increase in regulation of all kinds of various animal-related practices. Heinz and Lee posit that situating visuals of meat within an animal and industrial meat-practices context would “bring on sharp reactions,” e.g., informing law enforcement officers about the unethical conduct. Paul McCartney has often said, “If meat factories had glass walls, everyone would be a vegetarian.” In many editorials, Clifton discusses media exposure of today’s meat industry and how it is a major fear of the meat industry. The fact that exposure does have an effect on consumers is evident in the decline in per capita consumption of meat which “have come parallel to increasingly frequent video exposés of slaughter and other meat industry practices” as well as the meat industry’s relentless pushing for ag-gag laws. Ag-gag laws are “written to criminalize any unauthorized undercover investigations of animal agriculture facilities … [and] especially target investigators who produce visual images of either illegal forms of animal abuse, or routine practices that much of the public quite rightly perceives as abusive.”

This type of legislation would have the effect of annihilating any opportunities to expose what is occurring behind those faceless walls of the meat industry and thus continue to keep consumers in the dark. This would support the belief that making today’s meat industry visible is vital in producing change – whether in the form of reforming meat practices or giving up meat, or certain types of meat.

However, in keeping with modern life in general, there is still a paradoxical tension in this matter whereby today’s sensitization may not always manifest in ways that concern the animal. In April of this year of 2013, a student from the Alberta College of Art and Design staged a performance in the school’s cafeteria. The performance consisted of a student slitting a chicken’s throat and subsequently putting it into a pot as if preparing to consume it. Whether or not this performance was considered art or not is not a concern in this paper; the reactions are what concern this discussion. The comments from some of the students who were against the performance were more concerned with the effects of it on humans, criticizing the student for “subject[ing] people to seeing that without … giving them any warning.” Moreover, the fact that it was in a cafeteria where people were eating rendered it unacceptable. Note that this comment in and of itself suggests that visibility of animal slaughter in a cafeteria would perhaps stop people from buying their chicken fingers or hamburgers. Conversely, statements in support of the artwork commented on how “we go to the supermarket [and] we don’t think about” where our food comes from – exactly the point of this investigation. Art critic Blake Gopnik added to the discussion by claiming the performance should not have been a big deal considering that chickens’ heads are cut off all over the world. Yet, that comment pinpoints the problem: consumers do not see it and seeing is what makes the difference and what makes the consumer aware.

Therefore, given the influence of visual rhetoric surrounding meat production, the invisibility of today’s industrial meat production needs to be exposed. However, in order to re-associate our grocery store experience and elicit change, constant exposure needs to be emphasized. Due to the immense human ability for denial, coupled with our cultural conditioning of a passionate taste for meat, it is so easy to ignore or slip into the realm of possibilities: this specific chicken breast probably came from a chicken that probably had a good life and was killed in a humane way.

But this is denial and results from the contemporary consumer estrangement from the animal and the current mode of production. To reverse this estrangement, construct a closer relationship with the animal, and hopefully stimulate choices that critically consider meat consumption, the visibility of today’s meat production needs to be constantly exposed through every medium available and, most importantly, at places where meat is purchased. There needs to be total, accurate transparency. Only then will the majority of people consider more animal-friendly, but also health-friendly and eco-friendly, choices such as vegetarianism, veganism, only eating meat from small family farms, only eating organic meat or even Graham Hill’s decision to be a weekday vegetarian.

SEMICOLON 31

Picturing Art in Nazi Propaganda

BY MICHELLE ROSENBLAT

Throughout it’s history photography has been used to promote a variety of political causes. In Nazi Germany photography was used for propaganda primarily through photojournalism and photo documentation. LIFE magazine’s archive “A Brutal Pageantry: the Third Reich’s Myth-Making Machinery, in Colour,” demonstrates propagandist photo documentation through the photographs of Adolf Hitler’s personal photographer, Hugo Jaeger. Jaeger’s photo documentation when analyzed through Allan Sekula’s essay “Reading an Archive: Photography between labour and capital,” illustrates the notion of spectacle, aesthetics, as well as biased truth claims. These photographs were first accessible to the public in a weekly journal, then in archive, and online gallery. These changes in context reflect the change of documentary photography from historic document to objective aesthetic work. LIFE’s archive of the photo documentary works of Hugo Jaeger demonstrate the importance of colour photography in documenting the Third Reich. The visuality in Jaeger’s photography of Nazi Germany creates the propagandistic effect through colour as well as composition and challenges photographic truth claims.

During Hitler’s reign as Fuhrer in the 1930s and 1940s, Hugo Jaeger documented Nazi spectacles, such as rallies, and Hitler’s private gatherings. Jaeger specialized in colour photographs, a rare form for this time, but one that appealed to Hitler: “Jaeger’s photos were, it turned out, so attuned to the Fuhrer’s vision of what a Thousand Year Reich might look and feel like that Hitler declared upon first seeing the kind of work Jaeger was doing: ‘The future belongs to colour photography.’”

In this archive, the importance of colour photography is demonstrated specifically through the swastika that is always visible. The swastika is a major part of the aesthetics of the Third Reich and was meant to be “graphically and spiritually striking” for the German people.

Its full colour representation through the photographs presents the swastika in the same compelling manner as the banners so prominent in the visual field at rallies.

In order to fully understand Jaeger’s work as propaganda it is important to note that propaganda is not solely used for censorship, but for the creation of different media and organs to disseminate ideas and record history in the making. In short, “propaganda is biased information designed to shape public opinion and behaviour.” Since propaganda presents bias these photographs then have to be examined with the notion that photographic truth claims are open to question. The photograph of Hitler saluting the troops of the Condor Legion, for example, depicts a leader who is well respected with countless followers (Fig.1); however, this photo does not represent the segregation and genocide occurring at that moment in Germany. Photographs that feature Hitler as the sole representation of National Socialism contribute to the cult of the leader as central to Socialist ideals and Nazi propaganda. Additionally, photographs that feature Hitler so prominently attest to the Nazi leadership principle, Fuhrerprinzip, which depicts Hitler as a figure who guides the national destiny. The Nazi regime enforced this political image through a “propaganda strategy of continually shielding the leader from responsibility for failures whilst bestowing…full credit for successes,” as demonstrated in “Saluting the Condor Legion” (See Fig. 1). The visuality of this photograph is achieved through the placement of Adolf Hitler at the tallest point of the photograph, flanked by three banners with swastikas on either side, and the NSDAP (National Socialist German Workers’ Party) emblem directly as a backdrop for the leader. The striking use of red in this photo as well as in the collection, attests to the importance of colour photography in relation to power and propaganda, whilst emphasizing the aesthetic quality that sets Jaeger’s photographs apart from a majority of the photos taken throughout World War II. “The fact that most people imagine World War II solely in black and white has a solid historical reason; most of the estimated 40 million photos taken between 1939 and 1940 were not in colour.”

The striking use of colour in Jaeger’s collection is typified in the photograph of the 1937 Nazi Rally (Fig. 2). The blood red flags with black swastikas are presented in repetition on either side of the photo, and border the rally area. These flags guide the viewer’s eye down the pathway as Hitler greets his supporters, creating a sense of immensity, as the vanishing point in this perspective is almost imperceptible. The depiction of this rally event is perceived as both documented history and ‘spectacle.’ According to Sekula, “The widespread use of photographs as historical illustrations suggests that significant events are those which can be pictured, and thus history takes on the character of spectacle.” ‘Spectacle,’ however, does not only refer to the representation of history in the idea that it becomes an aestheticized object, but spectacle as in an event that promotes political cause. The strength of Jaeger’s photographs, specifically the Nazi Rally, expresses the “hypnotic power of the spectacle of the Nazis and the creation of the Fuhrer mythology that the majority of the German people subscribed to.” Therefore the notion of spectacle in propaganda is an important aspect, and is further strengthened through the colour image, which exerts the power of this moment in history. In addition, the aesthetics of the photograph, as well as the aesthetics in the event itself amalgamate to produce an effective form of propaganda, as “Hitler brought to a height his genius for psychological manipulation through spectacle.”

The notion of ‘spectacle’ is also evident in the photograph “Crowds cheering Adolf Hitler’s campaign to unite Austria and Germany” (Fig. 3). The event depicted recalls a similar rally scene in which there is a notable boost in public morale and a great sense of dynamism and energy in the emotionally charged scene. In relation to the other works in this archive there is a similar representation of spectacle and aesthetics taking place within the event pictured, as well as in the photograph itself. The same focus on colour is represented here, as the red and black colours of the flag are not only represented on the guard’s sleeve but are emulated in the patrons’ clothing.

Additionally, this photograph can be analyzed through Allan Sekula’s essay, specifically in terms of “How…historical and social memory [is] preserved, transformed, restricted and obliterated…” as well as by looking at what futures are promised and forgotten. This photograph for instance, is one of many that demonstrate Hitler’s popularity during his reign – a memory preserved as well as restricted through the propagandist nature of the work, but also overshadowed by the historical context. Moreover, the photo promises a prosperous future for Germany and the continuation of the Third Reich. Most notably, because of the archival description, which associates the energy and emotion pictured with the unification of Austria and Germany, there is further representation of a future promised.

SEMICOLON 32

Hitler’s understanding of art as an important factor in disseminating ideas made controlling the arts an essential element to his successful use of propaganda. Not only did he have propaganda officers for performances, exhibitions and publications, he also made the arts in Germany a priority of his. He offered grants and awards, for instance, to keep the artists compliant and to gain control of their ‘freedom of expression.’ The photograph of Hitler at the Charlottenberg theatre is a clear indication of Hitler’s involvement in the arts (Fig. 4). Compositionally, there is a strong narrative in this photograph. Hitler is placed slightly off centre and above the viewer’s direct line of sight, emphasizing his status. In addition the entire crowd salutes him, creating repetition and pattern, in an aesthetically pleasing composition, which directs the viewer’s eye directly to Hitler. Consequently, there is a direct correlation between this photograph and Sekula’s essay: “Ultimately then, when photographs are uncritically presented as historical documents, they are transformed into aesthetic objects. Accordingly, the pretence to historical understanding remains, although that understanding has been replaced by aesthetic experience.”

Analyzing Jaeger’s photographs for their compositional features allows the viewer to recover the propagandistic truth claims from the “aesthetic object” for the Thousand Year Reich. The correlation between colour, composition, and spectacle intersect to create the vision of a promised future. As well, a parallel is also created through identifying the photographs and the ‘spectacle’ as art: “Art will always remain the expression and reflection of the longings and the realities of an era.” In the era of the Nazi regime, propaganda reflects the ‘realities.’

Women’s Studies

SEMICOLON 34

Catholicism and Female Sexuality in American Horror Story: Asylum

BY CHIRSTINA VENIER

American Horror Story (AHS): Asylum, is the second season in the American Horror Story franchise, which aired in 2012-2013 and contained thirteen episodes. The series primarily takes place in Briarcliff, a fictional Massachusetts asylum run by the Catholic Church in the 1960s. It follows the lives of several nuns, doctors, and patients in the asylum. Briarcliff is run by the Monsignor Timothy Howard, and the head nun and administrator, Sister Jude, who view “madness as a spiritual crisis, an absence of God” (“Welcome to Briarcliff ”). The show is a complex, often gruesome interrogation of themes such as aliens, mental illness, murder, and even Nazi medical experiments. All of these are shocking, controversial themes for a television show to tackle. However, the most intriguing theme of AHS: Asylum is not fantastical aliens, but rather the sometimes devastating intersections of sexuality and religion. AHS: Asylum presents women’s sexuality as inherently deviant and morally suspect in the context of the Catholic Church. While some women have found empowerment in Christianity (Peach 208), American Horror Story depicts Christianity, especially Catholicism, as oppressive to women, and this can be seen in the denigration and regulation of women through pathologizing women’s sexuality. This is best represented in the characters Shelley, Sister Mary Eunice, and Sister Jude.

In order to fully understand this reading of AHS: Asylum, it is necessary to be familiar with the Biblical tropes that form the basis of this restriction on women’s sexuality. In Christianity, there are two main female figures: Eve, and the Virgin Mary. These women represent the two ways the Church views and subsequently treats women. Through interpretations of the Genesis story by Church Fathers such as St. Augustine (Küng 30-31), “Eve [...] is seen as the enemy of harmony, good order, and felicity in human affairs” (Reuther 168). This disobedient image of Eve is contrasted with “Mary, the obedient one. [...] Women are instructed to model their lives on this passive, obedient Mary who served her son and his interests. [...] [This] serve[s] to create an idealized woman: the unattainable virgin-mother” (Young 184). This sets up a dichotomy through which the Church separates and regulates women. Either they are passive and sexually chaste and viewed as “good”, or are identified as dangerous and evil if they express any form of sexual agency. This oppressive dichotomy is highlighted and exaggerated in AHS: Asylum.

Although not a main character, Shelley is a perfect example of the pathologizing of women’s sexuality in both a medical and religious capacity. Shelley first appears in the pilot, having her head shaved by Sister Jude as punishment for a sexual transgression at Briarcliff. When this punishment is interrupted

by Sister Mary Eunice and Lana Winters, Shelley sneers at Sister Jude and says, “You think I’m full of shame and regret from what I’ve done now, sister?

You can shave me bald as a cue ball and I’ll still be the hottest tamale in this joint!” (“Welcome to Briarcliff ”). After Shelley leaves, Lana asks why she was brought to Briarcliff. Sister Jude responds that, “Shelley was brought to us, having been given the preposterous diagnosis, by a psychiatrist, comparing her to a wood nymph.” Lana responds, “You mean a nymphomaniac?” To which Jude brushes off as, “Just more nonsense from the charlatans. That young woman is a victim of her own lust. There’s no other name for it. Mental illness is the fashionable explanation for sin.” This indicates that the medical profession has also taken up Catholic ideas of “sins” such as “excessive” (read: masculine) sexual desire in women as evil, and translated these into mental illnesses. This is an example of how Christian sexual values permeate even the supposedly objective medical community, and how religion and science can work together to oppress women and their sexuality.

In a later episode, Shelley attempts to seduce the sadistic Dr. Arden in exchange for letting her go outside. He calls her a slut and a whore, and she gets very angry, yelling at him. “Men like sex – no one calls them whores! I hate that word. It’s so ugly!” Shelley is, arguably, not mentally ill, but is rather subject to the sexual double standard that serves to shame women for having sexual desires while allowing men to do the same. Shelley is pathologized and seen as sinful because she exercises sexual agency, and is assertive in expressing her sexual desires. Her acknowledgement of and acting upon her sexual desires goes against the Catholic ideal of the virginal, passive, pure woman, epitomized by the Virgin Mary. Gail Corrington Streete writes that in the Bible, “[f]emale sexuality is portrayed as disturbing and destructive to the community when it is perceived to aim at no benefit to husband or household, and the community must rid itself of such a threatening force to retain its proper identity and to confirm its boundaries” (17). Shelley’s sexual desire and actions thus fit the Biblical criteria for “destructive” sexuality, as she is engaging in sexual acts for her own benefit, and not for the sanctified act of procreation. She states, “I’m into pleasure”, and reveals she has been masturbating since the age of five.

Shelley also reveals to Dr. Arden that she ran away from home, met a bass player, and they got married. After the wedding, she became “his property” and he felt free to cheat on her with other women, while expecting her to stay at home and be the doting wife. Shelley reacted by having an affair with two sailors. Her husband caught her, and brought her to be institutionalized. Shelley finishes, “And the sickest part is, they let him. Because I like sex. That’s my crime.” And indeed, the idea of sexual desire as evil is embedded in the Catholic

Church’s views on sexuality. St. Augustine writes that it is not the act of sex, but the “lust” and desire associated with it that is sinful (Hampson 188). Shelley’s punishment for her enjoyment of sex takes the form of isolation and institutionalization, in an attempt to control and eventually cut off her sexual desires. However, her sexual appetite, if contained within her sanctioned heterosexual marriage, is not positioned as threatening, as it could contribute to “the building up of the patriarchal household and ultimately the community, which is dominated by males” (Streete 17). It is her act of adultery, motivated by her unfulfilled sexual desires, that ultimately results in her institutionalization. Sex does not have a place outside of marriage in Roman Catholicism (Young 175), and in the Bible, “any female sexual activity that is outside of a heterosexual and patriarchal marriage [...] is thus liable to be called prostitution or ‘whoring’” (Streete 74). This makes Dr. Arden calling her a whore particularly relevant, as it is a Biblical term used to denigrate any form of agentic female sexuality outside of a heterosexual marriage (Streete 74).

Dr. Arden tells Shelley, “You make me sick” (“Tricks and Treats”) because she does not fit his, and the Catholic Church’s image of the ideal virginal woman. In a later episode (“Nor’easter), Dr. Arden finds Shelley attempting to escape Briarcliff during a storm. He uses this opportunity to get her alone in his lab and try to rape her. Shelley tries to refuse, saying, “not tonight. I’m not in the mood,” but he continues saying, “you’re always in the mood. I must be the only guy in here who hasn’t had you yet.” Shelley responds by saying, “that’s not true. What’s more, I’m the one who does the choosing.” Here, Shelley is emphasizing that in her sexual acts, she is always the one in control, but this does not align with patriarchal power structures that place men in the active role and women in the passive role. Sally Cline writes: When female ‘passion’ is seen as low or lustful, or as liable to corrupt men, then it is condemned. When female ‘chastity’ is seen as inconvenient, withdrawal from male lust (which, please note, is suddenly elevated to the status of ‘passion’) then it is condemned. If women choose to be sexually active, they are called whores; if they choose to be celibate when men wish them to be lustful or ‘whore like’ then they are called prudish or frigid (136). The sexual double standard is again at work. Dr. Arden views Shelley as repulsive when he is not interested her, but when he wants to have sex and she refuses him, this makes him angry because it undermines his assumed male sexual dominance.

Again, Shelley is being punished in the form of abuse for exerting her agency, only this time she is being punished for refusing sex.

SEMICOLON 35 When Shelley sees Dr. Arden’s small penis, she laughs at him, which humiliates and emasculates him. This ends the attempted rape, but angers Dr. Arden so much that he amputates her legs and subjects her to his genetic experiments. Here, Shelley can also be viewed as the embodiment of the temptress, Eve. Her sexual expression “tempts” eventually drives Dr. Arden to act on his own sexual impulses. Dr. Arden, representing the male patriarchal power, and by extension, the Church can be read as being “corrupted” by Shelley and inspired to commit an act of sinful lust.

Dr. Arden uses her supposed sick immorality as justification for subjecting her to these medical experiments, leaving her virtually unrecognizable. When Shelley escapes Briarcliff and is brought to a hospital, the Monsignor visits her (“The Origins of Monstrosity”) and strangles her with a rosary, to protect the name of Briarcliff, as these experiments were sanctioned by him. This torture and murder of Shelley by both an employee of the Catholic institution, Briarcliff, and by a religious official, completes the removal of “destructive” sexuality for the purposes of maintaining the patriarchal status quo. In killing Shelley with a rosary, a symbol of the Catholic faith, and especially of the Virgin Mary, the Monsignor’s acts are a metaphor for the extreme repression and damage caused to women by the Catholic Church’s restrictions on women’s sexuality. Shelley represents as the the biblical whore and Eve the temptress. This is constructed as the opposite to the pure, Virgin Mary, who is held up as the impossible ideal for femininity in the Church. In killing her with the rosary, which is often associated with Mary (Carroll 17), it becomes clear that her sexual transgressions are ultimately what condemned her to death.It is tempting to think that, had Shelley conformed to the Church’s ideal virginal image, she would not have been subject to such barbaric treatment sanctioned by Catholicism in the show. The ideal woman, according to Hans Küng, “was primarily the nun, who leads a continent life well pleasing to God, free of earthly ties” (47). However, AHS: Asylum portrays nuns as just as capable of sin and lust as the patients of Briarcliff which they oversee.

Briarcliff ’s head nun, Sister Jude, demonstrates this. Throughout the season, in a series of flashbacks, it is revealed that Sister Jude was once engaged to be married, and her fiancée left her after giving her syphilis, leaving her unable to have children (“Dark Cousin”). Within the Church, women have two choices to lead a virtuous life: motherhood, or celibacy (Hampson 204). Jude’s capacity to be a virtuous mother and emulate Mary is taken away from her when she contract syphilis, so her only chance to live a good Christian life is to be celibate, which she does not do. Rather, Jude became a nightclub singer, turning to alcohol and sex to numb her pain, essentially turning her into a temptress figure, associating her with Eve rather than Mary. One night, after leaving the bar, driving drunk, she hit a young girl on the road and left, convinced she had killed her.

Sister Jude turns to the Catholic Church and becomes a nun to atone for her past sins, and this can be interpreted as a kind of self-punishment.

Her life hit rock bottom when she hits the young girl with her car (she later finds out that the girl survived), and she attributes this as a culminating result of her “sinful”, indulgent lifestyle of casual sex and excessive drinking. It is likely that Sister Jude had internalized Catholic values of female sexuality as sinful, and sought out the celibate lifestyle of being a nun to redeem herself, as Mary’s virginity was seen as redeeming Eve’s original sin (Breazeale 15).

In effect, she is embracing the only way a woman can live a good Christian life without being a mother. However, entering the Catholic order of nuns and working at Briarcliff did not succeed in curbing Jude’s sexuality completely. In the pilot, while preparing for a private dinner with the Monsignor, Jude is seen wearing a red negligee, and seductively dabbing her chest with perfume, before putting her habit on over top of her lingerie. This act can be interpreted as a metaphor for what the Church aimed to accomplish with enforcing a celibate, chaste lifestyle on nuns. Sister Jude’s sexuality is literally covered up by her religion. Scholars such as Lucinda Peach have suggested that some women became nuns in order to escape the normative and often restrictive gender roles of wife and mother, and receive an education that could improve their opportunities (205). This does not seem to be the case for Sister Jude.

Through her storyline, AHS: Asylum, depicts the Catholic religious order as a hostile place for women, where their sexuality and agency are repressed.

During the dinner scene with the monsignor, Jude experiences a fantasy where she removes her habit and gown, to reveal her curled blonde hair and red lingerie, and she imagines climbing on top of him, cradling his face and caressing him (“Welcome to Briarcliff ”). According to Augustine, “women were more carnal than men and therefore more subject to temptation and sin. Women, however, could overcome such temptation and be rational instead of carnal only if they renounced sexuality completely” (Young 166). Sister Jude has “renounced sexuality completely”, as Augustine recommends, in her act of joining the Church as a nun, but she still has sexual desires. This suggests that the Church’s desire to repress female sexuality, in an effort to repress their power (Reuther 168) is ineffective and rather internalizes their desires so that they manifest themselves in fantasies such as those experienced by Sister Jude.

The Virgin Mary “was understood to have had no lust” (Young 173), and this combined with her perpetual virginity, becomes an impossible standard for any woman to live up to, even those who have dedicated their lives to the Church and God, like nuns. This could even be read as suggesting that the repression of female sexuality in the Catholic Church actually increases female desire and lust. Because they have no way of expressing these desires without being vilified, these desires becomes internalized and more intense. It is ironic that enforcing women’s chastity through the sexual double standard and religious actually exacerbates the “problem” of female lust and turns them into the very dangerous sexual creatures the Church fears.

Later on in the season, Sister Jude is framed for a murder and becomes a patient at Briarcliff, in an effort to prevent her from revealing secrets to the press.

Her belongings are packed up, and in the process the Monsignor finds her red lingerie (“The Coat Hanger”). He is visibly uncomfortable, and tries to touch it as little as possible. Sister Mary Eunice, who takes over as administrator of Briarcliff, walks in on him and comments, “apparently she had quite the secret in her life.” The negligee becomes a metaphor for Sister Jude’s repressed sexuality, and once it is discovered by the Monsignor, (who represents the Church) it becomes a shameful mark on her character, as it is revealed that she is not the virginal, pious woman the Church expected her to be.

Sister Jude’s repressed sexuality leads to literal physical harm when Sister Mary Eunice finds a cucumber in Sister Jude’s cell while doing routine room checks (“The Name Game”)This is meant to suggest that Sister Jude has been masturbating. Sister Mary Eunice mocks her, and the other patients laugh.

Sister Mary Eunice uses this as justification to subject Sister Jude to eletro-shock therapy. Sister Jude drifts into madness, as the treatments damage her brain and her memories. Even when Sister Jude becomes “Judy”, the patient rather than the pious nun, she is still subjected to the vilification of female sexuality, as sanctioned by both the Church and the medical community (represented by Dr. Arden) who are influenced by the Church’s views on sexuality.

Sister Jude’s sexuality drives her entire storyline. It is her sexuality that brought her to the Church, and it is her sexuality that is eventually used to remove her from her religious life, and both literally and figuratively damage her. It is ironic that when Sister Jude’s sexuality is repressed but still active, she is a powerful, intelligent woman who runs Briarcliff. It is only when the Church, acting through Sister Mary Eunice and Dr. Arden, representing the medical community, discovers and punishes her sexuality does she actually become deranged. Sister Jude’s sidekick, Sister Mary Eunice, at first appears to embody all of the qualities of the ideal Christian woman, as she is passive, virginal and submissive to authority. In the pilot, after she accidentally lets the reporter Lana Winters into Briarcliff, Sister Jude reprimands her for exposing Briarcliff and the Monsignor to a scandal. Sister Jude blames herself, claiming, “I favored you, I coddled you. I refused to see what others saw. When they said that you were stupid, I said no, simply that you were more pure than the others.” Sister Mary Eunice bursts into tears like a child, and offers herself up for caning, leaning over the desk and exposing her buttocks to be hit.

SEMICOLON 36 She sobs, “Punish me, Sister, please! I’m so weak and stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” (“Welcome to Briarcliff ”). Sister Mary Eunice offers herself up to be reprimanded for her mistakes. She is also subservient to the evil Dr. Arden, who admires her for her purity and chastity. He even calls her his “favourite little helper” (“Tricks and Treats”). Her virginity is also emphasized and known around Briarcliff, and Shelley, while mocking Dr. Arden’s obsession with her, even refers to her as “Our Lady of Perpetual Virginity” (“Tricks and Treats”).

In the second episode of the season, a possessed patient comes into Briarcliff. When the patient dies, Sister Mary Eunice falls backwards, as if being pushed by an unseen force. It turns out that, in that moment, the Devil invaded her body. Thus, her personality radically changes. While possessed, Sister Mary Eunice changes from being innocent and passive, to sexually aggressive and manipulative towards the other inhabitants of Briarcliff, including Sister Jude and Dr. Arden. In effect, she transforms from the ideal virginal Mary to the temptress Eve. Mary Daly, referring to the misogyny of the Church Fathers, quotes Tertullian as saying to women, “you are the devil’s gateway” (qtd. in Daly, 125). Sister Mary Eunice literally becomes “the devil’s gateway” and displays all of the stereotypical qualities of the sinful woman. Once possessed, she starts wearing red lipstick, and her voice changes from being childlike and high- pitched, to deeper and more breathy; all stereotypical cues of a sexual, seductive woman. This is contrasted by her habit, a symbol of female chastity and purity, again drawing on the idea that enforced celibacy cannot successfully repress sexuality, as evidenced by Sister Jude.

Sister Mary Eunice tries to seduce Dr. Arden in a meeting with him, saying, “Oh please, you know you only called me in here just so you can undress me with your eyes. Imagine sucking on my rose-bud tits”. Dr. Arden, horrified, recoils, saying, “Don’t talk like that!” The newly sexual Sister Mary Eunice takes off her habit and approaches him, saying, “Come on, big boy. Show me what you got. Your little bride of Christ has had an awakening. Not to the Lord, but to the power of sex, lust, desire.” She then proceeds to lie on his desk, habit pulled up, and stocking-clad legs spread, and sexually proposition him. He reacts by throwing her out of his office, and she leaves laughing.

Gail Corrington Streete writes that sexually agentic women in the Bible are portrayed as “demonic precisely because they upset the desired power balance. The women are portrayed as seductive, where seduction equals destruction, because they have power over men who wish themselves to be in control, both of their own and of women’s desires.” This is true of Sister Mary Eunice and Dr. Arden. He admired her so much because she was the only woman in Briarcliff whom he had control over, and who listened to him. Sister Jude was constantly suspicious of Dr. Arden’s authority and his experiments, and inmates like Shelley tried to manipulate his sexual desires in order to get what they wanted. The pre-possessed Mary Eunice did whatever Dr. Arden asked, and he viewed her chaste sexuality as somehow belonging to him. When, through demonic possession, she turns into a seductive temptress, Dr. Arden, representing the patriarchal male, at once loses control over both her sexuality and his sexual desires. When confronted by Sister Jude about his incident with Sister Mary Eunice, he confesses, “I admired her purity. Her innocence. [...] Now it’s taken from her,” and he is visibly distressed.

Sister Mary Eunice’s sexuality and status as a tempting Eve figure becomes explicit in an intimate encounter with the Monsignor. The Monsignor, having been crucified by a deranged patient, is recovering in his room as Sister Mary Eunice tends to his wounds. At this point she tries to seduce him, and he retaliates by trying to exorcise the Devil from her. She throws him off and, as punishment, forces sex on him while he is wounded and weak on his sickbed. As she climbs on top of him, he asks, “Stop it, please”, but she continues, saying, “Mmm, your body disagrees with you”. He continues to protest saying, “please, I took a vow. Please don’t do this to me. The Church means everything to me.” As she continues, she says, “It’s okay. We’re like, Adam and Eve. Two innocent children exploring each other’s bodies for the first time.” The Monsignor is clearly distressed by the loss of his virginity, and therefore his Catholic virtue, when she begins to rape him. He struggles to contain the pleasure he is experiencing, as it is sinful for him to experience such pleasure, and also emasculating for him to be raped by a woman. He continues, “I gave my body to Christ”, in between tortured groans.

Here, Sister Mary Eunice again represents Eve, tempting and ultimately leading to the disgrace of the Monsignor, who represents Adam, and, through the crucifixion metaphor, the Church as a whole. Daphne Hampson claims that women’s sexuality has been controlled and repressed to protect the virtue of men. She writes that, “if men cannot control their desire, then it is women who must be controlled. To a man afraid of his own body, women’s sexuality must appear alarmingly out of control” (188). Once possessed by the Devil, Sister Mary Eunice is able to free herself from repressive ideals of women’s purity and virginity, and in doing so shakes off any control the Church had over her sexuality. She in essence becomes the Catholic man’s worst nightmare: a seductress with the intent of bringing chaste men down to an impure level. The patriarchal Catholic Church is no longer in control of her body. Rather, in raping the Monsignor, who represents the Church in Briarcliff, she is reclaiming control from the Church and exerting this power over men. In doing so, she successfully subverts the Catholic Church’s standard of the active male dominating the passive, virginal woman. It is unfortunate and telling, however, that Sister Mary Eunice can only achieve a kind of sexual freedom when she is literally possessed by the Devil, the symbol for evil.

AHS: Asylum, through the characters of Shelley, Sister Jude, and Sister Mary Eunice, presents the Catholic church as repressing and vilifying female sexuality. The Christian faith, and specifically the Catholic Church views, “woman [as] the cause of male temptation, dragging man down.

Consequently she must be contained and controlled” (Cline 182). This control takes the form of associating active female sexuality with Eve and evil, and venerating the sexually passive, and submissive woman, embodied in the Virgin Mary. This sets up an impossible standard for Christian women to live up to. The characters Shelley, Sister Jude, and Sister Mary Eunice, although fictional, represent the torture, agony, and sometimes death women have been subjected to because of oppressive Christian ideals. It is true that not all women feel oppressed by the Catholic Church and Christianity in general. However, the writers of American Horror Story: Asylum, through gruesome imagery and tragic storylines, make a convincing case for women to stay far away from the Church, the habit and, especially, asylums.

Writing

SEMICOLON 38

An Analysis of Hannah Peck’s “Principles”

BY ALEX PASQUAL

Since the dawn of scientific discovery, humans have struggled with their understanding of the mechanisms of a disordered universe.

As new facts are discovered and information gleaned, the philosophy surrounding these concepts, and humanity’s place within them, is debated and pondered. Hannah Peck creatively describes this attempt to understand the disorder of the universe in her poetic work “Principles”, published in the Fall 2013 edition of The Puritan.

In this creative work, Peck begins by describing the macroscopic concepts that guide society’s understanding of the universe, namely the relentlessness of universal expansion and the idea of time. She achieves these descriptions by framing time in relation to the sun and the moon and by stating directly the disorder that accompanies the constant growth of the cosmos. The poem proceeds to contrast the ethereal and concrete, describing various body organs as independent entities with their own wills and actions, before closing the piece with concrete images that play to the senses. These images include the touch of glass, the concept of being “thumbtacked”, and a final quotation indicating what it means to be human. Throughout the poem, an attempt is made to describe for the reader the unyielding disorder of the universe, with the use of image and symbolism, language and structure, and setting to achieve this goal.

In her attempt to illustrate to the reader the unquantifiable chaos of the universe, Peck utilizes a shifting landscape of abstract and concrete terms. This use of juxtaposition acts as a parallel to the concepts the poem seeks to convey. Even in the most complex regions of scientific discovery, areas of order and disorder become evident, and it is the contrast of opposites placed side by side that conveys the scope of the poem. An example illustrating this use of the setting element occurs in the second stanza, where Peck aligns concrete verbs with abstract nouns and vice versa. She details how humans “tear form from incoherence” (Peck, 2013, line 12) and how a heart “boggles”. Perhaps an even more important mechanism accomplished by the setting is the way it begins using more general concepts and closes with very concrete images that appear directed at reorienting the reader to his or her physical body. The overall effect is the movement through the poem from the broad galaxy to the individual. In the first section, for example, the ideas of entropy and time are stated, with progressive narrowing of themes throughout the work until it concludes with a quote that operates well to reseat the reader in the world beyond the words. This closing also functions to convey the curiosity that drives scientific research, almost by forcing the reader to contemplate its contents after finishing the poem.

Peck both draws the reader into her work and provides a reference to the way no two people understand concepts identically is her use of line placement. There are points throughout the poem where it almost seems that an alternative message is being suggested, besides the one explicitly stated by the words. Where Peck describes the abstract in relation to the body, one line states “…the heart boggles. The brain…” (Peck, 2013, line 14). That which is written before and after could almost be ignored, and this line interpreted as commentary on how the symbolic heart exhibits emotions unfathomable to the logical brain. This method of suggesting without stating seems to parallel the way concrete concepts, such as the organs and time, can have great capacities to be philosophized abstractly. This process is inherently individual. In addition to this line placement and previously mentioned juxtaposition, Peck utilizes the connotations of words to convey messages about the chaos of the universe. Only twice are words used that make direct mention of disorder; instead, the diction used primarily connotes the ideas of decay about which Peck is writing. Words such as “yawns”, “sheds”, and “slump” indicate an almost lazy relinquishing of control, and establish the mood from the very first sentence. Words like these are able to paint a picture for the reader without dictating an interpretation, either of the chaos of the universe or that of this poem.

A final device used to portray the inability of humans to comprehend the complexity of the universe is the imagery included in the piece. In the description of time in relation to the sun and the moon, easily envisioned personification of the two celestial bodies is used, so that they appear to act as symbols for the different ways humans approach the concept of time. Another symbol implemented in the poem is the description of how “wrong tools become bludgeons” (Peck, 2013, line 17). The tools, in this case representing ordered systems, summon up images in the reader of utensils of daily living and their progression into uncontrolled mechanisms of destruction.

Concrete words introduced alongside abstract concepts instill in the reader corporeal images that play to common experiences interpreted through the senses. Though contrasted directly with abstract words, statements like “yawns into disrepair” (line 1) and “tear form from incoherence” (line 12) enable the reader to see, feel and hear these actions. They create for the reader a framework in which to interpret the ideas indicated. Even in the relative abstractness of the first stanza, Peck utilizes accessible imagery to describe intangible concepts. This imagery is perhaps only strengthened as one proceeds through the work; what begins with the “slump of entropy” (line 3), a word choice that brings to mind fatigue from fighting the inevitable, ends with “the viscosity of glass” (line 20). These final few sentences include such strongly physical descriptors that they deftly conclude a poem marked by its relative simplification of complex concepts.

One of the great difficulties of being human is striving to make sense of the incredible information to which one has access. Individual philosophies become the combined sum of experience, knowledge, and interaction with others. In “Principles”, Hannah Peck conveys understanding of complex concepts of universal expansion and decay, and, through her use of image, structure, and setting, effectively portrays these messages to the reader.

Published by the Arts and Humanities Students’ Council Western University London, Ontario, Canada

2014