Saturday, December 31, 2005

if you aren't using firefox, you are a really old person like my dad

i went to my folks house for christmas and discovered that my dad was still using internet explorer. very disappointed. i used to think my dad was always up to the latest in technology and software. now i'm surprised that he is capable of using a computer. fire fox is faster, much more secure, has bitchin' plug-ins, blocks pop-ups far better, is easier to use, has tabbed-browsing, etc, etc, etc. firefox is unto internet explorer as playstation is unto a piece of dog crap. yes, the difference is that big.

enough said. click the link to the right and get firefox ->>>

new books


up on the list is levi peterson's the backslider and ludwig wittgenstein's tractatus logico-philosophicus

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

avoid a virginian wendy's at all costs

i'm in virginia visiting my folks for christmas. tonight we took my nephews to a local wendy's for dinner. i will never go there again.

why?

1. the people there are ugly. the kind of ugly where you want to point at there face and ask what happened. however, you don't do that because they were most likely born that way. instead you just laugh to yourself to repress the deep sorrow you have for them.

2. s l o w a s h e l l

3. they are out of lettuce. apparently virginian wendys' are suffering from a lettuce shortage. no salads and no damn lettuce for your hamburger.

4. they are out of lettuce. i know i just mentioned this, but it is so pathetic that it deserves a second spot on this list. seriously. they ran out of lettuce.

Saturday, December 24, 2005

it's a wonderful world

it's christmas eve and i have just finished watching it's a wonderful life with my family. it plays every christmas eve, but this is only the second time i've watched it. the first time was eight years ago. i teared up then. i teared up today.

the movie gives me hope. too often i focus on the mr. potters of the world. he's everywhere i look. walmarts. banks. pay-day loan centers. gas stations. car dealerships. television commercials. watches. music. magazines. christian book stores. mormon book stores. churches. schools. microsoft. oil. george bush. iraq. it's everywhere.

with so many mr. potters, i start to wonder if there are any george bailey's around.

believe me. there are. sometimes we just don't recoginize them. sometimes they don't recognize themselves. yesterday, i saw george bailey ringing a bell and collecting for the salvation army. nbc news did a story on a george bailey who spends her whole year helping needy children. this afternoon george bailey opened a door for me as he was finishing a cigarette before going into a restaurant. some george baileys volunteer at hospitals. some george baileys give what they can to the poor. some george baileys help an elderly couple with yard work and house maintanance. some george baileys volunteer as big brothers and big sisters. other george baileys are just always there when we need them. a month ago, a george bailey pulled over and offered me a ride to school in her car safe from the cold and snow.

there really are george baileys everywhere. and that makes this world something wonderful.

merry christmas everyone.

Monday, December 19, 2005

i am done biyotch!

that's right. after another night without sleep, i am officially done with this semester.

you can all kiss my butt. thats right. kiss it. cuz i am done.

100+ pages in the last couple weeks and now it's over.

bite me.

all of you.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

new books


added to my list for christmas reading are dan vogel's and richard bushman's biographies of joseph smith. two very different perspectives.

delivering love as a foundation for christian ethics

In response to the question posed by some Pharisees about which of God’s laws was the greatest, Jesus replied, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’”[1] Later, near the closing of His ministry, Jesus reiterated this idea to his disciples with a “new commandment, that you love one another.”[2]

In their book, Kingdom Ethics: Following Jesus in Contemporary Context, Glen Stassen and David Gushee attempt “to reclaim Jesus Christ for Christian Ethics and for the moral life of the churches.”[3] Although Jesus proclaimed love as His primary and foundational commandment, the importance of Christian love does not find its place until the last third of Kingdom Ethics, following chapters on the Christian ethics of war, peace, capital punishment, abortion, euthanasia, and biotechnology.[4] In this paper I will briefly outline what Stassen and Gushee (S/G) offer as the foundation of Christian ethics and show, using their criteria, that Christian love should have been included in this foundation. I will then explain S/G’s reasons for appropriately understanding Christian love as delivering love. Finally, using the particular ethical issue of capital punishment, I will briefly show how this understanding of love used as a foundation for ethics, provides the basis for a better and more complete (though perhaps more complicated) Christian response.

----------------------------
read the rest here
---------------------------



[1] Matthew 22:37-9. All Biblical quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version.

[2] John 13:34.

[3] Glen Stassen and David Gushee, Kingdom Ethics: Following Jesus in Contemporary Context (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2003), 11.

[4] Kingdom Ethics is composed of twenty-one chapters, with each chapter highlighting an important aspect of Christian ethics in light of Jesus’ teachings. While the chapters are not necessarily ordered by importance, S/G assert that the first six chapters are “the foundation” and “the perennial themes of moral authority and moral norms in Christian ethics” (Ibid., 13). Love is not a chapter topic until the sixteenth chapter.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

psychobitch is santa claus?

well, it looks like befriending psychobitch (yes, you) finally paid off.

i received a nice little check with a considerable amount in the mail today. after some investigation, i figured out that it was my referral bonus from having psychobitch move into my complex. now she's gone and i'm a couple hundred dollars richer. thank you psychobitch.

anyways, i want to put this little blessing into helping someone else have a merry christmas. so once again, i'm asking for some advice or ideas on how to spread some christmas cheer. please give me some idea. concrete ideas, not abstract ones.

thanks.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

i'm pissed

i'm 40+ hours of sleep right now and was just to crash, but i've got to speak my mind...

i just got caught up with the last few days' news and i'm pissed.

arnold schwartzeneggar is an asshole and should die.

yes, he should die.

the (ex)terminator denied clemnency for tookie williams earlier this week. williams was executed by lethal injection yesterday.

i hate capital punishment. i really really really hate it. it makes me sick.

uggghhh.

maybe more later.

goodnight.

Compassion for the Evil Enemies

In the second part of Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Friedrich Nietzsche’s main character Zarathustra, traveling with his disciples, comes across some sleeping priests. In passing them, Zarathustra tells his followers that he has “compassion for these priests,” even though he characterizes them as his “evil enemies.” [1] This love-hate relationship is exemplary of the pervasive embracing of contradictions that exist throughout Nietzsche’s book. In this paper, I will show that the relationship and compassion that Zarathustra has for these priests is precisely because of their role they play as both Zarathustra’s friends and enemies. To do so, I will outline the contradictory characteristics that create this dichotomy of enemies and friends; show how Zarathustra’s embarking from his cave before encountering the priests came as a result of a dream he had; and finally I will show how this dream is key in understanding Zarathustra’s relationship with the priests as he describes them.


---------------------
Read the rest here.
---------------------



[1] Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, rpt. in The Portable Nietzsche, trans. and ed. Walter Kaufmann (New York: Penguin Books Ltd., 1982), 203.

a poem about a really loud girl

my roomates fiance is the loudest person in world
and is as dumb as a rock
and, no, dumber than a rock
and she's always laughing about the stupidest things
and yelling
and talking loud
and expressing her stupidity
and she won't shut the hell up
and it keeps going
and i can't block out the sound
and i want it to stop
and it doesn't
and it hurts my ears
and brain
and spine
and nerves
and sanity

Monday, December 12, 2005

you piece oh sh**

my professor said this to me today, but it was more of a compliment. i guess she really really liked the journals i wrote for her class, but was pissed that i turned them in late and had to get marked down.

i never thought i'd be so glad to be called that.

dying (complete story)

you can read the whole short story here.

i would love any feedback you may have

Saturday, December 10, 2005

day 164 (the end)

i can’t wait any longer. i need this meaninglessness to end. reaching under my bed, i pull out the orange nike shoe box. whatever happened with those shoes? it doesn’t matter. nothing does. a shell from my game of russian roulette still lies in one of the six chambers. i open the box of bullets. .44 magnum. these could put a nice large hole wherever it hit. a venti sized hole. i grab another shell by its brass casing and press it into a second chamber. when i was three, i was sure i would die on my big wheel. another shell fills the cylinder. at fourteen, i thought it was my time. only two chambers left to fill. after colliding with a semi at twenty-four, i thought i would never see tomorrow. five of the six chambers are now filled. at twenty six, i knew it was the end. i grab one more shell and slide it into the last chamber. there will be no mistaking it now. i spin the cylinder for good luck before locking it into place. for the first time in a while, i feel content. the barrel still tastes black and cold in my mouth.

i pull the trigger

day 93

i don’t recognize the face looking back at me in the mirror. whoever it is, he’s staring with a hollow glare of apathy; grey eyes sinking deep into their sockets, fixed on every turn and nod of my head. yellowed teeth gnarl between the skeletal features of his jaw. just as i look curiously, but uncaringly at him, he returns the favor. we stand and stare. ribs protrude, almost poking through the skin on his chest and sides. he’s a nightmare from my future, my skeletal remains draped in a thin covering of blue, cold flesh. i hate him and want him to leave, but he continues to just stands there looking at me. stop! go away! leave me alone! i don’t want to see you anymore! he’s still there, repeating my every word, and mocking my every thought. go away! this time he shatters and falls to pieces with the swing of my fist. blood drips from my hand across the floor. he’s gone. i walk back to my room leaving a trail of blood. little stains of crushed bugs, black as the barrel of a gun, and bleeding into the carpet like the ink on a wet cardboard sign. lying on my bed, i wrap my hand in the side of my pillow, curl into a ball, and try to sleep.

day 47

when i was nine, i stepped on an armadillidium vulgare. a woodlouse. roly-poly. potato bug. it was walking across the sidewalk one afternoon. i looked at it. i took aim. i stepped on it. no, i stomped on it. squashed it like a bug. what was left of his black shielded body were mere spots on the sidewalk and my shoe. it was dead and not even god could bring it back. a sudden sick feeling of guilt came over me and filled my insides with vomit and dread. i went inside, threw myself on my bed, and cried.

i’m still on my bed. it feels like i haven’t left for seventeen years. we’re all bugs eating life’s decay and hiding in the rotten wood of seclusion. no matter how tightly i roll myself in a ball, it will all come to a sudden end. i’m just waiting for that same fate. waiting to get stepped on. squashed. to be the crusty stain on life’s concrete. a splatter on god’s foot.

i don’t leave. i don’t move. i don’t live. pizza boxes pile up in the corner of the kitchen. mildew stretches across the ceilings and walls. a housefly buzzes between the curtain and window. it’s a battle of death verses death. the loser watches the other go. the buzzing slowly stops and doesn’t return. it looks like i lost again.

day 24

i used to sit at work and spend the whole day thinking about what i would be doing if i wasn’t working. it’s been almost a week since i walked out the office and i haven’t done a single thing. i wake up. i shower. i get coffee. i come home. i sit there. i’ll watch some tv. i’ll play some solitaire. i’ll play some nintendo. i’ll play with myself. whatever i do, it’s just as pointless as the formalities of the daily arguments with my boss. i’d go outside, but it’s far too cold to do anything. i’d vacation, but i don’t want to spend the time traveling to somewhere i’ll never get. everything is done for the sake of it. even if i survive the trip, there will be no memories to keep. nothing beautiful to take with me. what’s the point of a souvenir when i’m dead. what’s the point of anything i can’t take with me.

i’ve got enough credit to last me to the end. i’m surprised i kept my job as long as i did. i guess it was the need for consistency. if i could convince myself that the meaningless of my job was a constant that could never change, then perhaps i could convince myself that it was consistent enough to beat death. a fool’s dream. once you know you are going to die, the thought never leaves. it persists through everything you think and do. it eats away at your mind and imposes itself on everything around you. the paint of my walls are peeling and falling apart. the frays and threads of my clothes are visibly tattering apart. rot and stink eats away at my furniture, food, and body. my sandwich decays in my hand. tukey. ham. lettuce. pickles. tomatoes. banana peppers. american cheese. mustard. mayo. it all falls to pieces as it dries, molds, cracks, clumps, and sogs away. there’s nothing left to do but sit and wait. sleep and wait. eat and wait.

Friday, December 09, 2005

day 18

i’m not sure if i won or lost my game of roulette. whichever it is, i’m still here for now, awaiting my turn. nature will win in the end. it always does. i feel it in the coldness of my bones and the silent beating of my heart. like the numbers of my clock, each beat counts down to zero.

the image of my dying self permeates my thoughts and actions. my cold dead body is in the shower. on the icy sidewalk. in the lid of my coffee. it is outside my office doors. it’s on my desk. it’s in the face of my boss as she walks to me. let the formalities begin.

she says our numbers aren’t up to where corporate wants them. it’s the same thing she told me yesterday. i know, i say, i’ll talk to my team again and try to get some more productivity going. she informs me that, as the leader of my team, the work they are doing reflex poorly on me. the same old shit as always. i’m sorry. i’ll try to figure out what is going on and find out why things haven’t been up to par lately. i ask her, how are the other teams doing she tells me that where they are at is not important and that i need to focus on my team. fuck you. i’m not sure where those words came from, but as best as i can figure, they came out of my mouth. she’s got a bewildered look on her face, a mix of astonishment and anger, and i can tell that i’m fired. like the rest of my existence, i just don’t care. while she’s looking for something to respond with, i’m looking for something important i don’t want to leave on my desk. there isn’t anything i need to grab. nothing is important anymore. before she has a chance to respond, i say goodbye and walk out the door.

day 17

(note: i rewrote parts of day one for continuity)



my life is a series of lists, a repetition of itself until it’s over.

two days ago. i wake up. shower. dress. walk to starbucks. coffee. venti. large. whatever. cream. two sugars. i walk to work. argue with my boss about my performance (a mere formality so that she has something to get paid for). back to starbucks. vanilla latte. venti. i hate that word. walk home. newspaper. sitcoms. try to sleep.

yesterday. same as everyday. wake up. shower. dress. starbucks. coffee. cream. two sugars. work. argue. starbucks. latte. venti. home. news. tv. sleep.

today. wake up. coffee. work. argue. starbucks. latte. there he is.

he still had the same sign; the same plea for help. however, he wasn’t holding it this time. the torn sheet of cardboard laid bent and soaking in a puddle of melted snow. black splotches of ink bled across its face and slowly ate away at the scribbled words. instead of sitting on his makeshift wheelchair, his cold and frozen body stretched out on the concrete sidewalk amidst a crowd of voyeuristic onlookers. i barely caught a glimpse of his face before they pulled his gray wool blanket over his head. blue and motionless. that’s all i could see. no distinctive feature. his face was blank and abstract. the more i tried to give it features, the more it became mine.

blue flashes signaled the arrival of a police car and the crowd opens up to let them in. i’ve seen enough though. he’s obviously dead. end of story. downing the rest of my latte, i bundle up and continue walking home. i try to think of his face, but i only see my own. blue and frozen. motionless. silent. dead. his efforts to survive were in vain. braving the cold to make it past the winter was pointless and meaningless. i could just picture him saying to himself, if you can just make it past this winter, everything will be okay. just make it past the cold and the spring will bring warmth and a new chance at life. there is hope on the other side of the rainbow. he was wrong. the rainbow was an abrupt stop. all the begging. all the hope. all the efforts were meaningless and futile.

i get home, grateful but disgusted by for the warmth inside. the evening news is pretty much a repeat of yesterday’s, the day before yesterday’s, and every day before that’s news. a bomb in the middle east. a dozen dead. still no sign of the missing child. most likely dead. multi-car accident on the freeway. three dead. they’re all dead. cold, blue, abstract, and gone. their stories have all met their end, just as mine will. picturing them all, i see myself. bloodied and dismembered, i’m scattered across the israeli restaurant. molested and bruised, i’m under seven inches of permafrost in a makeshift canyon grave. pressed between a steering wheel and the passenger door, a pool of blood builds up beneath me. all of them are me; different paths to the same end.

i turn off the television and head to my bedroom, all the while reciting some lyrics in my mind. some forgotten song or poem. he who was living is now dead. we who were living are now dying. with little patience. so true. i kneel down besides my bed and dig underneath, pulling out an old orange shoe box. nike. probably an old pair of cross-trainers. removing the lid and reaching inside, i pull out a ruger vaquero. it’s like something from an old western. a gift from a friend. six-shooter. ivory white handle and blackened steel barrel. .45 magnum. i’ve never shot it, but there isn’t always time for a first. i pull a bullet out of a box of shells and slide it into one of the six open chambers. spin the cylinder and lock it in place. my private little game of russian roulette. i’m such a coward. the barrel tastes black and cold as i pull the trigger.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

The Birth of Tragedy as a Criticism of Christianity

In his "Attempt at a Self-Criticism," Friedrich Nietzsche looks back and reflects on his work, The Birth of Tragedy. Nietzsche wrote, The Birth of Tragedy, almost fifteen years prior as an examination of the Apollinian and Dionysian arts of ancient Greece. In doing so, Nietzsche refers to the “careful and hostile silence with which Christianity is treated throughout the entire book – Christianity as the most prodigal elaboration of the moral theme to which humanity has ever been subjected.” While claiming that Christianity is a target of The Birth of Tragedy, he is correct in also saying that it is treated with silence (even a “hostile silence”) throughout the whole book. In fact, Christianity is only explicitly mentioned twice in The Birth of Tragedy and implicitly even less. While the Christian religion is practically non-existent in the content of Nietzsche’s book, The Birth of Tragedy still remains a harsh criticism of Christianity – a criticism that will become much more explicit in Nietzsche’s later writings. In this paper I will show that The Birth of Tragedy, with its discussions of the Dionysian and Apollinian elements of art, is in fact a criticism of religion in general, and specifically of Christianity. To do so, I will briefly outline the Dionysian and Apollinian world views as given by Nietzsche and show how these elements of art are related to and become a criticism of religion. Finally, I will show how an allusion to Christianity in The Birth of Tragedy directly ties the Apollinian and Dionysian arts to Nietzsche’s criticisms of Christianity in his “Attempt at a Self-Criticism.”


read the rest here

still pretty darn screwed -updated again-

10 page paper for christian ethics
6 page take home final for christian ethics
20 page take home final for epistemology
10 pages of journals for philosophy through literature
15 page final for philosophy through literature
15 page paper for wittgenstein
7 page paper for ancient philosophy
10 page paper for nietzsche
10 page paper for nietzche
10 page final for nietzsche

total = 113 pages

total pages finished = 47

pages remaining = 66

more stories on dying coming soon

Sunday, December 04, 2005

i'm pretty much screwed -update-

10 page paper for christian ethics
6 page take home final for christian ethics
20 page take home final for epistemology
10 pages of journals for philosophy through literature
15 page final for philosophy through literature
15 page paper for wittgenstein
7 page paper for ancient philosophy
10 page paper for nietzsche
10 page paper for nietzche
10 page final for nietzsche

total = 113 pages

total pages finished = 30

pages remaining = 73


i'll probably be going to the byu library tomorrow to study, lemme know if you wanna join.

a post from christmas past

christmas pretty much sucked last year. working retail ruined it for me. this year will be different though. on one end, i'm not working during the break and will be able to enjoy it more. on the other end, my spiritual dynamics have changed quite a bit. anyways, here's a post i made last year about the christmas the year before...

i needed a little break from paper writing, so i went to our ward's fhe tonight. the bishop told a little story and then said that we need to think about giving jesus a present. what are we going to give him? not an ipod, he says.

i'm sure most in the room were thinking "ooh, i'll give him a broken heart and a contrite spirit" "i'll give him my prayers" "i'll give him more of my faith" "i'll give him 20 minutes of scripture reading"

i think jesus would almost rather have an ipod, but i'm not sure what to give him this year.

last year i gave jesus harry potter and captain underpants. i've never read captain underpants, but one of my cousins loved it, so i thought jesus would appreciate it too.

not to sound braggish, but last christmas eve i met up with one of my old roommates for some breakfast at the village inn. yeah... i know... why would i brag about that. lots of people do that. i'm not done with the story stupid.

after breakfast, i went over to barnes and noble to window shop ( i usually order my books through amazon). in the center of the store there was a little tree with ornaments labeled "boy, age 14" "girl, age 8" "girl, age 4" etc... these all represented under-priveledged kids who didn't have much. grab an ornament, pick out a book, pay at the register, kid gets a brand new book for christmas... not some crappy, beat up hand me down.

girl, age 12 got harry potter, books 1, 2, and 3. boy, age seven got the captain underpants collection.

"inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

this was by far, the highlight of my christmas.

i wanna find something similar to do this year, or something even more, but i'm not sure what to do. any ideas?

Saturday, December 03, 2005

aristophanes - the clouds

Comedy does not have to only be for laughs; through exaggeration and bringing buried criticisms to the forefront, it can also be a means of social examination and critique. Aristophanes’ The Clouds does precisely that. Through sarcasm and exaggeration, Aristophanes criticizes Socrates’ philosophy and philosophical following by putting Socrates on his stage (and the world’s stage) for open examination and critique.

The stage for Aristophanes was particularly useful for criticism because it demands exaggeration. In order to reach the full audience, details and aspects of the stage needed to be blown out of proportion. Voices needed to be raised. Masks and makeup had to exaggerate features of the actors. Props needed to be larger than usual. This exaggeration and bringing details to the forefront provides the perfect setting for a critique of society. It is a setting where details of persons and ideas can similarly be exaggerated and placed on the forefront for criticism without seeming overblown and inflated.

Comedy is especially useful because it allows the criticisms to be made public under the shield of humor. One can make a scathing criticism and hide it under the rubric of ‘just kidding,’ thus leaving the criticism out in the open, but protecting the critic. With this in mind, Aristophanes begins his criticism of Socrates by placing his main character Strepsiades in Socrates’ world of philosophy.

Outside of Socrates’ school (or as Aristophanes puts it, the Thinkery), Strepsiades approaches one of Socrates’ students. After knocking on the door, the student gets angry with Strepsiades because the loudness of Strepsiades “precipitated the abortion of a discovery” (117). This ‘discovery’ included the length of (and method of determining) the leap of a flea and the origin of the gnat’s hum (gas). He then points out how Socrates had recently had a thought aborted by a lizard and gives an account of how Socrates remedy for their lack of food for dinner.

Already, Aristophanes has thrown out criticisms of Socrates philosophy. The abortion of a discovery is a mockery of Socrates as the self-proclaimed mid-wife philosopher who aids his students in getting pregnant with and giving birth to ideas, raising questions of the validity and appropriateness of such an analogy. The flea and gnat, though an exaggeration, make certain criticisms of Socrates’ endeavors. Aristophanes is showing that, not only does Socrates’ philosophy investigate small and inconsequential things (fleas and gnats), his methods of ascertaining such knowledge are impractical or impossible (making wax slippers with the feet of fleas suitable for measurement, and knowing the intestinal anatomy of a gnat)

Socrates is so caught up in himself and his thinking, that he is ignorant of the practical aspects of life – in focusing his attention on the moon’s orbit, he fails to notice the “lizard on the roof [that] shitted right in his face!” (119). Finally, Socrates’ students are so enamored with him that they accept everything he says and does as brilliance without even giving second thought to the rationality or possible stupidity of it. According to the student, Socrates solved their lack of food for dinner by “sprinkl[ing] a little ash on the table, ben[ding] round a skewer to serve as a pair of compasses, and then…whipp[ing] somebody’s coat while they were wrestling” (119). Because Strepsiades and the student accept Socrates’ wisdom a priori, they immediately accept such a ludicrous response as brilliant without question.

This exaggeration and even contradiction of Socrates continues throughout the play: from the “Economy [of] one man, two jobs” (120, a contradiction of the one person-one job essentialism of the Republic) to the Argument for avoiding debt and being able “to win any case at all” (159). In all of these, Aristophanes is able to use his rhetoric of comedy to bring criticisms of Socrates into the open social forum; while at the same disassociating and protecting himself from them. This same technique is continued today through comedies from Saturday Night Live and the Daily Show to animations such as The Simpsons and South Park. The latter are even more exemplary of, and perhaps a perfected form of, this as the animation aspect allows even a higher level of exaggeration and a stronger veil of disassociation for the authors of the criticisms.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

kafka, derrida, before the law

In his “Before the Law,” Derrida uses Franz Kafka’s story with the same title to discuss the questions “who decides, who judges, and with what entitlement, what belongs to literature?” (188). In doing so, Derrida equates literature with Kafka’s Law, to explore these questions and answers. Derrida however misses some key elements of Kafka’s “Before the Law” that lead further to answering the questions about literature.

Although Derrida shares the same Jewish heritage with Kafka, he does not mention some of the heavy Jewish allusions that further link literature with Kafka’s “Before the Law.” The first of these is the Law itself. For the ancient Jews and Christians, the Law (Torah in Hebrew) was not only the commandments of God, but also the first five books of the Hebrew Scriptures (Genesis through Deuteronomy). The Law (or the Torah) makes up the foundational narrative for the Hebrews. It is their story, their history, and their literature. The Torah is also about the creation of the Law, or the commandments of God. It tells the story of how Moses brought the Law (commandments) from Mt. Sinai to the Israelites.

Even though Derrida explicitly discusses Kafka’s text having “Before the Law” as both the title and first line of the narrative, he fails yet again to make the connection that the story of the Law has with the Law (Torah). The first book of the Torah,Genesis, like “Before the Law,” also uses its opening line as its title. Genesis in Hebrew is Bereishit, which is Hebrew for “beginning.” This is also the first word of Genesis, usually translated, “In the beginning,” which is then followed with the account of the creation. While in the context of the first book, Genesis, the title connotes the beginning of the creation, Genesis (Bereishit, beginning) as the first book of the Law connotes a beginning of the Torah, or the beginning of the Law.

Although the first line of “Before the Law” is often read as spatial location, such that the doorkeeper is standing in front of the Law, this is not the only possible reading. The German “Vor dem Gesetz steht ein Turhuter” and English “Before the Law stands a doorkeeper” can also be read as a chronological positioning; the doorkeeper standing at a time prior to the law. Just as the Torah starts with a beginning prior to creation and the Law (and subsequently tells of both of their coming to be), “Before the Law” begins with a time before the creation of the Law and also tells of its creation.

So when is the Law created in Kafka’s story? It is created as soon as the countryman asks the doorkeeper for admittance and accepts the denial from the doorkeeper. Here is the Law. The countryman gave authority to the doorkeeper and the doorkeeper issued a rule, a command, a law. The gate stands wide open and there is no physical barrier preventing the countryman from passing. The doorkeeper even steps aside, not blocking the countryman’s way. What blocks and prevents the countryman from passing through the gate is the newly created Law, the command from the doorkeeper to not trespass. The countryman, in obedience to the Law, follows its dictate and never passes through the gate, dying in the process.

Just before the countryman dies, the doorkeeper tells him, “No one else could ever be admitted here, since this gate was made only for you. I am now going to shut it” (184). The gate was private to the countryman, just as the Law was. It was by giving authority to the doorkeeper, and abiding to the doorkeepers command, that the countryman chose what was Law. The countryman could never access the Law by passing through the gate, because passing would have negated the doorkeepers command, thus annihilating the Law. The gate was the access to the Law because it was where creation of and contact with the Law occurred, not because it was a passage to the Law.

Similarly, a text becomes literature when authority is granted to the author (explicitly or implicitly) and the reader accepts it as such. Just as the countryman chose what command from the doorkeeper he would accept as Law, it is the reader that chooses what text from the author will be accepted as literature. The Law or literature (Torah, Law, commandments, writings, narrative, books) is not merely the command or text, it is in its acceptance and use as such. “Who decides, who judges, and with what entitlement, what belongs to the Law?” Answer: the countryman who approaches the gate. “Who decides, who judges, and with what entitlement, what belongs to literature?” Answer: the reader who approaches writing.

i'm pretty much screwed

10 page paper for christian ethics
6 page take home final for christian ethics
20 page take home final for epistemology
10 pages of journals for philosophy through literature
15 page final for philosophy through literature
15 page paper for wittgenstein
7 page paper for ancient philosophy
10 page paper for nietzsche
10 page paper for nietzche
10 page final for nietzsche

total = 113 pages

total pages finished = 5

pages remaining = 108

kill me.