6 Degree of Separation: From The Origin to….

I have just finished a wonderful book, of which I still need time to digest: Irving Stone's The Origin—a historical account on Charles Darwin. As always with great books, it'd take me much time and efforts to review. On the other hand, my head is full of it and I was eager to write something. Several weeks ago I saw a meme called 6 Degree of Separation (hosted by Kathy), and thought: why not working on one with The Origin? This book has reminded me of many books as I read it, so I think I would work on two different routes of separations, starting both with The Origin. Let's see where it gets! And to make it more interesting, can you guess the relation of each separation only by the title (without reading my explanation)?

From The Origin to The Lord of the Rings

The Origin

Irving Stone has done a tremendous research on the life and work of Charles Darwin, including the reason why he, in the first place, had courageously written and published On The Origin of Species despite his fears of strong rejection and public accusation of blasphemy: it's because he longed to tell the truth!

The truth was also Émile Zola's reason when he heroically published an open letter to the president of France:

The Dreyfus Affair: J'Accuse!

It was Zola's fight against the injustice imposed upon Alfred Dreyfus—a Jewish officer accused of committing treason.

Robert Harris has written a thorough account of the Dreyfus Case in his historical novel:

An Officer and A Spy

The book made it clearly understood that the biggest crime behind Dreyfus Case was racism.

The real event of racism in a higher level could also be found in this history book:

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee

The book retells the history of injustice, genocide, and, at the end, massacre of the native Indian in American West. 

The native Indian was also picked by a German writer who has never been to America but could tell the story so vividly: Karl May with his masterpiece: 

Winnetou (series)

One thing I admired from the series is the true friendship between Winnetou and Old Shatterhand, which overcame their differences—in culture, race, beliefs.

The same true friendship over differences I have also encountered in a fellowship from the other "world" in:

The Lord of the Rings

One of my favorite things from this least favorite book of mine is the friendship of Legolas, the elf, and Gimly, the dwarf. Theirs is nothing compared to Winnetou-Old Shatterhand's, but still... how they could be brothers in spite of their differences, is what we all must keep in world present world full of hatred; is it not?

And there, the first route of separations must end. What do you think? Which part is your favorite? Or do you need a more encouraging piece? Keep reading, then...

From The Origin to La Bête Humaine

The Origin

The easiest path is, of course, that which lead to Charles Darwin's magnum opus:

On the Origin of Species

Darwin's "evolution" was an unprecedented theory amidst the conventional Christian views (that God created living creatures as a whole and unchanged), thus it triggered more disputes between the Church and Naturalists (scientists).

The similar conflict (albeit only in the person of Abbe Mouret) also appears in a book of a naturalist in literary world: Émile Zola:

The Sin of Abbé Mouret

The priest was torn between the rigidness of the Church and the fertility of the Nature. These conflicts eventually led him to committing the sin.

Speaking of sin, reminded me of The Sin which is discussed in:

East of Eden

This is also a magnum opus; of a fiction writer. Besides sin, it also talks about good vs evil--our freedom of choice (or Timshel). This led me to think about...

Lord of the Flies

Remember a bunch of teenagers who was stranded on an uninhabited island? Isn't there one boy who was 'forced' to choose the path of good vs evil, finally chose to keep his common sense, while the others succumbed to their "beast" within or....

La Bête Humaine

Zola highlighted the importance of controlling our beast within in this beautiful yet provoking novel.

And so, that's the end of the second route of the separations.

Tell me, which route do you like most?

East of Eden by John Steinbeck

While reading East of Eden last month, my caption on an Instagram post was: "Sometimes a novel can explain the Bible better than a priest." And that was true. Seldom before this, have I ever been questioning why Cain was evil, while Abel was all good, in the Book of Genesis.

If you have not been familiar with the story, East of Eden is following the lives of two families in Salinas Valley: the Trasks and the Hamiltons; though along the way I felt that the Trasks were the center of this book, while the Hamiltons only its satellite. It was within the Trask dynasty that Steinbeck imitated the Book of Genesis, by naming its member (and drawing their destinies) following the symbol of good versus evil: Cain and Abel (C & A). The first generation siblings were Charles and Adam. Like Cain, Charles envied his brother Adam because, loving his father so much as he was, the father preferred Adam's birthday gift than his. Ironically, Adam did not love his father, even almost hated him for forcing him to be a soldier; while Charles loved his father silently, and longed for his affection, but never got it. At one point Charles tried to kill Adam, but failed. And from then on he grew sour in life.

Fast forward. Adam had two sons—twins—who he christened as Caleb and Aron (again, C & A). I don't have to mention which was the symbol of evil and which the good! The envious relationship between brothers was repeated here. Aron was a lovely child, and since birth has effortlessly won everyone's affection, including his father, which made him a spoiled child. While Caleb was a brooding and sinister child. But luckily, this new generation has had a loyal servant in their houshold; an intelligent Chinese man called Lee. It was Lee who first brought up the famous "Timshel" issue onto the surface.

Timshel is a Hebrew word for "thou mayest" in Genesis 4:12: "When thou tillest the ground, it shall not henceforth yield unto thee her strength; a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth." (KJV) There were many discussions among Lee and several scholars concerning this particular verse. Different English translations had their own interpretations of this word. But the scholars offered different point of view. The more perfect translation should have been "thou mayest", which could be interpreted as choice, instead of order ("do thou" in other versons) or promise ("thou shalt" in King James Version). This threw a different perspective concerning the original sin we inherited from Adam and Eve. It meant that being good or evil was not rooted from our ancestors, but was all in our OWN choice. We may be good if we choose to.

Back to the story, like Cain, Charles and Caleb were both tainted with the same evil mark. Unfortunately, Charles didn't have a "Lee", who in Caleb's case has totally changed him and, I believe, many lives around him, by giving Caleb a second chance to be better.

Speaking about inherited sin, I have not mentioned the "Eve" aspect. Like in the Book of Genesis, here we have Cathy—Adam’s wife and Caleb and Aron's mother—a woman who seems—if it is possible—to be born with neither heart nor conscience. At first I thought Steinbeck might have used her only as a symbol of evil; for how could a human being be such heartless? But after following her until the end—and reflecting on the “timshel”, I think Cathy was as normal as you and me. She could have chosen the good path, but she took the evil. One thing still puzzled me though. I wonder, do you think the balance between good and evil in us is the same for each person? And is it only love (and the absence of love) that makes the difference? I see the proof in Cathy, Charles, and Caleb (the “C” club), and perhaps Aron too. Adam, however, is an interesting case for me. He did not feel his father’s love; he actually loathed Trask senior. Then how could he grow up an honest, forgiving, incorruptible man? Well…. I guess this is the part where we should say: “It’s God’s mystery…” So, I will end this post by granting 5 of 5 stars for this magnificent book—the magnum opus of Mr. Steinbeck! There were actually more layers of the story to dig out, but this post is already too long, and I think I’d prefer to save them for my future reread, anyway. :)

On “Timshel” [East of Eden] | The Freedom of Choice

I have been a bookworm since before I could even read. My mother used to read for me from illustrated children stories. So, my earliest knowledge about good and evil came from tales such as Hansel and Gretel or Cinderella, where the villains were always totally evil and the main protagonists purely innocence. That formula then shaped my perspective about the world through my childhood.

When I was about 10 or 11 years old and already been bored with my children books, my father—from whom I inherited the love of books—suggested that I tried Agatha Christie for a change. I picked After the Funeral from school library, and was instantly falling in love with Christie's. I don't remember the exact title, but one of the books has really shattered my conviction about good and evil. The pattern repeated while I ploughed through nearly all Christie’s book. Christie's murderers were mostly ordinary, good, respectable persons who, when being under certain pressure, decide to commit murder. From Christie I learned that a murderer does not have different qualification from normal persons—which until then I was certain I never possess. This suggested that every human being has the possibility to commit murder. It only needs a decision. It really made me shuddered when I came to this conclusion. I imagined that with only a weapon (and it could be just a pair of scissors or a penknife) I could have killed someone if I decided to. I, too, could have been a murderer. And like all teenagers, there was really a phase when I hated many things in the world; which only added to my fear of myself! Like Christie said, murder is simple. And that thought has literally ended my childhood innocence.

Fast forward; like everybody else, I read Harry Potter series. On the last chapter of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Harry's youngest son Albus Severus has been worried that he might be sorted to Slytherin on his first departure to Hogwarts; to which Harry calmed him: "Albus Severus Potter, you were named after two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was the bravest man I've ever known. […] If it really means that much to you, you can choose Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account." It implies that being good or evil is our own choice; the decision is in our hand; others will only “take our choice into account”. Really, if I have not, at that time, been impressed by J.K. Rowling's power of storytelling, that passage only would have made me love Harry Potter. Of course, ever since the Agatha Christie period, I have learned much about freewill and "God created everything good" doctrines; but that passage has strengthened my believe, that to be good or evil is our own choices—the freewill God has imposed upon us, which no one—not even Himself—can take from us.

For quite a long time afterwards, I held on to that conviction. Then I got to know one 19^th century French writer who then became my most favorite author: Émile Zola. As much as I admire and respect his works on the heredity and environment effect on shaping human psychology, I can’t help thinking that Zola’s characters seem always to be imprisoned by this handicap (heredity illness). And while I always love his beautiful prose and mind-blowing stories—and I do admire his genius study on this subject—I also keep asking myself: “But what about freewill?” Maybe that’s why Zola has never been as much respected as his piers—because he praised the nature of man more than his divine quality.  

Fast forward again… Many classic pieces that I have devoured these years talked about conscience and freewill (William Golding’s Lord of the Flies is one of them), but they did not struck me as heavy as John Steinbeck’s magnum opus that I have just read: East of Eden. It’s as if John Steinbeck, through this magnificent book—and its prominent keyword: timshel—is re-convincing me about the goodness of man. That no matter how bad, how evil, how monstrous were our ancestors, and how thick their blood is inside our veins, it is what we choose that in the end matters, because God has imposed us with the most precious gift: the freedom of choice.