Elite Head, or Elite Heart?

Well, this is it…the final blog post for AP Lit Senior year. I thought it would get easier as I blogged, but that has not been the case whatsoever. In keeping with my big blog question of “Who are the elite?” I had to take a step back from the extremely difficult book that I recently finished: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce, in order to try to fit this book with my question, but I think I found it—is there a difference between religious and intellectual elitism?

In the novel, the main character, Stephen Daedalus varies his intellectual interests between carrying out Catholicism and delving deeper into intellectual schooling, leaving his old views of the world behind. After Stephen’s act of impurity at a brothel and mandated return to the Church (through his Jesuit education) to hear a long sermon about hell, he seems to change his ways and understand the damnation he could receive without repenting for his sins. Yet Stephen still does not know whether he is truly sorry for his sins or afraid of hell: “Perhaps, concerned only for his imminent doom, he had not had sincere sorrow for his sin?” (Joyce 147). This quote demonstrates the complexity of Stephen’s intellectual mindset, he switches between completely intellectual, decoding his thoughts and feelings on the subject of his repentance, and very subordinate to the Church, knowing that repenting his sins is the only way he will not go to hell. Even though Stephen does go through this change between his religious life and his strictly intellectual life it seems that he believes that he is more elite than anyone else in either position. During his time in pursuing absolute holiness, Stephen believes that he can come to a point in his life where he rarely sins, and tries to be a perfect child of God. Instead, his intellectual approach to his quest for holiness leaves him wanting more and feeling more elite than others around him, even turning down an opportunity to become a priest. Stephen then transitions to a complete intellectual, strictly devoting his life to his studies and ensuring that he is right on all accounts and in all ways, arguing with anyone who has the guts to try and stand up to Stephen. Stephen has an elitist’s perspective with either of his lenses throughout the book, thus maybe illustrating the notion that it is not who is elite, but who believes that they are elite?

A Convincing Identity

To convince oneself is hard enough; to convince others is sometimes near impossible. Convincing a person that they are free after a life of servitude and slavery will probably never truly happen, yet a person’s identity is still shaped by their experiences and their mind may change as their lives transform. So, is there elitism in a person’s identity? Being elite and being a freed slave or a descendant of one seems to be a juxtaposed idea when thinking about the times of slavery in the United States, yet Toni Morrison’s book Beloved seems to take on this idea of a person’s elitism within understanding their identity.

With the arrival of the character Beloved, the ghost of a murdered baby in human form, the mother, Sethe, sacrifices everything to keep Beloved happy. Sethe’s identity is shaped around her life as a murderer of her own child, and Beloved takes advantage of this fact, making Sethe feel guilty when she is not playing with, feeding or helping Beloved. Why then does Sethe continue to shape her identity around Beloved’s needs when she convinced herself that she sacrificed Beloved to keep her safe? Does Sethe actually believe that her actions were justified, or did Sethe convince herself of this? Sethe’s struggle to overcome her identity as a murderer is ultimately conquered when she abandons 124 along with her past, manifested in Beloved, falling into open arms of the townspeople that were so afraid of her for so long.

Does Sethe’s ability to finally release her from the grip of Beloved make her identity any more elite than others identities? Every person’s identity is shaped by many different factors in life, many of which cannot be controlled, so can we really judge who each of us are, or what we do with our identity?

Equal Elites?

What makes a “stranger” so distant from ourselves? Perhaps this question would be too abstract for an existentialist such as Albert Camus, author of The Stranger, but it seems to be fitting after recently finishing this book. In the 21^st century, the connotation of a stranger has a negative response. The brainwashing phrase “don’t talk to strangers” has many people high-tailing themselves away from the unknown.

The detached feelings of not personally knowing someone leaves one believing that they are better than this mysterious person. When reading The Stranger, many of my peers, including myself, could not relate to Meursault and his indifferent attitude towards his life circumstances. Is this the reason that Camus created the main character to be so uncaring or because we, as readers, cannot connect to an unreasonable murderer? Meursault’s crime of killing an Arab, seemingly without regret, is a foreign topic to many readers, one that many may not know how to react. His simple mannerisms and way of living seems to complicate the minds of readers and analysts alike. Some are sympathetic towards his predicament, while others believe he should be justly punished for his crime. Could those who want justice believe themselves to be better than Meursault? We, as readers, may believe that we are more elite than Meursault because we did not kill and are not awaiting an immediate death. In the same way, not naming the characters only described as “Arabs”, Camus creates a feeling of superiority over those that are attacked. The unnamed Arabs detach the reader from ever feeling sorry for the crime being committed because of a lack of connection; therefore many readers may feel that they are better off than a nameless Arab.

In my opinion, I believe that The Stranger changed my view of who exactly the elite are described to be. The book is deceptive in creating a feeling of superiority up until the end, when Meursault is honest with himself in knowing that he will be killed for killing. Although I may have thought of myself as better than Meursault throughout most of the book, his understanding of death creates equality among all people. Do elites really exist when the equality of death is imminent?