Whether intended by the author or not, I like to look for deeper meanings when I read. I like it when I can apply aspects or ideas from a book to parts of my life—it brings a little more to the experience of reading a book; it makes it more real. Now as to whether the meanings I find are intended by the author or not, I can’t say for sure. But I will say that, as an author, I place meanings in my writing; it actually drives why I write most of the time. I want to find a way to convey something that is important to me through a plot and a character.

Author’s Intentions

In AP English in high school, I always wondered if we were reading more into a text than the original author intended. I suspected that we were—we were placing words in their mouth, so to speak. Now, though, I think I was wrong. Authors know exactly which words they use and why. They agonize over tiny things to make sure what they say is what they mean (and also that it is well obscured and has to be considered, not just blatantly thrown at the reader). So with that in mind, I want to say what I learned from Vango by Timothée de Fombelle.

This is not a novel of incredible and profound writing, but it is complex and speaks of serious things in a very unassuming way. The story itself is well designed and interesting. The themes are well laid out. It took me a little while to fully comprehend what became for me the underlying message. It is one that every person alive asks of themselves at one time (at least one time) in their life. If they like the answer, perhaps they don’t ask again.

If they don’t like the answer, perhaps they bury the question far down within themselves with the hope that it never surfaces again. Some people, maybe more than I think, take that answer and evaluate themselves against it. They wonder if the answer is what they desire it to be. And if not, they do something about it. And perhaps if it is what they hoped, or close to it, they might still make changes to improve upon it.

Who Am I?

The question they ask is: Who am I?

That is the question posed by Vango, page after page, in a most unobtrusive and clever way. Unobtrusive because it is given to you from the outset, but the writing is so good that the reader does not even realize how universal the question is, nor does the reader quite comprehend that the question has been posed. Vango’s circumstances are so unique that it took me about 200 pages before I finally said to myself, “This is not Vango that he is writing about, it is me.”

Who am I? Who are you? Who is anyone?

Vango does not know his origins, his family, his progenitors, or his destiny. He does not know who he is. His only connection to his past is a nameless woman who has forgotten everything about him that she apparently once knew. The rest of the story is Vango’s search for his identity (somewhat Bourne-esque you might say, but with less violence). The reason Vango was interesting for me was because of the universal nature of this basic question.

We all wonder at some moment who we really are. And I don’t mean our name or family history so much as our inner self—our soul. We wonder if this person we are, the person we have become over years of living, is in fact who we wish to be. We might ask if there is something else we might have done that could have taken us down a different path to somewhere else. Jean Valjean asks this question (in song) in the musical Les Misérables when he sings “What Have I Done?” In this song he states “If there’s another way to go/I missed it twenty long years ago.” I think we might all think that at times.

Your Choices and Your Identity

The truth is, there was another way to go, there always will have been, no matter which way we have chosen. But yet, we are where we are and have done what we have done. That cannot be changed. We will never know for sure what would have happened if we had followed another path. We might guess, and be pretty close to a good guess, but we will never know for sure. We never know what might have been. We only know what is.

There are two avenues I would like to explore that come from asking this question. The first is: “Why do we care?” Why does it matter to us who we are?

The second is: “Who should we be?” How can we possibly be unhappy with the answer to the question of who we are? And yet, there are many who are.

The First Question: Why Do We Care?

We care because we want to be something that matters. We want to be more than just a speck of dust on a speck of a planet in a universe so vast that our own insignificance is incomprehensible. We care because we can think of incredible things but yet cannot imagine our own nonexistence (I’ll explain more about what I mean by that in a different post sometime). We care because deep down, we believe we are something and that we mean something.

In my opinion, humans are a dichotomy. And by that I mean we exist in a world that tells us by all its evidence that we are nothing. We are a blip on the timeline of the earth, which is in turn a microblip in the timeline of the rest of the universe (maybe less than a microblip). We are not the strongest creature that we know of, not even close. We are not the biggest, or the fastest, or the longest-lived. We are not a lot of things.

And yet, we do not accept our standing in such terms. This is the dichotomy: we think we matter when all the evidence says we do not. The laws of thermodynamics clearly indicate that eventually everything we have created including our line of biological entities will be reduced to individual particles suspended in an undeviating soup of equal temperature and pressure that can no longer change because all unequal forces will have been resolved and neutralized. What we make and our legacy will mean nothing in such a future. So why do we make a future and cling to it and care about it?

Do we matter or don’t we?

If we are destined for thermodynamic equilibrium, then we do not matter. Our specks of lives on our speck of a planet for our microblip of existence is nothing but wasted energy that serves to only lengthen by negligible amounts the time before complete nothingness.

Fortunately, we are not destined for that. There are many people who do not ascribe to what I am about to say. That is fine with me. But in an honest introspection (a truly honest one), I think the conclusion is inevitable: we do matter. We matter not because of our physical presence or our physical legacy, but because we are more than that. We are dual creatures. We are physical and spiritual. Our  minds and our consciousness is real, and will exist beyond the death of our physical selves.

Religion

This is a concept well-established by religion. It is not so well-received by the philosophy of modern science (although actual science has nothing to say about spiritual existence, there is no proof or disproof of it).

However, outside of religion, and outside of scientific philosophy, I think that the nature of ourselves as more than just a collection of matter that will one day crumble must be accepted if we also accept that our physical world is real. Unless we are only a consciousness experiencing a façade of life interpreted by our mind alone with no true sensory input, then I believe we must accept that we are more than what can be seen and tested. We are more than physical beings. If not, then we would not care what happened beyond our death, neither care what happened before it. And yet, we do.

The Second Question: Who Should We Be?

How can someone ask themselves who they really are, arrive at an answer, and then be disheartened, discouraged, unhappy, disillusioned, or angry? You are who your are and that is who you are. And yet, all of those other emotions and many more follow such introspection (if it is honest). How can that be?

If you’re still reading, perhaps you will stick with me to the end. Depending on what your preconceived opinions are regarding this topic, you might or might not like the ending. I’ll give it to you straight so that you won’t spend any more time reading if you don’t want to: it’s because there is a God. That’s why you might not like what you see when you look at who you really are.

If you’re still reading, perhaps you will stick with me to the end. This is a long discussion, which I will not delve all the way into here. I’ll just stick with the most basic of tenets. It’s essentially this: for us to compare or measure our standing in any way, there must be a standard that is ideal. There must be something that is considered “right” if we are ever to arrive at a conclusion that there is a “wrong.” If there is a right and a wrong way to be, there must be something that defines such a state. And we cannot invent the right and the wrong ourselves—it can’t come from within. There is no such thing as hot or cold if there wasn’t a place to compare. Temperature only has meaning because there is a standard. Right and wrong are the same.

Philosophers

I didn’t invent this line of reasoning, others have written far better things about it than I will (C.S. Lewis for one, Arthur J. Balfour for another). They are what are called Theists, in metaphysical or philosophical terminology. I suppose I’m one too.

There is a drive inside of humans that makes us want to be better, and not just better than each other, although that exists, but also to be better than we were before. We want to improve. If there were no higher standard with which to compare ourselves, we would hardly know that we were not exactly as we should be, or that there could be anything better than we are. Neither could we possibly evaluate what is better or worse. In order to even understand “better” or “worse” there must be some absolute “good” that shows our progress toward or away from it. And that is God.

As I mentioned before, this particular topic could fill pages and pages. I am not going to do that here. I have said enough to at least get you thinking if you are interested in doing so. There is a lot to think about.

When I started reading Vango, this is not where I thought I would end up. But that is true for a lot of things in life, I guess.

“Boo!”

I looked around me, startled; I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I looked at my wife; she seemed just as bewildered as I was.

“Boooo!” some of the audience members drew out their calls of displeasure into a protracted hiss.

For a moment, I wasn’t sure what was actually happening—were these sarcastic boos? Was that a thing? Maybe the actors knew all about it and were in on a joke? I checked their faces, the long line of them standing on the stage, holding hands, taking bows. One singular, tall man stood in front of the rest, bowing to boos. Their faces didn’t radiate being “in” on some audience-actor joke. Instead, they looked to their costar with faces of sympathy as if to say, “Don’t worry, we got your back. You were awesome, as usual.”

And he was. I guess the boos were a testament to that.

Do you hear the people sing?

We had just watched the concluding scene of Les Misérables at a theater in Albuquerque. I loved the music—had loved it for a long time. The show was on tour, and we had purchased tickets at a reasonable price in the 10th row (or something, I really don’t remember, just that they were good seats). I had finished reading the book recently as well (the unabridged—in French—although I skipped some of the chapters, I’ll be honest) and I was really excited to watch the musical. I loved it. I teared up a couple of times—the scene where Fantine invites Valjean into the afterlife gets me every time. Hugo is one of my favorite authors, and perhaps my propensity toward quotes from his works makes that evident.

Back to the booing, though. They were booing Javert. Javert! I know, right? And it wasn’t Russell Crowe, so don’t start that. Javert is possibly the most misunderstood character from that novel, I suppose. A lot of people dislike him, mostly I believe because we have been raised on “Good Guy-Bad Guy” entertainment since birth. When an author like Victor Hugo approaches his pen and paper, he’s not writing a future script for the Avengers, he’s writing about the real world. So Javert is not a villain—he’s a person, a person with weaknesses and strengths, loves and hates, likes and dislikes, notions and opinions (some of which might not agree with yours! Gasp!). Does he try to put Jean Valjean in prison? Yes (note: he’s a policeman, and Valjean is an escaped convict). Does he try to thwart the student revolution in the streets of Paris and spy on their actions during an uprising? Yes (note: see previous—the students were acting illegally). Now I’m not saying Javert was right—but he thought he was, and the law supported him. So was he wrong just because he wasn’t right?

I’ll say this about Javert, he was locked into a mindset and was, by his own acknowledgement, unyielding on that. That’s a weakness—and he’s hardly alone—but it’s also a strength. I would go so far as to say the majority of people posting about politics on Facebook far exceed Javert’s unyielding mindset, to a fault in that such unyielding becomes unbearable. Javert represents a type of mindset from Hugo’s day that was set on the fact that a person’s character was set from birth to death—no chance of altering it. The musical says it this way: “once a thief, forever a thief.” It’s hardly a foreign belief, though, even today.

Who am I?

So why do I claim Javert was right and wrong? Because Javert was wrong morally, from our perspective as all-knowing readers that have seen into the heart of Valjean. We know Jean Valjean was a good man, and had changed, and sought to do good with his second chance. We know what Javert does not know—what the Bishop of Digne saw within Valjean’s heart—that a person is not always stuck where they are right now. We all have potential to be better. Javert was blind to that, and admittedly did not attempt to see it. But Javert was right, too. He was right because there were laws broken that needed to be enforced—and he had committed to doing that as a profession and as a person. Perhaps he over-pursued that commission, but he was certainly honorable about it.

I can only suppose the booers at my showing of the musical were doing so because Javert had filled his role too well. They were so conditioned to view someone that opposed their beloved hero in his mission and quest as the “bad guy,” and they were so ill-versed in theater etiquette, and they were so rude, that they felt the need to boo. Fine. I’m embarrassed to have been in that audience, but I’ll get over it (it’s been more than 10 years, though, so maybe I’m kidding myself. You know what? I’m not going to get over it. That’s my problem, though.).

And now a final thought on Javert’s character: he was not so stoic and immovable as I have made it seem. At the end, he lets Valjean go. He recognizes—against his will, which is harder than it sounds—that Valjean actually has changed, that he is different. He realizes that his lifetime of opinion has been turned upside down. Unfortunately, he finds his only reconciliation with this to be his own demise, which hurts me every time I think of it. I would hope no one else takes Javert’s course and ends their life just because they found out one of their deeply-held beliefs was incorrect. But let us take the lesson from Javert: he changed who he was, too. Even the most opinioned can be softened eventually with truth.

On My Own…

Javert, in my opinion, is a hero of Les Misérables—one of many. He stands there with Jean Valjean in my book. He is one of us—a person—and we owe him some understanding and sympathy. I will quote one of my favorite people at this point, a person that said something better than I could ever say it, not because of the words she used, but because of where she was when she said them and what she had lived through:

“In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can’t build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again.”

-Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl

I believe that. In spite of everything, people really are good at heart. What we see people do comes from somewhere. We don’t know the whys and wherefores of someone else’s life. We don’t know what has brought that person to that point. I don’t think that justifies ill behavior, violence, or other rudeness. But it does mean we shouldn’t be so quick to judge and write someone off. I stand with Javert in the fact that rules and laws ought to be enforced. And I stand with the Bishop of Digne, and with Anne Frank, and with my own conviction, in saying that within everyone, there is good, if we give it a chance.

 

This is not a post about running. Or jogging. This is not about health; at least it’s not about exercise. It is about health in a different way, I guess. It’s about emotional health.

A Universal Need

There is a poem that I love. When I hear it, it always makes me feel introspective, no matter what mood I start out with. Here is a part of it (written by Emma Lou Thayne):

Where can I turn for peace?

Where is my solace

When other sources cease to make me whole?

When with a wounded heart, anger, or malice,

I draw myself apart,

Searching my soul.

Where when my aching grows,

Where when I languish,

Where in my need to know, where can I run?

Where is the quiet hand, to calm my anguish?

Who, who can understand?

He, only one.

This poem was set to music and is a hymn that is sung by choirs, in churches, and by gospel artists (music by Joleen G. Meredith; you can listen to a version of it here if it interests you). There is a strong religious meaning in the words of this poem, and that’s important to me, but I’m not going to talk about that part of it.

Whether we are religious or not, a person of faith or not, the feelings expressed in these stanzas are universally applicable: we all feel like this occasionally. There are days (or weeks, or months, or years) when we end up in what seems like a cave or a pit, isolated from everything good and happy, and we wonder if there is anyone or anything that can reach us. There are times when we all feel trapped and we want to escape but can’t find the way. It is then when we ask the question: “where can I run?”

Sad vs. Depressed

Where can you run? What can you do? Who can understand? It is hardest to run when the pain, the sadness, or the depression is right inside of us. I have felt it before, that stinging feeling in your chest that just drives down inside of you and seems to carve everything out until you feel helpless and empty. That’s usually when we feel completely and utterly alone, too. The causes of such feelings are myriad, and unique to each of us. My life difficulties, my worries, my sadness probably come from different places than yours. But we all have our own sources. It’s inevitable.

Perhaps there is a day that reminds you of a loved one that has passed on. Perhaps you feel disconnected from your peers, and feel friendless or shunned. Perhaps you have made choices or decisions that have isolated you from former friends who now won’t associate with you anymore. Perhaps you have been the victim of abuse, or humiliation, or violence. Perhaps you feel trapped by your life circumstances, or by choices made by others that confine you to a certain place in life. Perhaps you have a clinical or medical condition that causes depression. And there are many other reasons and circumstances beyond my capability to list or comprehend.

I don’t suffer from all of those things, but I do from some.

What is my point in all of this? It’s not to bring you down. Not at all. This topic has been on my mind for a long time, and I feel that writing about it might not only help me, but possibly someone else that reads it as well. No matter what you do, there are some situations that just don’t have a quick fix, either, so this isn’t one of those “never be sad again” posts. Sadness is good, it’s part of who we are. I believe that. I also believe that depression and despair are not good, although they are also a part of who we are. They can be devastating to ourselves and those we care about.

So here’s what I would say to you, all of you, everyone that is ever feeling down, either just a little bit “under the weather” or who is way, way down in the bottom of that well: don’t give up. You are not alone, not in an absolute sense. Every single person you have ever seen or met has felt something of what you are feeling now. Make that thought a starting point.

Where to go for help

Where can we run? Run to positivity; run to goodness; run to happy things. Avoid negativity; avoid being negative and listening to negativity. Give up criticizing others; there are times when you can just let things go, no matter what. Find happy things, things that make you happy, things that make you joyful, and fill your days with those things. To me, doing those things will bring strength and fill that emptiness that is trying to take over.

Listen to the music you love, the music that just makes your heart soar. Listen to it lying in a field looking up at the sky, or staring out the window at the rain, or while you walk through a park or a forest. Find a peaceful place when you need peace in your heart. Find a joyful thing when you are lacking joy. Doing that probably won’t change everything that’s wrong over night, but it will help; it will make a difference. Eventually, it might make all the difference.

A loose translation of one of my favorite quotes from Les Misérables by Victor Hugo: “Many great achievements are accomplished through small battles.” That applies, I believe.

One note here, if you have clinical depression or another medical condition, get professional help and don’t be ashamed in doing it. You can’t just smile your way out of everything.

This is already far too long and probably no one is reading this final thought. But I’m writing this for me as much as anyone. Take some time and look for people around you that might be in that pit, feeling alone. Take a moment and reach out to them, be their “quiet hand to calm [their] anguish.” We’ve all been there, and we can find ways to help each other out, as well.