Slaughter House Five

Is government necessary for the existence of peace?In the context of Vonnegut’s Slaughter House, we must first define what is meant by “Government.” There is a reason the novel’s first draft was titled “The Children’s Crusade, A Duty Dance with Death.” The satirical element in the book comes into play with the fact that war is inevitable, yet as “easy to stop as a glacier,” (3). The ones who are to do the actual fighting are innocent children—ones who resemble Billy Pilgrim. There is a constant conflict in the novel, whether it be from the bombs that engulf Dresden in flame or the social strain Billy’s accident and his Tralfamadorian travels have created between him and his family. There really isn’t a lot of peace. Billy has a moral conscience which governs him; he weeps at the sight of two broken mares after the bombs have fallen. He could have stopped his death if he had wanted to. He knew his appearance in Times Square would bring bloodshed. But why not act? The tralfamadorians realize the world will end in a catastrophe yet do nothing to prevent this horrible fate. It would have been easy for Billy to evade the bullet—as easy as stopping a glacier perhaps. Yet he chooses not to, realizing time is forever and what happened is lodged in a sort of eternal memory bank. He can relive any moment in his life. I suppose we can interpret government to mean Billy’s conscience in this context. Influenced by Tralfamadorian theory, the innocent and child-like Billy crusades for no cause. There is no reason to stop the glacier, even if it is easy. Impending death does not scare Billy or the aliens—and rightfully if time travel is possible. Billy’s conscience tells him to accept the inevitable—which he does. It creates a kind of peace within him, yet also external conflict with others. If he does nothing, there is conflict, yet if he acts, there is still conflict. Government is a neutral force in this novel. AS confusing as it is, government contributes very little (if nothing at all) to the existence of peace.

Beloved

Throughout Toni Morrison’s Beloved, there is much conflict. Practically all the novel’s characters have been abused both mentally and physically at some point. Protagonist Sethe can never shake her past away—the one filled with innumerable hardships including her own murder of Beloved, her third child. In the present, Beloved incarnates herself in a mature woman’s body and returns from the dead to try and win back Sethe’s affection. Beloved does not fully understand the justification for her death (and neither do the rest of Sethe’s community) and is constantly trying to please her mother. From here, my question becomes more pertinent. It all depends on the interpretation of the word “government,” though. In the novel, the body which possesses the most power and influences the most characters is each individual’s past. All characters are tormented by ugly histories, giving validity to Denver’s claim that nothing ever dies. Slavery was vicious and Morrison makes this very clear. What governs Sethe, Paul D, Denver, and Beloved the most does not necessarily have positive consequences though. The past is here to stay and its memory is the thing that drives Beloved to almost choke Sethe to death and breaks open Paul D’s Tobacco Tin heart. What has happened in the past is so influential on Morrison’s plot that it creates a kind of chaos, especially in the last two chapters. There is no peace, only an angry embodiment of Beloved resurrecting horrible memories and causing conflict. In the context of Beloved, I conclude that it is government which actually creates disorder. By extension, government is not necessary for the existence of peace.

The Stranger

Albert Camus’ The Stranger is certainly one of the strangest books I’ve read in a long time. I absolutely loved it though—even if it only vaguely relates to my blog question. Is government necessary for the existence of peace? Not in this case. Meursault only appears to be tormented. He is questioned by society and labeled a “monster” for the crime he perpetuates and is not really given much of a second chance in court. I conclude that his indifference is what leads him to the guillotine; he is too lazy to defend himself and seems to have no motivation behind his murder. Only annoyance with the sun, he claims, is the spark that drives him to squeeze the trigger. Government has no part in maintaining peace from the perspective of Meursault. He is sane. He is not dangerous. He is simply careless. But of course society takes any action that results in the death of another man a threat to its own wellbeing. Meursault is ironically labeled a criminal and sentenced to death even though he does not have qualities of a killer (i.e. motivation, hate, creed, etc.). Government creates a peace by isolating one who creates disorder and chaos. For the majority, it is Meursault. I suppose it is up to the reader to decide whether or not Meursault’s imprisonment and subsequent death sentence are justifiable. If so, then government has done its job in establishing peace.

Crime and Punishment

Is government necessary for the existence of peace?

Once again, haven't seen that one in awhile.
There is little peace throughout Dostoevsky’s novel. Rodya is always in conflict. After the murder he commits, there's no turning back. He is tormented by his crime, constantly questioning himself and reevaluating his motives. His conscience is what leads to the most conflict in the story. Mentality governs Rodya, and it certainly does not foster peace with the man’s crazy behavior. Towards the end, however, things change. He is captured by love. The presence of Sonya convinces Raskolnikov to turn himself in to the authorities-- something he would have never done. The force which governs him is his attraction to Sonya—the one which propels him to new lengths and coerces him to accept the punishment of his crime. As with many other books I have touched on in this blog, my question can be answered both ways. From the first portion of the novel, the answer is most definitely no. Towards the end, however, Rodya undergoes a sort of transformation and begins to experience a kind of government which fosters peace. “But now in prision, in freedom, [Raskolnikov] thought over and criticized his actions again and by no means found them so blundering and so grotesque as they had seemed at the final time,” remarks the narrator, revealing Rodya’s transformed state. Rodya is finally free. Free of his impudent and persistent mind. Love has found itself a man and set free his conscience. This sort of government inevitably leads to peace.