Philosophical Writing Style Sample

This essay, among several lost others, were prepared for an Honors class which focused on the Philosophy of Evolution or something of that sort. The class was incredibly interesting, the challenge was in the writing style expected of the students. Thus far, the english composition essay format practiced ad nauseam always included no "I" writing, no skimping of verbiage, and no outright listing of intentions or repetition. Philosophical writing, much like writing in any other discipline, necessarily requires some stylistic changes. Unfortunately for my grade in the class, these changes had to be learned, polished, and applied on the run. Of the writing styles with which I am familiar, it is my personal belief that the Philosophical style of writing is a bit too repetitive and windy.

Human Altruism: A Social Remnant

From Simpler Times

By: Nathaniel E. Kistner

Final Essay submitted in partial fulfillment

Of requirements for Hon 3010

Dr. Robert Northcott

Altruism: A Social Remnant From Simpler Times

For several centuries now, psychology has been trying to explain why humans have the capacity for the hatred, evil and outright nastiness that we naturally do. We kill, torture, steal, rape and wage all-out war against people whom usually we have never so much as said a word to. It would seem, however, that after behavioral science got tired of trying to figure out the complex puzzle of human egoism, that someone stood up and asked the opposite question: what about altruism? Just as sure as each action has an equal and opposite reaction, such is the same for the ambivalence inherent in human behavior. Sure humankind can be terribly nasty to one another, but at the same time, most individuals can go out of their way to be quite nice to one another, often again, to people that they have never met and will most likely never see again. Basically, the question that is now baffling the most inquisitive minds is why are we nice to one another? Ever? I believe that the answer lies primarily in the genes, and I will elaborate why. Of course nobody these days has the technology to pick out a specific gene, hang it up and say: “yes, that there is the ‘nice guy’ gene, we’ll just have to mark that one”, but there are several evolutionary clues within the history of humankind, our behavior and the history of our nearest brethren in the animal kingdom that can help us out along the way. In this paper I plan on illuminating for you just a bit, the word “Altruism”, and from there talk a bit about social species and exactly how altruism is selected for. Next, I will explore on how altruism goes from a simple programmed behavior to an actual decision, and how we feel about it. Next I will visit a bit with our closest evolutionary brethren, the Chimps and the Bonobos and compare their behavior to our own before closing with a few remarks.

Before going on too wild a tangent talking about human altruism, let us go ahead and distinguish it from everything else by defining its opposite: egoism. Egoism is the proposal that all human behavior at its core, no matter what the behavior, can be boiled down to the human need do what’s good for oneself- looking out for your “number one”. Egoists believe that no matter how seemingly selfless the behavior is on the surface, there is an ultimately selfish reason for it. For example, if you hold a door for somebody on your way out, you only did it because it made you feel good, or because secretly, your hoping that the individual that you helped will eventually reciprocate in some way, whether you know them or not. An egoist would look at the life of someone like Mother Theresa and say that all of her good works were to keep her religious mind from tearing her apart with guilt on a daily basis, not because it made other people happy. This may seem a bit on the pessimistic side, but this is how an egoist would define most behaviors, as ultimately self serving. This school of thought hinges upon the idea of the “selfish gene”, a concept that ultimately crops up in any discussion about the philosophy of biology or genetics. The concept of the “selfish gene” is the idea that any single gene has the ultimate goal of furthering its existence and the existence of its copies and hang any other version of said particular gene. From a Darwinian point of view, any such gene is not only wonderfully well constructed but stands to be selected for more often than other, less “selfish” genes. So since humans have grown to be so massive, so dominating a species, then they must have adapted at least slightly more successfully than virtually any other species, right? And since ultimately, (at least from a Darwinian perspective), we are just the product of all of our genes, then we must ultimately be terribly selfish creatures, made up of nothing but selfish genes. Advocates of the school of altruism do not deny the existence of “selfish genes”, nor even selfish behavior, but they do insist that there can exist something more beyond that (Batson 4).This is because humans have the capacity for altruism, sometimes to the point of taking themselves out of the gene pool for good, and such behaviors simply do not fit into an egoist perspective. In fact, for some time many kept the realm of altruism restricted only to behaviors ending in self sacrifice, (Campbell 1975, 1978; Hatfield, Walster and Piliarin, 1978; Krebs, 1970,1982; Midlarsky, 1968; Wispe 1978), these would cite examples of martyrs, heroes and such of the like to which the cost of their altruism is ultimately very high, often to the point of death (Batson 6). While these examples certainly cannot be discounted from the definition of altruism, to keep the definition limited only to such extremes makes it much more difficult to find altruism in daily life, much less to prove that it can ultimately be selected for in an evolutionary setting. Comte’s (1851-1875) concept of Altruism stated that altruism is: “any social behavior that was an expression of an unselfish behavior to ‘live for others’” (Batson 5). This definition works but is difficult to get a firm handle on. So far, the definition that I like best, and plan on adhering to throughout the duration of this work is that of Batson’s altruism, which holds that altruism: “…is a motivational state with the ultimate goal of increasing another’s welfare.” (6). I like it because the altruist doesn’t have to 1) kill themselves, 2)devote to much time to being altruistic 3) do a whole lot more than simply being nice, in order for this definition to still remain workable. Besides, all in all, the only reason why altruism is even questioned is because it crops up in so many small, daily ways. The question is not, “why hold a door for someone instead of blowing them away”, but rather: “why do we care whether or not that person ever makes it through the door at all if we don’t know them, and will never see them again?”

What makes altruism a difficult topic is the fact that only recently have evolutionary biologists began to allocate discussion to human altruism, and currently very little is allocated at all (Monroe 162). What’s more is that the relative empirical rarity of altruism could make it quite easy to simply be explained away as a genetic aberration or misfire, but it’s the persistence of altruism that makes this difficult (Monroe 161). Evolutionary biologists, however, cannot hope to solve the question of altruism without first building some theories about the evolution of social behavior, after all, if we were not social creatures, we would never have a chance of being altruistic. Only recently has any evolutionary theory of sociality even been explored as a central problem for modern evolutionary biology (Boorman 3).

Currently, in the world of the living, there are at least 1 million distinct animal species (and that is being conservative), and of those only a tiny fraction display anything close to what could be considered as true sociality (Boorman 2). A majority of these species are limited to colonial insects such as termites and the nearly 7600 described species of ant (Boorman 4). In fact, of all the vertebrate mammal species, the ones that exhibit some of the most complex sociality are those belonging to the primate order (Boorman 4). Of all of the species currently living on earth, those which exhibit advanced social behavior, including humans and eusocial insects, are the most successful forms of biological organization that have ever existed thus far (Boorman 3). The social behaviors of most insects and even primates can hardly be called altruistic, however, and many would argue that most of these species (especially the eusocial insects) lack the mechanisms to endow them with the capacity to have inner motives at all. This is not the point though, because although these behaviors are not necessarily chosen behaviors, reflecting an altruistic state of mind, they are social and seemingly unlearned behaviors. Ants and other social insects are born knowing exactly their place, and exactly what to do, and go to work doing it immediately. This is perhaps because along the way, somewhere, there were genes that were selected for those particular patterns, and individuals lacking those certain genes were left in the evolutionary dust. Could this not also be the reason for altruism to exist today? After all, in most cases, altruism can be extraordinarily helpful, and must have been even more so in days long past in the history of human evolution. The fact that it exists today may simply be because at one time, it was selected for, and since then, it has not been selected against. This would quite clearly make a good case for why altruistic behavior occurs in such a wide range of frequencies and propensities. Simply put, once we needed it, now we don’t but it doesn’t hurt to still have it. Surely are few martyr genetic lines that still exist today, but the lines for people who are “pretty nice most of the time” have no reason to have been selected against.

In the days of the old hunter-gatherer tribes, social groups were small, and to work together was to survive better. In fact, evidence suggests that 150,000 years ago, the struggle for survival endured by the earliest human tribes became so severe that war among groups was quite commonplace, and often took place over rights to foraging grounds or other food sources (Love thy…1). In these days of small tribal groups, such warfare could result in the destruction of entire local populations, wiping out entire groups of multiple genetic lines (Love thy…1). It is hypothesized by some evolutionary biologists that altruistic behaviors may have begun to evolve during this time, during which altruism may have conferred an overall survival advantage to the entire group. Altruistic behavior would theoretically greatly reduce the costs of inter-tribal combat, thereby helping to preserve an individual tribe’s numbers, making them more efficient at waging war (Love thy…2). For instance, let us assume that amongst a tribe is two families, (hopefully the tribe is much greater in number than just the two families but for now only two of them are our focus). Now let us assume that family A and family B’s primary males are both involved in a war between another clan, let us assume that B suffers a broken leg during combat, making it impossible for him to hunt or gather anything until it knits. Instead of this injury becoming fatal to B and all of B’s family and offspring, A and A’s family helps to take care of B and helps to feed B’s family until B is back into good condition. Now, instead of A being all alone, he still has B and B’s family, so that next time if A is the one that is hurt, A will have someone to cover for him and help nurse him back to health. Such altruism could also be applied to hunting, say, if A and B were this time out hunting, and came across a mountain lion. Now, mountain lions, unlike larger cats hunt and live almost completely in seclusion except for during mating season. Let us assume that the mountain lion attacks, and because it is alone, A and B both together stand a fighting chance against it. Assuming both win, their altruistic and cooperative genes stand to live another day to reproduce, whereas the mountain lion’s more solitary genes are lying out on the forest floor. A or B could have easily just ran off, leaving the other to keep the lion busy, but this would leave the lion alive to attack another day and possibly finish the job. Moreover, other members of the tribe, if aware of what happened, may be less inclined to help should a similar situation crop up. In this light it is easy to see how cooperative altruistic tendencies could have been selected for and began to adapt. But there is much more to altruism beyond simple cooperation and sociality, and there exists separate theories about several types of altruistic behavior.

Amongst selection theories for altruism there are three that are universally agreed upon: Kin selection, Reciprocity selection, and Group selection. We have already seen Group Selection in action just a bit earlier. Group selection acts if a specific population is divided into denes (reproductively separate “islands” as it were), and if a dene’s extinction were to take place, group selection acting through such extinction favors any gene that lowers the likelihood of the denes extinction (Boorman 5). Simply put, Group selection favors groups with genes that reduce their likelihood of extinction, whether it be a propensity for hunting, or working together, or caring for one another.

Kin selection is perhaps the most noticeable type of selection still active today. Kin selection is cuts its roots in Mendelian genetics and inheritance. According to Mendelian genetics, any brother and sister pairing shares 50% of the same genetic material, first cousins share 1/8, parent / offspring groups 1/4 and so on. Kin selection favors any set of genes that controls kin altruism behavior which benefits genetic kin at some cost to the individual altruist (Boorman 5). This type of selection considers a gene successful only if a significant number of genes is saved in relation to the amount put on the line by the altruistic individual. Basically, if you are protective of your kin, at least some of your genes will carry on even if your own full set does not.

Reciprocity Selection is second only to Kin selection in this day and age. According to the theory of Reciprocity selection, cooperative behavior on average increases the total fitness of both or all of the cooperative individuals (Boorman 5). This theory is called “reciprocal” because in most cases, both individuals gain from the partnership, and are successful if “average” fitness is increased, even if one individual’s fitness is slightly decreased. In this way selection favors genes which govern cooperation between individuals who need not in general be related at all (Boorman 5). It is possible that due to this sort of selection, humans were actually able to succeed past the hunter/gatherer roles that found the first humans on the lower rungs of the food chain in the beginning.

Our altruistic tendencies are not simply a product of genetic selection itself. Of course when dealing with any organism, just about anything boils down to genetics. But altruism, it would seem has several different origins. After all, we feel something when we do anything. We feel good when we help someone in need, and feel slight pangs of guilt when we do not (generally speaking). These feelings, Victor Johnston would say, are called primary feelings, emotions and hedonic tones of being pleasant or unpleasant which were naturally selected for reproductive success (Peters 334). Our feelings are based in our neurological and endocrine systems responses and are functions of different parts of the limbic system and the human brain (Peters 329). One such subdivision for instance is primarily concerned with flight-or fight responses, providing us with feelings such as fear, anger, and the vast spectrum of intensities that such feelings occur in. Depending on the circumstances in which these emotions occur, they can provide the individual with the necessary value system for learning to adapt to rapidly changing aspects of the environment and can provide that extra edge needed for survival (Peters 340). Just the existence of these systems and abilities are the very product of the survival to reproductive age, reproduction, and care for offspring plus the additional advantages resulting from altruistic and social behaviors of past generations up until today.

What about nurture though? We talked about the ‘nature’ side of altruism, what about ‘nurture’. Could we be altruists because we were raised that way? Clearly just about every human culture you could scrutinize today has it’s own code of morals, manners and taboos, and most of them are fairly similar to one another. So are we a product of our environments? Let’s look at some our genetically closest brethren, the chimpanzees, and the bonobos. Truly, our closest living relative in actuality is the bonobo, more so even than the chimpanzee. This is commonly overlooked however because the latter is famous for using tools, while the former is famous for promiscuous sex, not a favorite topic amongst evolutionary scientists most likely. Around 6-8 million years ago, it is surmised that our ancestors split genetically from the bonobo / chimp group and later became the first early humans (Kaplan 2). Shortly thereafter, the split formed between bonobo and chimp formed and they both went their separate ways. Amongst the differences between bonobos and chimps, are their differences in attitude. Chimpanzees are well known for their reputation for aggression and outright bloodshed and brutality (Kaplan 2). Chimpanzees are ruthless hunters with a taste for meat, often seen grabbing smaller monkeys and bashing them against rocks in their environment before feasting on their flesh. Chimps also war against one another for mating rights and often beat uncooperative females. Chimps are highly social but are lead by the males of their groups. The alpha of which is usually the biggest, strongest, and the most ruthless. Bonobos on the other hand are peacable, calmer creatures. Bonobos are docile, and are never aggressive or murderous towards one another. Their social groups are led by the females (who are generally slightly bigger) and they portray the characteristics of compassion, altruism, patience, empathy, and sensitivity (Kaplan 2). They spend much of their time embracing, cuddling and have far more casual sex than do the chimpanzees. In fact, when a group of chimpanzees meets a neighboring group, the result is often an all out war which usually leaves many individuals beaten and sometimes dead. In contrast, when neighboring groups of bonobos meet, the female members will engage the male members of the other group in casual sex. Lately, the question of the behavioral influence on these two types of primates is not one of genes, but more of surroundings. These two species have habitats which are so vastly different and separate that the two never meet under normal circumstances. The differences in their behavior are postulated to be rooted in their lifestyles. Chimpanzees’ natural habitats are full of hardships: difficult to obtain food sources, poisonous plants, and predators. By contrast, the bonobos lifestyles are relatively carefree, they have an abundance of food sources which meet their every dietary need nearby, and they are relatively easy to get to. Bonobos failure to use tools stems from the lack of necessity to. Could it be then, that the carefree, loving altruistic lifestyle of the bonobo is due in part to its habitat and not entirely to its genetics? Biological scientist are trying to solve this problem currently. However, the problem is proving difficult because switching these creatures to different habitats ruins the natural order of their lifestyle. Such is the difficulty that faces any question relating to behavioral biology, making it of the more difficult biological realms for scientists to handle.

My hypothesis is this: in days of yore, when humankind was skirting the line between extinction and survival, altruistic behaviors and the ability to work together to help one another survive are what put humankind over the hump and provided us with the extra boost needed to make it to the top of the food chain. Up until present day, it has not necessarily been strongly selected for, but it also hasn’t been selected against. This is why some people are more helpful than others, but everyone has some propensity to help out at least a little bit. Why are we altruistic these days when it does not confer any advantage to us now? The answer is: because we used to have to in order to make it as a species. Some of it hinges on some strange inborn need to help each other out, some because we feel good about doing it, and the rest may be due to our environment. Let’s face it, many societies have it pretty good when it comes to meeting and then surpassing basic human needs. So we can afford to help out because we have time to, it doesn’t always cost us much. Another hypothesis that may have some bearing is that we help out sometimes because we spend the rest of our time looking out for ourselves (Graeber 212). Each developed society in the world today has some type of money – based market. It is usually in those societies that we see the most “senseless” altruism (Graeber 213). Perhaps the existence of such constant selfishness is another reason for the existence of our altruism. After all that looking out for ourselves, maybe we just have to get a little altruistic behavior out of our systems.

Works Cited

Batson, Daniel C. The Altruism Question, Toward a Social-Psychological Answer.

Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Hillsdale, New Jersey. 1991.

Boorman, Scott A; Levitt, Paul R. The Genetics Of Altruism. Academic Press, NY, 1980.

Graeber, David. “Army of Altruists”. Harpers Magazine. Essy 31. Jan. 2007.

Kaplan, Matt “Make Love, Not War”. New Scientist. 02624079, 12/2/2006, Vol. 192,

Issue 2580

“Love Thy Neighbour – So you Can Kill The Others Off”. New Scientist. , 02624079,

12/16/2006. Vol. 192, Issue 2582

Monroe, Kristen Renwick, The Heart Of Altruism- Perceptions of a Common Humanity.

Princeton University Press. Princeton, New Jersey. 1996.

Nichols, Shaun. Mindreading and the Cognitive Architecture Underlying Altruistic

Motivation. Mind & Language. Vol. 16 No. 4 September 2001, pp. 425-455

Peters, Karl E. Pluralism and Ambivalence in the Evolution of Morality. Zygon, vol. 38,

No. 2. June 2003.

A novel which never made it out...

Prior to a long gap in my archive, there is one piece which I began composing at the beginning of my UMSL career. This novel, the premise of which is not plainly clear in the few pages here and shall remain undisclosed in case I should decide to finish the book, never got very far as my academic career became far more busy as I entered UMSL.

I like this work, though it does portray an air of some lack of development, and should like to re-vamp it and finish it one day when I have more free time.

One

Three men in Armani suits come to fisticuffs, literal fisticuffs, sliding across the long, mahogany table, turning over mugs of coffee and all but obliterating the black, squat, space-age teleconference machine adorning the table as centerpiece. They tug, pull and rip one another’s suit jackets spraying cufflinks and buttons everywhere, skittering across the table top, and bouncing across the room; one grazes Malcolm’s Dockers-clad shin. Malcolm Davis, looking up, doesn’t even seem to grasp the hilarity and gravity of the situation. He is in another place- any place but here. Two pudgy, over-the-hill security guards come clamoring in the door and drag the two over-emotional men out of the now cluttered boardroom. Another eight men in their three-piece suits look on, regaining their poise and composure, straightening ties and clearing throats, the deal will continue as planned. Just like that, a man at the end of his game loses his entire life’s work to a man with more power, money and youth. Just like that, what was his now belongs, like so many others to one man. That one man happened to be the CEO and part-owner of Goliath Conglomerates Incorporated, a Mr. Everett S. Livingston. And just like that, Malcolm had his story.

Malcolm was working, quite against his better judgment, for the publication by the name of “Businessman’s Monthly”. He hated it. He hated the fact that he had to write what people told him to write. He hated the fact that he couldn’t write about subjects which he gave a damn for. But most of all, Malcolm Davis hated the fact that it was the only way for him to make even a paltry living. Malcolm Davis was a sellout in his mind and he hated that most of all.

It wasn’t as if Businessman’s Monthly was a bad publication, on the contrary it was quite good, not only the top Business-related publication in the city, but it was amongst the top in the nation. Malcolm had always thought that the name of the magazine was a big, public, menstruation joke, and that often gave Malcolm a bit of an edge at office parties and such. That, he didn’t mind. It wasn’t as if he hated the business world either, there was even a semester or two during college that Malcolm had majored in Business- he was fine with that. But Malcolm had always considered himself a writer, not a journalist- an artist, not a reporter. Every time he found himself submitting a story about what somebody wanted to hear, a little bit of him felt dead.

‘Businessman’s Monthly’ had been around since the time of the great depression.

Back in those days it was mostly just a club, more than anything. A handful of down-on-their-luck businessmen who had to find something with which to occupy their time and keep them from contemplating the end. Several of them had a bit of a knack for writing, so from their collective intellects and boredom was spawned a small circular, usually no more than a few pages.

As it happened, one of the men involved, a Mr. Jordan Farlane, eventually found his way back to his feet, and began to set aside capital for his new project: the birth of “Businessman’s Monthly”. It was to him that those men had come to owe their lives and eventual riches to. But, it was to his grandson, Rufus Farlane, that Malcolm owed his job.

* * *

Malcolm hailed a cab outside of Goliath, a building which he secretly couldn’t wait to get the hell away from. Though he thought it was cowardly and silly, somehow the look of the towering edifice, and the artistic, backlit ‘G’ logo gave him the absolute creeps. He could swear the ‘G’ looked like Satan, Malcolm always did have a creative intellect.

Stepping into the cab, he was immediately hit by the smell of a stifling amount of lavender air-freshener, which was an obvious cover-up for a smell that was not far removed from that of throw-up.

“Afternoon there Mr. Big business man!” the cabbie piped. “Taking an early lunch break I see, well I must tell you I think I know the perfect place for a man of your stature and position, that’s not to say that I think I know you, in actuality I don’t know you at all, course how well does one really know anybody, I mean we barely know ourselves, how are ya’ by the way? Names Bob but you can call me Robert!” The cabbie spoke feverishly and never stopped for a breath. He was a thin man, wiry with a scant bit of hair covered up by one of those god-awful golfers caps.

“God, please, I’m not a “businessman”, I’m a journalist. And as a matter of fact-”

Bob the cabbie opened his mouth again and began spewing words, running poor Malcolm right over: “God?? No, no god here, just me, good old Bob- but you can call me Robert. Course you know I guess ya’ cant say no god a-tall, because of course old god, well he’s everywhere, he’s nowhere, he’s in the trees and all.”

Malcolm felt it was his turn to interrupt, “Look,” Malcolm rubbed the back of his neck (as he often did when he was uncomfortable), “can we just listen to some music, I just got out of someplace I really didn’t want to be and my head is just frigging pounding- I’m sorry- please?”

Bob the cabbie fell quiet. Was he hurt? Malcolm had wondered.

“No problem a-tall,” Bob began yet again, apparently unscathed: “If it’s one thing old Bob knows how to do it’s stop when he’s supposed to stop, ya’ get a red light, well by me, you stop dead, and buddy I got a red light outta you so I tell you what I’m gonna do I’m gonna stop right now.”

But Bob didn’t stop, in fact, Bob didn’t breathe.

“So if you hated it so much in there why would you be in that particular building in the first place? I mean Goliath incorporated is a place for businessmen among businessmen, and you said yourself you ain’t no businessman so then just what were you doing then?”

Finally, Malcolm was given a long pause, a reprieve, a miracle.

“As I said, I’m a journalist, I have to do a piece on Goliath incorporated and this new acquisition of Allied Steel. It’s apparently a big deal you know?” Malcolm let his head roll back, remembering the veins on the poor old bastard’s head when he flew across the conference table.

“Oh sure, sure,” Bob began again, this time Malcolm blamed himself: “That Allied Steel has been around for quite some time, quite some time indeed, in fact it was one of the few little dealies that made it through the depression, that and that magazine, ‘Businessman’s Monthly’, great magazine, great history. You know that magazine-“

Malcolm could take little more, he had nearly rubbed his neck clean off by now.

“Please, I know, I work for them, I write for them, I live there, I KNOW. Okay? Spare me? Please? I’m exhausted and I think you’re beginning to make my ears bleed.”

Malcolm again let his head roll, out of the little triangular side window, he noticed two girls playing with a pile of broken glass at the mouth of a rather dank-looking alleyway. They had chosen a spot just on the edge of the shade from the waning sunlight, and were apparently trying their best to shred themselves to ribbons. They were twins, that much was for certain, of about six or seven years old, though they lacked the usual energetic giddiness of the youth of that age. One was dressed like every china doll Malcolm had ever seen- red and white candy stripes with lace. Her little head was covered with bouncy blond curls, held back by ribbons on two sides. The other though, was clad in perhaps the filthiest most decrepit nightgown one could’ve found. Her hair was like a dirty wire brush.

At once, they both looked up at Malcolm. He gasped, the shadow cast by the building next to them darkened out their faces and eyes, they looked almost ethereal and really rather creepy. The dirty one smiled at him, the most tranquil, sweet smile Malcolm had ever seen, but with a bittersweet tinge that made Malcolm nearly want to cry. Her cleaner counterpart, in contrast, stared upon Malcolm with an empty, nearly scowling gaze; Malcolm had to look away.

“Those girlies are all over town, I tell you I see ‘em everywhere, and I would know, I know this town like nobody else.” Bob had noticed them too. “Your magazine, you know,” he began again, “is that a funny name or what?” This time, the cabbie actually waited for an answer.

“What do you mean, it’s just a name man.” Malcolm replied.

“Monthly?” Bob-you-can-call-him-Robert began, “Businessman’s Monthly? Well if you ask me it sounds a bit like a little joke, you know, ‘monthly’? Get it? Like when a woman-well…you know.” The taxi came to a stop, “here ya go pardner, safe and sound.”

Malcolm grabbed his things, hoisting himself up and unsheathing a single cigarette, “thanks pal, what’s the damage?”

“Damage?” Bob began, “nope, no damage here chief, I was on my way someplace myself, you seem to be having a tough go of it so don’t you worry about it, next time maybe.”

The taxi sputtered off and turned the corner. Malcolm headed up to the door of the apartment building. “That’s weird,” Malcolm stopped, speaking to himself, and then continued down the sidewalk. He couldn’t ever remember telling the cabbie where he lived. Maybe he’d had him before, maybe he needed some sleep for Christ sakes. Turning on his heels he headed away from home and down the street to Caffeine, Bean, and Espresso Machine.

Malcolm breathed putrid Camel fumes, “I wonder if Chrysta is on tonight”.

* * *

Two

The analog Westclox on the wall seemed to tick louder and louder the more attention Chrysta paid to it. When she looked away, the grinding, almost malignant ticking noise disappeared from her soft ears.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” Chrysta had thought to herself.

When Chrysta looked again at the jumping, crawling hand, the noise started again, weak at first, and then gradually gaining intensity like the crescendo of a drum line. She could nearly feel her life slipping away tick by tick.

“Hey sweet-thing, cud’ja top me off?” A wiry, almost too skinny man with a thick, wild salt-and-pepper beard rasped at Chrysta. He had warm eyes.

“Sure thing Bry-man,” She smiled her wry smile that drove most of the men in her life wild. Malcolm had always said she had the charisma of Hollywood stuck in a waitress in Chicago.

“Why you gotta call me that ALL the time hon? C’mon.” Brian reached both hands out as if to plead, or receive a communion.

“Can we do just Brian once in awhile, Bry-man is so…”

Bry-man paused, reaching for words.

“…gay…”.

Brian, Bry-man, had been coming to Leon’s for four years now. When the First Stop-Last Stop, auto parts outlet would close, that’s when Brian would saunter in the door. Every night, nine-fifteen, and there he would sit, over a cup of roofing-tar flavored black coffee into which he always snuck something which Chrysta had assumed was whiskey or something equally as nasty. Four years ago, his wife had passed away, four years ago, Brian started coming in and, by now, like it or not, Chrysta felt that she knew Brian’s life story.

“Do you remember what I told you about that name, fuzzy?” Chrysta leaned in close and refilled the stained coffee cup in front of Brian. “Or does your ‘cough syrup’ there come with crazy pills too?” She winked.

Brian said nothing, only turning his palms upward, and made a face.

“You stop being the Bry-man, when I stop being the sweet thing,” she turned and set the coffeepot on to brew again, “…and that’s all there is to it…” the flourished, tossing her hair over one shoulder and throwing a one-eyed stare, “…sweet thing…”

Rusted bells jingled, pounding in the heads of the waitress and regular, the first noise above their voices in over an hour. Save for the cook in back who was, in all probability, getting stoned in the walk-in fridge, they were the only two souls in the entire diner, and had been for some time, and would continue to be.

“I need a drink, now please,” the man staggering in the door didn’t wait until he had both feet in to ask. His voice was choked, labored, and sounded as if it had resonated through the pock-marks in a rusted out radiator.

“This ain’t that sorta place boss, lord knows I’ve tried…” Brian joked with the stranger.

“Why don’t you piss off?” The visitor crooked his head, looking away into the distance, pulling out a cigarette. Quite surprisingly the man in the doorway was filthy, haggard and seemingly had not seen sleep in days, besides having apparent personality disorders.

“Dude, now why you gotta go there in front of a lady?” Brian was calm, not really thinking much of a foul-mouthed misanthrope at two-thirty in the middle of the city.

“Yea—lady right?” With an apparent limp, and slumped shoulders the dark man shuffled towards Brian, menacingly glaring at him, “Oh, is this your girl? Maybe I should fuck off then, huh? Maybe I should take a hike before you straighten me out, huh boss?” At this point, he was nearly breathing down Brian’s shirt collar, panting heavily, and his breath smelled like rotted hamburger, as far as Brian figured.

“Why don’t you just calm down man, have a seat, take it easy,” Brian had his hands up as if to show he meant no harm, “can we just have a cup of coffee or somethin’?”

“Or something…” the man’s muscles seemed to tighten, and Chrysta felt her heart jump a bit, she had seen this type of thing a time or two, but somehow felt like this time it would end a little worse. However, the man paused, or cringed, it was hard to tell, whipping his head around he gazed out the door, breathing hard and hissed,

“…shit…”

Spinning about wildly he dashed towards the door only to have it come jingling open for him. A man in a white jogging suit and not a spot of hair on his head came in the door, blocking the filthy stranger’s exit. The dark man stopped, rigid, in place and made scant eye contact with the newcomer who, in turn, rotated and with a flourish, beckoned him past. The dirty man paused for a second, glaring sideways at the dandy in the ice-cream jogging suit before bolting out the door,nearly slipping and falling, the man with the hamburger breath disappeared into the darkness of the open door. The white-suited man sat.

Silence set in for awhile as Brian and Chrysta attempted to make sense of what had happened. Suddenly a metallic clanging from the kitchen startled them awake. They both realized that the cook must have made an appearance unbeknownst to the two of them and that was what sent the troublemaker running. Three on one were worse odds, he must have decided.

“Excuse me there miss,” the white man read her nametag, “Chrysta, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, but I wouldn’t mind having a cup of that wonderful coffee that you brew up so well.”

Confused about the coffee comment, Chrysta baffled for a moment. Then, pouring a cup, inquired: “how would you know how my coffee is? I’ve never served you here before…” she put a hand on her waist.

Looking at her the man replied, “all I know is what I hear, and what I hear is that a young lady by the name of Chrysta makes a darn fine cup of Sanka and I knew I had to try it and see for my self.” He took a sip, winced, cringed and then set it down, forcing a smile as pleasant as roses.

Chrysta grinned, “no good huh? You know, I work daytimes at Caffiene, Bean and Espresso Machine, I think maybe the coffee is better when I make it there.” She giggled. “So who told you I’m the queen of the coffee makers?”

“A man, a nice man—boy really—but a manly boy, reporter type by the name of Davis, good kid—boy.” He was still drinking his coffee, still making faces.

“Yea man,” Brian piped, a little more drunkenly than he had before. “He is a good guy, make someone a real good boyfriend one of these days,” Brian snorted, shooting a glance at Chrysta.

“Malcolm? How do you know Malcolm?” Chrysta was genuinely interested now, and completely ignoring Brian.

“Client of mine really, I’m familiar with his work—good work, the kid’s a good writer, he’s got some serious talent—what time is it?” He swiveled his head around energetically.

“Quarter after, or nearly,” Brian belched.

“Late, darn it, darn the luck late for a meeting and I knew I would be, time stops for noone you know, least of all me, always on the move.” The white stranger all but fell off of his stool. “’twas a pleasure to meet the both of you, true pleasure…” he was all but out the door now, “we’ll see you Chrysta, Bry-man.” He was shouting nearly and about ten feet out the door now, which came clamoring to a rather jingly close.

“Dammit woman, you got everybody calling me that now,” Brian was sloppy drunk now.

“Put your head down sweet thing,” Chrysta poured another cup, trying to ignore the ‘Bry-man’ comment, “don’t doctor this one up now, you’ve got to walk home soon.”

* * *

Three

One, shimmering raindrop spiraled down the rusted side of a fire escape on a decrepit apartment building. The windows were darkened. The solitary raindrop followed it’s meandering, disjointed path down the railing, around a single bolt and then, hanging for only a moment, fell. It fell down through the grating of the next platform, and the next, picking up speed as it careened toward it’s imminent death upon the cold, hard asphalt. Shimmering it turned over and over until, about four feet from the ground, it halted, frozen in the air yet still pulsating, turning over and over.

There the raindrop hovered, trapped a few inches from the fingertip of a small girl—six—filthy and ragged but with a beautiful smile that could melt brick. She pointed, standing there staring at it, playing with the frail, crystalline droplet in midair. She made it hover, raised it, lowered it, as it followed her finger. Struck by another droplet, it shivered and doubled in size. The girl made little sideways curly motions with her finger and the droplet began to turn on it’s side, faster and faster with every movement of the girl’s finger. Behind her was her sister, speaking to a very thin man of about thirty, very bald. Next to them was the haggard dog, mangy and filthy with eyes that seemed to glow red, and a collar with spikes and a tag with the name ‘Serbie’. Serbie raised his head, turned it in apparent awe of the levitating raindrop, and then laid his head back upon his paws.

“Stop toying Philaie,” the pretty girl in the perfect dress behind her did not look at her, just commanded her. Philaie did not listen.

The thin man was wearing a white suit, an ice cream suit, white shoes white tie, the works.

“I really wish you would stop wandering around all over,” the man in white spoke to the perfect one, “it puts me ill at ease, something could happen to you” he was speaking with a somewhat sarcastic tone.

“We appreciate your…” the pretty girl paused, speaking with diction and dialect far too advanced for her petite body, “…concern.” She scowled, her eyes hollow—empty “…old friend…”

“Skipping about, having your way all of the time,” the man looked down, fidgeting with a crushed, rusty soda can beneath his professionally polished shoe, “must be awfully entertaining. I’m sure the novelty will wear off soon enough though, and then what? What will you do then?” He gently toed the can, skittering it a few feet across the greasy ally floor.

“What I always do,” Philaie had turned around and interjected, now she went back to her raindrop. Which was by now the size of a softball. Finishing her sentence, her cleaner counterpart piped: “Whatever we wish, why not?”

“And what about everyone else?” The man was looking sideways at her now, “you really don’t care what happens at all do you? Guess that’s why things are so different now, huh?”

“Of course, correct as always,” the pretty girl grinned, Philaie chimed, “…old friend.”

“You’re going to ruin him, you know that right?” He had squared off with her now and was looking down at her intensely. “You’re going to ruin them both, but that makes little difference, I suppose.” He bent his head back, looking straight up into the downpour. “You have always been so…” he searched for his words.

“Perfect?” She was telling more than asking.

“Sanctimonious”

“That’s your opinion.”

“Mine’s the one that counts though, isn’t it?”

By now she was tired, and a bit frustrated, and turned on her sister: “STOP TOYING PHILAIE, NOW!” She was screaming at this point, her tiny mouth opened wide into a demonic, howling scowl.

“Sorry Phoebie.”

Philaie let loose the raindrop, which was now a basketball-sized sphere of water, and it was ripped apart by shear virtue of it’s volume. It came splattering down all at once onto the ground. Philaie looked ruefully at her broken plaything, then turned and lay down on the cement snuggled close to Serbie, two filthy, wet mongrels.

Phoebie straightened her dress, regained her composure and glared up at the man with her dead, empty eyes.

“We’ll be leaving now” Serbie hoisted himself up and joined her side, followed closely by Philaie.

“Very good then,” the man bowed his head regally, then, turning on his heels he began to traipse away, “a dubious pleasure as always,” he said loudly, turning his head, “Phoebie”.

He caught her glance for a moment, chewed on her name and spit it out. He continued down the alley, into the light of a streetlamp which flickered, went out then came back on. He was gone.

The last in a series of three “Caramel Macciatos” had grown cold and snotty on Malcolm’s desk. Malcolm rolled back in his chair, rubbing his eyes and thought: God, what am I doing? His eyes felt like sandpaper when he closed them and the flickering glow of the monitor had finally gotten on his final, thin nerve- it felt as if he were getting tunnel vision.

“This makes three days now,” Malcolm said to the anime character on top of his desk, “three days, zero sleep”.

Leaning far back in his “five-wheel executive desk chair”, threatening to topple over, Malcolm imagined his finished product: a full-page article with graphic headers and the tag- M. Davis, on the bottom, all on shiny, delicate magazine paper, the kind that smelled a little like chemicals, the kind that people actually read. The kind which he had no problem churning out with rapid efficiency on a regular basis.

Vast Improvement, Writing on the Samurai Tradition

Chronologically speaking there exists a large gap in my archived files. There is approximately a year for which I cannot locate my written works which I completed for my Honors college classes. The reason for the gap is inconsequential however I continue to search for the works in question. Thus the next in the series is a midterm research essay of some scope which I composed for a nonwestern-civ class entitled The Way of the Warrior: The Samurai Tradition in literature and film.

This essay demonstrates clearly a vast improvement in both tone, voice and style. While the omnipresent and ubiquitous comma splice errors and other various and sundry odd mechanical problems still occur, this essay is light years ahead of (in my opinion) the bulk of the previous posted works. Notice also the extreme amount of background research performed.

Yamato Takeru: A Portrait of the Loser Hero

By Nate Kistner

Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for

Honors 2310-001: The Way of the Warrior:

The Samurai Tradition in Japanese Literature and Film

Inst: Elizabeth Eckelkamp

October 16, 2007

“ Art is that which lies in the slender margin between

truth and falsehood… …participating in the false, it is yet not

false. Participating in the true, it is yet not true.” (Miner 14)

--Chikamatsu Monzaemon (1653- 1724)

“…everybody loves a hero…”

--Rosemary Harris as “Aunt May” (Spider Man II 1:22:30)

Yamato Takeru: A Portrait of the Loser Hero

By Nathaniel Kistner

Every culture across the globe has its own folklore, simple stories passed down through generations – often by word of mouth – that help to shape that countries identity, to itself and to other cultures that view it. These stories are often unbelievable tall tales; however, many cut their roots in real historical events. These events, through time from mouth to mouth, come to be distorted and gradually change into the tales that exist today; and while the stories themselves are as varied and unique as the people that created them, it seems that all stories, tall tales, and mythologies share certain common elements. The story of Zeus - from Greek and Roman mythology, or Izanami and Izanagi - from Japanese mythology, or the story of the Heavenly Cow - from Egypt, all share certain literary elements that can be extrapolated and compared to one another. These elements are of endless fascination to anthropologists, historians and scholars alike, because they allude to a common bond between all cultures. Through folklore and mythology, all of humankind throughout civilization may have shared a common view of the world, or way of explaining it since the dawn of communication through spoken word.

From a host of literary elements, one that seems to be outwardly the most universal is the character of the hero. The “hero” character is an archetype of sorts: a character template that can be filled in with any combination of traits: physical or personal, concrete or ethereal, and then written into a story. Gods, common men, animals, all can play the character of the hero; moreover, the hero does not necessarily have to conquer or fall, achieve or fail, to be a hero. In fact, it would seem that often times the hero isn’t necessarily anybody special, it could just be the person that the reader (or listener or viewer) is meant to root for. One example of a very likeable and popular character archetype (of a far more specific nature) hails from the islands of Japan, and shall be the center of this papers discussion henceforth. From Japanese mythology, folklore and even now in Japanese anime, comics and video games comes the character archetype called the “loser-hero”. The “loser-hero” is a poignant and very popular character in Japanese lore and mythology, and the story of Yamato Takeru is the quintessential tale of the loser hero. The story of Yamato Takeru paints the portrait of the loser-hero, which while distinctly Japanese, appears in literature of other cultures throughout time as well.

This concept of the “loser-hero” is not far removed from the much more familiar and more Elizabethan “tragic hero”, and only slightly farther removed from the Greco-Roman “epic hero”. But before illuminating upon the concept of the tragic hero and the loser hero, it is necessary to define these concepts. The blind poet Homer’s idea of the hero, or rather his attitude toward heroism, lent itself to meaning a figure worshipped amongst hero cults (Schein 68). Perhaps a workable definition in some instances, this definition is a bit too restrictive for use here. In etymology, the word ‘hero’ may be etymologically related to the word hore, which means “season” (68), this in Homeric and Elizabethan literature is fitting because the hero is indeed “seasonal”. In this respect, the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth are considered as the “seasons” of the hero. This definition of the English word for hero seems to fit remarkably well too when brought into a more Japanese light, as the hero’s life was often temporary (especially the loser hero’s) and transitory. Furthermore, the very nature of the warrior lifestyle, the lifestyle of the Samurai, was seasonal in nature as well: fighting when called upon (or when paid) and falling into a hiatus in between. In the stories and literature, however, the hero is often a powerful figure, physically, politically, magically or mentally. The hero often leads scores of men, overcomes great odds, and many times is constantly called upon - whether by others or simply by circumstance – to continue to perform heroic actions.

Character archetypes of the loser hero and tragic hero also have a few more requisite attributes. These archetypal characters often are ill-appreciated in life, especially by the ones from whom they seek appreciation the most. The hero will often have a fatal flaw, weakness, or lack of foresight which will be obvious to all (including the reader) except for the hero themselves, and in the end this flaw will often lead to their undoing- generally a very tragic and poignant undoing at that. Loser heroes and tragic heroes often strive tirelessly for a goal which, in the end, is sadly never met or achieved; and, will often tenaciously, foolishly sometimes wildly sacrifice nearly all to reach these goals, making their ultimate failure all the more heartbreaking and touching. Many of these hero characters are feared, by one or many, either for good reason or none at all, and are plotted against because of the paranoia of other characters. In the end, the tragic or loser hero, having striven and sacrificed, often dies a poignant, lonely death as a failure without being accorded due recognition or reward, and are only appreciated or mourned after their passing (Sato 4).

For the average westerner (without any introspection) the obsession with, and enjoyment gleaned from stories of the tragic and loser hero seems not only foreign but strange and incomprehensible. But Americans have had an appreciation for these character archetypes all along without even being cognizant of it. Characters like Jesse James, Custer and Robert E. Lee were all tragic, sometimes heroic, but colossal failures. These characters are real (although stories of their escapades are not always completely realistic), and are rooted deeply within our own short history. In fact, according to Sato, part of the nation’s fascination with The South is that it was the “… [loser] in a war that nearly tore the nation apart…” (4). Yamato Takeru’s story is no different to Japan than those stories are to Americans. The story of Takeru has basis in real history, just as it has basis in pure mythology. As a matter of fact, Yamato Takeru’s tale appears in the two earliest official histories of Japan: the Kojiki and the Nihon-Shoki (3).

Part of the Japanese fascination with the character of the loser hero stems from the deeply rooted Japanese fascination with mono no aware, which difficult to translate directly, means a feeling of transiency, deep sadness, appreciation, emptiness - yet profound feeling. In order to translate this into a more western-friendly literary idea, we look to tragedy. Much of Shakespearean literature, and much other literature as well, is tragedy, and an appreciation for tragedy is very much like an appreciation for mono no aware and the loser hero.

To begin, Allen tells us that all tragedy can be boiled down into two types: melodramatic and moral (341). In melodramatic tragedy, the hero or protagonist falls victim to forces beyond his control. While in moral tragedy, the hero takes or shares responsibility for a tragic situation. The story of the Takeru is a melodramatic tragedy, because the hero falls victim to forces from within and without his own character which are beyond his control. Yamato Takeru begins as a victim of his own violent and impetuous nature, and nature is nothing that any character can control. His nature causes him to make misjudgments regularly (constantly killing, disrespecting deities, and living a violent life) and to fail to see his father’s true will. Takeru is also a victim of his father’s uncontrollable fear of his own son. This fear causes his father to plot against him constantly in an attempt to fool him into marching away into his own suicide. He is also victimized by other characters in the story who tell him of the next strongest warrior that he should go and challenge, fooling him again into marching into the maw of uncertain destruction. Finally, the hero is destroyed by the angry deity of the mountain, who curses his health and deteriorates his strength.

Tragedy also expresses an alienation of a sort that only develops in certain situations which strike those experiencing it as tragic (Allen 400). From the very beginning, Yamato Takeru is completely alienated, due to his own tragic killer nature. First from his father, who fears him so much as to try to destroy him, then from the whole world of characters in the story (mostly only because he tries to kill all of them – deities included - except for a few choice women).

As for the tragic individual, is actions are often governed by forces outside of his power, according to Allen (400). What’s more, the tragic individual is completely ignorant of these forces and their origins and consequences, and has neither secure sense of his relation to others nor any control over his actions (401). Yamato Takeru himself is unsure of how he figures into the grand picture and spends most of his time striving for his father, the emperor’s love, only to realize that he may never get it, saying:

“His Majesty must wish I were dead. Otherwise, why should he send me away, without many soldiers, to subdue the evil people of the twelve countries to the east, when not much time has passed since I returned from the mission to strike down the evil people to the west?” (Sato 6)

Additionally, Takeru seems to have little control over his own actions: being ordered about the country on death missions by his father, he is also a victim of his own violent and impetuous nature.

In much tragedy, the protagonist is often single minded and the action of the story unfolds with unique inevitability (Allen 349). This adds to the tragic feeling of the story because the reader can see the heroes’ poor choices and their destructive consequences before the hero can suffer from them. Yamato Takeru seemingly thinks of nothing but fighting and killing to impress his father and to further his own bloodthirst and thirst for renown, and after every successive venture, the reader can almost see the next deadly mission coming up, knowing all the time about his father’s cruel wishes.

It is in many ways that the story of Yamato Takeru fits nicely into the tragic mold, but what about the hero himself? What of other heroes like him? As would happen, much of the attributes which make Yamato Takeru who he is, fit into the character archetypes of what makes other characters who they are. In the story, Yamato, having “squashed” his own brother to death and “tearing” off his limbs, his father has become “terrified of his own son’s brave, young, mind”, and so it is that Takeru becomes feared for his own bravery and wildness (Sato 5). Heroes such as Achilles, of the Illiad, have also been feared like this. Achilles, apparently unbeatable, was prone to fits of violence and often turned it on his own men, in one instance sending wave after wave of his own men to death simply to prove a point. Similarly, the European characters Batraz and Lancelot were also known for their violent behavior. These characters were ferocious fighters, but would often turn violent on their own comrades, Lancelot having been said to have “constantly attacked other Round Table nights” (Littleton 266).

While wild, violent, and impetuous, Takeru was also prone to fits of insurmountable cleverness. Using more than brute strength, Takeru overcomes many grand obstacles by simply being quick to act. Dressing as a girl in waiting, he manages to get in close to the Kumaso braves in order to defeat them (Sato 5). In his battle with the Izumo brave, he befriends him, bringing a sword made out of pure wood, and then trading it to him; he challenges the brave who tries to draw his sword, only to find it is made of one piece. Yamato quickly cleaves his head in two and is on his way (5). Later, in the fire trap of the Governor of Sagamo country, he lights a counter-blaze to escape death by incineration and defeats the governor by sword (5).

Tragic and loser heroes both rest very little, as characters go, and in this respect, these character archetypes even parallel that of the Homeric “epic hero” as well. In general, these archetypal heroes tend to be at constant war, sometimes with themselves, but most often with other forces. In the story of the Takeru, the hero not only constantly wars with his own nature, he must also fight countless death-matches between himself and other humans, himself and deities, and himself and circumstance. This is not unlike the character Achilles, who is a warrior by trade, and even the Odyssey’s Odyssius, who simply in the interest of getting home must fight constantly and never seems to make even an inch of progress at every turn. Similarly, all of these heroic archetypes fight impossible odds and even in the face of such odds manage impossible undertakings. Achilles brings an empires king to his knees in war, Odyssius survives onslaught after onslaught by giant Cyclopes’, sea creatures, gods, deities and spells. Like them, Yamato Takeru takes on the entire country, bringing them to the mercy of the emperor while simultaneously “quell[ing]… …all manner of deities of the mountains and rivers” (Sato 7). Part of the reason for these undertakings is necessity, because tragically enough, these heroic characters all earn the wrath of the gods and deities and must consequently deal with them as well as the rest of the physical world.

Perhaps the most defining and important characteristic of the tragic – or loser hero, is the actual tragic part. The end of the loser hero is poignant, anticlimactic and often ironic. Loser heroes must die not in the throes of battle, but in some ridiculously simple, almost insulting way, this is what makes them the “loser” or their story “tragic”. The hero does not complete his task or goal and dies often alone. Achilles, not beaten by a great warrior, or a throng of warriors, is shot through the heel by the arrow of Patrocles, a coward and “lesser man”, having failed to complete his goal (in an older version, Achilles is stabbed in the back while visiting a woman, also tragic). Yamato Takeru, having gained the disfavor of the deity of Mount Ibuki, is cursed in health by the deity and dies lonely and sick on the open plain -- felled by a curse, not by a sword (Sato 9).

Some would assert that Yamato Takeru is not only similar to another hero, or a group of archetypal heroes, but is in point of fact, a Japanese version of a very ancient legend that spawned European versions which became the story of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table (Littleton 260). Upon inspection side by side, the two stories have remarkable, almost haunting similarities. To begin with, both Arthur and Yamato Takeru held a “magical weapon”, Arthur’s Excalibur was to him what The Grass Laying Sword (Kusanagi) was to Takeru, and both of these swords were in some way “bestowed” upon them (261). In actuality, both heroes had two swords of magical renown, Arthur had his 1^st and 2^nd Excalibur, and Takeru had his small sword (used to kill the Kumaso brothers) and Kusanagi (262). The first swords, served as rites of passage for both warriors, proving their salt as leaders and as warriors. Arthur pulls his from a stone and becomes king, and Takeru killes his first warrior braves with his and becomes a warrior himself. Both heroes received their second (and most powerful) swords from a woman with supernatural powers, Arthurs being the “Lady of the Lake” and Takeru’s being Princess Yamato, and after receiving said swords, both men become leaders of war bands, going forth to defeat more numerous enemies (262). In the end, both of these heroes only succumb in course of conflict after giving their swords up to a female figure, only dying upon rediscovering their relinquished sword later (262). Their more powerful “second swords” are given up, secreted to a spot which will become the site of their impending death - near the shore of a sea or lake - and the rediscovery of which brings fourth their death (262).

Though arcane as these stories are, Americans, in their fast-paced world of immediate payoffs and constant motion, still have appreciation for these heroes whether they know it or not. Take the story of Tombstone, a 1990’s western with modern faces and effects. Doc Holiday, the lovable troublemaking gunfighter with a wry humor and a drinking problem is a loser hero in every sense. He is a loner, violent, transient and friendless, but an ingénue and fights in the end for friendship and the law. No gun in the west can manage to put him down, in the end, he dies lonely, sad and sick in a sanitarium from Tuberculosis. Or take for instance the Star Wars character, Darth Vader. Vader is a loveable young boy, a strong and promising young man, and in the end is destroyed by his relentless love for his wife, and a thirst for power. Vader dies only after failing as a father, a Jedi, and a Sith and redeeming himself by saving his son, Vader dies not from battle, but from suffocation after removing his breathing apparatus. Star Wars has grossed 6.6 billion USD. In the movie Gladiator, the character Maximus is nothing but a loyal warrior to the king and the country, and is betrayed, his family murdered, his estate burned, and dies tragically after failing to save his family, his men and his friend.

Upon simple experience (reading, watching, listening,) these stories, characters – heroes - seem unrelated and are simply “tall tales”. However, only a little introspection is needed to bring forth all of their burgeoning similarities beneath the surface. These similarities in structure, feeling and archetype are all paramount to our understanding of the stories and how they relate to each other, and how they draw up a picture of the human condition. Naturally, these stories were created by someone, and “not just for fun”, someone sometime was trying to communicate a feeling, or a belief. Through further understanding of these stories, and how they relate, an appreciation for other cultures and how they relate to each other and to us comes easy. Yamato Takeru is not simply an isolated hero, in an isolated story from an isolated island; he is a picture of an archetype that has been a popular representative of the human condition for centuries.

Works Cited

Allen, Richard O. Hysteria and Heroism: Tragic Dissociation and the Two Tragedies. College English, Vol. 32, No. 4. Jan 1971, pp. 399-417

Buchan, Marc. The Limits of Heroism: Homer and the Ethics of Reading. University of Michigan press. MI. (Var. Pag.)

Littleton, Scott C. Yamato Takeru: An “Arthurian” Hero in Japanese Tradition, Asian Folklore Studies, Vol. 54, No. 2. (1995) pp 259-274

Miner, Earl. Ed. Principles of Classical Japanese Literature. Princeton University Press. NJ. 1985. (Var pag.)

Sato, Hiroaki. Legends of the Samurai. 1995, Overlook press. New York. pp 4-12

Spiderman 2. Dir. Sam Raimi. Perf. Tobey Maguire, Kirsten Dunst, James Franco, Alfred Molina. 2004. DVD. 2005

Bibliography

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Bespaloff, Rachel. On the Iliad. Princeton University Press. NJ. 1947

Buchan, Marc. The Limits of Heroism: Homer and the Ethics of Reading. University of Michigan press. MI. 2004

Gladiator. Dir. Ridley Scott. Perf. Russell Crowe, Joaquin Phoenix, Connie Nielsen, Oliver Reed. 2000. DVD 2001.

Junichi, Isomae, Myth in Metamorphosis: Ancient and Medieval Versions of the Tamatotakeru Legend. Monumenta Nipponicca. Vol. 54, No. 3, Autumn 1999.

Kramer, Samuel Noah. Mythologies of the Ancient World. Chicago: Quadrangle Books, 1961.

Littleton, Scott C. Yamato Takeru: An “Arthurian” Hero in Japanese Tradition, Asian Folklore Studies, Vol. 54, No. 2. (1995).

Miner, Earl. Ed. Principles of Classical Japanese Literature. Princeton University Press. NJ. 1985.

Miner, Odagiri, Morrell. The Princeton Companion to Classical Japanese Literature. Princeton University Press. Guildford, Surrey. 1995

Rouse, W.H.D. The Story of Odysseus. Modern Age Books, NY. 1937

Sato, Hiroaki. Legends of the Samurai. Overlook press. New York. 1995

Scheim, Seth L. The Mortal Hero. University of California Press. Berkely and Los Angeles, CA. 1984.

Schucking, Levin Ludwig. The Baroque Character of the Elizabethan Tragic Hero. Annual Shakespeare Lecture. Read 27 April 1938

Spiderman 2. Dir. Sam Raimi. Perf. Tobey Maguire, Kirsten Dunst, James Franco, Alfred Molina. 2004. DVD. 2005

Star Wars. Dir. Geroge Lucas. Per. Mark Hamill, Harrison Ford, Carrie Fischer, and Alec Guiness. 1977. Videocassette. Fox, 1992.

Tombstone. Dir. Geroge P. Cosmatos. Perf. Kurt Russel, Val Kilmer, Sam Elliott, Bill Paxton. 1993. DVD 1999.