You Don't Know What You've Got Until It's Gone

This quotation perfectly describes Emily Dickinson’s poem “Eden is that Old-fashioned house” as well as Adam and Eve’s departure from Eden.

Dickinson’s poem alerts the reader to a strange occurrence. When one departs from an “old-fashioned House/ [he] dwell[ed] in everyday” (1-2), he will never return to that exact situation; his returning will be “unconscious’ (Dickinson 7). This suggests that whilst not living in the house, some series of events changed him so dramatically that his own home will not seem the same.

As the first line suggests, “Eden is that Old-fashioned House” (Dickinson 1). In terms of Genesis, Adam and Eve leave Eden expecting something better. After they discover the knowledge of good and evil, they know that Eden isn’t all there is to the world. As the poem word it, Adam and Eve dwell there “without suspecting [their] abode” (Dickinson 3). What Adam and Eve discover in the outside world will eventually lead them to realize that Eden was, put simply, paradise. No harm could come to them there, and they had no burdens placed upon them, for food and other necessary supplies were given to them by God. Until their departure, they are unaware of how good they have it.

If the reader of Genesis takes the departure referenced in line 4 of Dickinson’s poem to be equivalent to Adam and Eve learning of good and evil, it is apparent immediately that the two have changed. They almost instantly feel the need to cover themselves with fig leaves. Now that they have knowledge, they can never go back to their former state of innocence. In the words of Lady Macbeth, “What’s done cannot be undone” (Shakespeare 5.1.75). No matter what Adam and Eve do, they can “discover [Eden] no more” (Dickinson 8). In these ways, Dickinson’s poem mirrors Adam and Eve’s expulsion from the Garden of Eden.

As a senior, my situation is similar to that of Adam and Eve. In the safety of my “Old-fashioned House/ [I] dwell in everyday” (Dickinson 1-2), I have been provided with unimaginable resources. I am able to be fed, sheltered, cared for by my family, loved, focused on my studies, well-traveled, and countless other things. Since I am less than 12 months away from leaving home for college, I think I have become to appreciate my Eden. I catch myself thinking about how my mommy and daddy won’t be there to have a delicious dinner waiting for me when I get home or make sure that I’m awake for school on time. Also, because I will most likely be going to school far away, I won’t often have the comfort of sleeping in my own bed or visiting with my family.

I know once I return from college, my house won’t feel the same. Eventually, whatever college campus I live on will be my home. I know that my friends from high school may or may not still be my friends. No matter what, once I leave, upon my return, my home won’t feel the same.

As the youngest child, I am almost least afraid of my family changing while I’m away. I’m used to my brothers seeming different when they come home from college. I’m most afraid that when I come home, I won’t be able to do the things I now spend my free time doing. One of those things is dancing. I’ve done ballet for 11 years at the same studio, with mostly the same people. If I dance in college, it will not ever be the same as dancing here. And, if I ever take class back home, it won’t feel the same. I will have hopefully grown as a person, and so will everyone else at my studio. Similarly to Adam and Eve, I will miss what I once had and regret not taking full advantage of it while I could.

The adage “You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone” describes the expulsion of Adam and Eve from Eden, Dickinson’s poem, and what will soon be my own life. 

The One Scolding from a Teacher that I've Actually Listened To. Well, At Least Part of It.

             I’m staring at the industrial, grey-speckled white tiles on the floor. My head droops, eerily similarly to the way my dog does when she knows she’s done something wrong. I sigh, move my hands to rub my neck tiredly, and briefly close my eyes, trying to block out the lecture my entire Latin class is being given.

            “This is an honors class, and I expect you to work like one,” my Latin teacher says in a variety of different ways over the following 15 minutes. It’s always like this. At least once a week, we get told that we’re not working up to our potential, we’re not treating the class like we should, and it would be a lot easier if we prepared better.

            Hold on. My ears hear a change in tone while I’m blankly staring at nothing, waiting for the misery to end.

            I think…I think there was some good advice in there. Wait a second. I’ve got to wake up a bit. This sounds a little different.

            “Don’t worry about the grade. If you learn the material, the grade will come.”

            Hmmmmm. The tone changes back, though, so I go back to my own little world in the middle of Latin class. To at least pretend to be paying attention, I move around a little. Adjust my back, crack it, and then stare at the poster-covered wall in front of me. But the advice doesn’t leave my mind as quickly as my teacher’s tone changed.

            That’s seems pretty smart, actually. You know, learning to learn. Not the quick memorization I was used to the night before the test. My chem homework would definitely be easier if I didn’t have to keep checking facts that I had “learned” for the first test. That trig test definitely would have gone better if I had learned the special angles, not just looked them over second period before the test.

            I let my eyes wander again. Now I’m staring just past the teacher at the smartboard at the front of the classroom. Selectively blocking out my teacher’s voice, I can hear the history class moving around their chairs next door, and someone reaching into his backpack, probably a hand looking for a snack to get them through the next thirty minutes of yelling.

            Woah, maybe this is why I remember some of that stuff from that sophomore year history class I took. I think that teacher was really big on this, too. I think I’ll always remember John Marshall’s court cases. Cohens v Virginia, Darmouth v Woodward, Marbury v Madison, Fletcher v Peck…

            The icon for a new email pops up on the smartboard and it helps my mind to stop wandering so far. Right. Learning to learn. THAT must be what college is for. All of those websites have that line that says that they want critical and independent thinkers. Wow. I should probably get on this.

            I let my eyes move again, because the teacher’s still droning on about how we’re really bad students. I need an A in this class so my GPA will be high so I can…hold on a second…If I legitimately learn Latin, my teacher’s pretty much guaranteeing me an A. And also I’ll know stuff. That seems like a win-win to me.

            Also, I’ve always hated those grade-grubbers. Those kids that want every single point they can possibly manage to get the teacher to give them. Oh god. I hope I haven’t turned into one of them. I think I remember a time, maybe freshman year, when I was young and thought I should try to learn as much as possible. Actually, I think that’s why I took Latin. Yeah, it was. It’s not like I’m ever actually going to use this.

            I only barely notice when the teacher finally falls silent. He’s staring at me. I look at him, realize he’s just asked me a question, and that I don’t know the answer. Also, everybody’s looking at me. I finally turn my attention back to what I should actually be doing.

            But then I get to math class. And we’re doing review—the Kiss of a dementor would be preferable to this. I retreat quietly into my head, trying to remember what I was thinking about before. It was definitely something school-related…Oh yeah, learning for learning, not for grades.

            That’s probably going to work out well for me when I’m older. After I get a job, I guess if I was learning only for grades, I wouldn’t have to learn anything anymore. I could get pretty uneducacated. Oh god, it’s starting. I’ve definitely got to read more often.

            Darn it. My calc teacher’s looking at me expectantly. Like I should be giving him an answer. Luckily, my homework’s actually on my desk, so I just look at it, pick a random question and say my answer. Haha, escaped that trap, calc teacher.

            So right. In that little section of my agenda pad, I should probably write down some of this stuff: “Learn things to learn them, not for grades. ‘Cause it’ll be important.” Good enough for government work.

            Hmm. Maybe I should enlighten the administration. Seems like they have never been told this…Also, I could get out of some AP exams. Maybe then I’ll actually want to learn the material, not be forced to.

The Search for Permanence in an Impermanent World

The world is constantly changing around us, whether it be in politics, the economy, science, or history. How, then, can humans even wish to have a semblance of an ordered life with the chaos around them, especially when life is so short compared to the span of time the earth has been in existence? Humans construct concrete structures to give some sort of tangible meaning to life, like government and social hierarchy. Humans, as a species, try to leave an imprint on the world they live in, whether as a generation or as a singular person. This is what we strive for in life, and what pushes us to get up every morning of our short lives. Gilgamesh is a perfect example of humans trying to fathom and leave behind something on the fleeting and ephemeral world. Gilgamesh realizes, just as all humans eventually realize, the futility of his task when Utnapishtim wisely tells him, “There is no permanence” (106).

            Utnapishtim’s statement, though fabled to have been said thousands of years ago, still applies to the world today. His declaration means that everything is always in flux and that nothing can last forever. For Gilgamesh, this means that, no matter how hard he tries, he will not be able to bring back his dead friend, nor should he. Gilgamesh and Enkidu’s relationship was not supposed to last forever. Utnapishtim’s statement also works on the flip side—Gilgamesh’s pain cannot last forever either. Gilgamesh is meant to change as a person throughout his time on the earth. Gilgamesh wants something to hang on to, a constant in his life, and he thinks that Enkidu will be that when his mother tells him, “You will love him as a woman and he will never forsake you” (66). While Gilgamesh wants something unchanging, Utnapishtim tells him that life always changes, that our lives are always in flux.

            Humans see the flux of our lives every day. In the early fall of 2008, Americans watched in horror as, almost overnight, our economy fell to pieces. The next generation is watching as Social Security seems to be failing. Politics and political policies in general change more often than most Americans change clothes. When Obama’s administration found and killed Osama Bin Laden, his popularity skyrocketed, but once again it is diminishing. In science, a lot of things that physicists and chemists once held as absolute and true are turning into fallacies. Recently, physicists discovered that some parts of atoms when flung around the Large Hadron Collider in Switzerland move faster than the speed of light. This may rip to shreds many of Einstein’s theories. Humans actively see the world around them changing.

            Humans carry on in this chaotic and ever-changing world because we try to achieve something. Once we know that we only have approximately 78 years to live on the Earth, most people take it as a call to arms. Like Gilgamesh, we try to leave a legacy, something for the next generation to remember us by. This is what gives our lives meaning. We cannot live forever physically, so we try to do the next best thing— live on in the hearts and minds of the people we left behind. For Gilgamesh, his entire heroic quest was to “set up [his] name where the names of famous men are written” (72).

            History and written records and legends are how humans create eternal life. Every time one hears George Washington’s name, he lives on, even though his physical body is dead. This is why, by the end of the epic, Gilgamesh gets his wish. He lives on in every student that has to read The Epic of Gilgamesh and all people who have heard his name.

            Another way that humans can survive, other than to complete what they think is there purpose, is that we create order in chaos. We have a routine that we follow. In the BOW area, and most of the northeastern portion of the United States, children more and more are expected to attend elementary school, attend middle school, attend college, get a job, get married, and have children. In this way, we can create some sort of normalcy from the disorder of life. We create government and social hierarchy to govern the lives of people and to separate them into neat categories. They are tangible things that we know will always exist in some form.

            As humans, we want to create order from confusion and have something tangible. We cannot live in the chaos that life gives us. Humans know that life is short, but the memory of collective people is very long, so we try to leave a legacy behind us. Although, as Utnapishtim said, “There is no permanence” (106), humans try valiantly, and sometimes succeed, in living fulfilling lives that people will remember them for.

The Hero and His (or Her) Place in Society

           The idea of a hero has permeated human society for thousands of years. A hero is an inexplicable and extremely rare combination of traits which put that person at the highest part of society. They are those that all wish to be compared to, but those which often none want to be. Heroes provide a standard of behavior to look up to, and are the human embodiment of a god. Heroes are a necessary part of human civilization; they are the people who are always morally stronger and better. Without defined heroes, whether named so by media or literature, humans have no reason to strive to be better people. A hero champions an important cause that others may have let fall by the wayside or were unable to seize a victory for. Heroes are overtaking the entertainment business with such movies as Lord of the Rings and Star Wars. Men typically are portrayed as the heroes, with women often only appearing in auxiliary roles. However, in reality, heroes, whether men or women, are looked up to for a standard of behavior and action for which to aim.

            Generally, heroes are referred to in relation to war or tragedy, and hardly does one ever hear of a hero that escaped unharmed from the event that made them heroic. A hero is someone who completes a difficult task at some personal risk, usually for the purpose of improving many lives over his or her singular one. A good, and timely, example of a hero is those in the tragedy of September 11, 2001 that risked their lives to help others escape from the collapsing World Trade Center. Many of these heroes lost their lives or are, or have during the time that has passed since, experiencing physical or mental pain for the task they undertook.

            A hero, before their heroic act(s), sometimes is considered to have been ill-advised or even stupid. For example, in The Epic of Gilgamesh, when Gilgamesh goes to defeat Humbaba, almost everyone he talks to tells him that he shouldn’t go because he will surely lose both the battle and his life. But, despite the odds and generally held knowledge, Gilgamesh accomplishes a difficult and nearly impossible act. However, in retrospect, Gilgamesh is touted as a hero, having done something for the greater good with no regard for his personal safety.

Now, this is where an interesting point comes up. Does Gilgamesh undertake the act for unselfish reasons? No, he does it mainly keeping in mind that he will become famous if he wins, and he adds that others will be helped merely as an afterthought. This isn’t true for all heroes, many of whom, like those involved in 9/11, did not complete an act seen as heroic for the purpose of becoming well-loved. Often heroes are those who let a strong moral compass guide them, taking no regard for what may happen to them if it leads them into danger.

            Heroes are always looked up to, but people often don’t want to be them, mostly for the fact that heroes often end up worse for wear. Having someone to strive to be like is important for humanity. If no one wants to improve their person, society would be static. Having something to endeavor towards helps to further humanity. In this sense, heroes are a bit like gods. Gods are an unreachable moral power, much as heroes continue to raise the bar with their moral power, so all are always below the moral power of a hero. It’s a bit like a personal dream one has. As soon as it has been achieved, there is another dream to realize. Bertolt Brecht’s quotation “unhappy the land that needs heroes” seems sensible in this context. If some place has no hero to hope to be like, then their society will never improve; they very well might all turn out to be thieves and murderers if they have no ideal to stand up against.

            An interesting question comes up when one compares the idea of a heroine to that of a hero. According the definition previously stated, there is no reason why a woman can’t be a heroine. Women are just as physically and morally capable of completing a difficult task for the greater good while undertaking a personal risk. However, in literature and in pop culture, women typically aren’t seen as heroines. There are the epic heroes of literature—Gilgamesh, Odysseus, Aeneas—and there are the heroes of pop culture—Frodo Baggins, Luke Skywalker, Indiana Jones. But, there are few heroines, if any. This might have to do with the fact that heroes were established in ancient times, during which women would never have a chance of doing something that would label them heroines. This established characteristic of heroes has just unavoidably passed down in popular culture. The television and movie producers just reinforce the status quo, and it hardly ever diverges. It is an unfortunate drawback to modern media.

            A hero is someone who does something that might hurt them, but will help others. They are generally of high, undeviating morals, or are at least seen as possessing such qualities. Although perhaps sometimes foolhardy and acting hastily, they are looked up as a person whom others wish to be. This furthers the society they live in by producing an ever increasing standard to reach. In real life, heroes can be men or women, but the previously established definition dictates men to be heroes in popular culture. Heroes are an elusive bunch, for those who are genuine heroes go unnoticed in everyday life, returning to their anonymity, truly having achieved a task for the greater good and not personal gain.