Evolution, Technology, and the Sublime: An Analysis of Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey"

Stanley Kubrick’s release of 2001: A Space Odyssey in the spring of 1968 marked a pivotal moment in filmmaking history. Whether referring to the stark realism of space travel in contrast to such films as Destination Moon (1950) or the deafening quiet and lack of dialogue reminiscent of the silent film era, 2001 was and remains to this day unique. Many argue, including co-screenwriter Arthur C. Clarke, that the story is an expansive 4 million year history of human evolution through intelligent, alien means. I will argue that through Kubrick’s use of music and imagery of the sublime, the film is indeed about human evolution, but more precisely, it concerns the evolution of the human relationship with technology. I will show how the film's depiction of technology makes a commentary that it is not simply a tool of human masters to achieve ends otherwise impossible to our physical selves, but that it actually informs and defines identity and the human condition. As such, human evolution and the human condition are dependent upon technology and the ensuing culture that technology allows, blurring the distinction between master and servant. I will describe the visual and musical aspects of the sublime from the pre-film overture through “Jupiter Mission: 18 Months Later” as support. Lastly, I will briefly discuss a possible implication and future of the human relationship with technology.

Kubrick begins to set the tone of 2001 before the MGM logo even appears by playing a three-minute musical overture of Ligeti’s “Atmospheres” against a blank screen. The eerie quality of the music puts the audience in an expectant mood, which, after the brief appearance of the movie logo and before the opening credits, is delivered by a stunning image of the sunrise over the planet Earth. The imagery immediately places the viewer and that of mankind within an intended perspective – humans as a small, almost insignificant entity in an immense, awe-inspiring universe. Richard Strauss’ grand “Also Sprach Zarathustra” is playing forcefully, further adding to the mood and affect of the sublime. The planetary alignment is representative of the sublime in its grandeur, beauty, and vastness but more importantly, it speaks to the meaning of this celestial configuration in human history. The religious importance of lunar and solar eclipses throughout the history of civilization is undeniable. The black screen of the overture coupled with the sunrise over Earth scene could be interpreted to be symbolic of the religious in that many creation stories start with absence of light and nothingness to a sudden birth of light and form. The creation of the ape-man in “The Dawn of Man” is left open to speculation but this opening sequence sets the stage for the birth of man within the universe, not just within a localized region of our planet.

“The Dawn of Man” opens with wide still-shots of what appears to be the African savannah. It is desolate, vast, and immensely quiet except for the sounds of crickets and wind. This imagery, lack of music, and minimal sounds are used by Kubrick to convey the state from which our ancestors lived – sublimely beautiful and terrible. It is clear from the first images of the ape-men that their nature is different from conventional thought of innate human aggressiveness. They are weak, non-threatening, and starving to death. They forage for plants in the dust alongside obviously plump tapirs and are preyed upon by a leopard from a position above the framing of the shot. The viewer sees sun-bleached humanoid bones strewn about also as an indication that even the basics of what we would deem civilization has not yet been established. The point of this prelude to the monolith is that the ape-men are on the brink of extinction and they do not have the intelligence or means to do anything about it. This is exacerbated by the nighttime scene of fright that seems to be evident on the strained faces of all of the ape-men.

Dawn, however, brings something different to both the ape-men and the audience. It begins with light upon their sleeping faces, the waking of one of their number, and the rising music of Ligeti’s “Requiem”. Before we see the monolith, Kubrick creates another expectant mood of the sublime or, arguably, the religious. When the audience finally sees the monolith, it is with the same curiosity and wonder as the ape-men exhibit, and this is deliberate. The monolith is itself an image of the sublime in its perfection and mystery. It further conveys the notion of the sublime and, again arguably, the “birth” of man when the alignment of the Sun and Moon rise over the rectangular form. Whether divine or alien, the monolith seems to give our ancestors the push they need to survive through the discovery of tools. Primitive in rock and bone, our evolution to sentience is dependent on what will later become technology. The ape-men no longer starve replacing the leopard on the top perch of the food chain. What is troublesome and poignant, however, is the immediate association with appears to be the first murder at the waterhole. A double-edged sword perhaps, but certainly an essential dependence on technology and factor in the evolution if our species has been born.

The image of a bone thrown into the air transposed into a satellite, a leap of 4 million years into the future, is at once memorable and purposeful signifying that maybe mankind has become more sophisticated with the use of tools but not with issues related to what is necessary to take another leap in evolution. Johann Strauss’ “Blue Danube” further conveys the idea of sophistication and evolution as well as once again setting a sublime mood associated with the beauty and vastness of space. It is beyond the scope of this essay to explore possible interpretations of Kubrick’s vision of what our next step in our evolution might look like in “Jupiter and Beyond the Infinite”, but I argue it must involve elimination or, at very least, a minimization of the double-edge nature or dark side of the interdependent relationship we hold with technology. In “TMA-1”, the double-edge nature of technology is evident in the fragility and dependence of not only the physical human self throughout Heywood Floyd’s journey to the Moon, but with the interaction with the Soviet scientists and deception imposed by the discovery of the second monolith as well. It is double-edged or a dark side because, just as our ape-men ancestors, we still rely on technology for life yet use it not to unify but to divide. Most notions of an evolutionary next step involve a move to a more ideal, peaceful, and unified humanity. It is possible that this step will only be achieved by a true mastery of technology coupled with a lack of dependence, which I will further explore next.

In “TMA 1”, we start to see a similarity between man and machine. First, the clothing and emotion are sterile just as the space technology of 4 million years of evolution is sterile. Secondly, there is a mundane quality to the action (or lack thereof) of the characters including Heywood Floyd and the flight personnel. The technology may not be mundane, even by today’s standards, but the acceptance of the technology seems to be associated with quiet boredom or the mundane. From eating liquid food from an enclosed tray to using a gravity-free toilet, the dependence on technology does not seem to be on a conscious level of awareness. When the shuttle lands on the Moon and is lowered into the docking bay, the shuttle itself looks like a human head. Further the bay itself is lit with red light, which gives the impression of womb, more symbolism Kubrick uses to bring together the idea of human evolution and technology. The act ends with the approach of Heywood Floyd and company to the second monolith. Again, there is the same reverence, curiosity, and awesome potential meaning associated with Kubrick’s filming of this scene in a similar way as the ape-men scene with the first monolith. Ligeti’s “Requiem” is again playing communicate both the similarity to our ancestors and the sublime nature of the spatio-temporal moment in history. As before, the imagery of the Earth, Moon, and Sun is highlighted with the monolith, which is abruptly disrupted by the radio interference generated presumably from within.

The acceptance of and dependence on technology sets the stage for next act, “Jupiter Mission: 18 Months Later”. Again, boredom and the mundane seem to be what Kubrick is trying to convey about the reality of space flight. The carousel and the introduction of HAL are a constant reminder for the audience of the dependence Bowman and Poole, indeed humanity, have with technology. The cryogenic chambers with seemingly dead bodies within bring this notion clearly into focus. The similarity between man and machine is also developed further through the seemingly robotic apathy of Bowman and Poole along with certain characteristics of HAL. He suffers from hubris and seemingly human emotion but it is interesting that his speech is maintained at a monotone level from the beginning of the scene through his destruction. It is the emphasis of similarity between man and technology that highlights the interdependence of the two. The tool cannot be without man while man cannot be without the tool. Mankind still wins out in this scene because Bowman is able to achieve what HAL could not - murder. It is also seems clear that since HAL is one of the first of his kind that this might not always be the case unless the construct is changed concerning the interaction and relationship between mankind and technology.

The construct Kubrick portrays through imagery and music of the Jupiter Mission along with the relationship between HAL and the crew of Discovery is at the heart of my thesis – the story of human evolution is inextricably linked with the evolution of technology. Further, technology informs us and defines certain aspects of identity through what is culturally possible with technology. In the case of 2001, the similarity between man and machine are almost necessary for the rigors of space travel. At the same time, it is doubtful that the encompassing technology of HAL and Discovery do not shape the identity of Bowman and Poole. The simulacra that HAL represents, is not only evidence of how far evolution has taken us but what we may become. The more we advance technologically, the more risk we take in changing the human condition that is itself shaped by the technology we create through the our advancement. This is not so hard to believe when we look at cell-phone technology and how it has transformed how we communicate and how we relate to each other. What is even more startling is the relatively short time these cultural changes have taken place. Text messaging has streamlined the number of words necessary to relay a message to someone we may never actually physically have contact with. How is this so different from the design of the cell-phone technology we created to allow us to do that in the first place? We have shaped the technology as much as technology has shaped us.

2001: A Space Odyssey, is both a sublimely beautiful and cautionary at the same time. Like the relationship humans have with technology, the tale carries with it throughout the film the thread of interdependence, danger, and identity in exploring one possible explanation for our evolution. The monolith with its coldly perfect form may be part of our past as well as our future in ways that Kubrick never intended. In other words, maybe technology gave birth to us so we could give birth to more technology, but maybe we are the monolith and our destiny is to merge with technology, to become cold and perfect. If we continually strive to advance and perfect technology and technology shapes who we are in relation to the universe, it is logical and inevitable that humans are headed down the same path to advancement and perfection. The question then is: will we reach that destination or, like the creation of HAL, will we create our own demise? One thing is for certain, our relationship with technology will remain tenuous until we can master ourselves and maybe that was the real message that Kubrick was trying to convey. Only with this mastery of ourselves can we shape advancing technology that will in turn shape an ultimate destination, not a demise.

Borges' "The Aleph"

The first narrative theme of Jose Luis Borges’ The Aleph (1949) concerns the protagonist’s grief over his unrequited love and death of Beatriz Viterbo. The fact that Borges’ fictionalizes the protagonist as “Borges” speaks to the multi-layered complexity of the story that is indicative of his writing style. Also indicative of his style is the prima facie unrelatedness of themes or stories within a story. For example, within the story of unrequited love and death in The Aleph, Borges develops the story of writers and their aesthetic differences along with the later story of the aleph itself, an object in space that contains all other points in space that allows simultaneous viewing of everything within. Seemingly distinct, the three stories are connected in a meaningful way. In the following, I will briefly analyze each of the three themes or stories within The Aleph. I will then show how each theme relates to, parallels, and informs the other. Lastly, I will argue that the three themes share problems of perception and show that Borges’ is claiming that true knowledge of the sublime, like death and art, is unreachable.

The story of unrequited love and the death of Beatriz begins with a commentary on the fleeting nature of memory and ends with a horrific vision in the aleph of Beatriz’s physical decay. Borges says, “… the vast, unceasing universe was already growing away from her and … the universe may change but I shall not, thought I with melancholy vanity.” This refers to Borges’ sad attempt to hold Beatriz as near in memory as he thought she was in life. It is sad because of the lengths he goes to keep the memory of her intact viz. befriending Daneri, a writer he despises, simply to have access to the house where Beatriz lived. It is the memory of Beatriz that drives the false relationship and humiliation of Daneri until the end. This is a metaphor for the false relationship and humiliation Borges’ feels over the memory of his lost love that he cannot relinquish. It is not until Borges sees Beatriz in the aleph that he lets go of her. It is not a coincidence that it is at the same time Daneri loses his house and the aleph. It is also not a coincidence that not letting go of Beatriz, Daneri losing the aleph, and the aleph itself are too much to endure or too far to reach without the loss of something else – identity. I will show that identity is also a thread that ties the three stories or themes together.

The story of writers and their aesthetic differences points to subjective nature of art. What is beheld in Daneri’s eyes as, “A stanza interesting from every point of view” , Borges beholds as, “…the poet’s work had not lain in the poetry, but in the invention of reasons for accounting the poetry admirable.” The striking difference between the two interpretations is what is important to note because it begs the question of which one of them is prideful or delusional or if it is an all-together different question of what art is in the first place. Borges paints the picture that Daneri is pompous and unskilled so when it is revealed that Daneri takes second place in the National Prize in literature, it speaks more to the subjective or inaccessible nature of art. The reader is somewhat confused because Borges is somewhat the hero in the story. Borges discusses Daneri’s award, however, with detached resignation. It is confusion and detached resignation that links the emotional state of the writer’s story with that of the story of unrequited love and death. Loss is confusing and acceptance of a loved one’s death is that of detached resignation. The aleph is also confusing and Borges’ response is detached when he lets it go because the aleph, like art and death, is overwhelming and a reminder of our lack of significance. To protect one’s identity against insignificance, one must keep the unreachable at a distance and resign, unconsciously or not, to this fact.

The story of the aleph, although more visual and fantastic, is easier to understand than the other two stories if one accepts the idea that it is actually a metaphor for the sublime. The words Borges uses such as “…dizzying spectacles … infinite … spider-web … labyrinth … secret, hypothetical object …” clearly points to classic definitions of the sublime. It is this object “… whose name has been usurped by men but which no man has ever truly looked: the inconceivable universe.” that conceptually links the three stories together. Those same words could arguably be used to describe death or art as it can be for the sublime. The distinction between the story of the aleph and the other two is the representative necessity of the aleph but then, that is the point. We cannot truly know death. We cannot truly know art. We cannot truly know the sublime. It is only through representations that can we conceptualize the unconceptualizable. This is why, according to Borges, the three concepts and the three stories are unreachable and always will be regardless of how much we may fool ourselves that it is within our reach.

The unconceptualizable nature of death, art, and the sublime is due to the limitations of human perception. In other words, the three stories and themes of Borges’ The Aleph share epistemological problems that our senses cannot resolve. We can approximate but never truly ascertain the nature of death, which is why we grieve so much and many times hang onto the memory of love lost. We may approximate but never truly ascertain the qualitative nature of art even though many argue it is firmly within the realm of the subjective. We may approximate the nature of the sublime but we are resigned to simply represent it through language and thought that may never be significant enough to truly understand. Borges’ protagonist is, in a way, sad and pathetic in his relationship with Beatriz and Daneri. His loss in the National Literature contest points to his failure in his art as well and that is the point. The character of Borges is us and we cannot presume, without risk of hubris, that we can achieve true knowledge of the sublime, art, death or we would be just as sad, just as pathetic but this is not a gloomy prospect. There is beauty in his vision of Beatriz as there is in his interpretation of art. There is beauty in the aleph as well but not knowledge and that is the thread between the stories that ties all the other threads together. We can appreciate beauty and the inconceivable without true knowledge of why it is beautiful.

Bulgakov's "The Master and Margarita"

Last night I attended my first literary book group since arriving in Salt Lake almost 3 years ago. The group was open to anyone but only Barnes & Noble employees like me were present. I was immediately reminded of how much I enjoy reading and discussing literature with others with the same love of a good book. The book we read was The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov. I have to confess that I procrastinated a bit so was forced to rush in the last couple of days before we met. I think that was mostly due to my experience with the Russian literature of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. I read The Brothers Karamazov, Notes from Underground, and an abridged version of War and Peace eons ago and did not appreciate as much as I think I would now. The Master and Margarita was entertaining and engaging … I regret not starting it earlier to contemplate all the second and third level thought that I’m sure just blew over my head.

In a nutshell, The Master and Margarita is the story of the Devil’s visit to Soviet Russia in the early 1930’s and the seventh proof of God’s existence, which is if the devil exists then God must exist. He has a retinue with him, including a vodka-drinking, gun-wielding cat the size of a hippopotamus, who wreak havoc on the atheistic Muscovites. It also jumps back to the time of Christ (Yeshua Ha-Notsri) and Pontius Pilate leading up to the crucifixion. Throw in a love story between an author in an insane asylum and his true love, who becomes a witch and Hostess of Satan’s Grand Ball to free him, and you have the basics of the story. It is a satire of the intelligentsia of Stalin’s Russia, a play on Faust, and ultimately of love and peace (but not salvation). I recommend reading it. I certainly will again with much greater care.

I do not have any commentary but the discussion did raise a couple of questions to chew on.

1. If there is a devil, does he need people to believe in God for true temptation to occur?
2. What does it say about human nature when we kinda root for the bad guys like Behemoth the vodka-drinking cat in films and literature?
3. Are the consequences of our actions or our intention more important?

That’s all for tonight. We’re reading The Last Temptation of Christ by Nikos Kazantzakis, author of Zorba the Greek, for next month. We will meet the fourth Monday of July if you are interested in joining us. I promise not to procrastinate on this one.

Best wishes,
Roger

Ronin, Godzilla, and Philosophy

For those wondering about my user name, a Ronin is a samurai without a lord or master. I do not have delusions of being a great warrior nor am I alluding to an atheistic worldview. I do not have a Bushido Shoshinshu code of honor or discipline required of a samurai. Rather, I am drawn to the idea of a drifting person in search of answers to regain something lost that may or may not have any meaning. It is natural to associate with those of like purpose and it is here that I make the connection with the wandering Japanese mercenary of ancient times. School, especially the study of philosophy, tends to beg more questions that it answers. Age may lead to wisdom but it also tends to challenge the psyche with regret. Like the Ronin of old, this blog will seek to answer various questions, mostly philosophical and literary, and do battle in the province of the past.

As far as Godzilla goes, it just does not get any better than watching a guy in a rubber suit destroying a miniature city and battling other guys in similarly ridiculous rubber suits. I think Godzilla is one of the most fascinating characters in literature. Don’t laugh, I know you sometimes want to say, “I am Godzilla! You are Japan!” to the mini-van driving troglodyte on the cell phone that just cut you off or to the TV producers that gave you 3 minutes of your favorite show and 5 minutes of commercials related to erectile dysfunction, fast food, and cleaning products you will never use.

Seriously, Godzilla is the product of the nuclear, social, and economic apocalypse of one of the last true empires. Japan is the only post-apocalypse country in the world so it is fitting that a pissed off, radiation breathing monster is their quasi-mascot. Godzilla is also female so I guess it is a commentary of sorts that the strongest, most willful female in film over the last 80 years is a monster. What is interesting is that she is decidedly good or evil not based on her intent but on random chance and consequence to a people for which she is barely aware and could not care less about. If Godzilla happens to walk into Tokyo to do a little shopping, battles Rodan instead, and saves the city from Rodan’s purposeful wrath, she is the heroine. If her favorite sushi bar is out of Dragon Rolls and she flattens the city then she is the most terrible threat to all of human existence. There is a bit of Godzilla in all of us and that is why such a silly genre has endured since its introduction in 1954. I am not suggesting that we are amoral creatures, only that we are not always aware of the suffering and joy we unwittingly impose on others. Morality and awareness will be recurring themes that I will revisit in this blog.

So, that is part of the reason why I chose Ronin and Godzilla as my user name and image for this blog. I am sure the rest of the story is still unknown to me and is possibly psychiatric in nature. What fictional or historical figure do you find a kindred spirit and why?