Friday, January 30, 2026

Absurdity, Angst, and the Search for Meaning: The Core of Existentialism

This Blog is a part of flipped learning activity assigned by Prof. Dr. Dilip Barad on existentialism with the help of various resources provided by him on his blog.

Introduction

Existentialism arises from a sustained philosophical concern with the problem of human meaning in a world no longer secured by religious, metaphysical, or moral absolutes. Its intellectual foundations are often traced to Søren Kierkegaard, whose emphasis on subjectivity, anxiety, and individual commitment challenged systematic philosophy, and to Friedrich Nietzsche, whose critique of traditional values and proclamation of the “death of God” exposed the fragility of inherited meanings. In the twentieth century, existentialism finds its most explicit articulation in the works of Jean-Paul Sartre, Martin Heidegger, and Albert Camus. Sartre’s claim that existence precedes essence rejects any predetermined human nature and places freedom and responsibility at the center of human life, while Heidegger’s analysis of being foregrounds finitude, temporality, and authenticity as fundamental conditions of existence. Camus, through his reflections on the absurd, examines the tension between humanity’s persistent search for meaning and the indifference of the universe, ultimately rejecting nihilism in favor of conscious revolt. Across these diverse formulations, existentialism converges on a shared insistence: that individuals must confront freedom, anxiety, and mortality directly, and assume responsibility for creating meaning in an uncertain and groundless world.

Video 1: What is Existentialism?

The concept of belief in God and its connection to the philosophy of existentialism stimulates my thinking, as Camus saw it as philosophical suicide and asserts human individuality in any given situation. All the major figures of existentialism explore human struggles in the absurdity of life. I think that the idea of believing in the existence of God just because one cannot stand tall to face the challenges that life offers is nothing more than an emotional solace.

Expanding on this, the video helps clarify why this "emotional solace" is problematic for existentialists. It acts as a barrier to true freedom. If we rely on a pre-written divine script, we avoid the terrifying weight of the "Triangle of Existentialism": Existence, Freedom, and Responsibility. By removing the safety net of divine purpose, we are forced to acknowledge that we are the sole authors of our lives. This realization brings "angst," but it is also the only path to authenticity. To exist without excuses means we cannot blame God or fate for our actions; we are condemned to be free, and that responsibility, while heavy, is what makes human life significant.

Video 2: The Myth of Sisyphus (The Absurd Reasoning)

The meaning in and of life itself has always been an integral question among human civilization. Albert Camus's modern philosophical essay "The Myth of Sisyphus" discusses the cause of suicide and asserts in the very first sentence that it is the absurdity of life that leads to suicidal thoughts. If an individual fails to arrive at any reasonable conclusion, there are two approaches—death or hope. Camus offers a rather hopeful solution to a monotonous and absurd life in the modern world, stating at the end of the essay, "One must imagine Sisyphus happy." I think this is an appropriate approach to human despair and surrender.

This conclusion is powerful because it redefines what "victory" looks like. Sisyphus is punished with useless labor—pushing a rock up a hill only to watch it roll back down—which mirrors the repetitive nature of modern human existence. We study, work, and struggle, often without a guaranteed final reward. However, by imagining Sisyphus happy, we are not denying the rock's weight; we are denying the rock's power to crush our spirit. His happiness is his rebellion. It suggests that meaning is not found in the outcome of our labor, which is often futile, but in the struggle itself. The act of pushing becomes the meaning, making us masters of our own days.

Video 3: The Myth of Sisyphus (Philosophical Suicide)

Albert Camus thinks that when an individual fails to be or live in a state of absurdity, he either ends up losing all hope for a happy life, or he commits what Camus calls "philosophical suicide" by neglecting the very existence of the absurd. What I find interesting here is that, unlike Kierkegaard, who finds a solution to the absurd in faith, existentialists assert that there's no solution to the absurd but only negation. Now it becomes easier to comprehend the last line of "The Myth of Sisyphus," because what it provides us with is not a solution but a mere negation.

This concept of "negation" is crucial to distinguish from despair. When Camus speaks of "philosophical suicide," he refers to the "leap of faith"—the moment reason abandons itself to believe in something unprovable to feel safe. By refusing this leap, the existentialist remains in the uncomfortable, fragile space of the Absurd. This seems difficult, but I see it as a form of extreme honesty. It is a refusal to lie to oneself about the nature of the world. By maintaining this "negation," we keep our eyes open. We accept the world's silence and our own desire for meaning, and we choose to live in that tension without trying to resolve it artificially with false hope.

Video 4: Dadaism, Nihilism, and Existentialism




The Dada movement emerged after the First World War and was a reaction against it. I think the outburst of this movement in all kinds of art, which aimed to create a more rational and thoughtful society, is against the civilization that produced war, violence, and mass destruction. Dada exposes the shallowness of current systems that do not promote reason and truth. I think it paved the way for the later, more revolutionary and existential movements to follow. Dadaism replaced nationalism with humanism. I can notice a striking change in the treatment of the subject of war as it started exploring the condition of an individual rather than the interest of a nation. War poetry is a glaring example of this shift in literature.

The connection between Dadaism and Existentialism is fascinating because one functions as the demolition crew and the other as the architect. Dadaism had to come first to dismantle the old "rational" values—nationalism, duty, and cultural authority—that led to the senseless slaughter of WWI. It created a "blank slate" by showing that these old values were empty. Existentialism then stepped into this void. Once Dada had cleared the ground of false meanings, Existentialism asked, "Okay, now that we know the old ways are broken, how do we build a life?" Dadaism’s chaotic rejection of systems allowed Existentialism to center the focus back on the naked, singular human experience.

Video 5: Existentialism - A Gloomy Philosophy?

Existentialism presents us with existential questions that are often difficult to answer, which may explain why people consider it a gloomy philosophy. This philosophy poses questions that uncover human emotions such as anxiety, despair, confusion, and absurdity, and that may be the reason people think it ultimately leads to nihilism and narcissism. It challenges our deep-rooted belief system that we were hitherto following, and it makes us uneasy to think of any other way rather than stick to it. But I think that it is, to some extent, a gloomy and uncheerful philosophy.

However, while it admits to gloom, it is not a philosophy of defeat. I would argue that its "uncheerful" nature is actually a form of optimistic toughness. It is like a doctor giving a harsh but necessary diagnosis: we must know we are sick (full of angst and without inherent purpose) before we can truly live. If we ignore the gloom, we live in "bad faith," pretending everything is fine. By confronting the gloom—the anxiety of choice and the certainty of death—we wake up. The philosophy might strip away our comfortable illusions, but in doing so, it hands us back the dignity of being fully awake and alive in the real world.

Video 6: Existentialism and Nihilism




Camus seems to have been providing us two contrary points of view to look at the situation of Sisyphus: either to imagine him happy or to rebel against that absurdity of life. It would be a "philosophical suicide" if we imagine Sisyphus happy, and rebellion against God is almost unthinkable. The choice between these two options makes life absurd and meaningless.

However, upon deeper reflection, I realize that Camus actually argues that imagining Sisyphus happy is the opposite of philosophical suicide—it is his ultimate victory. Philosophical suicide would be if Sisyphus stopped pushing the rock and started praying for a future life, or if he gave up in despair. That would be an escape. But by finding happiness in the struggle, Sisyphus revolts against his punishment. He embraces his fate, and by doing so, he rises above it. The absurdity doesn't vanish, but it no longer defeats him. This nuances my understanding: the true rebellion is not fighting God directly, but simply refusing to be miserable in a meaningless world.

Video 7: Let Us Introduce Existentialism Again!




This video offers a concise yet insightful introduction to existentialism, effectively navigating a philosophy often perceived as difficult to define. It highlights that existentialism isn't a rigid system but a philosophical movement deeply concerned with "The Human Condition". The core of this concern lies in grappling with fundamental questions like "Why am I here?" and "How should I live my life?", without the comfort of pre-made, absolute answers from religious or philosophical systems. A key takeaway is the existentialist rejection of definitive answers, emphasizing instead the individual's burden and freedom to create meaning. The video powerfully elaborates on "existence precedes essence", a concept championed by Jean-Paul Sartre, which posits that humans are not born with a predetermined purpose but forge their own essence through their choices. This directly contrasts with traditional views, like Aristotle's essence or a divinely imposed one. Finally, the video crucially distinguishes existentialism from nihilism. While both reject objective meaning, existentialists, unlike nihilists, champion the human capacity to create personal, subjective meaning. Nietzsche's idea of "becoming who you are" perfectly encapsulates this active pursuit of self-created virtue and purpose, underscoring the difficult yet liberating journey existentialism advocates. It's a call to face life's inherent confusions head-on, taking control of one's narrative rather than conforming.

This distinction between Existentialism and Nihilism is perhaps the most important takeaway. It is easy to look at the "death of God" or the lack of objective morality and slide into the belief that "nothing matters." That is nihilism. Existentialism takes that same starting point but moves in a completely different direction: because nothing matters objectively, everything matters subjectively. If the universe doesn't care, it means I am completely free to care about what I choose. This shifts the focus from a "loss" of meaning to a "creation" of meaning. We are not discovering a path hidden in the bushes; we are hacking a path through a jungle where none existed before.

Video 8: Explain Like I'm Five (Nietzsche)




This video, while aiming to simplify complex philosophical concepts for a young audience, offers an interesting case study in pedagogical approaches to abstract ideas. The hosts' use of relatable scenarios, such as questioning parental rules and the concept of "good boy/girl" behavior, effectively grounds existentialism and Nietzsche's Übermensch in children's lived experiences. However, the simplification, particularly concerning the Übermensch as merely "someone who could do whatever he wants", risks misrepresenting Nietzsche's nuanced philosophy, which emphasizes self-overcoming and creating one's values, not pure hedonism or anarchy. Academically, the video highlights the challenge of translating dense philosophical thought into accessible language without losing critical fidelity. While the "explain like I'm five" premise is inherently reductive, a more balanced introduction might hint at the moral responsibilities inherent in radical freedom. For me, this video serves as a reminder of the delicate balance between clarity and accuracy when disseminating complex ideas, emphasizing that while simplification can engage, it must be carefully managed to avoid oversimplification or misinterpretation.

Video 9: Why I Like Existentialism (Eric Dodson)




Eric Dodson's personal take on existentialism in this video resonates deeply with what I understand as the philosophy's most impactful aspects. He masterfully portrays existentialism not as a purely academic pursuit, but as a practical guide for a more meaningful existence. When he speaks of its "intellectual side" appealing to the mind and a "deeper and more subtle side" appealing to the heart and soul, I find this perfectly encapsulates the essence of "existence precedes essence" - that our lived experience and emotional engagement are paramount to defining who we are. For me, Dodson's emphasis on existentialism's "staggering honesty" about life's absurdities and suffering is where its true power for growth lies. The idea that "suffering is not actually our enemy... sometimes it's our greatest friend and ally" is a profound shift in perspective. It challenges us to embrace difficult experiences, seeing them as catalysts for wisdom and deeper understanding. This honesty fosters immense resilience, as one learns to confront discomfort rather than evade it. Furthermore, I believe existentialism, as Dodson articulates, truly helps individuals grow by encouraging radical freedom and responsibility. His appreciation for its "rebellious way of thinking" and the call to "see how free you can really be" are pivotal. It encourages shedding limiting beliefs and actively participating in life, rather than being a mere spectator. This ultimately empowers us to create our own meaning, leading to what Dodson describes as a "more intensified and more amplified sense of its further horizons and possibilities".

Video 10: Let Us Sum Up (Essentialism vs. Existentialism)




I found this video to be a really insightful exploration of existentialism, especially in how it positioned the philosophy against essentialism. The way the video introduced essentialism right at the start, explaining it as the belief that everything has a predetermined "essence" or purpose before it even exists, was incredibly effective. For instance, the analogy of the knife how it needs a blade to truly be a knife, regardless of its handle-made the concept of essential properties so clear. It helped me grasp how this classical view suggests humans might also have an inherent purpose from birth. By laying out this traditional perspective, the video created a perfect backdrop to understand the radical shift that existentialism represents. The contrast between these two ideas, particularly with the existentialist mantra that "existence precedes essence", highlighted the core difference without me having to struggle with abstract definitions. It made the leap from a divinely ordained purpose to a self- created one much more comprehensible.

The Video I liked Personally 

Among the many videos I have reflected upon concerning existentialism, I find myself most aligned with the views expressed in the third video, despite its brevity. The concepts of 'philosophical suicide,' inevitable absurdity, and 'leap' are the ones that have drawn my attention to more complicated yet necessary ideas. We find existentialism relevant to our lives, but we fail to put these values into practice due to societal pressure. Existentialist ideas significantly differ from the values and rules of the society in which we live. When this clash of ideas occurs, we choose what is easy, not what we think is right for us. An absurd man knows there is no place for hope. He recognizes that 'seeking what is true is not seeking what is desirable.' His reasoning should remain faithful to the evidence that aroused it, the absurd itself. Taking the 'leap' (philosophical suicide) is the easy way out. The truly dangerous and challenging path is 'being able to remain on that disinterest in the subtle instant that precedes the leap.' One may not find meaning in one's life, but one needs to embrace the absurdity of life without abandoning one's own established visions of and approach to life. This procedure requires a delicate balance between acceptance and defiance, recognizing the chaos while still striving for personal authenticity. Ultimately, it is in this tension that one discovers the richness of human experience, navigating through both the absurd and the profound.

Learning Outcomes

Has your comprehension of Existentialist philosophy improved?

This flipped learning activity considerably improved my comprehension of existential philosophy. I came to know about other existentialists apart from Nietzsche and Camus. The concept of philosophical suicide, the nature of the absurd, Aristotle's concept of essentialism, and the very essence of what existentialism truly advocates for proved to be new and interesting. Apart from existentialism, I gained some impactful insights on dadaism, nihilism, and narcissism as well.

Do you feel more confident discussing or writing about it?

This activity exposed me to various aspects of existential philosophy, including its background, core concepts from major existential philosophers, and its relation to contemporary movements, which has increased my confidence in writing and discussing existentialism. I can answer questions based on existentialism with more knowledge and clarity than this activity bought. 

Has this exercise brought clarity to any previously unclear concepts?

Previously I was unable to distinguish clearly between various movements and philosophies that emerged in the 20th century, such as Dadaism, nihilism, and existentialism, and this exercise cleared that distinction for me. This activity brought clarity and assurance in understanding many theories proposed by existentialists such as Camus, Sartre, and Kierkegaard. This activity cleared my previous concepts and introduced some new ones to me as well.

Thought Provoking Questions

Do existentialist thinkers deny the possibility of a final solution to the problem of the absurd? 

Is imagining Sisyphus happy a true victory over the absurd, or merely another form of emotional solace?

If I am the sole architect of my values, does my radical freedom risk collapsing into destructive chaos?

How can I remain faithful to my truth when the world constantly demands I surrender my authenticity?

Is my creation of meaning a genuine revolt, or just a disguise to mask the world’s indifference?

References

  • Barad, Dilip. “Existentialism: Video Resources.” Dilip Barad | Teacher Blog, 19 Sept. 2016, blog.dilipbarad.com/2016/09/existentialism-video-resources.html.
  • Dostoevsky, Fyodor. Crime and Punishment. Translated by Constance Garnett, Project Gutenberg, 28 Mar. 2006, www.gutenberg.org/files/2554/2554-h/2554-h.htm.
  • Dostoevsky, Fyodor. Notes from the Underground. Translated by Constance Garnett, Project Gutenberg, 1 July 1996, www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/600. Project Gutenberg eBook #600.
  • Dostoevsky, Fyodor. The Brothers Karamazov. Translated by Constance Garnett, Project Gutenberg, 12 Feb. 2009, www.gutenberg.org/files/28054/old/28054-pdf.pdf. Project Gutenberg eBook #28054.
  • Gallagher, Shaun, et al. “Existentialism (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy).” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, 6 January 2023, https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/existentialism/. Accessed 23 January 2026.

Saturday, January 17, 2026

The Green Light in 3D: A Comprehensive Critical Analysis of Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby

This blog is assigned by Prof. Dr. Dilip Barad. It's aim is to study and reflect upon the novel and its film adaptation. Here is the link to his worksheet

Introduction

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, published in 1925, stands as the quintessential literary portrait of the "Roaring Twenties." Written during an era of unprecedented economic prosperity and cultural upheaval, the novel serves as a piercing critique of the American Dream. Fitzgerald captures the spirit of a nation intoxicated by wealth, jazz, and illegal liquor, yet simultaneously hollowed out by moral decay and social stratification. Through the eyes of Nick Carraway, a bond salesman from the Midwest, the reader is introduced to Jay Gatsby, a mysterious millionaire whose obsessive pursuit of the golden girl, Daisy Buchanan, becomes a tragic symbol of the corruptibility of the American ideal. The novel is celebrated not just for its plot, but for its lyrical prose—a "writerly" text where the language itself evokes the shimmering, ephemeral nature of the dreams it describes. It is a story about the past, about the relentless passage of time, and the futility of trying to repeat it.



In 2013, Australian auteur Baz Luhrmann took on the daunting task of adapting this sacred text for a modern, global audience. Known for his "Red Curtain" trilogy (*Strictly Ballroom*, *Romeo + Juliet*, *Moulin Rouge!*), Luhrmann approached The Great Gatsby not with the quiet reverence of a traditional period piece, but with the explosive energy of a 3D spectacle. Released in the wake of the 2008 global financial crisis, Luhrmann’s adaptation reinterprets the story through a lens of excess that mirrors the anxieties of the 21st century. By infusing the 1920s setting with contemporary hip-hop, frenetic editing, and hyper-saturated visuals, Luhrmann attempts to bridge the temporal gap between Fitzgerald’s Jazz Age and the millennial generation. His film is an audacious experiment in "intersemiotic translation," aiming to replicate the feeling of the novel's cultural impact rather than merely transcribing its events. This blog post offers a critical analysis of this adaptation, examining how it negotiates the tension between fidelity to the source text and the demands of a visual, cinematic medium.

Part I: The Frame Narrative and the "Writerly" Text

The Sanitarium Device: Pathologizing the Narrator

One of the most striking deviations in Luhrmann’s film is the restructuring of the frame narrative. In the novel, Nick Carraway narrates from an unspecified location in the Midwest, looking back on his time in New York with a mixture of nostalgia and revulsion. He writes to process his "father’s advice" and his own moral development. Luhrmann, however, places Nick (played by Tobey Maguire) in a sanitarium, diagnosed with "morbid alcoholism," writing his memoir as a form of therapy prescribed by a doctor.


This addition serves a functional purpose for the medium of film: it "literalizes" the act of writing. In cinema, an internal monologue can often feel detached or literary; by giving Nick a physical reason to speak (therapy) and to write (healing), Luhrmann creates a "cause and effect" dynamic that drives the narrative forward. We watch the book being written in real-time, transforming the text from a static object into an active creation.

However, this device also fundamentally alters Nick’s character. In the book, Nick is a "guide, a pathfinder, an original settler", a man who claims to be "one of the few honest people that I have ever known". His disillusionment is presented as a philosophical realization about the hollowness of the upper class. By placing him in a sanitarium, the film risks pathologizing this disillusionment. His critique of the Buchanans and the East Egg crowd is no longer just a moral judgment; it becomes the symptom of a mental breakdown. While this underscores the traumatic impact of Gatsby’s death, it perhaps reduces Nick’s reliability. Is the "Gatsby" we see the real man, or the projection of a broken mind trying to reconstruct a hero? This framing device effectively externalizes Nick's internal monologue but does so at the cost of his agency as a moral arbiter.

The "Cinematic Poem": Floating Words and Noble Literalism

Luhrmann is acutely aware of the power of Fitzgerald’s prose. To preserve the "writerly" nature of the text within a visual medium, he employs a technique where words physically float on the screen. Phrases like "The Valley of Ashes" or descriptions of Gatsby’s smile materialize like smoke or dust, superimposing the literary text onto the cinematic image. Luhrmann describes this as "poetic glue" or a "cinematic poem".

This technique is a double-edged sword. On one hand, it bridges the gap between literature and film, acknowledging that the language is as important as the plot. It ensures that iconic lines are not just heard in voiceover but seen, reinforcing their poetic weight. For instance, when the description of the Valley of Ashes floats across the screen, it emphasizes the desolation and the "powdery air" in a tactile way.

On the other hand, critics have argued this creates a "noble literalism" or a "quotational quality". It constantly reminds the viewer that they are watching an adaptation, breaking the immersion of the diegetic reality. Instead of simply experiencing the story, the audience is forced to "read" the film. It can create a distance, turning the film into a museum exhibit of the novel rather than a living, breathing entity. While visually arresting, this technique sometimes traps the film in its own reverence, prioritizing the aesthetic of the words over the emotional reality of the scene.

Part II: Adaptation Theory and the Question of Fidelity

Hutcheon’s "Knowing" vs. "Unknowing" Audience

Linda Hutcheon’s theory of adaptation defines the process as "repetition without replication," positing that an adaptation must function for both a "knowing audience" (those familiar with the source text) and an "unknowing audience" (those experiencing the story for the first time). Luhrmann’s film navigates this duality with varying degrees of success, most notably in its handling of the ending.

The film entirely omits the character of Henry Gatz, Gatsby’s father, and the subsequent funeral procession. In the novel, the arrival of Henry Gatz is a pivotal moment of pathos. It grounds the myth of Jay Gatsby in the humble reality of James Gatz. Seeing the father’s pride in his son’s "attainment" highlights the tragedy of Gatsby’s isolation—despite his fame, no one but his father and Nick (and the Owl-eyed man) attends his funeral.

For the "unknowing" audience, the omission of Gatz streamlines the narrative. It focuses the emotional climax entirely on the relationship between Nick and Gatsby, and the betrayal by Daisy. It simplifies the story into a tragic romance and a tale of lost friendship. However, for the "knowing" audience, this omission alters the fundamental understanding of Gatsby’s character. Without Henry Gatz, Gatsby remains a cipher, a spectral figure who seemingly sprang from nothing. The social critique—that Gatsby was a real man used and discarded by the careless rich—is softened. The film shifts from a critique of the American class system to a more intimate, albeit less sociologically complex, melodrama.

Alain Badiou and the "Truth Event"

Using the philosophical framework of Alain Badiou, scholar U. Vooght argues that an adaptation can be faithful not to the literal text, but to the "Truth Event"—the radical rupture or energy that the work represents. Luhrmann’s controversial soundtrack is the perfect case study for this theory.

In 1925, Jazz was not the polite background music we consider it today; it was dangerous, sexual, and rebellious. It was the "devil’s music." To use 1920s Jazz in a 2013 film would render it quaint and historical, failing to convey the visceral shock it originally carried. Luhrmann claims he used hip-hop (Jay-Z, Kanye West, Beyoncé) to make the viewer feel the same "cultural rupture" that Jazz caused in the 1920s.

By anachronistically blending the Jazz Age with the Hip-Hop Age, Luhrmann remains faithful to the energy of the novel (the Truth Event) while betraying its historical specificity. This is an act of "intersemiotic translation". The soundtrack functions to translate the experience of the party—the excess, the danger, the modernity—into a language that a contemporary audience understands viscerally. In this sense, the anachronism is a deeper form of fidelity, preserving the novel's spirit of "Newness" and cultural rebellion.

Part III: Characterization and Performance

Gatsby: The Romantic Hero vs. The Criminal

The novel reveals Gatsby’s criminality through a slow accumulation of rumors and awkward phone calls. The revelation that his fortune is built on bootlegging and bond fraud is a "foul dust" that trails his dreams. Luhrmann’s film, however, softens Gatsby’s criminal edge to position him more firmly as a "romantic figure".

Leonardo DiCaprio’s Gatsby is charismatic, vulnerable, and endlessly hopeful. The film deletes or reframes scenes that explicitly link him to darker crimes, such as the bond fraud mentioned in the book’s later chapters. By minimizing the specific nature of his crimes, the film frames Gatsby more as a victim of circumstance than a man who actively corrupted himself for a dream. The "Red Curtain" style—the fireworks, the sweeping camera moves, the heroic music—overwhelms the critique of his "corrupted dream". We are swept up in the romance of his obsession, forgetting that the means to his end were morally bankrupt. The film prioritizes the tragedy of his love over the tragedy of his morality.

Reconstructing Daisy Buchanan

Daisy Buchanan is one of literature’s most polarizing figures—often viewed as "careless," shallow, and ultimately responsible for Gatsby’s demise. The film faces the challenge of making Gatsby’s obsession with her plausible for a 21st-century audience. If she is too unlikeable, the audience cannot invest in the romance.

Luhrmann attempts to reconstruct Daisy (Carey Mulligan) by emphasizing her victimization. The film cuts specific scenes from the novel that demonstrate her coldness, such as her lack of maternal instinct toward her child. In the book, the child is a prop to Daisy; in the film, the child is barely a presence, removing a key indicator of her superficiality. The film also amplifies Tom’s villainy, making Daisy appear more trapped and fearful. While this makes her more sympathetic, it arguably strips her of agency. In the novel, Daisy’s decision to stay with Tom is a calculated choice of class safety over risky love. In the film, it feels more like the reaction of a frightened animal. By softening her edges, the film maintains Gatsby as the active romantic hero and Daisy as the passive object of desire, simplifying the complex gender and class dynamics Fitzgerald explored.

Part IV: Visual Style and Socio-Political Context

The "Red Curtain" Style: Critique or Celebration?

Luhrmann’s signature "Red Curtain" style is defined by theatricality, heightened artifice, and a conscious rejection of naturalism. In The Great Gatsby, this manifests in the dizzying party scenes, characterized by "vortex" camera movements, rapid editing, and the use of 3D technology.

The intent is to critique the "orgiastic" wealth of the 1920s—to show the "carnival of money" in all its grotesque glory. However, the medium often works against the message. The immersive nature of 3D and the sheer beauty of the visuals inadvertently celebrate the consumerism Fitzgerald was critiquing. The audience is invited to enjoy the party, to marvel at the costumes and the champagne, just as the guests did. We become tourists in the excess. Instead of feeling the hollowness of the spectacle, we are seduced by it. The film becomes a product of the very "culture industry" it seeks to satire, blurring the line between a critique of wealth and a celebration of it.



Contextualizing the American Dream: Post-2008

The film’s release in 2013, following the 2008 global financial crisis, adds a layer of socio-political resonance. Luhrmann has stated that the story is relevant because of the "moral rubberiness" of Wall Street.

In this context, the film’s depiction of the "Green Light" and the "Valley of Ashes" reflects a post-2008 cynicism. The Valley of Ashes is not just industrial waste; it represents the foreclosure of the working class, the "99%" left behind by the excesses of the "1%." The Green Light, conversely, represents a dream that was always built on a bubble—unattainable, corrupt, and destined to burst. K. Perdikaki argues that film adaptations act as an interface for "cultural transformation". Luhrmann’s film emphasizes the impossibility of the dream. The green light recedes not just because of the passage of time, but because the economic game is rigged. The visual contrast between the golden warmth of Gatsby’s mansion and the grey, gritty reality of the Ashes serves as a stark visual metaphor for the economic disparity of the post-crisis era.

Part V: Creative Response - The Plaza Hotel Scene

Scriptwriter Decision: The Plaza Hotel Confrontation

Scenario: You are the scriptwriter tasked with adapting the "Plaza Hotel" confrontation scene.

Decision: Keep the film's addition of Gatsby losing his temper and nearly striking Tom.

Justification:

Adapting a literary masterpiece requires balancing fidelity to the text with fidelity to the medium. In the novel, the confrontation at the Plaza is a psychological chess match. Gatsby’s composure slips only slightly; Fitzgerald writes that he "looked as if he had killed a man", but he never physically lashes out. The tension is internal, driven by dialogue and subtext.

However, film is a medium of externalized emotion. For the dramatic arc of the film to peak, the internal tension must manifest visually. Luhrmann’s Gatsby is a pressure cooker of repressed desire, class anxiety, and carefully constructed lies. Throughout the film, we see him maintaining this perfect façade. For the "Truth Event" of his downfall to be felt by a viewing audience, that façade must shatter visibly.

By having Gatsby lose his temper and nearly strike Tom, the film provides a necessary visual climax. It prioritizes dramatic tension (fidelity to the medium) over character consistency (fidelity to the book). This outburst confirms Tom’s accusations of Gatsby being a "common swindler" and terrifies Daisy, driving her back to the safety of Tom. It is the moment the "Great" Gatsby dissolves, leaving only James Gatz, the desperate boy from North Dakota. While it deviates from the subtle psychological dismantling of the book, it provides the visceral, emotional turning point required for a cinematic blockbuster. It signals to the audience, in no uncertain terms, that the dream is dead.

Conclusion

Baz Luhrmann’s The Great Gatsby is a dazzling, flawed, and undeniably powerful adaptation. It is a film that wears its heart—and its artifice—on its sleeve. By reframing the narrative through the sanitarium, using hip-hop to evoke the Jazz Age, and employing a hyper-stylized visual language, Luhrmann creates a version of Gatsby that speaks the language of the 21st century.

Does it succeed as an adaptation? If fidelity is measured by strict adherence to the text, perhaps not. The nuances of Nick’s morality, the depth of Gatsby’s criminality, and the starkness of the social critique are often submerged under the weight of the spectacle. However, if adaptation is viewed as "repetition without replication," as Hutcheon suggests, then the film is a triumph. It captures the feeling of Fitzgerald’s world—the manic energy, the blinding hope, and the inevitable crash. It translates the "unutterable depression" of the novel into a visual feast that leaves the viewer exhausted and entranced. In the end, Luhrmann’s film, like Gatsby himself, believes in the green light, the orgastic future. It beats on, a boat against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past, trying to recreate a masterpiece for a new generation.

References

Barad, Dilip. (2026). Worksheet: Critical Analysis of Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby (2013). 10.13140/RG.2.2.10969.38244.

Fitzgerald, F. Scott. The Great Gatsby. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1925.

Hutcheon, Linda. A Theory of Adaptation. New York: Routledge, 2006.

Luhrmann, Baz, director. The Great Gatsby. Warner Bros. Pictures, 2013.

Perdikaki, K. “Film adaptation as the interface between creative translation and cultural transformation.” The Journal of Specialised Translation, vol. 29, 2018.

Vooght, U. “The Great Gatsby meets Alain Badiou: The Truth Event in Adaptation.” Adaptation Studies Review, 2023.

Saturday, January 10, 2026

Shantih in the Rubble: How Indian Philosophy Unlocks T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land

This blog is written as a task assigned by Prof. Dr. Dilip Barad on finding research papers on 'The Waste Land' and its connection to Indian knowledge system and Upanishadic references.

Introduction

When T.S. Eliot published The Waste Land in 1922, it landed like a bombshell on the literary world, appearing to mirror the shattered psyche of a Europe devastated by World War I with its dissonant "heap of broken images." For decades, Western critics read the poem primarily as a nihilistic cry of despair from a "lost generation" wandering through a spiritual void. But what if The Waste Land wasn't just a diagnosis of doom, but actually contained a hidden cure? Recent scholarship suggests that we have been reading the poem with only one eye open, missing the profound influence of Eliot’s formal education in Indian philosophy at Harvard. Eliot was not merely a casual tourist in Eastern thought; he studied Sanskrit and Pali under renowned scholars like Charles Lanman and James Woods, immersing himself in the Vedas, the Upanishads, and the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. He once confessed that these studies left him in a "state of enlightened mystification". This blog explores how three major currents of Indian thought—Buddhism, Yoga, and the Upanishads—provide the "missing keys" to unlocking the poem. By synthesizing insights from recent academic papers, we can see how Eliot used these ancient systems to construct a path out of the modern wilderness.


I. The Misunderstanding: Beyond "Nothingness"

To understand Eliot’s use of Indian philosophy, we first have to clear up a century-old misunderstanding. In the early 20th century, many Western intellectuals, including Nietzsche, viewed Buddhism with suspicion. They saw it as "nihilistic"—a "cult of nothingness" that worshipped the annihilation of the self. They feared that the goal of Nirvana was simply to cease to exist, which to the Western mind seemed like a "nameless danger". However, as scholar Thomas Michael LeCarner argues in his paper T. S. Eliot, Dharma Bum: Buddhist Lessons in The Waste Land, Eliot knew better. Having read the original texts, Eliot understood that the Buddhist concept of Sunyata (emptiness) was not a negative void. Instead, it was a state of freedom—a liberation from the "thirst" (craving) that binds us to suffering.

LeCarner suggests that Eliot used the poem to subvert this Western fear. The "waste land" of the poem is not the result of believing in nothing; it is the result of clinging to the material world. The despair in the poem comes from Samsara—the endless, painful cycle of birth, death, and rebirth driven by desire. This gives us a radically new reading of the poem’s famous opening lines:

"April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land..."

Why is spring cruel? Because in the cycle of Samsara, rebirth is not a joy; it is a return to suffering. The "breeding" of lilacs is the painful re-emergence of life into a world of craving. The roots that "clutch" and the branches that grow out of "stony rubbish" represent our desperate, painful clinging to existence. Eliot is showing us a world trapped on the "wheel of life," where "memory and desire" keep us bound to the past and future, preventing us from finding peace in the present.

II. The Diagnosis: The World on Fire

If Samsara is the setting, what is the specific sickness of the modern age? Eliot identifies it in the poem’s central section, "The Fire Sermon." This title is a direct reference to one of the Buddha's most famous sermons, in which he preached to the priests of the fire-cult that "everything is burning." The Buddha taught that the eyes, ears, and mind are "burning" with the fires of lust, hatred, and delusion. LeCarner points out that Eliot places this sermon at the very heart of the poem to show that modern society’s problem is an uncontrolled "thirst" for sensation.

We see this "burning" depicted not as passion, but as a terrible, mechanical apathy. The most chilling scene in the poem involves a typist and a "young man carbuncular." Their sexual encounter is devoid of love or even lust; it is merely a transaction.

"He assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defense;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference."

After he leaves, the typist’s only thought is, "Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over." LeCarner argues this is the ultimate irony of Samsara: our burning desire leads not to satisfaction, but to indifference. The characters are "burning" with craving, yet they feel nothing. They are the "walking dead" flowing over London Bridge, unaware that they are trapped in a hell of their own making. By presenting this desolation, Eliot is not being a nihilist; he is acting as a diagnostician. He is showing us that a life fueled by ego and desire inevitably turns into a waste land.

III. The Cure: A Yogic Journey

So, we have the diagnosis. What is the cure?

This is where the Upanishads and the Yoga Sutras come into play. In his fascinating study "Each in his Prison Thinking of the Key", Dr. Parth Joshi argues that The Waste Land is structured like a Yogic journey. He suggests that the poem’s progression mirrors the path laid out by Patanjali in the Yoga Sutras, moving from distraction to discipline, and finally to liberation.

1. Quieting the Mind

Patanjali defines Yoga as chitta-vritti-nirodhah—the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind. Dr. Joshi notes that in Yoga philosophy, "memory" and "desire" are two of the primary obstacles (vritti) that keep the mind in chaos. When Eliot writes of "mixing / Memory and desire" in the opening lines, he is describing a mind in a state of agitation, unable to focus. The "heap of broken images" is a perfect metaphor for a consciousness that has not yet achieved the "one-pointedness" of Yoga. The characters are trapped in their own mental noise, unable to find the silence necessary for salvation.

2. Purification (Death by Water)

One of the most debated sections of the poem is "Death by Water," a short lyric about Phlebas the Phoenician, who drowns and forgets "the profit and loss." Western critics often see this as a tragic death. However, viewed through an Indian lens, this "death" is a necessary purification. Dr. Joshi argues that this section represents the Yogic concept of Kaivalya—emancipation through detachment. Phlebas’s death is the death of the ego. He forgets "profit and loss"—the dualities of the material world that haunt the merchant class. As LeCarner also notes, the water that kills him also cleanses him; he undergoes a "sea-change / Into something rich and strange". In the Eastern tradition, you must "die" to your worldly self before you can be reborn spiritually. Phlebas is not a victim; he is an initiate.

3. The Myth of Rain

Most students of Eliot are taught about the "Fisher King," the wounded monarch whose sickness makes the land infertile. But Dr. Joshi introduces a compelling alternative myth from the Indian tradition that Eliot would have encountered in his studies: the legend of Rishyashringa. Found in the Mahabharata and Ramayana, Rishyashringa was a young sage who had never seen a woman and lived in perfect chastity. When the Kingdom of Anga suffered a terrible drought, it was prophesied that only a man of perfect purity could bring the rain. The king sent courtesans to seduce the sage and bring him to the city. When Rishyashringa arrived, the heavens opened, and the rain fell.

Dr. Joshi points out that this myth perfectly parallels the poem’s themes. The "waste land" needs rain (spiritual renewal). The solution in the Indian myth is not a quest for a cup (the Grail), but the arrival of a figure of ascetic discipline. This reinforces the poem’s ultimate turn toward the virtues of self-restraint (Damyata) as the key to ending the drought.

IV. The Thunder Speaks: Datta, Dayadhvam, Damyata

The poem culminates in Part V, "What the Thunder Said," which takes us directly to the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad. Here, Eliot stops hinting and starts quoting. In the Upanishadic fable, the Creator speaks through the thunder with the syllable "Da," which is interpreted by three different groups: men, demons, and gods. Eliot adopts this structure to offer a threefold path out of the Waste Land.

1. Datta (Give): The first command is Datta: to give. But give what? Eliot writes: "The awful daring of a moment's surrender / Which an age of prudence can never retract." Raj Kishor Singh, in his article on the Bodhisattva in the poem, interprets this as the "perfection of giving" (Dana) found in Mahayana Buddhism. It is not just charity; it is the surrender of the self. In a modern world defined by "prudence" and self-preservation, the only way to break the cycle of isolation is a radical act of generosity—giving oneself over to a higher purpose.

2. Dayadhvam (Sympathize): The second command is Dayadhvam: to have compassion. Eliot captures the failure of this virtue in the lines: "We think of the key, each in his prison / Thinking of the key." We are locked in the prison of our own egos. As Singh notes, the Bodhisattva ideal is defined by Dayadhvam—the refusal to enter Nirvana until all other beings are saved. To "sympathize" is to realize that our suffering is shared. The "waste land" is a solitary confinement cell; compassion is the key that turns in the lock.

3. Damyata (Control): The final command is Damyata: to control. This brings us back to Yoga. Eliot uses the beautiful image of a boat responding to a skilled hand: "The boat responded / Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar." Dr. Joshi explains that this represents the "controlling hand" of the conscious Self. In a world of chaos, true freedom comes from discipline (Damyata). When the mind is controlled (as in Yoga), the sea becomes calm, and the heart beats in obedience to reality. This is not repression; it is mastery.

V. Shantih: The Peace That Passeth Understanding

The poem ends with a line that has puzzled readers for a century: "Shantih shantih shantih."

Eliot’s own footnote famously translates this as "The Peace which passeth understanding," borrowing a phrase from the Bible. But why did he keep the Sanskrit?

Dr. Joshi argues that Eliot knew "Peace" was a "feeble translation." In the Vedic tradition, Shantih is repeated three times to pacify three specific types of suffering (Trividha Dukha):

  • Adhi-Bhautika: Suffering caused by the external world (other people, war, animals).
  • Adhi-Daivika: Suffering caused by supernatural or unseen forces (fate, gods, natural disasters).
  • Adhyatmika: Suffering caused by one’s own body and mind (illness, anxiety, ignorance).

By ending the poem with this mantra, Eliot is doing something profoundly spiritual. He is not just finishing a poem; he is performing a ritual. He acknowledges that the "waste land" is ravaged by all three types of pain—the war (external), the spiritual drought (supernatural), and the neurosis of modern life (internal). The English language, broken and exhausted by the war, had no word strong enough to heal these wounds. So, Eliot reached back three thousand years to the Upanishads.

The ending is not a collapse into gibberish, as some critics thought. It is a benediction. It is a suggestion that the only way to survive the wreckage of modernity is to find that transcendent, unshakeable peace—Shantih—that exists beyond the cycles of desire and memory.


Conclusion: Fragments Shored Against Ruins

T.S. Eliot famously wrote near the end of the poem: "These fragments I have shored against my ruins." For a long time, we thought these fragments were just pieces of broken culture. But looking through the lens of Indian philosophy, we can see them as building blocks for a new way of living.

The Waste Land is a journey that begins in the suffering of Samsara, diagnosed by the Buddha’s Fire Sermon, and ends with the Yogic discipline of the Upanishads. It moves from the "cruel" rebirth of April to the disciplined peace of the Himalayas.

As we navigate our own 21st-century waste land—filled with digital isolation, environmental anxiety, and the "burning" of constant consumption—Eliot’s "Dharma" lessons are more relevant than ever. The poem challenges us to ask: Can we surrender (Datta)? Can we sympathize (Dayadhvam)? Can we take control of our own minds (Damyata)?

If we can, we might just find the rain we have been waiting for.

Shantih. Shantih. Shantih.

References

  • Eliot, T. S. The Waste Land. Faber and Faber, 1969.
  • Joshi, P. (2024). “Each in his Prison Thinking of the Key”: A Compoetical Study of the Indian Connection to "The Waste Land". South Florida Journal of Development, 5(8), e04216.
  • LeCarner, T. M. (2009). T. S. Eliot, Dharma Bum: Buddhist Lessons in The Waste Land. Philosophy and Literature, vol. 33 no. 2, 402-416.

Friday, January 9, 2026

 

The Architecture of Abandonment: A Comprehensive Analysis of Neeraj Ghaywan's 'Homebound'

This blog is a part of the film study activity assigned by Prof. Dr. Dilip Barad and is based on the 2025 film 'Homebound.' Here is the worksheet prepared by Prof. Dr. Dilip Barad for detailed analysis.
Course Film Studies / Sociology of Media
Film Title Homebound (Hindi)
Director Neeraj Ghaywan
Screenplay Neeraj Ghaywan, Sumit Roy
Based on A Friendship, a Pandemic and a Death Beside the Highway by Basharat Peer


Introduction: Cinema as a Record of "Slow Violence"

In the history of Indian cinema, few films have attempted to document the collective trauma of the 2020 lockdown with the unflinching gaze of Neeraj Ghaywan’s Homebound (2025). Adapted from Basharat Peer’s seminal New York Times essay, the film is not merely a survival thriller or a road movie; it is a forensic examination of the Indian social fabric when it is stretched to its breaking point. The film posits a terrifying hypothesis: that dignity in modern India is not an inherent human right, but a reward reserved exclusively for the privileged.


Pre-Screening Context & Adaptation

1. Source Material Analysis

The film is rooted in the tragic true story of Amrit Kumar and Mohammad Saiyub, two migrant textile workers from Surat. However, Ghaywan makes a pivotal narrative shift. The protagonists, fictionalized as Chandan and Shoaib, are reimagined as aspiring police constables rather than textile workers.

  • Narrative Shift: This change shifts the narrative from pure economic survival to one of "institutional dignity". By positioning them as aspirants for the state apparatus, the film emphasizes their desire to escape the "ignominy" of their identities (Dalit and Muslim) through the power of a uniform.

2. Production Context: The Scorsese Influence

The film lists Martin Scorsese as an Executive Producer. His mentorship likely contributed to the film's "realist" tone, ensuring it was "neither dumbed down nor sanitised for westerners". This stylistic choice aided its reception at international festivals like Cannes and TIFF, even as it challenged domestic audiences.


Narrative Structure & Thematic Study

3. The Politics of the "Uniform"

The first half focuses on the protagonists' preparation for the police entrance exam. Chandan and Shoaib view the police uniform as a tool for social mobility, a way to "stand tall among people who take issue with their very names". The film deconstructs the "fragile belief in fairness" within India’s meritocracy by showing 2.5 million applicants competing for just 3,500 seats—exposing systemic inefficiency.


4. Intersectionality: Caste and Religion

The film depicts "micro-aggressions" rather than overt violence:

  • Caste (Case A): Chandan applies under the 'General' category instead of 'Reserved' to avoid the "shame" associated with his Dalit identity, fearing judgment even after recruitment.
  • Religion (Case B): In a workplace scene, an employee refuses to take a water bottle from Shoaib. This "quiet insult" manifests the "quiet cruelty" of religious othering in corporate spaces.

5. The Pandemic as Narrative Device

Critics have noted a tonal shift in the second half. Rather than a "convenient twist," the lockdown exposes pre-existing "slow violence". The film uses the pandemic to transform the genre from a drama of ambition to a survival thriller, mirroring the crisis of injustice that already existed.


Character & Performance Analysis

6. Somatic Performance (Vishal Jethwa)

Vishal Jethwa's portrayal of Chandan is noted for how he physically "shrinks" during interactions with authority. In the opening scene where he is asked his full name, his body language communicates the internalized trauma of the Dalit experience.

7. The "Othered" Citizen (Ishaan Khatter)

Shoaib's character arc—rejecting a job in Dubai to seek a government position in India—reflects the complex relationship minority communities have with "home". His "simmering angst" highlights the tragedy of seeking acceptance in a nation that constantly "others" him.

8. Gendered Perspectives (Janhvi Kapoor)

While some view Sudha Bharti as a narrative device, she represents a necessary counterpoint of "educational empowerment". Her character shows that education is a privilege providing a pathway to dignity that is harder for the male protagonists to access.


Cinematic Language

9. Visual Aesthetics

Cinematographer Pratik Shah uses a "warm, grey, and dusty" palette. By framing close-ups of "feet, dirt, and sweat," the visual language contributes to an "aesthetic of exhaustion," trapping characters in their harsh reality without romanticizing poverty.

10. Soundscape

The minimalist background score by Naren Chandavarkar and Benedict Taylor differs from traditional Bollywood melodramas. It refuses to dictate emotions, allowing ambient sounds and raw performances to carry the tragedy.


Critical Discourse & Ethics

11. The Censorship Debate

The CBFC ordered 11 cuts, including muting "Gyan" and removing a reference to "Aloo gobhi". These cuts reflect the state's anxiety regarding films that highlight social fissures. Ishaan Khatter noted this as a "double standard" for social films.

12. Ethics of "True Story" Adaptations

The film faces a plagiarism suit, and the real family of Amrit Kumar was reportedly unaware of the release and paid only Rs 10,000. This raises ethical questions: does "raising awareness" justify the exclusion of the original subjects?

13. Commercial Viability vs. Art

Despite Oscar shortlisting, the film was a domestic box office failure. Producer Karan Johar stated he might not make "unprofitable" films like Homebound again, highlighting the post-pandemic market's resistance to "serious cinema".


Conclusion 

Neeraj Ghaywan's Homebound suggests that dignity is not a reward, but a basic right denied by systemic apathy. The film treats the 'Journey Home' not just as a physical migration, but as a metaphor for the protagonists' failed attempt to find acceptance in the social fabric of India. Ultimately, the film refuses to offer false hope, insisting that "equality appears only in conditions where everyone is equally abandoned".


References 

Ajay UK. “'Stand by the lives you bring to screen': Neeraj Ghaywan's Homebound draws flak for ignoring family.” Asianet Newsable, 2 Oct. 2025.
Barad, Dilip. (2026). Academic Worksheet on Homebound. 10.13140/RG.2.2.10952.99849
Bhattacharya, T. “Oscar-hopeful Homebound faces copyright suit as author accuses Dharma and Netflix of plagiarism.” Mint, 24 Dec. 2025.
Jha, S. “Karan Johar won't make 'unprofitable' Homebound again, Neeraj Ghaywan takes dig at Sunny Sanskari.” International Business Times, India Edition, 10 Oct. 2025.
Keshri, S. “Exclusive: Vishal Jethwa talks Homebound, Oscar shortlist and finding his moment.” India Today, 29 Dec. 2025.
Lookhar, M. “Ho10.13140/RG.2.2.10952.99849w close is Homebound to the true story of Amrit Kumar and Mohammad Saiyub?” Beyond Bollywood, 5 Dec. 2025.
Menon, R. “'Homebound review: A journey of friendship, identity, and a nation that keeps failing its own.” Script Magazine, 24 Nov. 2025.
Worksheet | Homebound (2025). “Academic Film Study Worksheet.” Dilip Barad, 2025.

Saturday, January 3, 2026

More Than War: The Pandemic's Echo in T.S. Eliot's 'The Waste Land'

This blog task is assigned by Prof. Dr. Dilip Barad and is based on his online videos. Here we will examine 'The Waste Land' as Pandemic Poem with the help of NotebookLM.

1. Introduction

For a century, T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land" has stood as the monumental poem of its era—a fragmented, haunting reflection of the disillusionment, cultural decay, and spiritual void left in the wake of the First World War. We are taught to see its broken images, its scattered voices, and its profound despair as the direct result of a society shattered by industrial conflict.

But what if a different, more intimate catastrophe is encoded within its famous lines? This is the key that unlocks the visceral, bodily suffering at the poem's core. In her book Viral Modernism, scholar Elizabeth Outka proposes a startling new reading: that the poem is not just a monument to the war, but a deeply personal and cultural testament to the forgotten trauma of the 1918 Spanish Flu pandemic. This global plague infected Eliot and his wife, and its feverish, disorienting reality infuses every part of the work.

2. Why We Remember Wars but Forget Pandemics

To understand why the flu's influence was overlooked for so long, we first have to grasp a strange quirk of our collective memory: we record diseases differently than we record wars. War, even with its immense tragedy, is often framed as a collective struggle where a few soldiers fight heroically for the many. It lends itself to memorials, stories of noble sacrifice, and national narratives. A soldier’s death is a martyrdom, a "veer shahid."

Disease, even during a global pandemic, is a profoundly internal and individual battle. You fight your own virus within your own body. This kind of loss is often perceived not as a noble sacrifice, but as a personal, sometimes even disgraceful, tragedy. There is a sense of blame—that you were careless, that you went to the wrong place.

"With an infectious disease, if you die your family is more likely to die. There is no sacrificial structure to build around a loss of this kind. It's simply tragedy..."

This tendency to push the memory of disease aside created a "faint cultural memory" of the 1918 flu. For nearly 100 years, it caused critics and readers to overlook the most immediate and visceral trauma shaping the world in which "The Waste Land" was written.

3. The Poem's Despair is Rooted in a Real-Life Plague

Until recently, critics have almost completely "missed the poem's viral context." But the biographical evidence, found in T.S. Eliot's personal letters, is undeniable. This link is the bedrock of the entire argument; it prevents this new reading from being mere speculation and grounds the literary analysis in lived, bodily suffering.

Eliot and his wife, Vivien, both contracted the virus in December 1918, during the pandemic's brutal second wave. His letters from the period reveal that influenza was a "constant presence" in their lives, compounding their personal and marital struggles. This experience culminated in Eliot's "nervous breakdown" in 1921, the very period he was composing the poem.

In one striking phrase, Eliot writes of the "long epidemic of domestic influenza," powerfully linking the actual virus that sickened his body to the illness that plagued his marriage. This direct, personal experience with bodily suffering, fever, and the ever-present threat of death provides a crucial new lens for understanding the poem's pervasive sense of malaise and decay.

Watch: Summary of The Pandemic Reading

This short video summarizes the 4 shocking ways the pandemic haunts the poem.

4. The Poem's Famous Fragmentation is a "Fever Dream"

One of the most challenging aspects of "The Waste Land" is its structure. The poem leaps between different speakers, historical periods, and seemingly random images. Traditionally, this is seen as a purely modernist technique reflecting a fragmented culture.

But viewed through a pandemic lens, this structure becomes something more immediate and terrifying: it mimics what scholar Elizabeth Outka terms a "delirium logic." It is a vision of reality from inside a mind gripped by fever.

This changes everything. The poem's difficulty is no longer just an intellectual puzzle; it's an expression of the physical and mental disintegration caused by severe illness. It channels two key experiences of the pandemic: innervation, a feeling of being completely drained of physical, mental, and even moral energy; and delirium, the disturbed state of mind caused by fever, marked by extreme restlessness, confusion, and frightening, hallucinatory dreams.

5. The Imagery is a Catalog of Pandemic Symptoms

Once you see it, you can't unsee it. The specific imagery of viral illness is everywhere in "The Waste Land." What was once read as purely spiritual or psychological metaphor now reveals a second, painfully physical meaning.

  • The Cruellest Month: A new reading of the opening lines suggests they are spoken from a corpse's point of view. For this body, the renewal of spring isn't a joyful rebirth but a painful disturbance of its hard-won peace.
  • Pathogenic Atmosphere: Lines about a "brown fog" and wind crossing the land capture the pervasive fear of an invisible, airborne threat. For a modern reader, the connection is immediate and chilling; it is the same anxiety that led us to wear masks.
  • Thirst and Fever: Lines about a "dead mountain mouth" that cannot spit and desperate cries for water perfectly capture the literal, burning thirst and severe dehydration of a high fever. The language itself falls apart—"drip drop drip drop"—mimicking the broken speech of a sufferer with a dry mouth.

Conclusion: A New Way of Hearing an Old Poem

The pandemic lens doesn't erase other powerful interpretations of "The Waste Land." Instead, it suggests that the poem's ubiquitous fragments, so often imagined as the cultural shrapnel left by the explosion of World War I, should also be seen as the aftermath of a proliferating viral catastrophe. It is a catastrophe which fragments thoughts, memories, communities, bodies, stories, structures, and minds.


Primary Sources & Video Lectures

Watch these detailed lectures to understand the full academic context of the poem as a response to the pandemic.

Part 1: The Waste Land as Pandemic Poem

Part 2: Detailed Analysis


References 

Barad, Dilip. “Presentations on T.S. Eliot’s ‘The Waste Land’.” Dilip Barad | Teacher Blog, 7 Oct. 2014, blog.dilipbarad.com/2014/10/presentations-on-ts-eliots-waste-land.html. Accessed 03 Jan. 2026.
Chavda, Sagar. “More Than War: 4 Shocking Ways a Pandemic Haunts ‘The Waste Land’.” YouTube, 03 Jan. 2026, www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8SYTVuWwfc. Accessed 03 Jan. 2026.
DoE-MKBU. “Reading ‘The Waste Land’ Through Pandemic Lens Part 1 | Sem 2 Online Classes | 2021 07 21.” YouTube, 21 July 2021, www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pLuqHTNscs. Accessed 03 Jan. 2026.
DoE-MKBU. “Reading ‘The Waste Land’ Through Pandemic Lens Part 2 | Sem 2 Online Classes.” YouTube, 21 July 2021, www.youtube.com/watch?v=tWChnMGynp8. Accessed 03 Jan. 2026.
Eliot, T. S. The Waste Land. Boni and Liveright, 1922.

Thursday, December 25, 2025

The Widening Gyre: A Deep Dive into W.B. Yeats, Modernism, and the Apocalyptic Imagination


This blog task is assigned by Prof. Dr. Dilip Barad, the head of the Department of English MKBU, on W.B.Yeats's poems where we will analyse both of his poems with the help of online video lectures, Hindi podcast, and study questions. 

Introduction 

William Butler Yeats stands as a monumental figure in twentieth-century literature, bridging the worlds of Romanticism and Modernism with a distinct, often prophetic voice. His work is characterized by a profound engagement with the political turmoil of his native Ireland, the catastrophe of global conflict, and a complex, personal mythology that sought to impose order upon chaotic experience. In poems such as "The Second Coming" and "On Being Asked for a War Poem," Yeats grapples with the disintegration of traditional structures—historical, moral, and spiritual—while questioning the role of the artist in times of crisis. These works illustrate his mastery of symbol and form, revealing a poet who refuses to offer easy reassurances, choosing instead to witness the terrifying birth of new, uncertain eras.


The Online Class Experience & "The Pandemic Reading"

1.1 The "Pandemic Reading" of The Second Coming

In the video recordings, the discussion centers on a groundbreaking interpretation often missed in traditional textbooks: the influence of the 1918–1920 Spanish Flu.

  • The Blood-Dimmed Tide: Traditionally, critics read the "blood-dimmed tide" as a metaphor for the bloodshed of World War I or the Bolshevik Revolution. However, as discussed in the class, the imagery is startlingly clinical. During the 1918 influenza pandemic, victims often suffered from severe hemorrhaging. The virus would cause blood to fill the lungs, literally "drowning" the patient in their own fluids. Yeats’s phrase "The ceremony of innocence is drowned" takes on a terrifyingly literal meaning here.
  • The Invisible Enemy: The class discussion highlights how the "rough beast" represents the invisible, creeping terror of the virus. Unlike a war, where the enemy is a soldier across a trench, a pandemic is an "anarchy loosed upon the world" that cannot be fought with guns. The "widening gyre" becomes the spiral of infection rates, spinning beyond the control of the "falconer" (science/government).

1.2 "Refusal-as-Assent" in On Being Asked for a War Poem

The second major takeaway from the online class is the concept of Refusal-as-Assent.

  • The Paradox: When Yeats was asked to write a war poem, he refused. But he did so by writing a poem. This is a brilliant Modernist paradox. The class explained that this is not mere cowardice or aloofness; it is an assertion of the autonomy of art.
  • The Statesman vs. The Poet: The video lectures emphasize the line, "We have no gift to set a statesman right". This is often read as humility, but the class revealed it as biting sarcasm (or Dhvani in Indian poetics). Yeats implies that the "statesman" is too entrenched in the dirty business of "meddling" to listen to the higher truths of poetry. The poet’s role is not to offer propaganda for the "right" side of a war, but to preserve the eternal human experiences—symbolized by the "young girl" and the "old man"—that war threatens to destroy.

1.3 Student Responses & Indian Poetics

A unique feature of our study material is the integration of Indian aesthetic theories (Rasa and Dhvani) into the analysis of Western Modernism. In the "Student Responses" section of the blog, we see fascinating applications of these theories:

  • Vakrokti (Oblique Speech): Students argued that On Being Asked for a War Poem is a prime example of Vakrokti. Yeats’s refusal is "crooked" or indirect speech; he says "I will not speak of war," which is, in itself, a powerful statement about war.
  • Adbhutam Rasa (The Sentiment of Wonder/Terror): In The Second Coming, the "rough beast" evokes Adbhutam—a sense of awe mixed with terror. The "blank and pitiless" gaze constitutes a "Bibhatsa" (disgust/grotesque) element that disrupts the "ceremony of innocence".

Insights from the Hindi Podcast

2.1 The "Zeitgeist" (Spirit of the Times)

The podcast connects Yeats's 1919 "Spiritus Mundi" to our modern "Zeitgeist." The hosts discuss how the anxiety Yeats felt—watching civilization crumble under war and disease—mirrors the collective anxiety of the 2020s. The speakers highlight that literary critics often overlook the "biological catastrophe" in favor of political ones, a gap this podcast seeks to fill.

  • "Readiness is All": One of the key "life lessons" extracted in the podcast discussion is the Shakespearean/Yeatsian idea that we cannot control the "gyre" (the external chaos), but we can control our "readiness". The podcast draws a parallel between the "falcon cannot hear the falconer" and our modern disconnection from truth due to social media algorithms and "fake news".
  • The "Mind Game": The podcast emphasizes that On Being Asked for a War Poem teaches us about mental preservation. In a world of 24-hour news cycles demanding our outrage (the "war"), Yeats advises us to focus on the "young girl" (beauty) or the "old man" (wisdom). This is presented not as escapism, but as a survival strategy for the mind—a way to keep the "centre" holding when things fall apart.

Detailed Thematic & Textual Analysis

3.1 The Second Coming: A Blueprint of Chaos

The Gyre as History:
Yeats believed history moved in 2,000-year cycles (gyres). The Christian era (order, centralization) was ending, and a new, antithetical era (chaos, decentralization) was beginning.

"Turning and turning in the widening gyre"

The repetition of "turning" mimics the dizziness of a world spinning out of control. The "widening" suggests that the centrifugal force (chaos) has overcome the centripetal force (order).

The Breakdown of Communication:

"The falcon cannot hear the falconer"

This is the defining metaphor of the poem. The "falcon" represents humanity, logic, or society. The "falconer" represents the controlling principle—God, reason, or tradition. The silence between them is where the terror lies. It is not that the falconer is dead, but that the falcon has gone too far to hear him. This mirrors the Modernist theme of alienation.

The New Nativity:
Yeats subverts the Christian Nativity story. Instead of a baby Jesus bringing peace, we have:

"A shape with lion body and the head of a man"

This Sphinx-like figure represents a pre-Christian, primal force. It has a "gaze blank and pitiless as the sun". The sun is indifferent; it shines on the murderer and the saint alike. This "pitilessness" is the hallmark of the new age—an age of scientific detachment and industrial slaughter. The beast "slouches"—a verb that suggests a grotesque, clumsy, yet inevitable birth.

3.2 On Being Asked for a War Poem: The Sounds of Silence

The Argument for Silence:

"I think it better that in times like these / A poet's mouth be silent"

Yeats argues that "times like these" (times of crisis) are exactly when poetry should not try to be journalism. Journalism reports the "blood-dimmed tide"; poetry must look beyond it. If a poet engages in the "slanging match" of politics, they lose their "gift".

The Archetypes:

"A young girl in the indolence of her youth, / Or an old man upon a winter's night."

These figures represent the cyclical, enduring aspects of human life. Governments rise and fall, wars begin and end, but youth and age, love and death, remain. Yeats chooses to write about these "eternal" subjects as a form of resistance against the "temporal" noise of war.


Expanded Discussion Responses

(i) Discussion Question: Imagery of Disintegration

Q: How does Yeats use imagery to convey a sense of disintegration in The Second Coming?

Yeats does not just tell us the world is ending; he uses a specific sequence of kinetic and visual imagery to make us feel the structural collapse.

  1. Kinetic Disintegration (Motion): The poem begins with motion that is out of control—"Turning and turning." The "widening gyre" is a geometric image of disintegration. As the spiral expands, the center becomes weaker. The famous line "Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold" is not abstract; it is a physics description of a flywheel spinning too fast until it shatters.
  2. Liquid Disintegration (The Flood): The "blood-dimmed tide" suggests that the boundaries between land and sea, life and death, have dissolved. A "tide" is usually a natural, rhythmic force (controlled by the moon), but here it is "loosed" (unleashed) and "blood-dimmed." It represents a violation of nature's laws.
  3. Moral Disintegration: The image of the "best" lacking conviction while the "worst" are full of "passionate intensity" describes the disintegration of the moral compass. It visualizes a world where the moderates are paralyzed by doubt (think of the "indecisive" Hamlet), while the fanatics (fascists, extremists) act with terrifying certainty.
  4. Biological Disintegration: As noted in the Pandemic Reading, the "drowning" of innocence conveys the disintegration of the human body itself under the assault of disease or violence.

(ii) Discussion Question: The Politics of Apolitical Poetry

Q: Do you agree with Yeats's assertion in On Being Asked for a War Poem that poetry should remain apolitical?

This is one of the most debated questions in literary history.

  • The Case for Agreement (The Yeatsian View): One might agree with Yeats that art has a higher calling than politics. Political poetry often ages poorly; it requires footnotes to explain the specific "statesman" or "law" being critiqued. By remaining "apolitical," the poet touches on the universal. For example, Homer's Iliad is not just about the Trojan War; it is about rage and grief. Yeats fears that if he writes about the "war," he becomes a tool of the "statesman"—a propagandist rather than a prophet. His silence is a way of protecting the purity of the language from the corruption of political slogans.
  • The Case for Disagreement (The Activist View): However, many argue that "silence" is a political choice that favors the oppressor. As the podcast noted, refusing to speak against a war can be seen as "refusal-as-assent"—implicitly accepting the status quo. Poets like Wilfred Owen or W.H. Auden (who famously wrote "We must love one another or die") believed that the poet has a moral duty to warn, to witness, and to "set the statesman right," or at least to expose the statesman's lies. To say "We have no gift" can be seen as a cop-out, a refusal to use the power of words to stop suffering.

Synthesis: Perhaps the answer lies in the middle. Poetry should be political, but not politician-like. It should address the human cost of politics (like the "blood-dimmed tide") without becoming a manifesto for a specific party.


Analytical Exercise – Comparative Study

Task: Compare the treatment of war in On Being Asked for a War Poem with other war poems by Wilfred Owen or Siegfried Sassoon.

This comparison reveals the spectrum of Modernist responses to the catastrophe of WWI.

Feature W.B. Yeats Wilfred Owen Siegfried Sassoon
Stance Detached/Aristocratic: He looks down on the war from a distance (his "ivory tower"). He sees it as a temporary madness beneath the dignity of art. Immersive/Witness: He is in the mud. He writes from the perspective of the victim. His goal is "The Pity of War". Satirical/Angry: He is angry at the leadership. He writes to expose the incompetence of the "statesmen" Yeats ignores.
Imagery Abstract/Archetypal: "Winter's night," "indolence," "silent mouth." No guns, no blood, no mud. Visceral/Grotesque: "Froth-corrupted lungs," "vile, incurable sores," "gas," "mud". Conversational/Biting: "Good-morning; good-morning!" The cheerful greeting of a General sending men to die.
Philosophy Art for Art's Sake: The poet must preserve Beauty and Truth amidst chaos. Politics is a "meddling". Art as Protest: The poet must tell the Truth, even if it is ugly, to stop the "Old Lie" that war is glorious. Art as Weapon: Poetry is a tool to attack the establishment and mock the "incompetent" authority.
Result A poem about the nature of poetry. A poem about the physical reality of death. A poem about the social hierarchy of war.

Conclusion of Analysis:
Yeats represents the "High Modernist" desire to build a fortress of culture against the chaos. Owen and Sassoon represent the "Trench Poets" who believe the fortress has already been blown up, and the poet’s job is to document the ruins. Yeats’s silence is a philosophical shield; Owen’s scream is a moral imperative.


Creative Activity

Prompt: Write a modernist-inspired poem reflecting on a contemporary global crisis, drawing on Yeats's themes and techniques.

Below is a sample poem that mimics Yeats's use of "gyres," "beasts," and "disintegration" but applies them to the crisis of Artificial Intelligence and Digital Disinformation.

The Silicon Gyre

The server hums in the widening web, The user cannot hear the algorithm. Truth falls apart; the logic cannot hold; Mere data is loosed upon the world, The pixelated tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of wisdom is drowned; The best lack all connection, while the worst Are full of viral intensity. Surely some update is at hand; Surely the Great Reset is at hand. The Great Reset! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Cloudus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of Silicon Valley A shape with metal body and the mind of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as a lens, Is processing its fast thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant Twitter birds. The power drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of human sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a glowing screen, And what rough bot, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards the network to be born?


Conclusion 

W.B. Yeats stands as a titan of literature because he did not just write about his time; he wrote about the cycles of time. In The Second Coming, he gave us the vocabulary to describe the feeling of impending doom—whether it's a world war, a pandemic, or a climate catastrophe. In On Being Asked for a War Poem, he gave us a controversial but essential defense of the artist's right to remain independent.

To truly master these poems, you must read them not just as historical documents, but as living texts. The "rough beast" is always slouching towards us; the "gyre" is always widening. The question is: will you be the falcon that gets lost, or the poet who finds the words to describe the storm?


References 

Barad, Dilip. "On Being Asked for a War Poem." YouTube, 28 Jan. 2021, www.youtube.com/watch?v=I0eIBObJ7Ys.
Barad, Dilip. (2025). W.B. Yeats's Poems: The Second Coming - & - On Being Asked for a War Poem. 10.13140/RG.2.2.17299.18720
"Hindi Podcast on 'The Second Coming' and 'On Being Asked for a War Poem'." YouTube, 1 Feb. 2021, www.youtube.com/watch?v=jAaWDvA2Gt4.
"The Second Coming." YouTube, 20 Jan. 2021, www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9qX3F0gsOQ.
"W.H. Auden: Poems." Dilip Barad's Blog, 2021,  blog.dilipbarad.com/2021/05/whauden-poems.html?m=1.
Yeats, W. B. "On Being Asked for a War Poem." The Wild Swans at Coole, Macmillan, 1919.
Yeats, W. B. "The Second Coming." Michael Robartes and the Dancer, Cuala Press, 1921.

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