РефератыИностранный языкCyCybernetic Plot Of Ulysse Essay Research Paper

Cybernetic Plot Of Ulysse Essay Research Paper

Cybernetic Plot Of Ulysse Essay, Research Paper


A paper delivered at the CALIFORNIA JOYCE conference (6/30/93)


To quote the opening of Norbert Wiener’s address on Cybernetics to the


American Academy of Arts and Sciences in March of 1950, The word


cybernetics has been taken from the Greek word kubernitiz (ky-ber-NEE-tis)


meaning steersman. It has been invented because there is not in the


literature any adequate term describing the general study of communication


and the related study of control in both machines and in living beings.


In this paper, I mean by cybernetics those activities and ideas that have


to do with the sending, carrying, and receiving of information. My thesis


is that there is a cybernetic plot to ULYSSES — a constellation or


meaningful pattern to the novel’s many images of people sending, carrying,


and receiving — or distorting, or losing — signals of varying import and


value. This plot — the plot of signals that are launched on perilous


Odyssean journeys, and that reach home, if they do, only through devious


paths — parallels and augments the novel’s more central journeys, its


dangers encountered, and its successful returns. ULYSSES works rather


neatly as a cybernetic allegory, in fact, not only in its represented


action, but also in its history as a text. The book itself, that is, has


reached us only by a devious path around Cyclopean censors and the Scylla


and Charybdis of pirates and obtuse editors and publishers. ULYSSES both


retells and re-enacts, that is, the Odyssean journey of information that,


once sent, is threatened and nearly thwarted before it is finally received.


We are talking, of course, of cybernetics avant la lettre — before Norbert


Wiener and others had coined the term. But like Moliere’s Monsieur Jourdain


discovering that all along he’s been speaking prose, so Leopold Bloom might


delight in learning that he is actually quite a proficient cyberneticist.


Joyce made his protagonist an advertizing canvasser at the moment when


advertizing had just entered the modern age. Bloom’s job is to put his


clients’ messages into forms that are digestible by the mass medium of the


press. If Bloom shows up in the National Library, for instance, it will be


to find a logo (in what we would call clip art) for his client Alexander


Keyes.


The conduct of spirit through space and time is what communication’s about.


And James Joyce was interested, as we know, in the conduct of spirit: his


own, that of his home town, and that of his species.


* * *


Once they’re sent, what are some of the things that can happen to messages?


They can be lost, like the words that Bloom starts to scratch in the sand:


“I AM A…” Signals can be degraded by faulty transmission, like the


telegram that Stephen received in Paris from his father back in Dublin:


“NOTHER DYING. COME HOME. FATHER.” A slip of the pen — as in Martha


Clifford’s letter to Bloom — destroys intended meanings, but it also, as


Joyce loves to point out, creates new ones. “I called you naughty boy,”


Martha wrote to Henry Flower, “because I do not like that other world.”


Signals can be abused and discarded, like the fate of “Matcham’s


Masterstroke” in Bloom’s outhouse. Signals can be censored, pirated,


misprinted, and malpracticed upon by editors, as happened the text of this


novel itself. Signals can fall into the wrong hands, like the executioners’


letters in the pub, or they can land where they’re sent but make little


sense, like the postcard reading “U.P. up” that Dennis Breen gets in the


mail.


And signals can, finally, reach their intended recipient with the intended


meaning, as in Bloom’s pleasure in reading Milly’s letter to him in the


morning’s mail. And what about that book that Stephen is going to write in


ten years? There’s a premonitory cybernetic allegory for you, and one with


a happy ending to boot.


* * *


I would like to sketch for you, then, a brief and cursory


chapter-by-chapter account of the cybernetic plot of Ulysses. But lest the


listener persist in harboring doubts, as we say, concerning the cybernetic


signature of the Joycean narrative, let me anticipate the first sentence of


the ‘Lotus-Eaters’ episode:


BY LORRIES ALONG SIR JOHN ROGERSON’S QUAY MR BLOOM walked soberly, past


Windmill lane, Leask’s the linseed crusher’s, the postal telegraph office.


As befits the narcotic theme of the episode, this first sentence is itself


not quite sober. Even the first two words — “BY LORRIES” — are ambiguous,


since the mail moves “by lorries” in a parallel but different sense of Mr


Bloom walking “by lorries.” Most significantly for our reading, this first


sentence of ‘Lotus-eaters’ ends in “the postal telegraph office,”


suggesting that the episode, like the novel at large, is concerned with


sending messages.


STATELY, PLUMP Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of


lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.


That mirror will be used shortly for heliography, when Mulligan will have


“swept the mirror a half circle in the air to flash the tidings abroad in


sunlight now radiant on the sea.” This is idle signal-sending, with no


clear sense of a recipient. Up close, Buck has just hurt Stephen’s feelings


on the subject of his mother, and is about to hurt them again. In other


words, between the two men, communication is poor. The signals don’t get


through.


Also in the first episode, the old milkwoman prompts a Homeric thought


attributed to Stephen: “Old and secret she had entered from a morning


world, maybe a messenger.” “Maybe a messenger!” Cyberneticists love


ambiguity, particularly about subjects like messages and messengers in


disguise.


The Homeric scheme for the novel tells us that the elderly milkwoman as


messenger stands for or signifies the goddess Athena disguised in the form


of Mentor. From the first, sending a successful signal is understood from


that great cyberneticist Homer to require a disguise. The wire that


conducts truth, in an image that Pynchon favors, must be insulated.


Furthermore, our best ideas, the Greeks thought, come to us as if from


without. Thus, Telemachus receives his prompt from Athena disguised as


Mentor, just as Stephen is metaphorically roused from inaction by the old


milkwoman. A signal gets through, not despite but thanks to its padding,


and for both Homer’s and Joyce’s young man, the signal prompts new ideas.


History, the subject of Stephen’s instruction in ‘Nestor,’ is what remains


of signals from the past. Education itself is the ultimate cybernetic


challenge, and Stephen grapples with it in trying to explain a math problem


to a slow student from Vico Road. Throughout the novel, ignorance and


stupidity — respectively, a lack of knowledge and a lack of intelligence


– pose threats to both the characters and the culture. They are not


helpful insulation; rather, they interfere with and frustrate successful


communication. “My patience are exhausted,” writes Martha Clifford to her


penpal Henry Flower. Stupidity threatens to reduce signal to noise just as


surely as the citizen later threatens to bean poor Bloom. The bigotry of


anti-Semitism that Mr. Deasy incarnates at the end of ‘Nestor’ epitomizes


noise, then, in the form of injurious stupidity.


In ‘Proteus,’ the third episode, Joyce combines the references to space and


time, respectively, of the first two episodes, by allowing the sight of the


midwives on the beach to prompt Stephen’s thoughts of a navelcord telephone


to Eden. The famous telegram from his father, containing the typo which


Joyce deliberately repeated from the actual telegram but which his editors


from 1934 until 1986 insisted on correcting, also appears in this episode.


“Nother dying. Come home. Father.” Accidental noise in the signal seemed to


Joyce to possess profundity, alluding as the error did to the universal


condition of mortality — a theme dear, as we know, to the author of “The


Dead.”


Near the end of the ‘Proteus’ episode, Stephen on the strand at Sandymount


wonders “Who ever anywhere will read these written words? Signs on a white


field. Somewhere to someone in your flutiest voice.” Stephen has just torn


off the bottom of Mr Deasy’s letter to the editor, so as to jot a poetic


idea on it, and showing that for him the medium of a signal means nothing;


only its spirit, or content, matters. Bloom will write letters on these


sands, too; it’s as if proximity to water brings out the playful side in


signal-sending, as with Buck’s earlier mirror-flashing. There is a kind of


playful, throwaway signal-sending that we indulge in for the pleasure of


NOT knowing who will receive it. “I shot an arrow into the air; it fell to


earth, I know not where.” Sending real messages is serious business;


sending pseudo-messages, or non-messages to random audiences, is play.


Stuff for the beach, not the town.


In ‘Calypso’ (the first Bloom chapter), velopes themselves carry meaning;


the one from Blazes to Molly scorches poor Bloom’s heart. But the (quote)


“letter for me from Milly” does Bloom

’s heart good. Signals full of


meaning, ones like Milly’s that land where they’re sent, and are properly


understood, can do a world of good.


“Metempsychosis” is the word in this episode that prevents Molly from


understanding a sentence in the trashy novel she’s reading. The


transmission of spirit across time and space is itself an idea that Poldy


must translate into plain words in order for its meaning to reach Molly.


But he does so, and she does understand. Meanings need new clothes to cross


some borders, but quick wits know how to smuggle those meanings across.


The fate of the magazine story (”Matcham’s Masterstroke”) that Bloom reads


in the outhouse shows that some signals belong in the toilet. The joke’s


cybernetic subtext concerns the need to evaluate our culture’s signs, to


digest them, and to dispose of the unworthy ones accordingly.


In ‘Lotus-Eaters,’ the first sentence of which we followed into the post


office, Bloom receives his letter from Martha Clifford, with its misspelled


“world.” Noise threatens to wreck signal, to put meaning to narcotic sleep,


but again (as with Simon Dedalus’ telegram about “Nother dying”) Joyce is


fascinated by the meanings born of random error. Like the bicycle tire’s


lemniscate that fascinates John Shade, in Nabokov’s PALE FIRE, the noise


that seems to spell out its own new meaning offers another kind of


pseudo-signal: not one without an intended audience, this time, but one


without a real author other than chance itself. The Surrealists, of course,


would have you believe that they cornered the market in such random marks


believed to bear meaning.


When Bloom tells Bantam Lyons that he was just about to “throw away” the


newspaper, and Lyons thinks that Bloom is tipping him about the racehorse


Throwaway, it’s a clear case of noise being mistaken for signal. That’s why


the winning horse is named for disposable refuse (”Throwaway”) in the first


place: some signals go about disguised as noise. Joyce, unlike Martha, DOES


“like that other world.”


In Hades, Bloom very simply and matter-of-factly draws the limits of


communication at mortality. “Once you are dead you are dead.” No serious


signals reach us from the other side, only ridiculous ones, as Christine


van Boheemen reminded us on Monday. The cybernetic comedy of errors deepens


here as an idle word, M’Intosh, is boosted to human status, one more


erroneous conflation of words and things.


‘Aeolus’ is about communication, set as it is in the newspaper office. The


rhetorical devices that run rampant through the episode show the dangers of


one’s medium going opaque on one, of language becoming windy through a


fatuous obsession with its own sound. A thoughtful style strengthens, a


thoughtless style weakens any signal.


In ‘Lestrygonians,’ Bloom receives the novel’s third throwaway, the


advertizing handout, which he throws to the unappreciative gulls. Signals


only work on their intended human receivers, as we all knew already but


Joyce still needed to show. As an advertising canvasser, as we’ve noted,


Bloom’s occupation centrally concerns the sending and receiving of


commercial messages, and so the cybernetic conundrums of the billboard


floating on the Liffey and of HELY’S sandwichboard men go under instant


analysis in Bloom’s mind.


‘Scylla and Charybdis,’ outside the novel, may perhaps best be seen behind


the prudish censors on one side and the unscrupulous copyright violators


who threatened the book’s successful publication on the other. Piracy we


call this latter crime, unwittingly evoking a maritime metaphor of the


novel as a ship on a dangerous journey. (Recall how apt it was of Wiener to


name cybernetics for a Greek steersman.) In the case of Ulysses, a novel


that faced and continues to face Odyssean obstacles at every stage of the


journey, the metaphor is peculiarly apt.


In ‘Wandering Rocks,’ Father Conmee furthers the cybernetic plot by posting


a letter with the help of young Brunny LyNam. Boylan, meanwhile, plays the


cybernetic flirt: “–May I say a word to your telephone, Missy? he asked


roguishly.” Stephen and Bloom, meanwhile, are both eyeing the booksellers’


carts, seeking stray signals that may or may not be meant for them,


‘Sirens,’ for Joyce as for Homer, reminds us that some of the most


beguiling signals intend us nothing but harm. Survival may come only


through voluntary paralysis, as when Odysseus has himself lashed to the


mast. As Bloom ties and unties his fingers with the elastic band, Joyce


again shows us insulation proving an effective defense against hurtful


thoughts; in this case, Bloom’s thoughts of marital betrayal.


‘Cyclops’ has that mock-theosophic signal from the other side, reporting


that the currents of abodes of the departed spirits were (quote) “equipped


with every modern home comfort such as tlfn,” and so on. ‘Cyclops’ is also


where Joe Hynes reads aloud from the job application letter of one H.


Rumbold, Master Barber, implicitly reiterating the need for moral


discrimination in the matter of meanings received.


“Still, it was a kind of communication between us.” So thinks Bloom of his


silent tryst with Nausicaa in the form of Gertie MacDowell. And of course:


“For this relief much thanks.” Successfully sent and received erotic


signals gratify in this narrative quite explicitly beyond the reach of mere


music or language.


‘Oxen of the Sun’ allows that medium of transmission, language, to turn


opaque again, to foreground itself at the risk of letting meanings die


undelivered. (Quote:) “The debate which ensued was in its scope and


progress an epitome of the course of life.” Some signals can be made to


bear multiple meanings on levels of varying profundity.


In ‘Circe,’ Bloom shows us that the recall and timing of information can be


crucial to success. He remembers what he’s heard about Bella Cohen’s son at


Oxford, and uses the information in a timely fashion to protect Stephen


from harm. Judgment of what to listen to, what to remember of what one’s


heard, and what to repeat and when are all essential cybernetic skills.


Bloom also, at episode’s end, picks up an imagined signal from the imagined


spirit of his son Rudy, proving that to the artistic imagination, at least,


mortality is no barrier to spirit after all. (Of course, readers of


Dubliners had already learned that from Michael Furey.)


Its absurd pedantic deadpan notwithstanding, the ‘Ithaca’ episode


nonetheless communicates that even the worthless crumbs of Plumtree’s


Potted Meat in one’s bed may be read as signal.


‘Eumaeus’ features yet more signal degraded into noise. The newspaper


account of the funeral inadvertently drops an L from the name of L. Boom.


Even the mock sailor’s postcard from landlocked Bolivia furthers the


episode’s theme of exhausted and phony meanings.


In ‘Penelope,’ finally, communication comes once again to mean the


successful transmission of spirit among bodies. The flesh assents all too


indiscriminately in this episode, but Bloom is home safe, dominant at last


in his wife’s thoughts, his message of unprepossessing love mocked,


ridiculed, travestied, and betrayed, but ultimately received, understood,


and acknowledged.


The style of Joyce’s novel, with its access from the very first scene to


Stephen’s own thoughts, and then to Bloom’s, and finally to Molly’s,


implies that no communication, no means of meaning, succeeds so well as


that of the artistic imagination. When he said “Madame Bovary, c’est moi,”


Gustave Flaubert was teaching Joyce to disregard and ultimately to refute


the supposed inscrutability and reputed inaccessibility of the Other. The


lines may be down between husband and wife, they may be tottering between


father and daughter, but between the author’s spirit and that of his


characters, le courant passe, the current flows without impedance.


Any signal, like a Homeric hero, is threatened with ruin by the alluring


sirens of noise. Any piece of information, or any spirit afloat in our


culture, that is, faces an Odyssean battle in order to make it through.


Consider the obeisance of publisher to legal power that used to appear at


this novel’s front gate, for instance. This NOVEL had to undergo an odyssey


before coming home to our minds. The law tried to stop it, pirates tried to


loot it, but the text, like its characters, came through relatively


unscathed.


Cybernetic messages and the obstacles to their correct transmission present


one of the manifold yet parallel plots in ULYSSES — with our own


successful comprehension of the novel furnishing the happy ending to a


cybernetic allegory in which character, action, and text all come through,


finally, loud and clear. The book, that is, enacted a Joycean design over


which Joyce himself could have had little control, for the book itself


recapitulated the Odyssean journey across perilous seas. Pirates, monstrous


one-eyed censors, Procrustean editors kept mangling a Protean text. And yet


here it is, home free, safely harbored in our minds and in our hearts.


Thank you very much.

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