Dueling Ethics: Individual vs. Societal Morality in Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby
How does the individual behave morally towards other individuals and how does the same individual behave morally toward society? It may depend on the individual’s existing relationship with the individual being acted upon in the first case. In the second case it depends on the individual’s view of the societal more. Traditionally, the philosophical study of morality, called Ethics, has dealt with the consideration of absolute “right” and “wrong.” Classical ethics does not delineate between actions of an individual toward other individuals and the actions of an individual toward society. Fitzgerald, however, in his novel The Great Gatsby allows characters to behave in morally diverse manners when interacting with individuals with whom they are familiar versus their interactions with broad societal groups. Consider this concept regarding the novel’s main character, Jay Gatsby. Does Gatsby behave in diverse moral manners with individuals versus his behavior with societal groups? Clearly the answer is yes. Gatsby’s actions toward the other characters in the novel are varied from his actions toward/within the existing society. The difficulty comes in assigning a positive or negative value, “right” or “wrong” to the actions themselves. Fitzgerald seems to avoid direct judgment of the actions of his characters, but the judgment can be inferred by the actions and comments of other characters in the novel as well as an understanding of the societal mores of the time period of The Great Gatsby, the “Roaring Twenties.”
Gatsby seems to act morally toward individuals. He goes out of his way to ensure his interactions are understood by Nick. Granted, what he tells Nick is probably a lie, but Gatsby seems to believe his own lies. “’Well, I’m going to tell you something about my life . . . I don’t want you to get the wrong idea of me from all these stories you hear.’” (65)
While a lie is clearly an act of immorality, repeating something that one believes is the truth in order to put another individual at ease is typically considered a moral action. The latter is what Gatsby is attempting to do with Nick.
To get a clearer picture of Gatsby’s morality toward individuals, consider his interaction with three of the other main characters of the novel: Daisy Buchanan, Tom Buchanan, and Nick Carraway.
While Gatsby’s relationship with Daisy is clearly founded in passion, his interactions with her are typical of the moral respect a bachelor was and is expected to have with a married woman. When Gatsby does pursue a meeting with Daisy, he does it discreetly through Jordan Baker and Nick. Jordan expresses Gatsby’s discretion in a conversation with Nick regarding the meeting. “’Does she want to see Gatsby?’ ‘She’s not to know about it. Gatsby doesn’t want her to know. You’re just supposed to invite her to tea.’” (79)
Although Daisy’s husband Tom is a grossly immoral character, Gatsby does not stoop to Tom’s level in their interactions. Tom’s interactions with his mistress, Myrtle, are frowned upon by all his acquaintances. “His acquaintances resented the fact that he turned up in popular restaurants with her and, leaving her at a table, sauntered about, chatting with whomsoever he knew.” (24) While Gatsby is certainly aware of Tom’s behavior, he still treats him with respect in a moral way.
Arguably the most moral character of the novel, Nick Carraway, the novel’s narrator, enjoys the individual morality displayed by Gatsby. Even in a little interaction like their first face-to-face meeting, Gatsby displays kindness and compassion one wouldn’t normally expect from a criminal. “’I’m Gatsby,’ he said suddenly. ‘What!’ I exclaimed. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon.’ ‘I thought you knew, old sport. I’m afraid I’m not a very good host.’ He smiled understandingly—much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life.” (48)
Consider the words of Lawrence W. Hyman in the article Moral Attitudes and the Literary Experience in The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 38, No. 2 (Winter, 1979), pp. 159-165
Nick Carraway, who is both an alter
ego for the novelist and a character in the
fiction, is the right person to exemplify this
opposition between the moral feelings that
we bring to the novel from the real world
and the world created by Gatsby’s imagina-
tion which (to quote Knight again) seem to
resist the “rough machinery of an ethical
philosophy.”
While Gatsby’s moral attitude seems to be favorable toward individuals with whom he already has a relationship, his moral attitude toward society in general does not seem to be as favorable. Clearly there is no dearth of societal interaction between Gatsby and the groups of people who attend his parties on Long Island. Fitzgerald makes certain that the reader will have no doubts regarding Gatsby’s place in society by spending the first three pages of chapter IV naming the socialites. Since we have examined Gatsby’s moral attitude toward three individuals, let’s consider Gatsby’s attitude toward three of his time’s societal mores: the accumulation and use of money or wealth, the production, distribution, and use of alcoholic beverages, and the use of criminal violence. Societal mores during the 20s seem to attribute the term “criminal” to Gatsby. According to Thomas H. Pauly in his article, “Criminal Culture” in American Literary History, Vol. 9, No. 4 (Winter, 1997), pp. 776-785:
As one of the most memorable portrayals of a well-dressed
gangster, F . Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby (1925) reminds us
that ethnicity was very hard to eradicate.
True, James Gatz is able to use his shirts, parties, Oxford
education, and mansion to become a Jay Gatsby, but this is because
he was already blessed with Waspish good looks and a
background that did not brand him as otherwise. That is to say,
purchases could transform him into the classy, attractive figure
promoted in advertisements of the era. All he lacked was the
purchasing power that Wolfsheim facilitated. However, the only
reason Wolfsheim accepts Gatsby as a partner when he sorely
lacks criminal talent and experience is because he is acutely
aware that his own ethnicity cannot be hidden by a new set of
clothes. Although Fitzgerald does not describe Wolfsheim’s
dress, his “ivory” cuff buttons suggest modish, expensive attire
(87). Yet one look and a few of his crass comments quickly turn
Nick against him, and both Gatsby and Wolfsheim register his
aversion. The only reason Wolfsheim “starts” Gatsby is because
he needs Gatsby’s front of respectability to accomplish his illegal
schemes.
One social more of Gatsby’s time in America is voiced in the words of Jesus in the Bible: “And again I say unto you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.” (Matthew 19:24)
It seems ironic that Gatsby is so obsessed with wealth when one considers Fitzgerald’s description of him, a description allusive of the same Jesus just referenced: “The truth was that Jay Gatsby of West Egg, Long Island sprang from his Platonic conception of himself. He was a son of God—a phrase which, if it means anything, means just that—and he must be about His Father’s business . . . ” (p 98)
Possession, production, and distribution of alcohol were deemed immoral acts and were even illegal during the early 20th century. Apparently, Gatsby ignored this societal more in order to amass wealth and attract individuals who could elevate his standing within the society. Fitzgerald describes the common alcohol and party atmosphere of Gatsby’s home early in the novel: “The bar is in full swing, and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden outside, until the air is alive with chatter and laughter, and casual introductions . . . “ (p 40)
While it has already been shown that Gatsby had little concern for morality when it came to the crime of distributing alcohol, even more disturbing is his attitude toward violent crime. Granted, Gatsby’s attitude may have been a result of the horrors witnessed as a soldier during World War I, but morality is supposed to be an absolute, without regard for any causal effects, regardless of how horrific they might be.
In his novel, The Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald shows that people generally accept two different moralities: one in their actions toward other individuals with whom they have experience and relationships, the second version of their morality is displayed in their actions within the mores of society. It seems as if people feel it is okay to act more liberally regarding societal mores, but more conservatively toward individuals with whom they have a relationship. While such a divergence in moral actions is frequently seen as a comparison between “apples and oranges,” it can also be the catalyst for tragic events like those portrayed in Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, viz. the horrific death of Myrtle, the unhappiness of Daisy and Tom, and the eventual murder of Gatsby himself. Fitzgerald seems to be saying that morality needs to be looked at through different lenses when it involves interactions with individuals versus interactions within society.
Poetry Portfolio
These are the poems I am planning to present at the conference in Reno in March. I’ve also included a bit of explanatory narrative in a few places.
Islamic sonnet
I am an artist; I use words to create art.
My intent is to create beautiful art with the words I use.
I am not always successful in creating beautiful art with the words I use, but I have no desire to create art that offends people to the point of them wanting to harm others.
I know that recently someone created a film that was not beautiful, and was offensive enough to cause some people to want to harm others. Such actions are wrong. Certainly, people should not desire to hurt others because of the actions of an inconsiderate filmmaker, but the inconsiderate filmmaker should never have created something which was intended to upset others.
The words which Allah, the Merciful and Just, shared with Muhammad (Peace be upon him) through the Archangel Jibril (Gabriel) should be revered. Christians, Muslims, and Jews share many of the same words, prophets, and angels. Clearly we need to do the will of Allah, Jehovah, and God. Such will is neither to offend nor harm others.
I believe our ability to create is a gift which we need to use to create beauty, not discord.
I hear the voice of Jibril (1) in a song
He sings to me iambic words of God
Begin, believe, behave, become, belong
His voice rings out from Mecca (2) to Riyadh (3)
Begin the hajj (4) across the desert sand
Believe that I recite (5) His Holy Word
Behave as if His power’s in your hand
Become a healer like Al Imran’s bird (6)
Belong to Allah, Merciful and Just
The God of Islam, Father to us all
The Torah says He made us all from dust (7)
Sharia (8) saves the world from Adam’s Fall
I listen to the words of Jibril’s song
And find the place where all my words belong.
(1) Jibril is Arabic for the Archangel Gabriel, the messenger of God.
(2) Mecca is the birthplace of Muhammad, peace be upon him, and a site of the composition of the Quran.
(3) Riyadh is the capital and largest city of Saudi Arabia.
(4) Hajj is a pilgrimage required by all believers once in their life.
(5) Quran literally means “recitation.”
(6) Surat Al Imran verse 49, in the Quran, speaks of Isa (Jesus) performing miracles such as making a clay bird and breathing life into it.
(7) Genesis 2:7
“God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.”
(8) Sharia is Islamic law.
I sent this poem to Ali Gomaa, the Grand Mufti of Egypt, and received the following reply:
“Dear Scott,
Thank you so much for contacting us. We really appreciate both your support and understanding and we thank you for your beautiful sonnet. In fact Sheikh Ali Gomaa is always keen on building bridges of communication with world religions aiming at disseminating a culture of peace and coexistence. Unfortunately, as you stated, these heinous acts of bigotry aiming at inflaming rage and hatred jeopardize our efforts in building a better and harmonious world for all of us. We hope that the people of reason all over the world would stand firmly against these irresponsible acts to avoid such heinous events in the future.
We thank you once again for your kind letter and we hope you stay in touch.”
sonn•et•tics
n. (used with a sing. or pl. verb)
1. Literary criticism that deals with the nature, forms, and laws of sonnets.
2. A treatise on or study of sonnets or lyrical beauty.
3. The practice of writing sonnets; sonnettic composition.
“Sonnettics: a new discipline of thought.
In anagram, the man by whom it’s brought,
Scott Ennis: what a paradigm of hope!
A man inspired, resolved not just to cope.”
The word was created by my friend, Václav Pinkava. I like it and hope it gets used commonly by writers of sonnets.
Children’s sonnet
Socrates the Kitten
My little kitten must be taught to read
Or else he’ll grow to be a stupid cat,
And that would be an awful thing indeed
To have a stupid little pet like that!
I want my little kitten to be smart
I even named him Socrates, because
I think philosophy should be the start
Of everything my kitten thinks or does.
And so I walk with Socrates each day
And say to him, “Now say your ABCs.”
But all he says is “mew,” then runs away,
Although I think he does it just to tease.
I’ll read to him from Shakespeare’s plays tonight
Before I try to teach him how to write.
A Little Epistemological Song by a TBI Victim
Descartes believed he was because he thought
I wonder if he thought because he was
My TBI occurred and I forgot
To blame my brain for thinking like it does
Like bringing thoughts of old René to mind
I think, therefore Descartes must think I am
But if I’m not, René will come to find
A flood of thoughts that burst his little dam!
I have a TBI, therefore I am
Philosophy’s a love that’s gone to waste
Epistemology is just a dram
Of medicine we take in thoughtful haste
But since I took my time with what I knew
“I feel, therefore I am,” is much more true.
The Sonnet That I Am
I am my song, my pulse, my turn, my scheme
If that constricts your mind then you should leave
I’m more than just a vision or a dream
In which some simple acolytes believe
And yet, I’m not a temple on a hill
I’ve seen too many temples come and go
To make pretenses which I can’t fulfill
Pretend I sound like somebody you know
I wear a modest dress, but I’m a whore
Reach just beneath the fabric and you’ll find
I’m rutting hot and eager for some more
You know I’m only fucking with your mind
And in the end I only give a damn
Because I am the sonnet that I am
A cóрок (Russian 40)
I chose to write this story in this format of 40 lines to honor the Russian cóрок (sorok.)
In Russian folklore, some Russians believe that ghosts of the dead linger near the site of their death for forty days.
I also composed this poem with the lines and stanzas written in the Pushkin Sonnet, or Onegin Stanza of tetrameter.
The rhyme scheme is also different from traditional sonnets:
ababccddeffegg
Rather than just 3 quatrains followed by a couplet, I composed this poem with 3 sets of 3 quatrains followed by 2 sets of 2 couplets.
The story of the Golden Cherub
A golden cherub is saved by Natalya in St. Petersburg from being destroyed by the Germans during WWII.
She promises the golden cherub to the poet who can preserve it through his poetic medium.
3 poets attempt to preserve the golden cherub with their art.
Natalya gets ill and dies before she can bestow the gift.
Natalya’s ghost lingers in St. Petersburg for 40 days.
The poets argue over who won.
The golden cherub is returned to St. Petersburg* and displayed in the Hermitage.
Natalya’s ashes are scattered in the Neva.
——–
Prologue
——–
She sought to make its beauty last
A baby angel, made of gold
At times time seemed to go too fast
It warmed her heart in winter’s cold
Their bombs destroyed her city’s pride
She kept it safe, and tried to hide
The baby angel, made of gold
That warmed her heart in winter’s cold
To make its gold forever shine
She sought a poet who would write
With words that always would be bright
His prize would be its gold, divine
——–
Poet 1
When dangers come, will darkness last
Or disappear within your gold
Will winters we’ve endured, be past
And will your warmth replace our cold?
——–
Poet 2
Don’t disappear; don’t even hide
We feel your beauty, deep inside
Angelic hands and heart of gold
Reveal the story we’ve foretold
——–
Poet 3
Cherubic beauty, grace divine
Compel with gold, the words I write
Reflect my words with priceless light
Beyond my poem’s mere design
——–
The siege was where disease was sewn
The fruit of illness fell as death
Before the winner’s name was known
Natalya gave her final breath
The cóрок saw Natalya’s ghost
Beside her grave, the Baltic coast
She sang within the winds of time
Without poetic words or rhyme
And on the shore the poets sat
And argued who had won the prize
They knew their words could not disguise
The fate their words could not combat
The Angel’s gold would never fade
Within the Hermitage displayed
Natalya’s ashes, with her fame
Enhance the river Neva’s name.
*Leningrad
A Runner’s Song
My legs are not my legs, they are my wings
The power of my horizontal flights
Although it’s true that birds are graceful things
They watch me run from simple jealous heights
My legs are not my legs, they are my wings
They split the rushing chaos of the wind
I love the sound it makes when chaos sings
A sound not even order can rescind
It’s true my feet are cadenced on the ground
It rises like a challenge to my pace
But quicker than they fall, my feet rebound
And like a wingtip, barely leave a trace
For gravity and I have drawn a truce,
And though it holds, I feel it breaking loose.
Triathlon Sonnet
Sonnets were made for triathletes! Okay, maybe not, but they work very well. Why? Because they have 3 quatrains. A triathlon sonnet devotes a quatrain to swimming, one to biking, and one to running. The sonnettic volta can come anywhere in the poem. It’s probably going to be somewhere when the writer/racer “turns” from strength to sheer determination! The final couplet of the triathlon sonnet is usually a realization that triathlon is a way of life. Here is one for all you triathletes:
The Final 26.2 of 140.6
The swim was just a minor 2.4
A contact sport because of this: mass start
I didn’t know what pain was yet in store
But I could feel the pounding of my heart
Transition placed me quickly on my bike
A century, and then a dozen more
I don’t recall a thing I didn’t like
Except to know I still had one thing more
A marathon, my third, but not my last
The slowest marathon I’ve ever run
It’s true, I’d started hours in the past
But hours yet before my race was done
It’s Ironman; it’s more than just a race:
A Way of Life that nothing can replace!
Feb 11, 2013
Timothy Ennis
Here is my possible re-write of “The Sonnet That I Am”
I am my song, my pulse, my turn, my form
If that enjambs your mind then you should leave
I’m more than just a vision to transform
To something simple acolytes believe
And yet, I’m not a temple on a hill
I’ve seen the strength of temples come and go
They fall, but my pretenses never will
Pretend I’m built for something more than show
I wear a modest dress, but I’m a whore
Reach just beneath the fabric and you’ll find
I’m rutting hot and eager for some more
You know I’m only fucking with your mind
And in the end I only give a damn
Because I am the sonnet that I am
Manage Discussion Entry
Feb 16, 2013
Timothy Ennis
Here is another attempt at re-writing “The Sonnet That I Am”
The Sonnet That I Am
I am my song, my pulse, my turn, my form
If that enjambs your mind then you should leave
I never deviate from meter’s norm
In which Petrarchan acolytes believe
And yet, I’m not some temple on a hill
I’ve seen the strength of temples come and go
They crumble, but my pretense never will
Pretend I sound like somebody you know
I wear a modest dress, but I’m a whore
Reach just beneath the fabric and you’ll find
I’m rutting hot and eager for some more
You know I’m only fucking with your mind
And in the end I only give a damn
Because I am the sonnet that I am
Innocence
South of the junkyard
we popped our buttons
and stained our jeans.
Lost in metal moments and dust
too thick to trust
there was never enough time to be–
to be–
young.
Water Ritual
Beads of midnight shine
within the shower water
fresh upon my naked skin
Huddled bare upon
a puddled floor
I’m soothed by
lulling melodies
like seas of music
gently playing
like sea nymphs swaying
on the waves of the radio
Beads of moonlight shine
upon the crystal pitcher
while I think
of purity drinking me
I slowly let the water
flow within my sinful soul
Distended then I weep
and purged of tears
I fall asleep
to dreams
of peaceful waters
Vices
my eyes like corks will pop
and all the champagne stocked
within my skull will
spill
it’s lack of wisdom
bubbling on the page
where i compose the poem
which is made
for drunkards
and for lovers
and for others
who are numbed
by vices
of their own design
Up All Night
Around the earth
The night has flown
And once again
I’m left alone
I watched the night arrive
I watched it fly
Into the grey dawn
I saw it fade
I sat for hours
And rubbed my face
I felt my whiskers grow
I pushed my hair behind my hands
And through my fingers
In the darkness I lost
A small part of me
While the rest became
A memory
And even smaller
Parts of memories
Escaped from inside
I remembered
And I cried
I couldn’t sleep
I couldn’t sleep at all
And now that I reflect
I don’t recall
Imagining a single song
Or hearing in my thoughts
A melody
Of all the starkness
Of it all
That was most unusual
For me
Around the earth
The night has flown
And once again
I’m left alone
The Art of Friendship
We watch the river
walk quietly beside
Us, arm in arm,
like a brush stroke
of water color
flows across
an endless gallery
Contrasts and combinations
blend into beautiful
hues of tenderness;
each masterpiece
receives a soft caress
of light and love
inspired by another
Distant Contrast
Dreams of a warm New England fall
aren’t altogether focused
Like the clarity
of here and now
warm fingers glide
across smooth skin
Texas summer heat melts
the visions called illusions
of leaves and colors
Something else about emotion
ships upon the ocean
or a pond
about a breeze
and how one necessitates
another
One cool dream drifts down
and warms a resting lover
Tears
You almost looked familiar
when it was almost raining.
I stopped in the tracks
of my brown leather shoes
And looked back
for a moment…
a moment…
a moment…
You disappeared through the mist;
I never saw you again.
It occurred to me to write,
to send some new photographs
To make you laugh,
to prop up on your dresser
For a few days.
Now it is raining;
the mist which swallowed you
Has also dissapeared.
I won’t go outside today;
the weather is frightening.
Don’t look;
I’m crying.