Vanilla

On Sacrifice, a short essay by V. J. White

It is my humble and perhaps ill-informed opinion that the universal favourite theme of sacrifice in love, often glorified in fiction and reality alike, necessitates some suspension of disbelief; vital in momentarily immersing the audience in a world beyond their own that may or may not resemble the ideal that is Eros, Philia and Agape. This essay proposes that the brief suspension not only mitigates the issues any logical, rational being should face in considering the prospect of losing something for nothing in return but creates an odd but necessary disjunct in the heart and the mind.

Speaking from the standpoint of a logician, sacrifice is never an option for the genius or the intelligent. There is nothing risky about placing twenty grand in an investment scheme you know will not produce any form of return; that is not a risk, it is a mistake. Regardless of the logical system or reasoning that one subscribes to (inductive, deductive, abductive, etc), it is necessarily the case that losing something for nothing in return should never be the case.

Yet, why do the eyes sting and our throats constrict and our chests ache at the monstrosity of a lover presenting their heart to their blind, dying beloved who, say, will never know the identity of their donor; of a king abandoning all power and status to be with their beloved in a rival kingdom?

Indeed, these works of fiction, things far beyond our immediate experience are stories of greatness.

I am of the opinion that while greatness can be sacrifice, not all sacrifices are done in greatness. It is the undeniable truth that the majority of the world will never experience or understand the weight of sacrificing one's life to save another, let alone a kingdom for one sole, seemingly insignificant commoner. The great art of sacrifice in fiction cannot be understood in the context of the common-day, rational reader. That is what I had come to believe after all these years of reading and rationalizing; that fiction of such magnitude cannot truly capture what it means to lose something, irrationally and defying all sense of logic, knowing that one will receive less or perhaps even nothing in return—an act belonging only to the fictional fools written in ink, moving across a set, a stage, in movies or a play, selfless fools who think with their heart.

No rational being would ever think sacrifice a plausible solution, unless they should be caught in some moral dilemma whereby they are required to choose between sacrifice themselves for five others strapped to a railway with a runaway trolley hurtling down their path or leaving them to the reaper. Subscribing to the utilitarian school of thought would necessarily allow the rational being justification in choosing to sacrifice themselves, but swap the self with a loved one and the entire dilemma pales in comparison.

I struggle to term choosing between one's beloved and five strangers a dilemma. In the event that a husband encounters his wife and a stranger about to drown in a pool, it is, without a doubt, that he would jump into a pool to save his drowning wife without deliberation, as Harry Frankfurt proposes in Some Mysteries of Love (2001). Frankfurt refers to this quite literally, in a sense that the husband should not be deliberating between who he should be saving, or even be thinking about the situation, if, at all for that would be 'one thought too many'.

Any form or thought of reason, pause of rationality, strictly speaking, would determine the difference between Love and, well... not love. To many and perhaps even myself, it seems entirely plausible that the decision-maker would choose to sacrifice their humanity by allowing the five strangers to meet their respective ends, thereby saving that one, non-fungible person of attraction. This sacrifice and this decision, even, lacks the logical reasoning that many of us rely upon to live a fulfilling, meaningful life. This had, once, brought me to conclude that the great art of sacrifice in fiction cannot be understood in the context of the common-day, rational reader.

I now realize that I may have been wrong.

Though I continue to be of the opinion that not all sacrifices are done in greatness, the premises to which this conclusion rests upon have been altered to strengthen the validity, cogence and soundness of the claim; that is, the true reason as to why a everyday, common reader can wholly understand and even relate to great sacrifice in epic works of fiction is that sacrifice has and will never be a physical, tangible phenomena. It cannot be valued or understood as a mere manifestation in the superficial, surface world. I propose that sacrifice in love resonates deep within the core of one's humanity and that it may, indeed, be a universal feeling after all, despite the drastic differences between our fictional, dream-worlds and the reality in which we face.

That while greatness can be the foregoing of a crown and a throne, the presenting of one's heart on a pillow, that it can also be a single text; the pouring of a glass of water; the presenting of hot cross buns; the planning of a date; the cooking of a meal; the letting go.

It has come to my attention that I am perhaps not at all the rational being I claim to be when it comes to a certain someone. Indeed, it is rare. Intriguing. And perhaps even a little frightening, I daresay. After all, losing one's ability to reason in the presence of another sounds perfectly absurd, shaking the core, uprooting the very people who have once thought themselves cemented into the ground in which they stand upon.

Why is it that when it comes to that one person, mankind develops the sudden ability to serve themselves up on a platter for as many sacrifices as they can remember?

Could this really be the true love that every great work of fiction writes about, or just a mere figment of our imagination—an ideal that was never meant to be achieved?

It is in present time that I understand the weight of unknown forces pulling two apart; that there may be times when, despite the incredible, paradigm-shifting, world-ending extent of love shared between a pair of existences, they are simply not meant to be.

In conclusion, reasons do not explain the unexplainable phenomena that is true love; or so I have come to realize. Whether or not there is truth in my understanding, I do not know.

What I know now is perhaps thoroughly limited, with respect to my current condition of being terribly far from the objectivity that I had, all my life, strived to embody and did, to my best efforts, achieve. What now seizes the mind is the heart that is full of him. Of memories that are him. Of vague, unknowing 'knowledge' that is him. Of moments, of words, of feelings that are him.

And should there come a time when I have to forego these 'him's for his happiness and well-being... I find it hard to believe that I will ever have anything against such an idea.

Of Love

And Sacrifice.

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A/N: Thursday will be the chapter we're all waiting for and I apologize that today's update is a mere pre-cursor for what's to come because it's been a tough week (also perfectly suitable for writing this essay, actually) and I have been, as usual, thinking. 

As academic as this essay may sound, it reflects the exact thoughts of Vanilla that I wish to portray before we get into the final resolution. There will also be a last intentions chapter for some of that good interpretation stuff that some of you readers like to do and, well, thereafter, I'll be diving right into the next book. ;) 

I've always been fond of the complexity that Vanilla and Leroy embody in their relationship with one another, in my struggled attempt at writing something real and raw and still, oddly magical. 

I'll be right back in a couple of days.

-Cuppie