Megan Zopf
English 112
March 4, 2002
The Struggle of Life Seen in A Raisin in the Sun
Philosophers have puzzled over numerous difficult questions throughout history. What is the purpose of life? What is the meaning of battling against overpowering odds for unachievable standards beyond our grasp, for a better world for our children despite the cruel reality of our own? Most importantly, why do some people persist despite overwhelming obstacles, while others give up quickly or never bother to try? Essentially, that is what A Raisin in the Sun, a play by Lorraine Hansberry, is: an observation on life and our struggle to comprehend and control it. The last scene in the play between Asagi and Beneatha contrasts two current views on why we keep trying to change the future and reaches the conclusion that the real meaning in life is the struggle. It doesn’t matter whether or not we succeed. Our lives are purposeful only if we try to make the world a better place for others and ourselves, only if we follow our dreams.
Many self-described realists dismiss this attitude as impractical, that finding value in the pursuit of dreams is mere a waste of time. Often this viewpoint is obtained after much harsh suffering or no apparent reason, as in the case of Beneatha Younger. Already a natural pessimist, due to the condition of the world into which she was born, a world where poor blacks with dreams of something better are generally doomed, she becomes resentful of life when her dream of becoming a doctor is shattered. Maybe she acts poorly: the money her brother lost, after all, was not hers at all, but her mother’s, and how she expects to finance college without the death of her father and the insurance check that followed is unclear. What is clear, however, is that the death of her long-held ambition had a profound effect on her. A dream glanced from afar brings disappointed when it crumbles; a dream that dies with realization almost within grasp, brings despair. Becoming a doctor was no longer a childhood goal for Beneatha. It is in this sort of mood that Beneatha formulates an idea about the downright stupidity and calloused of nature in general and people in specific: “ Don’t you see there isn’t any real progress, Asagai, there is only one large circle that we march in, around and around, each of us with our own little picture in front of us – our little image that we think is our future” (1822-1823). Misery and stupidity are always present and man does not seem capable of eliminating them once and for all. Their existence plot to hinder dream, and Beneatha decides she is tired of the struggle, tired of deluding herself with an unworkable vision, tired of having to fight against the unchangeable facts of a life view that she might have kept, as many have, if it weren’t for Asagai’s reasoning.
For Asagai, the struggle to achieve his own view of the future is the essence of life. His is the generation of African dreamers who passionately advocate the independence of the continent from colonial rule, for whom revolution and sudden change are generally perceived as the only ways to improve the lot of their homelands. In this country he lives with oppression, unhappiness and ignorance. He meets constantly with apathy and indifference or even outright hostility toward his life’s dreams, and yet his determination never falters. It seems apparent that he manages to portray a timeless reality about life and the struggle for its improvement in his speech to Beneatha about the results of his different ideas:
Perhaps the things I believe now for my country will be wrong and
outmoded, and I will not understand and do terrible things to have things
my way or merely to keep my power. Don’t you see that there will be
young men and women – not British soldier’s then, but my own black
countrymen – to step out of the shadows some evening and slit my then
useless throat? Don’t you see they have always been there…that they
always will be. And that such a thing as my own death will be an
advance? They who might kill me even…actually replenish all that I was.
(1823-1824)
Asagai’s debate presents a deep perception into our place in the world we are born into. We should never accept the existing state of our life simply because it always has been, therefore always will be. It is the obligation of each consecutive generation to examine the ideas of their forefathers, to see if their beliefs have relevancy to the present, and if they don’t to change them. The assurance and control of the established order cause some to ignore the idea of change. To dream of a better world is not easy under such circumstances, but in a sense it is necessary. By our dreaming, and striving to fulfill those dreams, we also fulfill the struggle of past generations that have been working for a better world for all history.
Not all dreamers dream the same thing. There have always been the Willy Harrises, those whose only goal is personal gain and who prey on the innocent. Their dream of a better society places their own interests above everyone else’s. Often, the state of the general population under their rule is the same or worse than that which was replaced. Their tricks convince many of the uselessness of dreaming. Beneatha tries to use this as an excuse to give up dreaming, to turn back on mankind and retreat into herself, complaining about the world but not caring enough to do anything. Asagai, however, tells her “Then stop moaning and groaning and tell me what you plan to do.” (1824) His words make it evident that she has an obligation to herself, her family and the world to keep chasing her dreams – even if they do prove to be unattainable.
Why do we persist in our dreaming when ninety-nine out of a hundred dreams come crashing down around us? Some would conclude that man is simply an impaired optimist, unable to give up even when all the evidence shows that he really should. There are too many examples of people who gave up because they could not fight anymore, or had lost the will to fight. The tenacity to persevere against all opposition, however useless your stand, to pursue your dream despite almost certain failure, to stand against the cruel and uncaring current of fate, requires something that not all people have: the knowledge that something is wrong, the conviction it must be changed, and most of all the determination that the best way for it to change would be to devote yourself to the struggle. Someone once said that the only cause worth fighting for is a lost cause. Fighting for such a goal gives purpose to a life that might otherwise be concerned only with the routine, everyday anxieties of life, giving little thought to what our existence means or how we can change it. Lost causes are winnable if enough people care about them to make them succeed; there is always the hundredth dream.
WORKS CITED
Hansberry, Lorraine. “A Raisin in the Sun.” Literature and Its Writers: An Introduction
to Fiction, Poetry and Drama. 2nd Ed. Ann Charters and Samuel Charters.
Boston: Bedford, 2001. 1764-1832.
March 5, 2005
To Chris, Sean and Christine
I wrote this paper three years ago while taking an English class. One of the major points my teacher said was by the end of the semester, the whole class would get to know one another by what we read and our response to it. He was right. Now I know who I am.
Chris,
There never was a time in my life when millions of people were more desperately in need of faith, hope and courage and peace of mind, of standards and ideals by which to live and above all an abiding belief in the future and in the progress of mankind. You said in one of your letters you wrote to me, before you ever saw me, “Whether I support her in spirit or in flesh, I will support her.” You stood the test of time and I will always love you. I am so relieved that you found me. What took you so long?
Sean,
Despite the fact that you are my son, you gave me the wisdom to understand what “Carpe Diem” meant. Yes Sean, seize the day! I will try to seize every minute. The last words Chris said to me at my lowest weight were “Think about how Sean will feel if you choose to die.” I didn’t want to eat anymore. The pain was too great, so I thought. It was in the midst of that pain that I grew. How could I take my life when you fought so hard to live? Let’s go for lots of rides now! I love you!!
Christine,
I met you over twenty-two years ago in a reading class. At that time, I had only read two books in my life. Here we were in college and both scared to death. Now here we are in the biggest school there is…life. A couple of months ago, you came here to feed me yams to help restore my life. You acted on love, not personal gain. You have always loved me through the most painful times of my life and now that I am gaining my strength back, you will see that all of this suffering we both did will pay back. Once we found out, we were not able to turn back, and besides, why would we? Once around is enough. This is our learning curve to go ahead and claim what we have earned.
English 112
March 4, 2002
The Struggle of Life Seen in A Raisin in the Sun
Philosophers have puzzled over numerous difficult questions throughout history. What is the purpose of life? What is the meaning of battling against overpowering odds for unachievable standards beyond our grasp, for a better world for our children despite the cruel reality of our own? Most importantly, why do some people persist despite overwhelming obstacles, while others give up quickly or never bother to try? Essentially, that is what A Raisin in the Sun, a play by Lorraine Hansberry, is: an observation on life and our struggle to comprehend and control it. The last scene in the play between Asagi and Beneatha contrasts two current views on why we keep trying to change the future and reaches the conclusion that the real meaning in life is the struggle. It doesn’t matter whether or not we succeed. Our lives are purposeful only if we try to make the world a better place for others and ourselves, only if we follow our dreams.
Many self-described realists dismiss this attitude as impractical, that finding value in the pursuit of dreams is mere a waste of time. Often this viewpoint is obtained after much harsh suffering or no apparent reason, as in the case of Beneatha Younger. Already a natural pessimist, due to the condition of the world into which she was born, a world where poor blacks with dreams of something better are generally doomed, she becomes resentful of life when her dream of becoming a doctor is shattered. Maybe she acts poorly: the money her brother lost, after all, was not hers at all, but her mother’s, and how she expects to finance college without the death of her father and the insurance check that followed is unclear. What is clear, however, is that the death of her long-held ambition had a profound effect on her. A dream glanced from afar brings disappointed when it crumbles; a dream that dies with realization almost within grasp, brings despair. Becoming a doctor was no longer a childhood goal for Beneatha. It is in this sort of mood that Beneatha formulates an idea about the downright stupidity and calloused of nature in general and people in specific: “ Don’t you see there isn’t any real progress, Asagai, there is only one large circle that we march in, around and around, each of us with our own little picture in front of us – our little image that we think is our future” (1822-1823). Misery and stupidity are always present and man does not seem capable of eliminating them once and for all. Their existence plot to hinder dream, and Beneatha decides she is tired of the struggle, tired of deluding herself with an unworkable vision, tired of having to fight against the unchangeable facts of a life view that she might have kept, as many have, if it weren’t for Asagai’s reasoning.
For Asagai, the struggle to achieve his own view of the future is the essence of life. His is the generation of African dreamers who passionately advocate the independence of the continent from colonial rule, for whom revolution and sudden change are generally perceived as the only ways to improve the lot of their homelands. In this country he lives with oppression, unhappiness and ignorance. He meets constantly with apathy and indifference or even outright hostility toward his life’s dreams, and yet his determination never falters. It seems apparent that he manages to portray a timeless reality about life and the struggle for its improvement in his speech to Beneatha about the results of his different ideas:
Perhaps the things I believe now for my country will be wrong and
outmoded, and I will not understand and do terrible things to have things
my way or merely to keep my power. Don’t you see that there will be
young men and women – not British soldier’s then, but my own black
countrymen – to step out of the shadows some evening and slit my then
useless throat? Don’t you see they have always been there…that they
always will be. And that such a thing as my own death will be an
advance? They who might kill me even…actually replenish all that I was.
(1823-1824)
Asagai’s debate presents a deep perception into our place in the world we are born into. We should never accept the existing state of our life simply because it always has been, therefore always will be. It is the obligation of each consecutive generation to examine the ideas of their forefathers, to see if their beliefs have relevancy to the present, and if they don’t to change them. The assurance and control of the established order cause some to ignore the idea of change. To dream of a better world is not easy under such circumstances, but in a sense it is necessary. By our dreaming, and striving to fulfill those dreams, we also fulfill the struggle of past generations that have been working for a better world for all history.
Not all dreamers dream the same thing. There have always been the Willy Harrises, those whose only goal is personal gain and who prey on the innocent. Their dream of a better society places their own interests above everyone else’s. Often, the state of the general population under their rule is the same or worse than that which was replaced. Their tricks convince many of the uselessness of dreaming. Beneatha tries to use this as an excuse to give up dreaming, to turn back on mankind and retreat into herself, complaining about the world but not caring enough to do anything. Asagai, however, tells her “Then stop moaning and groaning and tell me what you plan to do.” (1824) His words make it evident that she has an obligation to herself, her family and the world to keep chasing her dreams – even if they do prove to be unattainable.
Why do we persist in our dreaming when ninety-nine out of a hundred dreams come crashing down around us? Some would conclude that man is simply an impaired optimist, unable to give up even when all the evidence shows that he really should. There are too many examples of people who gave up because they could not fight anymore, or had lost the will to fight. The tenacity to persevere against all opposition, however useless your stand, to pursue your dream despite almost certain failure, to stand against the cruel and uncaring current of fate, requires something that not all people have: the knowledge that something is wrong, the conviction it must be changed, and most of all the determination that the best way for it to change would be to devote yourself to the struggle. Someone once said that the only cause worth fighting for is a lost cause. Fighting for such a goal gives purpose to a life that might otherwise be concerned only with the routine, everyday anxieties of life, giving little thought to what our existence means or how we can change it. Lost causes are winnable if enough people care about them to make them succeed; there is always the hundredth dream.
WORKS CITED
Hansberry, Lorraine. “A Raisin in the Sun.” Literature and Its Writers: An Introduction
to Fiction, Poetry and Drama. 2nd Ed. Ann Charters and Samuel Charters.
Boston: Bedford, 2001. 1764-1832.
March 5, 2005
To Chris, Sean and Christine
I wrote this paper three years ago while taking an English class. One of the major points my teacher said was by the end of the semester, the whole class would get to know one another by what we read and our response to it. He was right. Now I know who I am.
Chris,
There never was a time in my life when millions of people were more desperately in need of faith, hope and courage and peace of mind, of standards and ideals by which to live and above all an abiding belief in the future and in the progress of mankind. You said in one of your letters you wrote to me, before you ever saw me, “Whether I support her in spirit or in flesh, I will support her.” You stood the test of time and I will always love you. I am so relieved that you found me. What took you so long?
Sean,
Despite the fact that you are my son, you gave me the wisdom to understand what “Carpe Diem” meant. Yes Sean, seize the day! I will try to seize every minute. The last words Chris said to me at my lowest weight were “Think about how Sean will feel if you choose to die.” I didn’t want to eat anymore. The pain was too great, so I thought. It was in the midst of that pain that I grew. How could I take my life when you fought so hard to live? Let’s go for lots of rides now! I love you!!
Christine,
I met you over twenty-two years ago in a reading class. At that time, I had only read two books in my life. Here we were in college and both scared to death. Now here we are in the biggest school there is…life. A couple of months ago, you came here to feed me yams to help restore my life. You acted on love, not personal gain. You have always loved me through the most painful times of my life and now that I am gaining my strength back, you will see that all of this suffering we both did will pay back. Once we found out, we were not able to turn back, and besides, why would we? Once around is enough. This is our learning curve to go ahead and claim what we have earned.
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