43 pages • 1 hour read
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In the initial chapters of Stella Maris, we are introduced to Dr. Cohen, a psychologist, and Alicia Western, a voluntarily admitted patient in a psychiatric hospital. Alicia’s decision to seek refuge in this environment stems from the traumatic experience of having to make the heart-wrenching choice of terminating her brother’s life support in an Italian hospital. Faced with the agonizing reality of her brother’s coma following a car accident, Alicia opted for flight, returning to America to evade the impending loss. Alicia is a doctoral student and former child prodigy. She earned a full scholarship to study mathematics at the University of Chicago, graduating when she was just 16. She specializes in topos theory or Topology, which is the study of geometric entities in space. This scholarly pursuit mirrors her quest to extract meaning from the intricacies of the world around her. The narrative unfolds against the backdrop of Alicia’s intricate personal history and her struggle to grapple with profound emotional challenges.
As Alicia contemplates the fabric of reality, it becomes evident that she grapples with hallucinations, which she labels “nonexistent persons.” Notably, these apparitions have not made an appearance in the hospital, hinting at a deliberate exclusion, reminiscent of a church shielding itself from malevolent spirits. In her discussions with Dr. Cohen, Alicia emphasizes that these are more than fleeting dreams; instead, they are persistent, vibrant encounters. One particularly prominent hallucination takes the form of what Alicia describes as a bald dwarf with an odd face and flipper-like hands. He wears a kimono and is known as the Kid, a character recurrently referenced in the narrative (and one who makes an appearance in McCarthy’s The Passenger).
The genesis of Alicia’s hallucinations traces back to when she was 12, coinciding with the passing of her mother and her relocation to her grandmother’s attic. Intriguingly, Alicia doesn’t perceive these visions as supernatural or menacing. Instead, she interprets them through the lens of “Schopenhauer’s will,” a philosophical concept positing that the world has no independent existence but depends on a “cognizing subject”—an individual human mind—to perceive it. According to this view, Alicia’s “non-existent persons” are no less real than the existent persons who are her interlocuters at Stella Maris: All are merely “representations” (Schopenhauer’s term) created by her mind. The absence of visions at Stella Maris raises questions about the environment’s impact, portraying it as a space attempting to suppress or repel these manifestations, akin to a sanctuary warding off metaphysical intrusions.
During her following counseling session with Dr. Cohen, Alicia reveals that her father worked under Robert Oppenheimer, the scientist responsible for developing the atomic bomb deployed in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan during World War II. Raised in Los Alamos, the testing ground for the atomic bomb, Alicia attributes her profound spiritual and psychological turmoil to being brought up in a location associated with momentous death and destruction.
Alicia harbors a profound love for music, regarding it as a unifying and transcendent force with the ability to evoke intense emotions despite its seemingly random composition. While she initially trained as a violinist during her teenage years, she eventually relinquished music to pursue mathematics, her true passion. Affected by synesthesia, a condition that blends multiple senses, Alicia experiences distinct tastes and sees colors when immersed in music. Upon arriving at Stella Maris, she brought over $40,000 in cash, all that remains of a substantial inheritance from her paternal grandmother. The bulk of this inheritance went toward acquiring an Amati violin for over $300,000—an instrument that brings forth uncontrollable tears as she reflects on the paradox of such beauty existing in an indifferent and cruel world.
In their next therapy session, Alicia shares insights into her late father, who passed away when she was 15. He was a physicist engaged in the Manhattan Project and, after the war, traveled to Hiroshima to evaluate the bomb’s impact. Alicia, a pacifist with a nihilistic view of reality, contends that her father found contentment in the privileged life at Los Alamos and carried no remorse for his involvement in the development of the atomic bomb.
Born at Los Alamos on Boxing Day, Alicia engages in discussions about Kurt Gödel, a mathematician she characterizes as a mathematical Platonist, asserting a belief in the existence of mathematics independent of the human mind. Alicia disagrees with this view, finding the belief in a mathematics independent of the human mind to be rooted in faith rather than reason. The conversation then transitions to Alicia’s family history, recounting how the Manhattan Project compelled them to relocate from Wartburg, Tennessee, to Los Alamos in 1943. Their family farm was destroyed to accommodate a facility enriching nuclear fuel. Alicia expresses a profound connection to the farm and delves into her mother’s aspirations: Initially, she hoped to secure a scholarship through a state beauty competition, but ultimately she became a calutron girl—one of the approximately 10,000 young women who, without being told what they were working on, operated the nuclear arrays at the Manhattan Project’s Oak Ridge, TN, facility, creating the fuel that would eventually power the bombs dropped on Japan.
Alicia reveals to the doctor a recurring and unusual dream featuring a group of women in a village facing brutal slaughter by invaders, leading to the instantaneous obliteration of their culture and society. To her astonishment, one of the women in the dream turns out to be her mother. Alicia then delves into her early mental health history, initially branded as “insane” at age four and later diagnosed with autism by multiple doctors. This autism diagnosis sheds light on her high-functioning mathematical abilities. The return of her father during her mother’s illness marked the beginning of her introduction to mathematics, where she developed a profound admiration for numbers as abstract representations of the universe. The chapter concludes with a brief recollection of Alicia and her brother, which hints at their romantic relationship.
The outset of Stella Maris promptly introduces Alicia as an enigmatic figure, with the initial patient report portraying her as a doctoral candidate in mathematics and a “paranoid schizophrenic with a long-standing etiology of visual and auditory hallucinations” (3). Alicia’s visions, while ambiguous, are not entirely dismissed as fictitious products of her mental health condition. Various hints, to be discussed, suggest they reflect her retreat from the world—a theme that becomes increasingly apparent in her nihilistic, existential, pessimistic, and hopeless conversations with Dr. Cohen, her assigned psychologist.
Alicia turned to mathematics in her quest for the truth of the world, seeking proof that material reality exists. However, she instead discovers The Limits of Mathematics, learning that mathematics is merely a discipline of abstract and fabricated observations akin to verbal language. She discloses that the only thing that would make her indifferent to the existence of reality is having a child. Motherhood is envisioned as a savior that would keep her alive: “what I really wanted was a child. What I do really want. If I had a child, I would just go in at night and sit there. Quietly. I would listen to my child breathing. If I had a child, I wouldn’t care about reality” (13). It’s later revealed that her brother, with whom she has been in love all her life, fills a similar role in her psyche: Because love is an entirely subjective and interior phenomenon, it doesn’t need to be confirmed by external evidence. It has a self-contained reality that, like music, transcends the limitations of empirical evidence.
Her perspectives on the alien and unknowable nature of reality are shaped by her mentorship with philosophical mathematicians like Alexander Grothendieck, a pioneer of a new form of algebraic geometry and the father of topos theory—Alicia’s own specialization. She adopts a Gestalt view, conceiving mathematics as governed entirely by human perceptions, in contrast to the Platonist idea of mathematics as universal and unifying.
Alicia endeavors to rationalize the presence of her hallucinatory figures to Dr. Cohen, asserting that they are not supernatural but vividly alive in her perception: “each figure of which all but shimmers with reality. I can see the hairs in their nostrils, and I can see into their earholes, and I can see the knots in their shoelaces” (16). Simultaneously, she acknowledges their origin from within herself, functioning as walking dream projections of her unconscious, serving specific purposes and representing things she has repressed. She articulates,
If I had any fear of the eidolons, it was not their being or their appearance but what they had in mind. That’s what I had no understanding of. The only thing I actually understood about them was that they were trying to put a shape and a name to that which had none (22).
This communicative role aligns with Alicia’s theory of the unconscious, which she regards as a prelingual means of communication between brain and body. For Alicia, the unconscious communicates what cannot be expressed in words—a theory McCarthy himself articulates in his essay “The Kekulé Problem.”
Alicia perceives her mind as undergoing entropy, characterizing herself as “decaying.” She asserts that the world lacks inherent meaning or purpose, adopting an atheistic stance and dismissing spiritual explanations, arguing that “the notion that everything is just stuff doesn’t seem to do it for us” (36). However, she distances herself from materialism as well, rejecting any comprehensive explanation of the world and denying that reality can exist outside of human perception.
From Alicia’s perspective, the sole source of genuine meaning lies in music, which she admires for its self-sufficiency as a system that needs no other system to explain it and cannot be fully explained by any other system. She describes it as “completely self-referential and coherent in every part” and even “transcendental” (37). Upon acquiring the Amati, the renowned Italian violin, with her inheritance funds, she sheds tears over the instrument’s beauty. She contemplates the irony of using money earned by her father, who played a role in creating the atomic bomb that caused the deaths of thousands, to purchase such an exquisite object.
Her nihilistic worldview was shaped by reading Berkeley’s “Essay Towards a New Theory of Vision,” in which he argues that the world does not exist outside the visualizations of the human mind, imprinting meaning on external space. Alicia describes an era of darkness and meaninglessness, asserting that everything changed with the advent of humanity: “all of this until the first living creature possessed of vision agreed to imprint the universe upon its primitive and trembling sensorium and then to touch it with color and movement and memory” (40).
In contrast to the Platonists, led by Gödel, who believe that mathematical entities exist independently of the human mind, Alicia contends that mathematics is a “faith-based initiative,” and thus inherently uncertain. According to her, mathematics is merely a system for generating abstract explanations and operators, tools that would never exist outside the realm of the human mind. She points to numbers as a prime example of this phenomenon, being invented quantities. This realization prompts Alicia to renounce mathematics as a false source of truth.
The recurring dreams that Alicia experiences underscore her conviction in the fictitious nature of reality, depicting it as an unknowable space. In her view, if this reality were to cease to exist, there would be no eternal being to mourn or remember it. Alicia comprehends that her unconscious mind is attempting to impart this knowledge through these dreams. One of the most alarming scenarios involves a village of women and children being massacred by an invading army: “everything they’ve taught their children had been stricken from the world without a trace” (80), as if their existence had been erased. This thought evolves into a kind of fetish for Alicia, for whom the thought of Suicide and the Dissolution of the Self is finally the only remaining consolation.
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