A Girl's Guide to Modern European Philosophy

by Charlotte Greig

  I hadn't understood much of what I'd read in Being and Time, but I had the feeling that what Heidegger was on about was pretty mind-blowing, and could change the way I thought about everything. As far as I could fathom, he was saying that up to now, Western philosophers had put forward the incredibly stupid idea that human beings are essentially minds trapped inside bodies, somehow peering out at the world as though through a plate-glass window, and wondering what's really out there, if anything. But the reality is that we human beings find ourselves in the world, are “thrown” into it, as he put it, and have to sink or swim as best we can. We have to do things, make things, to survive: find food, shelter, and so on. We do all this without thinking: we only need to think, in fact, when some problem arises. It's like driving: you just do it automatically, and it's only when you notice you're about to crash that you have to start paying attention.

  So thinking, Heidegger seemed to be saying, is a kind of aberration. Before we start thinking, things just carry on, and we kind of merge into life without being conscious of ourselves as subjects separate from the world of objects and other people. Instead of being trapped inside the plate-glass window, and looking out, and wishing we could connect, here we are, “being in the world,” right in the cut and thrust of life all the time, if we only knew it.

  I didn't know how all this was going to help me, but I sensed I was going to have to think about this pregnancy differently from how I'd thought about things before. Whatever happened, I was going to have to be in the world in a new way in future, maybe start thinking about not thinking …

  I finished my tea, pleased that I was beginning to make some kind of sense of Being and Time at last. Then I got out of bed, put my jacket on over my nightdress, and went into the kitchen to get something to eat. There was no one in there so I made myself beans on toast and tea, and took it back to my room. After breakfast I got back into bed and drifted off to sleep again, relishing the sensation of the food in my full, warm belly.

  When I woke up, there was someone knocking at the door. I thought it must be Clare, so I got out of bed and opened it. But standing outside were Cassie and Fiona.

  “Hi,” I was still half asleep. “What are you doing here?”

  I didn't mean to sound rude. I was just surprised.

  “Can we come in?” said Cassie.

  “Yeah, of course, what time is it?”

  “About two,” said Fiona. I wondered if she sounded disapproving, or if I'd imagined it.

  They came in. Cassie went over to the mirror and started inspecting her make-up, while Fiona picked my plate and mug off the floor and put them on the desk, tidying the papers to one side as she did. Then they both sat down, Cassie on the end of the bed, and Fiona on the chair by the desk. I got back into bed, partly because there was nowhere else for me to sit, and partly to draw attention away from the flowery nightdress.

  “D'you want some coffee or something?” Then I remembered I didn't have any. “Or tea?”

  “In a minute,” said Fiona. “We've come to see if you're all right.”

  “Thanks for the room, Cass,” I said, ignoring Fiona. “I've been sleeping like a log in here. It's really cozy.”

  “Yeah, it's nice, isn't it,” said Cassie. “I mean, for a change. You wouldn't want to live here, obviously.”

  “No, obviously,” I agreed.

  Fiona butted in. “Well, are you?”

  “Am I what?” Fiona's hectoring tone was irritating me.

  “Leave her alone, Fee,” said Cassie. Nobody called Fiona Fee except Cassie.

  “Are you all right?” repeated Fiona. She spoke slowly, as though she was talking to someone very stupid.

  I could feel my irritation rising.

  “No, Fiona.” I spoke slowly, mimicking her tone. “No, I'm not all right, since you ask. I'm not all right at all.”

  The anger in my voice was unmistakable. Fiona was about to respond, but Cassie gave her a look and she checked herself. There was a long silence.

  Then I said, “As it happens, I'm pregnant. I got the results of the test on Friday.”

  There was a gasp from the end of the bed. I looked at Cassie. Under her brown skin, her face had gone an odd shade of yellow.

  Fiona grimaced, got up, walked over to the bed, sat down between me and Cassie, and put her arm round me.

  “Don't worry, Suse,” she said. “It'll be all right.”

  I felt uncomfortable with Fiona's arm around me, so I put my head forward until my hair fell over my face, looked at the floor, and said nothing.

  Cassie began to cry at the end of the bed.

  “Oh, for God's sake,” said Fiona.

  “Sorry,” said Cassie, but she went on crying.

  “Get a grip on yourself, you bloody idiot.”

  At that point, I started laughing.

  “Sorry, Fiona,” I said, giggling as she patted my arm soothingly.

  “Never mind,” Fiona said. “You're just hysterical.”

  Then Cassie began giggling as well, much to Fiona's annoyance.

  “Look,” said Fiona. “Stop mucking about. You're behaving like a couple of schoolgirls, both of you. This is a serious situation. We've got to discuss it properly. I'm going to go and make some tea, and by the time I come back, I want you both to have calmed yourselves down.”

  Fiona picked up my plate and mug and marched off to the kitchen.

  As soon as she went out, Cassie and I stopped laughing and looked at each other.

  “Jesus, Susannah.” Her eyes seemed bigger and rounder than usual. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don't know, I haven't decided yet.”

  “Yet?” she echoed. “What do you mean, yet?” There was a note of panic in her voice.

  “I just want to think about it, that's all.”

  “Is it Jason's?” she asked.

  “Well, actually … I don't know. It could be. Or it could be Rob's.”

  Cassie's face seemed to drain itself of color again, and she covered her eyes with her hand. She didn't ask me any more questions. She seemed lost in her own thoughts.

  We sat in silence until Fiona came back with the tea and started fussing around with milk and teaspoons and some lumps of sugar she'd nicked from somebody else's store in the kitchen. When she'd handed out our teas she sat back down in the chair by the desk.

  “Right,” she said, stirring her tea and taking a sip. “How far gone are you?”

  “I don't know,” I said, feeling stupid. “I've missed a couple of periods.”

  “Well, I'm sure that's no problem.” She spoke as though she knew what she was talking about, but I had a feeling she didn't. “The first thing you'll need to do is make an appointment at the health center tomorrow.”

  “Fiona,” I said, “thanks, but I need time to think.”

  “There's nothing to think about,” Fiona said. “You've got to get on with it. You shouldn't have a problem with the doctors at Sussex, they're pretty good about this sort of thing. And if you do, we'll get my women's group to pressurize them.”

  “But Fiona, I haven't even decided whether I want an abortion.”

  Fiona glanced at Cassie. “OK,” she said. She was trying to be patient. “So what do you want?”

  “I don't know. I just need to think about the options.”

  Fiona took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. Cassie bit her lip, looked away, and said nothing.

  “What options?” said Fiona, finally. She spoke quietly, but the hectoring tone had come back into her voice.

  “Well, you know. A woman's right to choose, and all that,” I said.

  “Don't be stupid,” she said. I could see I'd annoyed her. “It doesn't mean a woman's right to choose a baby. It means a woman's right to choose to have an abortion.”

  “I don't think it does,” piped up Cassie. “It means you can choose to have an abortion or have a baby, doesn't it?”

  Fiona shot Cassie a look of contempt. “Of course it doesn't.”
/>   She gulped down her tea and went on, speaking faster as she warmed to her subject.

  “It means you don't have to fulfill your biological function as though you were some kind of milk cow. You can choose to be free of all that now. You can have some control over your destiny. Bloody hell, you two, which planet have you been living on? This is the 1970s, not the Dark Ages.”

  “OK, OK,” said Cassie. She was glaring back at Fiona. “Cool down, Fee. Can't you see Susannah's upset? She doesn't want a lecture about feminism right now, if you don't mind.”

  “Look, this isn't just an abstract argument about politics,” said Fiona. Her voice was rising. “This is about control over our lives. Haven't you read Our Bodies, Ourselves?”

  “No, I bloody haven't,” said Cassie. “And I'm not going to. It's all about getting the clap and looking up your fanny with a wing mirror and a bike torch, isn't it?”

  I tried to suppress the urge to laugh, but an exploding sound escaped me.

  Fiona ignored me. “No, it isn't, as it happens. It's about having some respect for yourself as a woman. It's about looking after your body and being careful who you sleep with. It's about how to avoid getting sexually transmitted diseases, or getting pregnant… It's about all sorts of things you don't seem to have thought about for a second, either of you …”

  She stopped suddenly and her face went red. She turned to me.

  “I'm sorry, Susannah. I didn't mean …”

  “It's OK,” I said. “You've got a point. I know I should have been more together about all this.”

  “Well, what the hell,” interrupted Cassie. “It's done now. It doesn't matter whose fault it is. The question is, what do we—I mean, you—do now?”

  I sighed. “I know this sounds stupid …”

  Cassie and Fiona were both looking at me intently.

  “… But I just thought it would be quite nice …” My voice trailed off.

  “Go on,” said Cassie.

  “Well, you know …” I stopped again.

  This time, no one said anything.

  “… to have it.”

  I felt like an idiot. I was talking about having a child as though I was choosing a pair of shoes or deciding where to go out for the evening.

  There was a long silence and then Fiona leaned over from her chair and touched my hand.

  “You can't, Susannah,” she said. “Honestly, you just can't. It wouldn't be fair to bring a child into the world in such circumstances.”

  Fiona didn't even know the full circumstances. She didn't know that the baby's father might be Jason, or it might be Rob. She didn't know that Jason had just chucked me out of the flat and called me a scrubber. Or that he was a poof. Or that Rob was probably only sleeping with me because Beth wouldn't. She knew nothing about what had gone on. She was in no position to judge what I should do, but all the same, I knew that she was right.

  “OK,” I said. “Fair enough. I'll go and make the appointment tomorrow.”

  “Oh shit,” said Cassie, and started crying again.

  *

  When Cassie and Fiona left, I spent the rest of the afternoon studying Heidegger, making notes for my dissertation. It was a relief to get back into a world of hyphenated abstractions, but now I felt slightly guilty about it. I didn't know what had made me think that Being and Time could have any bearing on what I should do about my situation. Now, I was conscious that I was simply using it as a convenient way of escaping from reality.

  In the early evening I went downstairs to the lobby to phone my mother. It wasn't that I thought I could discuss anything with her. That had never been the case. It was just that I wanted to hear the sound of her voice.

  “Mam?” I said, as she answered the phone.

  There was a long pause. “Hello?”

  “Mami, it's me. Just thought I'd give you a ring.”

  Another long pause.

  “Hello, Susannah,” she said. “And how are you?”

  My heart sank. I wondered why I'd wanted to speak to her. I'd forgotten that she talked like this now, using formal words in a slow, flat tone, as though she was reading from a script. From time to time she'd try to inflect her voice, to bring some brightness into it, which made it worse.

  “I'm fine,” I said. “Looking forward to coming home for Christmas.”

  “Yes,” she said. “That'll be nice. Very nice.”

  She'd been like this ever since my father's death. She'd been hysterical at the time, which was understandable—he'd just dropped down dead from a heart attack as he was eating breakfast one Sunday morning—but then the doctor had put her on some tablets and she'd gone to the other extreme. She was doped up to the nines the whole time, and having a conversation with her was like wading through mud. Over a year later she was still acting like a robot. I felt sorry for her, but it pissed me off as well. And the funny thing was, I always forgot she was like that now, and only remembered when it was too late.

  “It'll be next week, Mam.” I spoke slowly as well. “Do you think you could meet the train?”

  “Of course, love.” The forced brightness came in again.

  “Bring Auntie with you.” At least my aunt, her sister, still had all her marbles.

  “Of course.” She paused, looking for a topic of conversation. “How are the exams going?”

  “No exams this term, Mam. But I'm working hard on my dissertation.”

  “That's right. Good girl.”

  “And I'm pregnant,” I wanted to add. But I didn't.

  The conversation ground painfully on until we came to saying good-bye. Then, just as she put the phone down, she said something that made me feel better.

  “Dal ati!”

  “Dal ati,” I replied.

  It was a Welsh thing my father used to say. It didn't mean much, just “keep up the good work” or some such nonsense, but saying it seemed to comfort us both. At any rate, it showed she was still alive, somewhere in there.

  I walked upstairs again, thinking about the phone call. It hadn't helped much, but at least it had made clear what I already knew: that my mother couldn't help me, and that I was going to have to deal with this on my own.

  chapter 19

  I WAS UP EARLY ON MONDAY MORNING. I had a lot on that day. I had my Modern European Mind tutorial with Belham, and I was going to have to tell him the subject of my dissertation. Rob would be in the tutorial, and I was going to have to think of a way of avoiding seeing him afterwards. Then I was going to have to get down to the health center and book my appointment for the abortion.

  I still hadn't phoned Rob, though I'd thought about it every time I went past the phones in the lobby. I wanted to see him, to talk to him, to explain everything, but I knew I couldn't. He wouldn't understand, and I'd blow the whole thing. I thought of getting back with him and not telling him I was pregnant, just carrying on as normal, and arranging the abortion on my own in secret, but I knew I wasn't up to that. I'd crack sooner or later and let on what had happened, and then he'd dump me and I'd feel terrible. In the circumstances, it seemed best to get on and have the abortion as soon as I could, and then get in touch with him afterwards, once the decks were cleared. I missed him, and I knew it was going to be difficult to keep making excuses not to see him—he was probably furious with me already for not contacting him in the last few days—but for the time being there was no other alternative.

  As it grew light outside the window, I started wondering why I hadn't been waking up screaming in the mornings lately. You'd have thought that being pregnant, and splitting up with Jason, and not having anywhere to live, and now having to go through with an abortion, would have made me worse than ever. But here I was, sleeping like a log every night, and waking up in the mornings feeling refreshed—happy, even. It was curious. I felt as though my life was moving very fast and very gradually at the same time, in some preordained, mysterious way that I didn't understand but was actually very ordinary, like the sun coming up in the morning. Perhaps I just hadn't faced
up to the reality of my situation. Or maybe it was the Heidegger that was frying my brains.

  “Rob? Susannah?”

  Belham was looking at each of us in turn. “Any ideas?”

  I hoped Rob would say something.

  “The leap of faith,” Belham reminded us. “Any thoughts?”

  I had no thoughts on the leap of faith. Neither did Rob, by the look of things.

  Belham sighed. “Have either of you read the set text for this week?”

  I kept quiet.

  “Sort of,” said Rob.

  Belham sighed again.

  I searched about for something to say. I'd only read about two sentences of Kierkegaard when I was in the doctor's surgery, but now they came back to me: something about a frightened bird flying about in dismay, and God, and waking up from sleep with a heavenly smile.

  “I suppose it's kind of …” I said.

  “Yes?” said Belham. He tilted his head to one side encouragingly.

  “Well, say you have to make a decision,” I went on. “Say you're frightened and you don't know what to do.”

  Rob had been sitting with his head bent down, his hair falling forward over his face, doodling on his notepad, but now he looked up. I was aware of his eyes on me.

  “Say you try to think all the arguments through, but there comes a point where they're not enough. Where reasoning doesn't help you. Then you have to take a leap, based on …”

  I stopped.

  “On … what?” Belham spoke quietly.

  “I don't know,” I said. “I don't know what. That's the point, though.”

  “What's the point?” said Rob. There was an aggressive edge to his voice.

  “Well, it wouldn't be a leap of faith if you knew what, would it?” I tried to keep my tone level, but I could hear that I sounded impatient.

  “You're just talking about faith in God,” said Rob, equally impatient.