Short Writings
Our Stories of Creation
The first humans, as we know ourselves today, Homo sapiens, arose in Africa some 10,000 years ago. Since then we have been creating art and telling stories that explain our creation and our place in the universe.
After reading a selection of Ovid, Lucretius, Genesis, and Milton, on theme came through consistently: chaos. In each of the readings, the authors consistently posited that the world started in chaos. As Ovid writes “before the seas and lands had been created, before the sky that covers everything, Nature displayed a single aspect only throughout the cosmos; Chaos was its name” (Ovid 6-10). In these pre=creation worlds, everything seems to exist already, but it exists without distinction: all things are without a proper place in the universe and everything is together without order.
In almost all these stories, the universe is set into order by the gods. The only exception to these (in this selection of creation myths) was the excerpt from De rerum natura by Lucretius. When I first read this text I was shocked by the scientific accuracy Lucretius coveys in his story. Written in the first century BCE, Lucretius describes a creation very similarly to how modern day scientists would describe the creation of our world: as something “fortuitous” (Lucretius 9). While the three other sources for creation stories all directly mention a god or gods, Lucretius states that the creation of our world was random. He describes how all “motes” in the universe “have always moved, since infinite time began, and are driven by collisions, are born on by their own weight, in every kind of way meet and combine, try every possible, every conceivable pattern, till at length experiment culminates in that array which makes great things begin” (Lucretius 10-16). Lucretius’s creation detailing “turbulence” and “discordances” reminds one of our modern explanation of creation: the Big Bang. The theory shows a world in chaos, pulled together by the weight of their own gravity, exploding, and eventually cooling and combining into forms we now know (and are).
Lucretius’s creation myth is unique in another way: it does not discuss the creation of man. While he does examine man’s connection with the physical world (and vise versa), the stories of Ovid, Genesis, and Milton all focus heavily on the creation of man. One must wonder what lead Lucretius to diverge so greatly from the standard formula for a creation myth (both in the absence of a god figure and the lack of discussion of man). Barring Lucretius (for obvious reasons) all the authors discuss man as “an animal more like the gods” (Ovid 106) than any previously created that was created in the image of the creator god(s). As well both the Greek and Cristian interpretations of creation involve multiple creation of man, the first (or, in the Greek telling of the story first, second, and third, being destroyed). As the theme of being created in the image of the gods shows a desire to feel closer and more connected to the divine, one must wonder why this theme of destruction and recreation persists across cultures?
As a whole these stories all seek to bring reason and order into the discordant world our early ancestors faced and knew to be true. These stories each serve as a way for the people who told them to establish a certain authority over their surroundings and environment which they may not have been able to enforce physically. Generally these stories deal with themes of chaos, corruption, and immorality through the concept of a divine ruler or rulers, but each deal with these themes and devices in varying ways which display the varying schools of thought prominent in the cultures who wrote these stories.
As a whole these stories all seek to bring reason and order into the discordant world our early ancestors faced and knew to be true. These stories each serve as a way for the people who told them to establish a certain authority over their surroundings and environment which they may not have been able to enforce physically. Generally these stories deal with themes of chaos, corruption, and immorality through the concept of a divine ruler or rulers, but each deal with these themes and devices in varying ways which display the varying schools of thought prominent in the cultures who wrote these stories.
Life/Thinking Update 11/15
Over the course of the past few months, our class has thought deeply on topics such as art, criticism, society, and self. While most of our thinking has been done orally in class discussions, we have also been keeping a record of this thinking through our writing and reflection in our commonplace books. Luckily for me, I think best out loud, so our in class discussions have been very meaningful and instrumental to developing my thoughts and opinions on these topics. I started the year out knowing basically nothing about any of the aforementioned topics, and I feel like, even nearly four months in, we have only scratched the surface.
Our first topic (or sub-topic, perhaps) was on A.O. Scott and the concepts he discusses in his book Better Living Through Criticism. The concepts he chiefly discusses, art and criticism, were difficult for me to understand. I, personally, see the world in a very empirical manner, so thinking about the way things feel, rather than how they strictly are, took a fair amount of getting used to. The first week or so discussing criticism were incredibly frustrating; I knew what we were trying to achieve in class, but it felt like we were getting nowhere.
As our discussions continued and my thinking and writings in my commonplace book progressed, so did my understanding of what art and criticism were. In the page above, you can see how I was starting to understand Scott’s views on what makes art and what makes aesthetic experiences, but, regardless, I was still unable to put it into my own terms. But, after a day or two worth of discussions, I was able to frame his argument, both surrounding aesthetic experiences and criticism in my own terms.
Our first topic (or sub-topic, perhaps) was on A.O. Scott and the concepts he discusses in his book Better Living Through Criticism. The concepts he chiefly discusses, art and criticism, were difficult for me to understand. I, personally, see the world in a very empirical manner, so thinking about the way things feel, rather than how they strictly are, took a fair amount of getting used to. The first week or so discussing criticism were incredibly frustrating; I knew what we were trying to achieve in class, but it felt like we were getting nowhere.
As our discussions continued and my thinking and writings in my commonplace book progressed, so did my understanding of what art and criticism were. In the page above, you can see how I was starting to understand Scott’s views on what makes art and what makes aesthetic experiences, but, regardless, I was still unable to put it into my own terms. But, after a day or two worth of discussions, I was able to frame his argument, both surrounding aesthetic experiences and criticism in my own terms.
Thrilled (and definitely relieved) that I had figured out Scott’s argument (evidenced by the many arrows), I was excited to move on to Greenblatt. I was very excited to start discusses the concepts he wrote on. I find the Renaissance period very interesting, and free will and determinism is something that has always sparked my interest, but I quickly found myself tangled up in semantics and unable to figure out Greenblatt’s argument. It took time to determine how each of the different aspects of his arguments functioned separately, much less in the context of one another.
I probably would feel differently if I had written this post a few days earlier, but as we turn from the concept of self-fashioning to Greenblatt’s literary moves, I find myself just as frustrated as I did at the start of the semester when we were discussing aesthetic experiences, if not more. Just like with art, criticism, and aesthetic experiences, I feel like I can understand the current topics Greenblatt discusses separately, but I can’t understand how they function together and in relation to his overall argument. Regardless of my current frustration, I’m looking forward to the rest of this term, and to figuring out Greenblatt’s overall argument, and how all the different parts we’ve discussed fit together.
I probably would feel differently if I had written this post a few days earlier, but as we turn from the concept of self-fashioning to Greenblatt’s literary moves, I find myself just as frustrated as I did at the start of the semester when we were discussing aesthetic experiences, if not more. Just like with art, criticism, and aesthetic experiences, I feel like I can understand the current topics Greenblatt discusses separately, but I can’t understand how they function together and in relation to his overall argument. Regardless of my current frustration, I’m looking forward to the rest of this term, and to figuring out Greenblatt’s overall argument, and how all the different parts we’ve discussed fit together.
The Conundrum of Free Will
When I first started Greenblatt's passage on "Self-Fashioning," I was, for lack of more eloquent wording, super confused. Maybe it was a combination of the fact I had just come from working out, and was tired, or the fact I was biding time before my shift at work started, and was tired, but I could not, for the life of me, understand what self-fashioning meant. I took to the internet and spent about an hour (the next day (my day off!)) trying to understand what "self-fashioning" was. At first, I was just trying to determine what the text itself was saying, but, as per usual, I got distracted, and, as always, my best thinking started. If self-fashioning was closely tied to religious, I started thinking about Catholicism. I don't believe in a god, but I was raised to believe in God. Before I was aware of what an altar even was, I was taught to bow to it. Years later, I still bow my head towards altars I pass, even though the majority of my brain recognizes that the altar is only a slab of marble. Like Greenblatt said, "any achieved identity contains within itself the sign of its own subversion." That got me thinking, if our personalities and decisions are influenced and driven by past experiences, which we had no control over, do we even have true free will? If free will is "the ability to act at one's own discretion," and we have "no moments of pure, unfettered subjectivity," how can we ever make decisions that aren't influenced by others? If we are being "fashioned" since we are born, and our experiences irrevocably influence us, how can we make our own decisions? Simply being born to a depressed mother makes humans genetically more susceptible to stress, as does being neglected in childhood. So if you're born, and have already been fashioned by your mother's brain chemistry, can any decision from that point on be one that you made yourself? Being influenced by our personality is the fatal flaw in our decision making process because our personalities are so tangled up in other people. If we can't ever untangle ourselves from other people, can we ever make a decision that isn't tangled up in someone else? Can we even untangle anything from our personalities? Are we ever able to truly escape our pasts or do we always carry our past with us in some aspect of our personalities?
In the coming year I hope to further explore the concept of free will and external influences both in our discussions and reading.
In the coming year I hope to further explore the concept of free will and external influences both in our discussions and reading.
Fear And The Decline of Curiosity
I was very interested in this passage as the "decline of curiosity" is very noticeable to a relatively curious high schooler. Immediately after Warren Berger started questioning why students weren't questioning my mind went straight to stress. Who has time to be curious when you have three papers and college applications due? As you can see in the pages pictured above my mind was jumping between quotes from the passage and reflections about the nature of curiosity and how we're losing it. I mean, humans are innately curious creatures. It is one of our defining traits, and it is one that has allowed our species to reach the height of safety and domination we now take for granted. While curiosity and ecological domination may not, at first, seem related, it was our curiosity that lead early humans to discovering the building blocks of our technological abilities. Curiosity, though often disregarded, is the most crucial aspect of advancement. Without wonder, the human race would very likely be stuck in a self-propagating cycle of “why change it?” With this in mind it is impossible to say that a decline in curiosity would be disastrous to human culture, and, furthermore, to human progress. But if we, as a species, an are inherently curious, why would we lose our curiosity, and how could that ever happen? Well, the short answer is fear. While curiosity is one of the major “personality traits” of the human race, the need for community and, thereby, the need for acceptance are even more dominant traits. At the same time that curiosity was moving humanity as a collective forward, the need for a community was keeping individuals alive. While humans can survive without curiosity, we can rarely survive for long without each other. This is not to say that community and curiosity cannot coexist because they most certainly can. Moreover, in the correct community, curiosity not only exists, but thrives. So if curiosity is natural and bountiful in humans, and if community can help foster the curiosity of its members, how is it that we seem to be becoming less and less curious. The problem is that there now lies a dissonance between what our culture preaches and what our culture practices. Even though modern society pushes innovation and marvels at curiosity, the way our society attempts to cultivate curiosity effectively and quickly wipes it out through the modern education system. As Warren Berger posits in his book A Better Question, “our current system of education does not encourage, teach, or, in some cases, even tolerate questioning.” And even though our society lauds curiosity and progress, by stamping out the questions of our youth, we stamp out any hope of full blown, innovative curiosity. With a system that pits students against one another and “penalizes incorrect answers,” student learn that being wrong is the ultimate embarrassment, despite the fact being wrong can be the ultimate learning experience. As students get older and progress in their schooling, the stress to be right only becomes more intense. In elementary school being wrong comes with being a child. Once the student is middle school being wrong is undesirable, call for mockery, and “won’t be tolerated in high school.” After the student finally gets into high school, they are often blinded by the looming threat of college applications, and any questions they may have in class are ignored for learning what will be on the test next week. By this point, our student is probably so unused to nurturing their curiosity that once they enter college or the work force, their curiosity is so feral there is no hope of taking it into something usable without much attention.
Reflecting on the topic of curiosity feels very relevant for this class. I believe in the coming year we'll be able to deepen our curiosity and our ability to question.
Reflecting on the topic of curiosity feels very relevant for this class. I believe in the coming year we'll be able to deepen our curiosity and our ability to question.
In Defense of Dualism
At the beginning of A.O. Scott's section on dualism, I was trying to understand the argument he was making. But the more I was thinking understood his argument, the more frustrated I grew. In Better Living Through Criticism Scott states that dualistic thinking is “an anthropomorphizing fallacy... a vestige of old, animistic religious beliefs”; while, certainly, dualism itself is a human creation, a specific way of thinking only humans are capable of thinking in because it, itself, is little more than a thought, the core of dualism is intrinsic. Dualism is simply a concept that something can be seen as the sum of its parts rather than its entirety, and everything truly is the sum of its parts. No human work simply is just as no natural creation simply is. Certainly one could view everything through the lenses of “everything is purely what it is,” but by viewing things this way we rob ourselves of the chance to see the intricacy and beauty in the natural world as well as human creation. To view the Live Oak growing outside your window as simply the pure form of a Live Oak, you miss the beauty in the home it provides to the insects you try so desperately to keep out intricacy of the shade it provides you in the sweltering midday heat. To see a coyote in the desert as simply the form of a coyote wandering between dunes neglects to appreciate the sophistication of the exchange between chemicals and signals that push this coyote in question to search for whatever it is searching for, be it a meal, a mate, or a pack. Where is the beauty in the shape of a oak tree or a young canine if not in the complexity of its being? Where is the beauty in anything, man made or natural, if not within the tangles of its past. Seeking to create art from a place without engagement from politics, or history, or any other “concern,” is not only illogical, but imprudent. Art created in a tumultuous word of intersection and complexity maintains a certain breath of life stolen from its creator that a piece of art created from “purity” can never maintain. And if the purpose of art is to make the admirer feel something, anything, a piece that seems to breathe in time with its creator evokes much stronger feeling in a greater part of the populace. Take Marina Abramovie’s, The Artist Is Present, where the art was so interwoven with its creator that most onlookers could hardly help but be moved. Certainly such messy, human art is more emotive than a sterile piece of “pure art,” and where is the beauty in sterility? While the disdain for dualism removes the possibility of beauty from the eyes of a critic, the rejection of dualism is equivalent to the rejection of criticism. There is no beauty in a marble statue solely for the fact it is a shape of marble. To ignore the history of the material, the subject, and its artist gives a statue its eerie beauty. There is no beauty in pure form. There never can be. The simple act of ascribing beauty to something of pure form thrusts dualism upon it. No longer can it ever be pure, for now it is its form an your sordid opinion of it.
I believe that going forth such concepts (dualism, external influences, etc, etc) will play in integral role in understanding the coursework in the coming year. Perhaps we will be able to delve further into the importance/relevance of dualism.
I believe that going forth such concepts (dualism, external influences, etc, etc) will play in integral role in understanding the coursework in the coming year. Perhaps we will be able to delve further into the importance/relevance of dualism.