11/30/2019 0 Comments Speculative Blog PostWhile reading the course selections, I was continually struck by their depictions of the dichotomy between good and evil. In Metamorphoses, Ovid highlights the gradual corruption of humanity by describing the four eras that governed the creation of earth: the age of gold, a time of trust and moral goodness, the age of silver, where people first had to work for a living, the age of bronze, where the first wars occurred, and the age of iron, in which nothing was sacred. Through depicting the corruption of mankind, Ovid reveals that as humans gained more power, they demanded more power in return. This relates to the reading we have done thus far because it showcases how our identities and actions are shaped by the overarching structures and authorities that govern them, and how changes in our culture, such as an increased reliance on wealth and social class, dialectically influence identity.
Similarly, in Genesis and Paradise Lost, the dichotomy between good and evil is portrayed through the story of Adam and Eve. Although Adam and Eve are originally innocent, when the serpent (Satan) offers them an apple from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, they are ousted by God as evil and sinful. The story of Adam and Eve relates to Scott and Greenblatt because it not only portrays the dichotomy between good and evil, but also between the authority (God), which we ought to emulate, and the alien (the serpent), which we ought not to emulate. In Lucretius, the theme of good and evil is explored through the story’s depiction of chaos being organized into society. Throughout the story, Lucretius talks about how bodies of the earth “came together and adhered,” suggesting that although the earth was originally chaotic, it eventually became organized and harmonious (Lucretius). This relates to Scott and Greenblatt because it defines harmony as a necessary component of beauty, which we explored in detail when analyzing “Better Living Through Criticism.” In each of the selections we read, there were overarching themes of creation, power, and dialectics. Each piece explored how an abundance of power can lead to chaos and corruption, and how good and evil work dialectically to govern society. I suspect that going forward, we will explore how dialectics were essential to the creation of Earth and society.
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11/14/2019 0 Comments Blog #4- reflective blog postWhat is criticism? Does criticism have power? What is self-fashioning? What do we self fashion according to? Is it possible to self fashion without an alien? How does literature reflect self fashioning?
These are just a few of the many questions we sought to answer this past semester in AP Lit. Through analyzing “Better Living Through Criticism” by A.O Scott and “Renaissance Self-Fashioning” by Stephen Greenblatt, we discovered that criticism is just as powerful as art, that literature is both a reflection of and something that influences identity, and that we all self fashion according to an authority, something we hope to emulate, and against an alien, something we hope not to emulate. Each of these revelations have allowed us to better understand how dialectic relationships, literature, art, and power permeate each of the pieces we have read together thus far. For example, in “Better Living Through Criticism,” we read about the power of criticism and art, and in “Renaissance Self-Fashioning,” we learned that identities are inextricably tied to the structures that fashion them, and that we have no autonomy over the creation of our identities. However, our understanding of “Better Living Through Criticism” and “Renaissance Self Fashioning” extends far beyond solely what arguments Scott and Greenblatt make; throughout the semester, we have also discussed how and why they make their arguments. Although at times, I felt frustrated during our discussions about the purpose of each of the pieces, in retrospect, they helped me significantly in understanding Scott and Greenblatt’s arguments. In fact, the first time I felt like I truly grasped Greenblatt’s argument was during our discussion about his purposes for each of the audiences he was writing for. As a result, I’ve decided to include a page from my commonplace book where I analyzed Greenblatt’s purposes for most of his audiences. I am incredibly proud of this page, not just because of the drawings at the bottom, but also because I am happy with my ability to express Greenblatt’s argument concisely and clearly. I also chose to include this page because it framed most of my understanding of “Renaissance Self-Fashioning”; when I understood why and to whom Greenblatt was writing, I was able to grasp his argument much more quickly. I also chose to include my page about Greenblatt’s conditions mainly because I found significant difficulty in understanding the purpose of each of these conditions. It represents my struggle with “Renaissance Self-Fashioning,” and is an important reminder that I won’t always understand an argument right away. I’m sure I will continue to struggle with texts in this class, and this page is a reminder that my confusion will not be eternal. I am excited for the rest of the year in AP Lit because although the class is difficult for me, it has helped me immensely with understanding and grappling with texts. Based on the classes we have had thus far, I suspect we will continue to read difficult texts, initially attempt to decipher them by ourselves, and then grapple with them together in class in order to reach a consensus about the purpose of the text. Each one of us has a distinct identity, shaped in accordance to the culture and norms of our time. Though we may be reluctant to admit we don’t have complete autonomy over the formation of our identity, in Stephen Greenblatt’s “Renaissance Self-Fashioning,” he reveals that culture, literature, and institutions are inextricably tied our notions of self.
Greenblatt begins by defining “self fashioning,” the idea that we construct our identity according to a set of socially acceptable standards (or more simply, how we want others to perceive us). This notion is constantly evolving-- as culture develops over time, so does the way in which we view ourselves. For example, while in the Renaissance era, it was customary for wealthy men to exemplify wealth through a formal education, a large collection of literature, and fancy clothes, now, it is more customary for wealthy men to own fortune 500’s and perhaps not even receive a formal education. Although our notions of self can evolve, they are always shaped by the culture, literature, and institutions of our time. In my commonplace book, I drew a picture of a book to demonstrate how literature can have a profound effect on our formation of identity. In “Renaissance Self-Fashioning,” Greenblatt identifies three ways that literature functions within the notion of self: as a manifestation of the behavior of its author, as an expression of how behavior is shaped, or as a larger reflection upon culture and social norms. He then explains the limitations of each of these interpretations of literature: if the interpretation limits itself to the behavior of the author, it might lose a sense of the broader networks the literature acts within, if it is solely viewed as the expression of social rules, it becomes an ideological superstructure, and if it is seen solely as a detached reflection of social codes, it diminishes our grasp of how we function within it. This raises the question of how we should understand literature in accordance to identity. Should we combine each of these interpretations or should we chose one interpretation and understand that it might not be an accurate reflection of culture? Another question Greenblatt raises is whether we form our identity in relation to the same structures. Greenblatt answers this by stating that “one man's authority is another man's alien,” explaining that not everyone constructs themselves in accordance to the same customs or in relation to the same authority. In my commonplace book, I drew a star of david and a cross because I think religion (or a lack thereof) exemplifies the differences in our formation of identity-- documents like the torah and bible provide different and perhaps slightly contradictory rules and social norms that shape our behavior and identity. Though we all form our identity in accordance to a structure, that structure may not be the same for everyone. I think we read this piece because this year, we will read literature that will give us insight into how people previously self fashioned, and how the ways in which we self fashion have evolved. Growing up, curiosity is an intrinsic part of our identities; we unapologetically ask question after question, hoping to gain a more nuanced understanding of the world. But as we get older, we find ourselves more reluctant to question, the natural curiosity that was once such an invaluable part of our lives subsequently dissipating. In Warren Berger’s, “A More Beautiful Question,” he attempts to understand this phenomenon, questioning why we lose our childhood curiosity, and the ways in which we can get it back.
Warren begins his essay by explaining how the education system is complicit in our loss of curiosity. As the education system becomes more rigorous, penalizing wrong answers and assigning copious amounts of schoolwork, it inadvertently dismisses questioning as stupid and a nuisance (who has time to ask questions when we have all this work to finish?). As a result, at school, students are incentivised to stop questioning, to conform and be compliant to expectations, and to be caricatures of the “perfect student.” In my commonplace notebook, I drew a school with the question, “is school killing curiosity” because I genuinely believe that as long as the education system emphasizes “good grades” and “looking good to colleges” over actually learning, it is killing curiosity. However, this issue lies beyond school-- in almost every aspect of life, admitting you don’t know all the answers is considered taboo. A few weeks ago, while attending debate camp, I experienced this issue firsthand; during a discussion about this years debate topic with my lab, I found myself reluctant to ask questions out of fear that my peers would think I was stupid or unworthy of attending the camp. I was so focused on appearing “smart” and “competitive,” that I forgot that asking questions isn’t something to be afraid of-- it’s an inherent and important part of life. So how can we fix this issue? Berger explains that in order to regain our curiosity, we must “attempt to adjust the way [we] look at the world so that [our] perspective more closely aligns with that of a curious child” (page 75). In other words, we must take a step back from our work, acknowledge that we don’t have all of the answers, and attempt to look at the world from a new perspective. In my commonplace book, I drew a picture of the Buddha because meditation is an effective means of regaining curiosity. It forces us to clear our minds, step away from the issues of our daily lives, and re-examine how we approach problems. Although meditation doesn’t automatically make us more effective questioners, Berger explains that upon stepping back and re-examining something we’ve looked at the same way for years, we are able to notice new patterns and phenomenons that we likely wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. Berger’s essay taught me that, unless we want to live in subordination, we must challenge conventional norms, be receptive to new ideas, and inquire about issues that interest us because asking questions isn’t a sign of inferiority, but rather, a means of become more creative and innovative individuals We likely read this essay because this year in AP Lit, we will ask insightful questions that will enhance discussions, challenge what’s considered conventional, and develop our own unique insights on literature. What’s beautiful, what isn’t, and who has the right to say? These three simple questions inform the entirety of our perceptions of taste, culture, art, and criticism. In A.O Scotts “Better Living Through Criticism,” he attempts to answer these questions as part of a larger dialogue about the true meaning of criticism.
He begins his essay by stating that “there is axiomatically no disputing taste, and also no accounting for it.” (Scott 43). Scott explains how even though you can’t tell someone how to feel, you can still criticize them for their feelings. As I continued reading “Better Living Through Criticism,” I found this use of criticism to be incredibly problematic; it makes us feel obligated to enjoy certain types of art, music, and food “just because we’re supposed to.” Scott perfectly articulates this when he states that “our job is to accept.” (Scott 108). If we don’t accept, we face the risk of being shamed or ostracized. In my first commonplace book, I explained this phenomenon through the example of pineapple pizza. Pineapple pizza is a particularly contentious topic, with lovers of the pizza often ridiculed simply because their tastes don’t fall under what’s considered acceptable. But this doesn’t make sense. Everyone should be allowed to like what they want; even if their taste doesn’t adhere to what’s culturally “acceptable,” who are we to tell them they’re wrong? Luckily for pineapple pizza lovers, society is constantly amending itself to new beliefs and findings, and with that change comes an opportunity to influence what we perceive as culturally acceptable; for example, language arts used to not be taught in school, artists like Jackson pollock and Marina Abramovic were considered taboo, and schools were reluctant to teach Toni Morrison in school. So why did these norms change? According to Scott, the answer is criticism. Criticism allows us to enact social change, express our personal tastes, and enhance other forms of art. It is the most powerful tool we as individuals possess. Though it occasionally mimics science, philosophy, politics, and poetry, it is a distinct category that requires deep consideration. Anyone can be a critic, anyone can enact change, and anyone can alter societies perception of beauty, taste, culture, and art. In my second commonplace page, I drew a book as a representation of the 20th century culture wars. The culture wars represents an attempt at challenging conventional norms and deviating from what was considered culturally acceptable. I chose to include this page because it describes the power of criticism to influence society and our choices and because the culture wars are the quintessential example of how we have the power to enact change and define what is and is not beautiful. I assume we read this passage because this year, we will be acting as critics, analyzing literature in the pursuit of knowledge and personal thought. I am so excited to grow as a reader, writer, and thinker, and I cannot wait to connect this knowledge to the other topics we learn about this year. |
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