Egalitarianism

Good ol' John Wesley... After today's class I think I will forever have a soft spot in my heart for him. (By the way, I can't remember the name of the lady who spoke in class today, so you'll have to bear with me as I purposefully omit her name from this blog). I liked what the speaker had to say about his assumption of literacy. I mean, I know that we could take his assumption as a negative thing or as a positive thing. But I like the idea of a guy who just assumes that everyone must love to read and write.

A failing of mine, I think, is that I can't understand why people wouldn't be interested in talking about good books. I just assume that everyone would want to read and talk about reading. But, sadly, I am often mistaken... But I am drawn to people (dead and alive) who make the same sweet, naive, well-intentioned assumption.

Anyway, Wesley's assumption of literacy, while naive, also seems egalitarian to me. According to class today, Wesley didn't expect only the upper classes to be reading - he knew that reading was not merely an aristocratic privilege. He knew that books have value to all people, no matter what their social standing may be. I think that books are such a form of freedom. Anyone can just believe what someone says about a topic, but to read and to decide for oneself is a wonderful thing.

For example, being able to talk about major themes of "Les Miserables" is nothing in comparison to actually reading it and wrestling with the story and the ideas presented on your own.

Also, I loved how today's discussion of journals ties so neatly in with this whole class. I know that I am being far from profound here, but I liked how the speaker today reinforced the idea of journals as an examination process and a coping mechanism. This simple definition of the importance of journaling (or blogging) really helped me to see the books we've read this term in a clearer light.

Envy

I wish I was Montaigne right now. Up in a tower somwhere, reading lots of books.

Of Timidity and Fundamentalism

Well, I'm going to do it: I'm going to talk about a nasty little thing that some like to call "Fundamentalism."

Let's generalize a little in order to recap: one significant aspect to the works we have been reading this term is the aspect of narrative vs. argumentation. Regarding Montaigne, specifically, he seems to stay away from absolutism - that is, he is not dissatisfied with contradictions, and he sees the value in recognizing the limits of our own intellect. Why should we tell people what is true, when we cannot know for sure? Instead, we should recognize the limitations of our own minds, and accept that are fools (because it would REALLY be foolish for us to think that we're not). So Montaigne doesn't argue for one point or idea specifically, except the idea of contradiction and skepticism.

Confused yet?

It seems like a lot of us are excited about this Montaignian view of things. I get the impression that a lot of people have been "burned" by the church, and even more people have been turned off by pushy Christians who try to prove their way to convince you of the "Truth." It's pleasant to finally read about people of faith who are not arrogant and cocky about their beliefs. It's refreshing to hear their doubts, their struggles, and their questions. In many ways neither Dante nor Augustine nor Montaigne are conclusive. Augustine, for example, was drawn to Christianity not by assurance, necessarily, but by faith.

But I would also venture to say that these guys are taking a stand for their beliefs. Their faith is so important to them, that they cannot help but talk about it and discuss it. Christianity may be a giant leap of faith, but it is a leap of faith that has changed their lives, a leap of faith that they can't not discuss and defend to a certain degree. (I would view Augustine's Confessions as a defense for his conversion, in a way.)

We've been discussing in class how Montaigne doesn't think we can say anything about God because He is beyond language, ideas, and our own minds. This makes me think of the common question about prayer: What's the point of praying if God already knows everything anyway? I would say that we pray not to inform God about something He doesn't know, but we pray to connect with Him, we pray because we are drawn to Him and we want to establish a relationship.

I think that it's valuable to talk about God, valuable to write about God. Why? In my experience, we can't NOT talk about God. We can't NOT ponder these awesome, seemingly unknowable things. And when we realize that we can't talk about God (since He's beyond our mind and our language), then we begin to talk about how we can't talk about God. There is something in us that longs for spiritual satisfaction and fulfillment.

This is what Montaigne is doing. He recognizes that we will never fully know God, and yet, it seems, we are drawn to search for God anyway.

What does this have to do with "Fundamentalism"? We have all probably known a Christian who was argumentative, cocky, and set ob converting us. Heck, some people probably consider me to be that Christian. But, I think we should be careful to keep from lumping all "hard core" Christians into this fundamentalist category. Because, like Monataigne, Dante, and Augustine, I think that some Christians have had amazing experiences because of their faith. Their Christianity has changed their lives, they feel closer to God, closer to understanding. They assert that God has opened their minds and hearts, and they are excited about it. I think it would be a shame to scare these people into silence, these people who are genuinely trying to let other people get in on the action of knowing God.

But of course, Christianity is a choice, and no one should have that choice shoved down their throat. And while I personally see the value of being able to defend the Christian faith, I also recognize that what draws people to Christianity is not the facts necessarily, but something more intangible than that. People are drawn to Christianity because God draws them, and because their hearts are open.

I am a Christian, and that is offensive to people. I understand. But I would hate to be made to stay silent, when I feel that my experience is valuable, and my relationship with God has changed the course of my life. And I can't NOT talk about God.

I'm losing track of myself. My apologies for the ramblings of this blog. Maybe I will add/shorten/edit it later. I've lost track...

The Happy Prince

This post is in response to Kyle's comment/question on one of my recent blogs.

What was it about those childhood books that made them especially influential? Well, I think it was a variety of different factors: language, imagination, and personal experience.

Language. As I discussed in my last blog post, the ability of an author to create an experience or an emotion in the reader is an incredible talent. The books that influenced my childhood so much were books that used language that drew me in personally. They described interesting events, places, and characters that were real in my mind because of the language that they used. Their great talent allowed me to embrace the stories I read as my own experience.

Imagination. The way we interpret an author's language depends on, in part, our own personality. What made me connect so much with "The Hobbit" when another child might have found it to be dull? I think that I was born inquistive and imaginative (not in the sense of "I was such an amazing and imaginative child - I was definitely a child prodigy"). My imagination took these great stories and just ran with them, and that's what made reading these books so much fun.

Experience. The summer I read "To Kill a Mockingbird" was the summer I moved to Russia. It was such a crazy and strange summer... I sometimes wonder if that book would have been so influential if I had read it at any other time. Would I remember it so vividly if I had stayed in England and read it as a school assignment? I think that, on one hand, if an author is really talented their book will strike a chord with you no matter where and when you read it. But on the other hand there's no denying that our experiences play a significant role in our interpretation of stories and events.

In terms of content, it's hard to pinpoint exactly why a certain book was influential in my life. When I was younger I'm not sure I would have been able to put into words why I liked a certain book. I just remember being drawn to certain characters or events. I'm not sure that there was something specific about "A Wrinkle in Time," for example, that drew me in; I just know that it did, and I will always remember certain things about that story.

So there you go, Kyle. This is a drawn-out blog with the conclusion of "I don't know." I don't know exactly why these books were influential, but I know that they were. A vague and inconclusive answer, but there it is.

The Smithy of My Soul

"Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race." James Joyce.

One of my favorite things about reading is observing how authors can use and manipulate language to create a feeling/sympathy in the reader. Language interests me so much. Actually, I think that in the past I have been a 'bad' reader in the English major sense. I skim over parts of books just so I can find out what happens. Sometimes I skip all the long descriptive passages because they are just too verbose and long-winded.

But recently I've been really sucked into the experience of language. This summer I read a short book called "A Separate Peace" and I was really drawn in by the words the author chose, and by the images that his langauge evoked. I had never experienced a lot of the things that the book described, but I still felt like I understood what was going on - I understood that there was depth in this story.

Similarly, I'm also interested in the lack of descriptive language, and what that does to a story. When I read Hemingway's collection of short stories "In Our Time", the most striking thing was not necessarily what he said, but what he didn't say. In his account of a young man who had just returned home from the war, it was clear from the simple style that the young man was having trouble assigning meaning to life. There was a void in his life. Hemingway demonstrated this so vividly, simply by choosing not to go into great detail.

I find it fascinating to think about what made an author use this specific description, what made this author write about this event.... Why did Dumas create the Count of Monte Cristo? And why did that character act in the way that he did? Why did C.S. Lewis choose to not mention his long-time mistress?

Language is such a powerful thing, capable of evoking such powerful emotions. Gosh, I could talk about this for hours.

I suppose another reason I love reading is being able to listen to what other authors have thoughts about the things that I think about everyday. Why was Dreiser drawn to socialism, and why did he admire Somerset Maugham's writings so much? What was it about their lives and experiences that made them reject or embrace a certain belief? What about capitalism made them dislike capitalism? What influence did the Catholic Church have on Evelyn Waugh's life, that he would write about it the way he did in "Brideshead Revisited"? (Do these examples make sense? Sorry for the incoherence).

Literature allows us to explore new ideas and possibilities. I am a Christian, but I don't want to only read things written by "Christian" authors. I want to know about other choices that people have made. I want to rethink my chosen opinions every day. Literature gives us a new perspective on things, new questions to wrestle with, new answers that could change our opinions.

What does any of this have to do with anything? We've been talking a lot this term about autobiography and drops of time. I think that, just as we write autobiographically, we read autobiographically as well. Reading other accounts of life, other opinions, other stories, help us to think about our own lives, our own accounts, stories, and opinions. Just as Montaigne is the subject of his book, I think he is the subject of his reading. There is something so valuable, so wonderful, in reading other people's stories (whether they are strictly autobiographical or not). I think Montaigne realizes the value of reading, since he uses quotes in his writing so frequently.

Hmmm, how can I tie this all together... I think I will end with an attempted explanation for the quote I started this blog with. Why did I quote James Joyce here? Partly because I love this quote, and I love the book it's from ("Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man"). But also because I think this quote exemplifies what autobiography is at its best. Autobiography isn't about experiencing something new and different. The power of autobiography can come from the every day and the ordinary. What makes things extraordinary is how we make them applicable to our lives, and how we make them applicable to our culture. I love the image of the "smithy of my soul" - the idea of creating something within ourselves that is valuable to all, because it is the experience of reality.

A Wrinkle in Time

When professor Anderson threw out the question "What books have shaped you?" I was distracted for the rest of the class. I love reading. Some of my clearest and happiest childhgood memories are stories told in good books, not things that actually happened to me. (But I had such a vivid imagination, it was as if I really was involved in the books I was reading).

I enjoy Montaigne's quotations. I think they add to what he is saying, rather than detract. I like the image I have in my mind of Montaigne in his tower with his books, happily studying, meditating...

The summer I turned 11 I read "To Kill a Mockingbird." The events of that book are so real to me, and I remember everything about the book so clearly, and I especially remember the emotions that I experienced while reading it. Whenever I'm feeling sick, I always read that book, because it's comfortable to me.

Other influential books of my childhood include: The Hobbit, The Book of Three (And the Chronicles of Prydain - it's a 5 book set), A Wrinkle in Time, The Babysitters Club (Yes, I'm not afraid to admit it), Anne of Green Gables, The Chronicles of Narnia, Three Men in a Boat, The Selfish Giant, Pride and Prejudice.... All these books evoke such happy memories for me.

And now that I'm "older" I love reading books for the ideas they present. I love reading to find out what the author thought about certain issues. I love reading because it allows me to make personal decisions about ideas/questions that other people have also wrestled with.

Maybe I should have entitled this blog "An Ode to Reading." So thank you Montaigne, and thank you professor Anderson, for allowing me to so happily reminisce.

Gosh, this must be my cheesiest blog ever. You'll just have to take me at my word when I say that I am being completely sincere.

Slim Substance

Here's one of Montaigne's many aphorisms: "Those who have a thin body fill it out with padding, those who have a slim substance swell it out with words." Rather ironic considering his long-windedness in "Of the Education of Children."

Nevertheless, I remain a fan of Montaigne. I feel that I probably don't fully grasp all that he says (sometimes his verbose style is distracting), but I have been latching on to ideas and thoughts that he presents, without necessarily being able to apply these things to the the "point" of a particular essay.

For example, I appreciate his premise that tutors should present information and ideas to their pupils, without telling them what to believe. A big part of education lies in interpreting the information you are receiving, and then applying it and rejecting or accepting it. Here's another aphorism to illustrate this: He who follows another follows nothing.

This makes sense to me. It reminds me of Augustine, who followed the Manichees for so long, and yet eventually rejected their teachings for something more "confusing," but also more personal. For Augustine, although he was a part of the already established Christain tradition, Christianity was a personal decision. And it took time for him to make that decision to follow the teachings of Christ. I think that is what makes Augustine believable - the fact that he wrestled with different teachings. He accepted, and then rejected, certain things. HIs education was ongoing, and he changed his mind as he learned more.

Is it contradictory, though, that Montaigne uses so many quotes from other "great" thinkers? Is he presenting his own ideas, or the ideas of others? These quotations add to the text, I think, but I'm not sure whether they undermine Montaigne's ideas or enhance them. I will have to think more about this...

I think my blogs have become more abrupt and inconclusive. Maybe I am understanding less as the term goes on, which would be intellectual humility in practice.... Hmmm....

Entire and Wholly Naked (or not)

Let's just say, I do NOT want to present myself "entire and wholly naked" on my blog (unlike Montaigne, who claims to wish he lived in a society that would find such complete honesty acceptable). I think it would be inappropriate, awkward, and weird in every way to be so open and honest to so many potential readers.

But is it really possible to be completely honest about oneself in a journal that is publicly accessible? Wouldn't you always have in the back of your mind the knowledge of your potential audience? I know I would.

I think one reason I like Montaigne is that he seems to be up to something clever. I want to read his essays closely, find the inconsistencies and consistencies, I want to know what he's getting at. I am fascinated by his entry "To the Reader", and by the inherent contradiction in what he is saying. He sounds like a smart guy, and it seems like he knows about this contradiction/inconsistency, and he must mean something by it. (By "inherent contradiction" I am referring to our discussion in class today - about the contradiction of saying this book is for his family, and by addressing this to the reader).

I'm tired and rambling, so that's it from me. I will try to tie this all together next time. (Oh the anticipation! What will I write next....!)

I know you, Hell-Dog!

This is my favorite Dante quote so far.

Anyway....

Efforts to disguise my computer incompetence have failed. A recent February blog refuses to show up on my site. I'm getting frustrated, and somewhat embarrassed at the same time. But, thankfully, I can fall back on the always classic "I grew up in Russia" excuse for my ignorance. But seriously, there is something about online journaling that seems so disconnected from "regular" notebook journaling. Blogs feel a little more fake, perhaps (at least to me), because we are all writing things that we know other people will read. If I actually kept a notebook journal, I'm sure it would be nothing like my blogs.

In relation to this idea of audience, I have been thinking a lot about Dante, and the fact that he wrote for an intended large audience. He wanted people to read what he was writing. He wanted a large readership. This small fact seems to widen the gap between me and this brilliant writer (as if time, culture, and intellect were not enough to separate us already). When I write autobiographically, I write with timidity. I'm not interested in having large numbers of people read my blogs every day.

I know that all of our personal stories are valuable, mine no less so than someone else's. But I still don't have the inclination to write for large groups of people. What I write is private, even if I'm not actually disclosing what people would consider to be personal and intimate information. For example, I may not go into any detail at all about my personal relationships and significant experiences, but that doesn't mean that my blog isn't personal. Writing style, subject, word order - these are all personal choices and my part. So whatever I write about (whether it's my dysfunctional family, my grades, my favorite music, or the temperature outside) is personal.

And being personal is awkward with people that you don't know, and, in the case of blogs, with complete strangers. Yes, the more I think about blogs, the more I am weirded out by them. And at the same time, I read other people's blogs with insatiable curiosity. Is this a contradiction?

More to come as I think about these poorly stated, half-baked ideas.

Genre and Other Distractions

Call me slow-witted, but I (like some others, from what I hear) am having a hard time with the leap from Augustine to Dante. I don't want to repeat all the difficulties that were discussed in class, but suffice it to say that I find poetry much harder to deal with for some reason. I was drawn to Augustine's style, and Dante has been harder to struggle through for me.

I think one reason I am struggling with Dante is because I can't so readily/easily identify with what he is saying. Although we have established that his work is autobiographical, I think it would still be safe to say that Dante is not OBVIOUSLY autobiographical. It's harder for me to say "yes, I agree with that," or, "That proposition doesn't make sense to me," when I read Dante. But I will have hope - because Dante is really making me struggle through, and that may end up endearing me more to him. (Is that a legitimate use of the word "endearing"? I'm not sure).

And since I am on the topic of things that I am not understanding, I've got another one. We've reiterated again and again that Dante is an autobiographical writer, and it's probably unnecessary for me to go into the reasons why. But one reason we've mentioned (among others) is that when we write, whether the genre is labeled fiction or non-fiction, we all write autobiographically to some degree. It is impossible to entirely alienate our own emotions and experiences from what we write.

So why Dante? It seems like we're making the argument that everyone is autobiographical, so wouldn't C. S. Lewis' "Chronicles of Narnia" fit just as well in a class like this? Wouldn't my paper on Jame's Joyce's "Ulysses" work? So what is it specifically about Augustine, Dante. Montaigne, and Wordsworth that make them valuable to this course. Wouldn't any selection of books work?

I feel like I'm asking an obnoxious question, but I don't mean it to be. Of course I recognize the value of what we're reading, but I wonder what made Anderson choose these books, and not others... Maybe his book selections reflect something autobiographical on his own part... I will start thinking about what books I would choose if I were teaching this course. (But in the meantime, I am just going to be thankful that I don't have to teach this course, because that would be potential disaster.)