On Wednesday we had a fascinating class on an essay by David Hume called "On the Delicacy of Taste and Passion".
Hume's tone is elitist, and part of our discussion involved thinking about how we would have to re-write his sentences in order to not offend progressive audiences today. But the message is one that I think we, as a classroom, of English teachers, and English graduate students, probably appreciated more than almost any other audience Hume could have envisioned aside from the audience he wrote for: aspiring intellectuals in the 1740's.
Here is a passage which reveals Hume's snobbishness and his humble point:
...nothing is so improving to the temper as the study of the beauties, either of poetry, eloquence, music, or painting. They give a certain elegance of sentiment to which the rest of mankind are strangers. The emotions which they excite are soft and tender. They draw off the mind from the hurry of business and interest; cherish reflection; dispose to tranquillity; and produce an agreeable melancholy,° which, of all dispositions of the mind, is the best suited to love and friendship.
As you can imagine, when we "rewrote" this passage we deleted "to which the rest of mankind are strangers". Many also said they wanted to delete his categories for the kings of beauty whose study is most improving: aren't there at least dozens of subjects we could study to improve the temper? The golden nugget though, is that studying such manifestations of beauty excites tender and soft emotions and draws the mind away from busy-ness. My goodness I find this to be true. And here's the part that applies most to the classroom, I think: that such study teaches us to "cherish reflection".
Reflection - thinking about something, is an activity that does not receive a lot of attention in everyday conversation or discussion of what skills are necessary for future success. And Hume indeed says nothing about future success in the financial area, but he seems to refer to a general quality of life which may be attained when one cultivates an enjoyment in reflection.
This happens in the English classroom, when students who at first respond by saying "I don't know" in a voice that also conveys "I don't care" - when those students are drawn out, made to feel as though their reaction to a stimulus matters and that people are listening. Perhaps she will offer a tentative comment. Perhaps when someone else in the class refers to her comment, she'll feel emboldened to try it again. To put it in pithy terms, it's the process of coming to feel that what you say matters.
Only when that sense of the importance of my thoughts has been established will I venture to make more reflections, and begin to develop an enjoyment in the practice. I'm lucky that this happened for me from the moment I could see and comment. There was always someone listening and ready to take my comment and do something with it - praise it, question it, add to it, consider it, refer back to it later.
That's what I think we should be providing in the humanities classroom. I don't think a development of a taste for reflection is the only benefit of liberal arts education, but it seems like enough of one to make sure that the liberal arts are being practiced in every public middle and high school classroom in America!
In Renaissance Drama this week we read The Alchemist (Middleton and Rowley), Dr. Faustus (Marlowe), and The Tempest (Shakespeare). I liked Faustus the most because I'm fascinated with portrayals of people who are looking for fulfilling ways to live outside of religion. Faustus can't believe that God loves him, given how obvious his sinful nature seems (he's a scholar, but just being human and having the ambitions and thoughts he has makes him feel sinful). Because of this conviction that he's damned, he's in a strange predicament: what does one do with life when you are convinced that you're damned? Well, he signs a contract with the devil and lives a depraved life for 24 years before being carried off to Hell. The most fascinating idea, I think, is that he could at any time repent and be accepted by God, but the devil on his shoulder is right when he says "Faustus never shall repent". What holds him back from repentance? Is he afraid he won't actually be saved?
I had never read The Tempest, but remember clearly two of my early access points to it. The first was a Wishbone episode where the real world scenario was a high school production of The Tempest, and the alternative world was the Tempest itself. I remember so clearly Prospero in the high school version saying "I'll break my staff". (View part 1 of this episode here and prepare to be amazed at how much younger the actors are than you remember!!!!!)
The other instance is Tess's Emma Willard production of the Tempest. I think she was Sebastian? One of the crew, and not the good, annoying guy Alonzo. The only thing I remember really is that a young woman named Eve played Ariel, and I fell in love with her. I thought she was so sprightly.
Spiritly would be the more accurate term for the Ariel in the film version I watched last night, found here.
Ariel is almost not there, something that whisps away like a cloud of mist, but then is also solid enough to lie contorted on the ground when Prospera (!) reminds him of his former state of enslavement to Sycorax and imprisonment in a tree for 12 years. I liked the production, but I don't really like the play very well. It is hard to like any of the characters other than Ariel, and I feel so uncomfortable with the number of times Trinculo calls Caliban "monster" that the enjoyment of the production is indeed diminished.
Tomorrow night there is a local performance of Much Ado About Nothing which I'll go to with a classmate of the Renaissance Drama class. I don't know that play so I'll read it tonight.
I've re-enrolled for Bread Loaf 2018 in Vermont!
Hume's tone is elitist, and part of our discussion involved thinking about how we would have to re-write his sentences in order to not offend progressive audiences today. But the message is one that I think we, as a classroom, of English teachers, and English graduate students, probably appreciated more than almost any other audience Hume could have envisioned aside from the audience he wrote for: aspiring intellectuals in the 1740's.
Here is a passage which reveals Hume's snobbishness and his humble point:
...nothing is so improving to the temper as the study of the beauties, either of poetry, eloquence, music, or painting. They give a certain elegance of sentiment to which the rest of mankind are strangers. The emotions which they excite are soft and tender. They draw off the mind from the hurry of business and interest; cherish reflection; dispose to tranquillity; and produce an agreeable melancholy,° which, of all dispositions of the mind, is the best suited to love and friendship.
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| The waterfall we hiked to this morning, in Rio en Medio. |
Reflection - thinking about something, is an activity that does not receive a lot of attention in everyday conversation or discussion of what skills are necessary for future success. And Hume indeed says nothing about future success in the financial area, but he seems to refer to a general quality of life which may be attained when one cultivates an enjoyment in reflection.
This happens in the English classroom, when students who at first respond by saying "I don't know" in a voice that also conveys "I don't care" - when those students are drawn out, made to feel as though their reaction to a stimulus matters and that people are listening. Perhaps she will offer a tentative comment. Perhaps when someone else in the class refers to her comment, she'll feel emboldened to try it again. To put it in pithy terms, it's the process of coming to feel that what you say matters.
Only when that sense of the importance of my thoughts has been established will I venture to make more reflections, and begin to develop an enjoyment in the practice. I'm lucky that this happened for me from the moment I could see and comment. There was always someone listening and ready to take my comment and do something with it - praise it, question it, add to it, consider it, refer back to it later.
That's what I think we should be providing in the humanities classroom. I don't think a development of a taste for reflection is the only benefit of liberal arts education, but it seems like enough of one to make sure that the liberal arts are being practiced in every public middle and high school classroom in America!
In Renaissance Drama this week we read The Alchemist (Middleton and Rowley), Dr. Faustus (Marlowe), and The Tempest (Shakespeare). I liked Faustus the most because I'm fascinated with portrayals of people who are looking for fulfilling ways to live outside of religion. Faustus can't believe that God loves him, given how obvious his sinful nature seems (he's a scholar, but just being human and having the ambitions and thoughts he has makes him feel sinful). Because of this conviction that he's damned, he's in a strange predicament: what does one do with life when you are convinced that you're damned? Well, he signs a contract with the devil and lives a depraved life for 24 years before being carried off to Hell. The most fascinating idea, I think, is that he could at any time repent and be accepted by God, but the devil on his shoulder is right when he says "Faustus never shall repent". What holds him back from repentance? Is he afraid he won't actually be saved?
I had never read The Tempest, but remember clearly two of my early access points to it. The first was a Wishbone episode where the real world scenario was a high school production of The Tempest, and the alternative world was the Tempest itself. I remember so clearly Prospero in the high school version saying "I'll break my staff". (View part 1 of this episode here and prepare to be amazed at how much younger the actors are than you remember!!!!!)
The other instance is Tess's Emma Willard production of the Tempest. I think she was Sebastian? One of the crew, and not the good, annoying guy Alonzo. The only thing I remember really is that a young woman named Eve played Ariel, and I fell in love with her. I thought she was so sprightly.
Spiritly would be the more accurate term for the Ariel in the film version I watched last night, found here.
Ariel is almost not there, something that whisps away like a cloud of mist, but then is also solid enough to lie contorted on the ground when Prospera (!) reminds him of his former state of enslavement to Sycorax and imprisonment in a tree for 12 years. I liked the production, but I don't really like the play very well. It is hard to like any of the characters other than Ariel, and I feel so uncomfortable with the number of times Trinculo calls Caliban "monster" that the enjoyment of the production is indeed diminished.
Tomorrow night there is a local performance of Much Ado About Nothing which I'll go to with a classmate of the Renaissance Drama class. I don't know that play so I'll read it tonight.
I've re-enrolled for Bread Loaf 2018 in Vermont!
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