I have been determined to study English Literature in college since middle school. "Oh, you'll change your mind. I did," they all said, looking at me with those big grown-up eyes. Neither of my parents made it through college, let alone junior college, but I have wanted to earn a degree since I was 13. I decided to show everyone up, especially those who doubted my purpose. Being a perfectionist, I have always been driven to do the best for myself; I am filled with curiosities. No amount of learning in grade school could satisfy me. I felt that public school was too slow, uninspiring, and slightly suffocating. I wanted to be immersed in learning and language, rather than just talking about it or looking for it. As John Henry Nelson states in The Idea of a University, "The general principles of any study you may learn by books at home; but the detail, the colour, the tone, the air, the life which makes it live in us, you must catch all these from those in whole it lives already" (175). I wanted to learn through depth rather than simply soaking in general ideas. Above all, I yearned to be surrounded by people who knew or wanted to know about literature and art as much as I did. I dreamt about college until the day I was accepted. The worst part about being in a hurry is not having patience.
For me, coming to UT has been like walking through an educational labyrinth without any sense of direction, but with a definite hunger. I started studying photography in college when I was 14, since my junior high school did not offer it as a course. My mother told me to pursue my passion, so I worked through the bureaucratic barriers as a teen wanting a seat with the older people. I made it through the tests, jumped hoops, and took a few courses--and graduated early while I was at it, but being a sophomore in college at 16 makes you feel somewhat jaded. I was even more let-down by my first Honors English course at the University of North Texas. All the ideas of higher learning that I sought seemed somehow swallowed up by the dirty, disorganized campus that was eerily empty after lunch each day. I was not at home. (In fact, who lives on that campus? Anybody?) I managed to make one friend while I was at UNT, but he stayed in Denton longer while I ran back to community college to save money. After becoming as bored with the system as I was, Adam moved to UT in Austin closer to his home in San Antonio. He had been rejected as a freshman, but applied again while I was hiding in my college confusion. It was a stroke of genius on his part, because he had me visit and I was in! Home was on the horizon.
Adam took me on Le Grande Tour d'Austin and I quickly fell in love with the campus, the cafes, the middle-sized city life, and the people. Seeing the campus from the tower sent me over the edge into transferring, and I've been enjoying college since. It hasn't been as easy since I moved to UT, but I have been happier knowing that I have a sense of place in regards to the university. UT challenges me in ways that I enjoy. I want to teach and write, and I finally feel like I am making progress toward my own larger goals while also working toward my degree.
Since childhood, I have been exposed to the Humanities and Liberal Arts studies. My passions have included reading, philosophy, and art since before high school. My aunt took me to art exhibits and plays throughout my literature studies, aiming to improve my sense of the world. I have had very little experience with Discovery Learning in the classroom, but some forms of my career education have been similar. For some subjects, the most effective way to learn and grasp concepts is to be thrown into action without completely understanding what I am doing. This is the way I learned to drive a stick shift, for example. My mother was terrible at describing how to operate the gears and balance the accelerator. Out of frustration, I had her drive me to an empty parking lot so I could teach myself by feeling the engine react rather than listening or reading instructions. Before this class, I have had almost no exposure to experimental or discovery teaching methods that relate to Liberal Arts. I have studied French for over three years, and my first two professors spoke no English in the classroom whatsoever, even on the first day. I was forced to listen, look up words, and react on my own without knowing any French at all. This method, in my opinion, was the best and most intensive way for me to learn French. My accent is reactive rather than monotone, and I always enjoyed the challenge.
As for my interest and experience with Liberal Arts, I was very lucky to have talented and encouraging English teachers throughout middle and high school. My teachers used similar methods of asking me to look inside myself for my own opinions, reactions, and ideas rather than absorbing textbooks. The ability to freely express myself and my passions has led me to the Humanities, while also keeping me interested by stimulation and intense analysis of myself and the world in which I live. As Walter Pater notes, experience is an end in itself. He asks, "How may we see in [experiences] all that is to be seen in them by the finest senses?" Pater urges the reader to ask his/herself why and how life can be fully experienced. Idleness and acceptance of the ordinary, he says, must be avoided. Passion is the key to achievement and happiness in life. He continues, "To burn always with this hard, gem-like flame, to maintain this ecstasy, is success in life. In a sense it might even be said that our failure is to form habits: for, after all, habit is relative to a stereotyped world" (204). Literature and the arts have always refreshed my sense of the world and of myself. Pater notes that in order to truly experience life, a person must continually stir his/her own senses to keep life fresh and within grasp. In my life, prose and poetry, whether they be in the form of verse or image, keep my eyes open and my passions alive.
Pater also quotes Hugo in reference to passion, noting that Hugo believes that all men have but a short time to enjoy life before death. The sensual, the emotional, and the dramatic are often themes of literature and art. A life without art and subjective interpretations would leave me with no objective reality; by looking into works of authors and painters, I allow myself to take control of my own life without strict seriousness. When I drop the exacting tendencies in myself, I can breathe long enough to soak in new material and learn about more than just a character or a book.
Gerard Manley Hopkins arrived at Oxford in 1863. Despite being a religious man, he also spent time sketching landscapes of interest and writing poetry. Hopkins not only studied at Oxford, but also served as an assistant to the parish priest there in the late 1870s. According to John Dougall, he felt "himself at home in the cloistral and clerical atmosphere" of the college and addresses, in his poetry, how important Nature is for man. Hopkins often notes the intensity of the character of a landscape, which he calls the 'inscape' (266-267). The qualities of his surroundings often affect Hopkins's writing, translating his emotional reactions to natural dramas as poetry. As Dougall states: "For Hopkins the felling of the trees was more than a mere destructive act; it was the willful assault on a delicate and divinely appointed organism, which is compared in [Binsey Poplars] to the shocking image of a needle piercing an eyeball" (267). Hopkins's relationship and sensitivity towards nature was intensified and nurtured during his studies at Oxford.
The verse that Hopkins writes often accompanies his natural renderings of the landscape. The interplay between his images and imagery appears at once naturalistic and explicably Victorian. As Glenn Everett notes in his brief biography, Hopkins's "concern with the 'inscape' of natural objects is centrally important to the period; and . . . it further implies that the similarities between Romanticism and Victorian poetry are much more significant than their differences" (338). Hopkins was inspired by Pater, Keats, Rossetti, and other creative minds outside of his time period. His interest in art and the Pre-Raphaelites becomes evident through both his writings and his sketches. His drawings contain strict attention to detail, realism, and ecology. He was attracted to photographic accuracy and expressed himself in deliberate meticulousness. In "Manual Photography" Bump writes of his drawings: "The scientific emphasis on truth to nature naturally leads to a discussion of what advantages they have over photographs as a means of response to the environment" (343). By relating a landscape onto a page, Hopkins not only insists on delicate detail, but also improves upon his own verbal art through visual evidence. Hopkins integrates visual art into his verbal or written art, steering the reader's perspective and response further into the natural world.
Hopkins's journals include visual studies of flowers, trees, gardens, and depth of field. His naturalistic pencil drawings echo the sentiments of the Pre-Raphaelites that he idealized. Bump responds to his subtle, but sincere drawings as notable respect for the painters of the time:
Hopkins sought to portray nature with the special sensitivity to brightness, sharp edges, crisp details, and rich colors that characterized a school of painters revolting against the drab ugliness of industrial England, the Pre-Raphaelites. The Pre-Raphaelite painters expressed their idealism generally through preternaturally brilliant color and light and their realism through almost photographic precision of detail. (351)
Hopkins not only recognized the significance of the Pre-Raphaelite movement, but also incorporated their idealism and thematic techniques into his own poetry and sketches. The most important feature in Hopkins's ideas, in my opinion, is his reliance on truth in nature. The aim to capture one's surroundings just as they are, without fluff or complications, presents the artist with a challenging goal. Being able to illustrate or recreate an image truthfully and with interest can be difficult; Hopkins sought to focus on nature as it is without embellishment or reliance on beauty itself as a subject. This emphasis on nature and science within a realm of intangible imagery repeats itself throughout his work.
On a more internalized note, I really enjoyed reading about his mechanism of "Manual Photography" and how he incorporates his own specific representation into verse or onto a page. The concept of being able to recreate surroundings without bending nature into romanticism fascinates me. I try to consistently include this type of mindset into my own work when I photograph. It is difficult to be honest with a camera; as a photographer, I am always forced to exclude something from the frame. Hopkins's casual adoration and interest in nature stirs the imagination without exasperation or flatness. The fact that Hopkins determined to draw the things he thought about in verse allows his own images to become more full and lifelike.
Thomas Hardy begins his tale of Jude Fawley by contrasting him to Mr. Phillotson. Jude quickly becomes aware that he has much to learn if he wants to be part of the academic world; he looks up to his schoolmaster and aspires to follow in his footsteps toward university life. Jude delves into self-introspection and determined self-teaching, thus setting himself onto the path toward his goal. His purpose only becomes thwarted by the sensual and playful characteristics of a female. The reverse has been true in my life, and ultimately in many other people that I encounter. I think many young people discover love in the height of ambition, thus finding distraction and passion tempting and alluring in appearance. The human issue of wanting someone to fulfill passionate ambitions can often seem more enticing than personal resolve. Hardy addresses an earnest and honest facet of modern, human society. Jude's failure to follow his ultimate ambition emerges from the emotional longing that Arabella seems at first to erase. Oftentimes, love erupts or changes a person's desires to succeed for his or herself alone; Hardy notes the double tragedy of Jude's failure in marriage and failure in self-education.
The sensuality of this novel often surfaces as subtle embrace. Hardy aims to "deal unaffectedly with the fret and fever, derision and disaster, that may press in the wake of the strongest passion known to humanity; to tell, without mincing of words, of a deadly war waged between flesh and spirit" as noted in his preface (3). His impressionistic writing wraps the scene of Jude and his contrasting love affairs around the reader, bringing landscape and sentiment along with his narrative.
Hardy creates an indirect dialogue between his reader and himself regarding passion and sensuality without moral overtones. Jude follows his moral obligation to Arabella when discovering that she is pregnant without questioning her motives in marriage; Hardy's narrative voice remains just and neutral through Jude's discovery of Arabella's deceit. Not once during the first two parts of the novel does Hardy blame Jude for perhaps sleeping with Arabella before marriage. Hardy instead focuses on how Jude should avoid deterring from his own personal ambitions, especially by the temptations of a dishonorable woman. When Jude fails to be honest to himself, he allows Arabella to take advantage of him and his life. Hardy notes of Jude:
He knew well, too well, in the secret centre of his brain, that Arabella was not worth a great deal as a specimen of womankind. Yet, such being the custom of the rural districts among honourable young men who had drifted so far into intimacy with a woman as he unfortunately had done, was ready to abide by what he had said, and take the consequences. (61)
Jude remains respectable towards Arabella, despite her demands and prevarications, but neglects himself and his true desires in the process. Jude ultimately not only ruins his chance of respecting himself and his wife, but also complicates his future desires to be with his cousin, Sue Bridehead. Hardy comments on the implicitly complex nature of human relationships and how life can be quite indifferent at times. Jude is damned by association with Arabella and damned by his desire to disconnect from her.
Hardy often intertwines images of Christminster with Jude's daily life to contrast his dreams with his reality. I recently discovered that Oxford is nicknamed the "City of Dreaming Spires." Hardy plays upon this nickname often by describing Christminster's towering spires that appear far removed from Jude's world with Arabella. Hardy describes Jude's up-close view of Christminster after leaving Marygreen behind: "The buildings now lay quiet in the sunset, a vane here and there on their many spires and domes giving sparkle to a picture of sober secondary and tertiary hues" (83). Hardy describes Jude's view of the city as if it were a painting of delicate, lovely hues. The two cities ultimately contract in each other, symbolizing Jude's hopes and failures. Jude not only adapts to Christminster's mood itself, but also imagines it to be something more dramatic and inspirational than his pasts with his aunt or Arabella.
In Melchester and Shaston, Jude's voice becomes more muddled and confused. The reader begins to wonder along with Jude what it is exactly that Sue Bridehead is after. Does she want to be loved, or is she too busy being dissatisfied with the men that consistently put up with her moods? Through their awkward sort of love-triangle, Sue, Jude, and Richard all become outsiders in their own right. Sue disconnects herself from the norm, while her husband does the same in her defense. Sue's disgrace in the school and desertion of Richard adversely affect how people see her; she becomes an object of judgment and scorn and society in turn pressures her into being frightened. She does not wish to be seen as being suspicious or a subject of gossip, but she maintains that she is correct no matter what people say about her choices. Additionally, Jude moves further and further away from his dreams, accounting for most of his anonymity in the small towns he travels through. Jude does not fit into his ideal picture of the city of Christminster as a scholar; he has been cast out as being a poor man with ideals above societal limits. He believes that he seeks too much in wanting to be a scholar or a priest, just as he believes that maybe he seeks too much in wanting to be a lover or a friend to Sue. Jude leaves all decisions to Sue and surrenders his power over his own goals in the process.
As a strong female figure, Sue precludes herself from society and affects the two men who love her most. Sue not only changes how her husband reacts to her, but also changes the dynamic of their relationship. When Sue was unmarried, she allowed Richard to coax her into marriage through ideals and her honor. Sue did not want to mislead him, and wanted to live up to her word. Sue's insistence on following her word leads to her downfall and pushes her further away from society's arms. Richard explains how he has become an outsider in his own household because of her purpose to escape him: "I can't answer her arguments-she has read ten times as much as I. Her intellect sparkles like diamonds, while mine smoulders like brown paper. . . . She's one too many for me!" (242). Richard defends his decision to make himself an outsider in society in order to save Sue's spirit. Mr. Gillingham sees Richard as allowing his wife to walk all over him; Gillingham represents society's stubbornness to accept a strong female personality over a dominant male. The schoolteacher finds himself a victim of his own teachings, losing Sue to the theories and ideals that he once taught and shared with her.
After Sue leaves her husband to accompany Jude, she disrupts the excitement of traveling by deciding that she only wants to be friends with Jude. Once again, Jude alienates himself from her because of the vacancy between his ideals and her decisions. Sue begins to visibly upset Jude and wear on his nerves; it seems that no one understands Jude, not even the woman he loves more than himself. Despite her rejections and confusing nature, Jude continues to love her. She asks, "You do care for me very much, don't you, in spite of my not-you know?" to which he replies, "Yes, sweet!" with a sigh; and bade her goodnight (259). How Jude must appear to another man in his time is difficult to say, but it seems that most men would call him hopeless. Sue controls his future, more or less openly, and he allows her to with the simple concession of a sigh. It is Jude's lover for Sue that creates his isolation and eccentricities. Hardy urges the reader to keep his/her chin up throughout Jude's disappointments, but does Sue have the capacity for a happy ending?
Thomas Hardy comments on the rituals and experiences of college life with a timeless sense of how it feels to be a part of a campus. When in Christminster, Jude makes an effort to learn classical texts in Greek and Latin in order to further his education and his chances at being in college. Although he is refused as a working man who should not attempt to rise above his class, Jude represents the modern, middle or lower class scholar. The dream of rising above social status through education is extremely American in nature; the modern student can identify with Jude's idealism and optimism. Jude's dreams exceed the traditions and expectations of Christminster, but in his heart, he believes that self-education is better than no education at all. The fact that the college turns away an interested and capable man teaches Jude and the reader of the world's indifference.
When Jude finds himself on the college grounds with his children, he becomes mesmerized by the proceedings of Remembrance Day. He is so entranced by Christminster that Sue openly admits to Arabella that he "thinks it the great centre of high and fearless though, instead of what it is, a nest of commonplace schoolmasters whose characteristic is timid obsequiousness to tradition" (328). Despite the college's rejection, Jude upholds his belief that Christminster's level of importance is immeasurable. The ability of a student or person interested in a college to idealize the institution itself as being unsurpassed is intriguing. Most students take pride in their university, especially when related to sports. Jude admires the idea of being within the walls of Christminster and aims to be learned rather than being a fan.
His traditionalism and interest in Christminster strengthens through its traditions and its buildings themselves. He even finds joy in the prospect of overhearing learning: " 'I wish I could get in!' he said to [Sue] fervidly. 'Listen-I may catch a few words of the Latin speech by staying here: the windows are open' " (345). Almost like a child, Jude is so hungry for knowledge that just a few words of their Latin would tide him over for the day. Even under illness and the rain, Jude becomes engrossed in the speeches and voices inside the walls of the college. His passion and desperation to be a part of the college parallels his determination and steadfastness to Sue. Though he tries with all of his heart and ability, Jude never quite attains the position and recognition that he deserves. But despite having been rejected, Jude continues to see the world through hopeful eyes.
Like Jude, much of my education has been in the confines of my own room away from the traditions of a campus. My favorite writings have been discovered through my own curiosities rather than assignments from school. That is not to say that I do not value assignments; I feel that being a part of a university is just as important for me as it is for Jude. What I mean to say is that even though I am a part of a university and am allowed to roam on its grounds, I do not participate actively in common "college life." I tend to do my work alone, away from the libraries, the halls, or other people. I prefer to avoid the UT traditions of drinking, sports games, and social events. Being near the campus and walking through its walls brings a prestigious nature to my learning life that Jude wished to experience. The majority of my college experience has been similar to Jude's in that I have spent most of my time working hard in other areas that swallow up my time for studying. I am a selfish student, and I do not feel that I have had time to study the subjects that I am passionate about without feeling rushed by my work schedule or my social life. I can empathize with Jude's frustrations toward his ex-wife in that he feels she was a distraction and a deterrent from his goals. I often become frustrated with the little things in life that take more time than they should.
While reading The Prelude over tea on campus, Wordsworth's sentiments about college life and books become more genuine. The evolution of Wordsworth as a poet unfolds through his verse on being a resident at Cambridge. Wordsworth discusses his lack of passion for academic honors, nothing nature and its presence in his life. Through poetic form, Wordsworth writes himself into a narrative of self-realization and naturalistic romanticism. He nears Cambridge with a sense of awe and absorption: "I was the Dreamer, they the Dream; I roamed / Delighted through the motley spectacle; / Gowns grave, or gaudy, doctors, students, streets, / Courts, cloisters, flocks of churches, gateways, towers" (207). Cambridge symbolizes the industrious education that Wordsworth envisions; when he falters as an academic, he becomes fascinated by aestheticism and the beauty of nature.
Wordsworth's admiration for nature and its power reappears throughout his epic poem. He addresses nature with the personification of "Nature" while also referring to "Time" and "Eternity" as ever-present forces in life. He states:
To every natural form, rock, fruits, or flower,
Even the loose stones that cover the highway,
I gave a moral life: I saw them feel,
Or linked them to some feeling: the great mass
Lay bedded in a quickening soul, and all
That I beheld respired with inward meaning. (209).
The reverence and awareness of Nature and its forms of life connects, in Wordsworth's writing, to his sense of inspiration and thought. Instead of externalizing his academic knowledge, Wordsworth internalizes his environment. The ghosts and footprints left by Milton, Chaucer, and Spenser stir Wordsworth's imagination, but he does not follow their academic pursuits. Instead, he confesses that he "poured out libations" and drank to Milton's memory "till pride and gratitude grew dizzy in a brain never excited by the fumes of wine before that hour, or since" (211). Wordsworth's attention to his role models suggests a certain feeling of brotherhood and admiration. It seems that through his prose, Wordsworth suggests that his pursuits and interests have honored the writers of the past.
Part Fifth addresses books and how scholars surround themselves with verse at Cambridge. Wordsworth fills his verse with a sentimentality that not only touches the heart of a bookish reader, but also stirs his audience to read on:
Yet it is just
That here, in memory of all books which lay
Their sure foundations in the heart of man
Whether by native prose, or numerous verse,
That in the name of all inspired souls. . .
That I should assert their rights, attest
Their honours, and should, once and for all, pronounce
Their benediction. (215).
Wordsworth honors the men before him, including Homer and British poets, in order to illustrate that poets and writers are worthy of respect and honor. This idea seems to be repeated in Yeat's poetry as well.
When addressing his version of independent study, Wordsworth becomes somewhat critical of himself. He not only admits that he "skimmed, devoured, or studiously perused" many books, but also notes that he was "detached" from academic goals (217). Wordsworth notes that given the freedom to do as he pleases, he has no "settled plan" and often felt indolent. Through self-examination and humility, Wordsworth regained his determination to "observe, to achieve, and to enjoy" (217). Nature represents a passion and distraction for Wordsworth in college, but he often returns to its sanctuary to find peace. Wordsworth walks the reader through his transformation as a student and as an individual to help illustrate how Cambridge affected his life.
According to E. Cobham Brewer, in the Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, Gothic architecture has nothing to do with the Goths, but rather "is a term of contempt bestowed by the architects of the Renaissance period on mediæval architecture, which they termed Gothic or clumsy, fit for barbarians." The earliest signs of Gothic style architecture emerge near 1140 with the abbey of Saint Denis near Paris. This building became a model and inspiration for the famous cathedral in Chartres, France. The cathedral to the southwest of Paris is most renowned for its stained glass windows and apses. Chartres also has more than 2000 gargoyles decorating its exterior walls. The cathedral in Chartres was destroyed by a fire, but rebuilt upon its original foundation and remains in France today as it was in the thirteenth century.
The floor plans of Gothic churches often took the shape of a cross or a basilica. The cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris, which was built to replace a Romanesque church, retains many qualities of Gothic architecture. Victor Hugo honors the flying buttresses, gargoyles, and tall steeples of Notre Dame in Notre Dame de Paris. Hugo notes the importance of architecture as an unwritten document of the history of mankind. Before the printing press and the internet, buildings were the only evidence of progress and technology. Hugo notes that the advent of the printing press shocked churchgoers and clergymen alike in Europe. Hugo recognizes that the technology was reacted to in to ways: "The printing press will destroy the Church," or "Printing will destroy architecture" (377). Both effects of printing technology challenged the minds of architects and church leaders, as well as intellectuals.
Notre Dame was completed nearly 150 years after it was begun, in the late 1200s. The building honors the lofty style of focusing upwards in reverence and piety. Notre Dame sits in the heart of old Paris on the Ile de la Cité, towering over the crowded passersby. Hugo describes the structure of the building as if it has its own body: "The religious bone structure is scarcely visible through this new drapery. One can hardly grasp the extent of the license taken at that time by architects, even on churches" (579). Later in his overview of architecture, he notes that churches have their own life and defenses. Hugo cites a quotation from the Duke of Egypt: "'Churches have been known,' observed he with a sigh, 'to defend themselves. . . Saint-Sophia's, at Constantinople, some forty years ago, threw down to the ground three times, one after another, the crescent of Mohammed just by shaking her domes'" (582). By giving a sense of life and defensiveness to buildings, Hugo works life into Notre Dame and its gargoyles. Hugo raises respect for the Gothic structures and the flying buttresses that hold up his narrative of Esmeralda and Quasimodo.
In his novel, Victor Hugo describes the gargoyles as Quasimodo's true friends. These ornamental creatures were "grotesquely carved heads of animal or human origin, with or without bodies" which were also believes to "ward off evil spirits with their own grotesqueness" (583). Quasimodo's "revolting" nature to French society is paralleled by his concrete companions in the scaffolding of Notre Dame. The citizens of France which move below Quasimodo in the streets of Paris describe him as being crazy, haggard, and a curse to the cathedral. Hugo plays with society's idea of repulsiveness by showing Quasimodo's heart and sentimentality to the gargoyles.
Grotesques are defined by the American Standard Dictionary as ornamentation in "which natural forms and monstrous figures are intertwined in bizarre or fanciful combinations." Gargoyle sculptures and decorations take various whimsical forms, including "heads of animal or human origin, with or without bodies" (583). The sculptures were originally "used as devices for a largely illiterate population, and were believed to ward off evil spirits with their grotesqueness" (583). In an effort to remove water from architectural walls and to scare off intruders or evil spirits, Gothic architects often employed stoneworkers to adorn church structures with gargoyles.
Grotesques, as opposed to gargoyles, take a more specific form of hybrid or mythical imagery. The packet describes:
Grotesques are the diverse beasts, hybrid creatures and fantasy scenes involving animals and humans found in various forms of Gothic art. The ultimate source of much of this imagery is in Roman art, some themes came from the combat scenes between men and beast used in the sculpture and decorative initials of the Romanesque period. (592).
In contrast with gargoyles, which were often meant to serve as water spouts, grotesques are a higher, more symbolic form of imaginary creature. Many critics and speculators have made interpretations as to the purpose of grotesques and gargoyles. In "Gargoyles," the author discusses the connection between grotesque sculpture and the temptations of sinners. The ornaments serve as a warning and a constant reminder for people who look up to their faces. "But for all this," Benton adds, "one should never forget that with gargoyles everything is possible: they could also be simple devices for drainage, allowing the sculptors to have a little fun, to caricature their contemporaries" (593). Whatever the original purpose of the artist, gargoyles and grotesques continue to serve purpose in modern societies as much as they did in the eras of high Gothic architecture.
Similar to the symbolism of grotesques, totems emerge as mythical animals, plants, or objects in Native American art. The totem animal or symbol often serves the group or tribe for which it stands, and "is often considered to be the mythical ancestor of the group" (594B). Animals are extremely sacred and important in North American Indian culture; the totem is a symbol, worshipped as a reminder of traditions and spiritual protection. Totemism is most prevalent in the Northwest Coastal regions of America, characterized by a carved pole or post which contains one or more face. Sula Benet notes, "They show various combinations of animal and human forms piled one on another, representing the heraldic crest of the clan or lineage" (594). One issue she leaves out of this observation is the ultimate significance of place and identity in Native American tribes. All tribes have a sense of place with their land; they identify their history with a certain region or area. Certain clans or tribes have individual stories of the birth of the world and their people, like the Navaho, Comanche, or Ojibwa. The Ojibwa believe that their people came up from the mud of the universe on the back of a tortoise. This story is often repeated in symbolism and stories of the Ojibwa nation. The significance of the totem or mythic symbol cannot simply be contained within the family history, but also the identity of each member of the tribe.
Similarly to Native American tradition, the University of Texas respects and identifies itself with the Texas longhorn. The students and fans of UT look up to the symbolism and traditional history of the longhorn. The animal itself symbolizes strength and fierce determination, which further is characterized by the history of the university itself. Many UT students believe that the longhorn is part of their own identity and history, passed from generation of alumni to themselves. The respect and adoration of the longhorn creates a sense of unity and distinctiveness between students, and represents the unity of our "family."
As Brandi says in class, this semester has often seemed to be connected by chaos. Despite the disjointed nature of studying, I believe (as we are being urged to believe), that there is an underlying connection between the ideas and writings that we have been studying in class. The combination and mixture of ideas, even when thought to be opposites can create new and fresh images, points of view, or interpretations. As Bump states, "Recombination of opposites is most obvious in the use of 'both-and' rather than 'either-or' thinking, and in the balancing, simultaneity, dialectic, and paradoxical fusion of opposites" (763). In reworking stereotypes and constricted ideas, life becomes more complex and clear for the reader or witness. All ideas, as we have stressed in the class, can be traced through or to each other by promoting this sense of interdependent thought.
Alice in Wonderland, for example, forces the reader to reconsider words and ideas which are often constrained to categories. Carroll reinvents puns and ideas by playing with their meanings, creating a fun atmosphere in the story which also forces the reader to think critically. Carroll shows Alice as being split between childhood and adulthood, rather than restricting her to one side of the standard dualism. Alice's rise through each complex situation she encounters requires her to think both as a child with playfulness, and as an adult with responsibility and grace. Carroll illustrates how many opposites and unrelated ideas, such as the porpoise's purpose, can be interrelated through creative consideration.
In addition to connecting themes from the works we have read in class, we have also paid careful attention to nature and its presence. By being open to nature, experience, and the emotional side of life, a person must reassess his/her position in the world. The lives of others people and animals are just as related to me as nature is; Alan Watts describes the independence of human life as an established illusions. He notes:
[D]eeper troubles arise when we confuse ourselves and our fundamental relationships to the world with fictions (or figures of thought) which are taken for granted, unexamined, and often self-contradictory. . . [T]he "nub" of the problem is the self-contradictory definition of man himself as a separate and independent being in the world, as distinct from a special action of the world. (771).
Watts concludes that rather than connecting events as being causal or similar, the "separate" events are actually part of the same experience. Therefore, going to the park or a garden to be a part of nature and to visit the flowers is "a clumsy way" of actually experiencing something of which I am already a part. This is not an easy distinction to accept, since I have been taught to think otherwise. When I sit in class fearing the impending doom of a tornado, I do not automatically think that I am connected to the tornado itself. Watts urges the reader to reconsider the relationship and perceived divisions between man and the world. I am going to have to keep thinking about this one; one journal is not going to suffice.