KEY:
new/changed words. new quotes.
UNDERSTANDING
THIS BEYOND-THE-EGO BUSINESS:
CONNECTING MYSELF—
—TO
SOMETHING ELSE
Typical Zapatista emblems: conch, butterflies,
mask, star Monica (far right) painting a Zapatista Mural Monica and I hiking
and hugging in my backyard (my house is in the background)
As much as I'm loath to admit it, an
"ego-transcending vision" does not come easily to me. In fact, I've
only recently begun to fully comprehend the concept, though I've been wrestling
with it for some time now. My best friend Monica was the first to provoke my
contemplation of the subject. Monica is a person
who, in the words of our Meyers-Briggs Typology test, "worries about
humanity and its destiny." Though this tendency is a bit of a bummer as
far as her mental health is concerned, it also imbues her with powerful
conviction. Her conviction centers on revolutionizing governmental systems: in
the past two years she has studied and lived with Zapatista communities, hosted
workshops on Zapatista government at fifty east coast colleges, and is now
deeply entrenched in the activist community of Providence, Rhode Island. As I
watched this conviction shape her life's course, I could not help but wonder
what similar forces might propel my own. What cause would I devote myself to as
she has to hers? What convictions do I feel as strongly? I could not easily
answer these questions, and that was unsettling.
Dr. Bump moving beyond
the ego in the classroom of nature Tackling the question:
Then along came Dr. Bump, another thorn
in my side. I vividly remember a class period last semester during which Dr.
Bump chastised us for not including "moving beyond the ego" on our
first personal "Course Goals" lists. Prickled by Dr. Bump's rebuke, I
had indignantly reflected on why I
hadn't done so, and again began to ponder the mantra-esque phrase: "Moving
Beyond the Ego to Know That which is Greater than the Self." Evoking Zen
associations and a mystique of moral excellence, it seemed a worthwhile goal.
(Besides, Dr. Bump had mentioned it a couple of times during our class
discussions with special emphasis, so I knew that I would've gotten brownie
points if I had included it.) But I'd nixed it; to me this "beyond the
ego" business seemed as inaccessible as Monica's Zapatista ideals. I had
nothing insightful to say about it, no convincing strategy for relating it back
to myself with real confidence or conviction—
it was lost on me.
However, it was in that class period that
I seriously set myself to tackling the question. Still smarting from Dr. Bump's
rebuff, the pandering Plan IIer in me began to ruminate on this beyond-the-ego
business (mostly so that I could crack the code and include deep insights about
it in our next course goals assignment). But it was slow going. By the end of
last semester, I was only slightly closer to understanding what "moving
beyond the ego" meant to me. Although I had identified two aspects of
"moving beyond the ego to know that which is greater than the
self"—experiential and ideological—I was only confident in my
understanding of the first category. The ideological aspect of "moving
beyond the ego" remained an enigma.
Fall Semester: Moving beyond the ego via acting Spring Semester: acting with Puja and Laura on
Victorian Day Salamanca: the setting for my creative writing
Project
During the first semester, I had
experientially moved beyond my ego onstage,
in creative writing (both of which
involved adopting and exploring the persona of
another), and during meditation (though
this last is still something I stumble upon mostly 
by accident). These exercises required
that I step outside of the person I usually pretend to be, "play among
various 
aspects of being without identifying
exclusively with any,"[1]
and in this way move beyond my daily ego. But the purpose of these activities
did not extend much beyond self-gratification: I wanted to learn to act or to
write, I wanted to understand myself more deeply, and I wanted affirmation, in
the form of applause or 
an "A." These experiences were
didactic and gratifying, but without a basis in some broader ideological goal
they were ultimately just experiences: transient, and somewhat meaningless.
Understanding
something I already knew
Still, I knew that
acting, writing—even meditation—are activites that I care
about. As I began to search for the substance behind this amorphous
appreciation, I began to see the processes themselves as meaningful,
purposeful, not simply as venues for my own individual edification. I began to see them as mediums through which I could achieve
a greater purpose. And I slowly began to understand something I already knew. It is very
simple: while experiential ego-transcendence just meant moving beyond my
everyday self, ideological ego-transcendence meant actually connecting myself to something else. Forging this connection is what, in this
semester, I have set myself to understand, and undertake.
The Texas Capitol with the UT Tower in the
background. The University seal Plan II Students on
the Main Building terrace & at the HRC
Enrolling as a
student at UT has forced me to think of myself in relation to a greater whole. From
the beginning of my time at UT, I've been acutely aware that I am attending a public university.
While Newman strongly asserts, "knowledge is capable of being its own
end,"[2]
UT President Flawn qualifies this statement:
"public universities exist to serve
society. Were it not so, the enormous cost of supporting
universities—public universities—could not be justified."[3]
The very seal of the University proclaims "Disciplina Praesidium
Civitatis,"[4]
an abbreviated version of Mirabeau B. Lamar's famous saying, A cultivated mind
is the guardian genius of democracy.[5]
Society is investing in my
education under the assumption that there will be some sort of return. It seems
to me that this responsibility falls most heavily on Plan II students, who
allegedly receive the best
undergraduate liberal arts education the
university has to offer. Moreover, this is not the first time I have felt
educationally privileged. I had the opportunity to go to Spain, for goodness
sake. Why is that ok? What do I have to give back in return for my vast good
fortune?
In The Cosmogonic Cycle, Joseph Campbell states that society
forgives the individual for removing himself from society under the assumption
that, when he does return, he or she will come bearing a boon for that society.
If that is the case, what is my boon? What do I have to give? I know the answer
in a broad sense: I can fuse my skills and
passions, which hopefully carries some creative power.
But in order to give, one must first have
the impulse to do so. For all that Monica's politics do not rile me and
professor Bump's prompt only prickled me on a superficial level at first, I
know that I have this impulse, and that I've always had it. By about the age of
seven, I had assumed the single-handed responsibility of changing the world for
the better. Although I had no fixed idea how I was going to do so, I never
questioned that I would. And there is something about our childhood dreams that
has a deep and lasting effect on us—especially if we can later remember
them and harness their power.
What responsibilities has Zoe quietly assumed?
Translating those
amorphous dreams into specific, concrete plans necessitates a merging of the
conscious and unconscious. "Jung believed that people are motivated by a
general psychological energy that pushes them to achieve psychological growth,
self-realization, psychic wholeness and harmony,"[6]
essentially propelling the individual towards Arte. Although I may not be able to see these energies, I can
scrutinize their manifestations throughout my life, and from that scrutiny
begin to know myself.
Living in the present on my twentieth birthday The beauty of nature
I believe that the incipient
idea-versions of my life's work already exist within my head. Like Plato's
Forms or Jung's archetypal images, they congregate in the back of my brain,
coiling around the issues that rile me and sparking the fire behind the
projects to which I am most dedicated. When I talk about the importance of
education, the beauty of nature, and the value of living fully present, my
voice acquires conviction and power. In fact, I believe that these personal
archetypes function as "basic blueprint[s] for the major dynamic
counterparts of [my] personality."[7]
And when I articulate my visions, it is their power that directs and shapes my
words.
At this point, there are
three things I would like to give society:
Writing a magnificent story
A revolutionized
educational system and ideology, centered on
experiential education and community involvement.
A magnificent story, rife with
palingenesis (what Goethe called "the soul's rebirth to "higher things""[8]).
A deep sense of connection to the natural
world, and therefore a commitment to safeguarding it in
a way that is appropriate to our geo-political context.
.
A deep sense of connectedness to the natural
world
All these goals
converge at one point: education.
The Tanaguchi Gardens
as a classroom
Since childhood I have been a hungry
learner. Early on—by about the age of 10—I began to view the world
as my classroom in the most concrete sense. That year, my 12-person Montessori
class decided to raise money to take a field trip from West Texas to colonial
Williamsburg. We raised money in every way possible: bake sales, read-a-thons,
sponsorships, car washes, letter-writing to foundations and donors, etc. Our
efforts were successful: at the end of the year, we spent a week
experiencing and
exploring a place and time we had formerly known only through books and
classroom discussion. As it turns out, we also created a trend (and supportive
financial base) that would be inherited by later classroom generations.
This trip also set
a personal trend: I have spent the rest of my educational career seeking out
experiential education. As a
junior, I closely replicated this type of immersion learning experience by
going abroad to Spain, where like all new comers to a
spot on which the past is deeply graven, [I] heard that past announcing itself
with an emphasis altogether unsuspected by, and even incredible to, the
habitual residents.[9] But I was lucky enough to encounter
experiential education in my madre patria as well: in the fertile valleys and Rocky Mountains of
northwest Colorado.
Colorado Rocky
Mountain School, which I attended for three years, takes learning outside the classroom as often as possible. As is
stated in the "philosophy" section of the school website, "we
believe that different kinds of learning take place within different environments.
A CRMS education centers on the classroom, but does not end there. Academics,
arts, work, wilderness experience, and sports together provide the framework to
educate the whole child."[10]
This commitment is reflected as much in
academic practices as in the mission statement. For example, as a CRMS student,
I learned science and math on backpacking trips: on a "Fourteeners"
trip (in which we scaled four mountains over fourteen thousand feet in
elevation) led by my calculus and geology professors, we evaluated and
identified the rock formations of the land we traversed, related the landscape
to topology, and cultivated an acute appreciation for meteorology.
Colorado Rocky
Mountain School in springtime A CRMS student during
Active Curriculum
The structure of
the academic day reflects this holistic approach, with special emphasis on community
service. At mid-morning, a slot of time is dedicated to "household
jobs," during which each student takes responsibility for cleaning and
maintaining a certain space in the school community—for example, the Art
Hogan, classroom five, or the kitchen pantries. The academic day ends between noon and two o'clock; from
two-thirty to five-thirty (perhaps longer
if a student is involved in a sports
team) the "Active Curriculum" takes place. Each week, two afternoons
of Active Curriculum are devoted to "community service," which the
student selects each semester in addition to their course and sport choices.
The community service options
change each
semester, but generally include a broad array of twenty or so different
activities. For example, these might include working in the CRMS garden,
pre-school classrooms or kitchens, doing electrical or construction crew in the
school buildings, working in the blacksmithing forge or ceramics studio to make
things such as mugs and candelabras for the dining hall, landscaping the school
grounds, picking up, sorting, and transporting the school recycling, tutoring
at elementary schools in the local community, working at an animal shelter,
outdoor trip planning, etc.
As a student at
CRMS, I was a working part of my education. Education was a lifestyle, an
all-encompassing activity, multi-faceted, interdisciplinary, and personally
relevant. As I was accountable for helping to maintain the school, so I was
accountable for sustaining my own education. I had the opportunity—and
responsibility—to build my knowledge with as much investment as any other
individual in the community. I was never allowed to stand to one side of the
learning process. And because I was so deeply invested in my education, it
became deeply 
meaningful.
Coming to UT
CRMS provided this framework for me.
Since coming to UT, I've had to create it for myself. Luckily, the Plan II program—in which I am a lucky
participant—advocates "education for life,
not a living,"[11]
and reflects that philosophy in its courses. This Plan II World Literature
course has consistently challenged me to take learning outside the classroom.
But finding personal relevance and real-world applicability in some
courses—those that involve strict memorization and regurgitation of the
material—is sometimes mighty difficult.
Sitting on top of Brian, standing on top of the UT Tower
I believe that
this has more to do with teaching method than subject matter. This teaching
method embodies an attitude that I've found repugnant since my sixth grade
Texas history class: the sentiment that a student is simply a vessel waiting to
be filled. In my opinion, this is a misleading paradigm, because it paints the
student as a passive recipient of whatever jargon he or she is proffered. Even
more disturbing is the reality that this idea of "the student as a vessel"
all too often morphs into the idea of the student as a can on a conveyor belt.
Early in the first semester, I stumbled upon an astoundingly similar critique
in the "Teaching Philosophy" section of our World Literature Course
Anthology: "the learning theory informing [Dr.
Bump's] course is discovery learning, also known as active learning, because
you participate actively in the learning process rather than passively
receiving knowledge as if you are an empty vessel to be filled by the
instructor."[12]
From the time I
first read Dr. Bump's World Literature course description, I knew how
well-aligned my own educational ideals were with those of his course, but I
could never have anticipated how instrumental this course would be in helping
(and sometimes goading) me to refine my own educational paradigm. This course
has given me yet another opportunity to explore experiential educational
practices, as my experiences at CRMS, in Montessori school, and abroad had
previously done. But more importantly, it has challenged me to put that
understanding into words.
In our efficiency-oriented world, where
test scores are much easier to quantify than meaning and purpose, the
experiential aspect of education all too often falls by the wayside. This seems
to be especially true of our public school systems. However, I believe it is
one of the most effective forms of education. I am not alone in this
assumption: experiential education is at the heart of all internships, abroad
programs, and "real-world experience" that is so often lauded by
college admissions boards and potential employers. To quote Aristotle, "the things we have to learn before we do them, we
learn by doing them." And as Lord Philip Dormer Stanhope
Chesterfield said, "the knowledge of the world is
to be acquired in the world, not in a closet."[13]
What exactly is
experiential education? Though in
pop culture it has become associated mainly with outdoor programs such as Nols
or Outward Bound, it is not just for people who are interested in climbing
rocks. In fact, it is probably the oldest approach to learning in human
history.
The concepts behind
experiential education are embodied in various learning philosophies.
Experiential education certainly involves the "discovery learning"
approach embodied in the natural sciences (and which is the philosophical
foundation of our World Literature course). However, as an educational
philosophy that is in fact older than the natural sciences, and which the term
"discovery learning" describes only in part, I feel it is more accurate
to use the term "experiential" learning, or experiential education.
My first exposure to this concept of
education arose in a Montessori classroom, where it is described simply as "learning by doing."
Experiential education focuses as much on process as on product. It is
sometimes contrasted against didactic education, "in
which the teacher's role is to "give" information/knowledge to [the]
student and to prescribe study/learning exercises which have
"information/knowledge transmission" as the main goal."[14] Experiential education, on the other
hand, revolves around exposing students to a reality that facilitates learning.
The teacher's role: facilitator and
photographer?
A key difference
between didactic education and experiential education is that the latter
requires the active participation of the student. While "one can learn from experience one cannot be taught by it."[15] The student gains knowledge through his
or her own efforts of reflection, critical analysis, and synthesis.
Experiential education elicits this response by engaging the student in the
subject matter mentally, emotionally, physically, and soulfully.
Knowledge: a human invention
Oftentimes, such
exploration facilitates reflection on one's individual value systems. It may
involve risk-taking and learning to deal with failure, an idea
that—because it tends to be a sensitive subject for our perfectionist
society—is often couched in the more neutral phrase "learning from
natural consequences." Experiential education centers on the idea that
knowledge is essentially a human invention, and as such it is concerned with
human relationships: the relationship of the student with the subject matter,
of the student with other students, and of the student with themselves. Because
it negotiates these relationships, instigates reflection on ethical
considerations, and equips one with the fortitude to deal with problems as they
arise, it can be a very effective way to cultivate leadership skills.
In any case, the
knowledge gained through experiential education is hard-won, personal, and long
lasting. To invoke the voice of genus loci Newman, "such knowledge is not a mere extrinsic or accidental
advantage, which is ours today and another's tomorrows, which may be got up
from a book, and easily forgotten again, which we can command or communicated
at our pleasure, which we can borrow for the occasion, carry about in our hand,
and take into the market; it is an acquired illumination, it is a habit, a
personal possession, and an inward endowment."[16]
In addition to
being effective from the student's perspective, the practice of experiential
education can also be beneficial to the community that adopts it as a teaching
strategy. At CRMS, for example, the student body manages much of the school
maintenance themselves. From a financial perspective, this is extremely
cost-effective. Furthermore, because this form of education recognizes students
as capable individuals and encourages them to creatively contribute to all
aspects of community life, students habitually move beyond the requirements and
contribute to the community in unique and useful ways. During my time at CRMS,
one student created a Bio-Diesel work crew for the Active Curriculum. Another
instigated community outreach to nearby homes for the elderly. Another
converted an old shed originally used as a storage unit into a community bike
shop. Another drew up plans for a school observatory and began offering evening
classes in astronomy. I created a GED program to help Spanish-speaking kitchen
staff prepare for the high school diploma equivalency test. Not only does this
type of activity add to the quality community, it also creates an environment
that is directly and continuously re-invigorated by the young minds passing
through it. This is truly a self-sustaining community—one that can
support, channel, and integrate the infinite growth and change provided by
generations to come.
By integrating the
practice of experiential education and the goal of community involvement, the
educational community becomes an organic and dynamic entity. In this situation,
the natural laws of ecology provide an appropriate metaphor: "ecology's organizing principle is built upon a
communal metaphor which establishes harmony or unity through the natural forces
of diversity. There is a fine interlocking between the totality of self-seeking
actions by individual organisms and the communal wellbeing, for each individual
organism is bound in a complex chain of life, where each is dependent upon the
other."[17]
In this situation,
students are given the opportunity to move beyond the ego by becoming
participants in something greater than themselves: the educational
environment—an entity that will both survive them and have been enhanced
by their presence. It is a situation in which both student and community
receive mutual benefit. And in my mind, this situation is ideal.
Here at UT, I have
discovered a powerful incarnation of this situation: the Undergraduate Writing
Center, where I will work next semester as a writing consultant. In
preparation, I've spent the first half of the spring semester enrolled in the
RHE 368C Writing Center Internship class, and the second half interning at the
Center itself.
I jumped into the Writing center course almost as one goes abroad: hoping that you can do it, because—by god—you're going to. From my first week at UT, I had known that I wanted to work at the Writing Center. In some ways, I was already well qualified: I work well with people, especially in one-on-one capacities; I know and care deeply about language; and as a voracious reader and effusive writer since childhood, I am familiar with the way language works.
In other ways I was quite unqualified: I had never taken a rhetoric class, never written a rhetorical analysis, and the term "argument" meant little more to me than a squabble between friends or family. Though I knew the writing process by feel, I was unfamiliar with the theory behind effective argumentation. And because I lacked the lexicon to describe my writing antics, I felt painfully self-conscious of my formal writing, even when I knew it had been effective. In preparation for my work in the Writing Center, I overcame nearly all of these obstacles.
First, I was armed me with the tools to articulate and refine my understanding of argumentation discussing. For the first time in my life I discussed ideas such as the rhetorical situation, the three proofs, and stasis theory. Although these things are implicit in thousands of arguments that I've encountered (and even employed), I had never recognized the components in and of themselves. Learning to consciously identify and utilize these ideas in my own writing has given me a sharper perspective on writing in general, as well as a great sense of relief. As a result, I now feel comfortable with a broader spectrum of writing, both as reader and writer.
Much of the subject matter of this Rhetoric class reflected our earliest World Literature discussions and readings. I was often reminded of the writing advice sections (roughly pages 101-216) in our first course anthology, and referenced these pages with great frequency. In many ways, this World Literature course acted as a pre-requisite and compliment to my Writing Center Internship: while in E603 I have explore my creative voice and the technicalities and details of writing, RHE368C has given me familiarity with formal argumentation and the rhetorical theory behind that argumentation. Together, these two courses have at once broadened and sharpened my writing skills.
Myself: an exceptional reader?
The learning process was rounded out by my experiences as a
consultant at the Undergraduate Writing Center. The Writing Center markets its
consultants as exceptional readers.
Playing that
role is surprisingly complex, because—in accordance with the UWC
philosophy and in order to avoid collusion—all comments made by the
consultant must be non-evaluative, non-directive, and reader-based. We are
there to facilitate the writing process, to ask the right questions, and to
help student writers stand outside themselves by giving them a window into how
their audience might interpret their prose. As a UWC consultant, I cannot give the student writer any answers, because I cannot
give them my words—instead, I'm on a constant covert mission to guide
them towards their own. That said, as a consultant I do spend a lot of time
explaining the various concepts behind writing (audience, tone, transitions,
organization, thesis statements, word choice, diction, documentation,
argumentation, grammar, sentence structure, comma splices, dangling
modifiers). This has been a fierce test of my understanding of writing and
language. My consultations sometimes compel me to explain an area of writing
that, perhaps because it came naturally to me, I only vaguely understand. In
these instances I am forced to synthesize knowledge from my experiences, which
is a challenging but equally gratifying experience: experiential education at
its best.
Because of my time
at the UWC, writing has become all the more important to me. It is now a skill
that I cultivate purposefully, that I can use to move beyond the ego and
connect myself as much to other writers as to the educational organism that is
this university community. But the most profound knowledge I have gained from
my experiences as a Writing Center consultant has little to do with the act of
writing. My experiences at the UWC have served as a concrete example for how I
can translate one of my skills into a service.
This may seem like
a simple concept, but its meaning and implications are huge. I now have a
prototype for how to channel the activities that are important to me into
activities that are meaningful to me.
The next step is to think creatively about how I can apply this model to other
areas of my life, so that I may continue to "move beyond the ego" and
become a working member in things that resonate with my sense of self, but are
greater than that self.
Without my
experiences is this World Literature course, I would have recognized,
appreciated, or grasped the implications of this practice.
The next big
project I will undertake is the Shakespeare at Winedale Summer Program. I view this as an ideal opportunity to
further refine my paradigm of experiential education as well as to refine my
understanding of language and writing, since I will spend three months
memorizing the words of one of history's greatest writers. I bring with me skills
as an actress, as an "exceptional reader," as a leader (which I will
further cultivate at the Leadershape Program), and as a seasoned and mindful
"experiential learner." The question I will spend the summer
addressing: how to translate these skills, once again, into service.
And if you want
the answer, come to the performances.
WORD
COUNT:
WORDS ADDED: 2,969 - QUOTES (309) = 2,660