Technology fascinates me, in part because I know relatively little about how it works, and I want to know more. The potential for responsible use of technology as a supplement to literary study is particularly interesting. The challenge, as I see it, is to keep technology in its proper place as a supplement, not a replacement for genuine thought.

That’s one reason I’ve chosen Plagiarism Software Finds a New Shakespeare Play by Gaelle Fauer in Time Magazine for the next ProfoundNet. Here’s a snippet:

Plagiarism-detection software was created with lazy, sneaky college students in mind — not the likes of William Shakespeare. Yet the software may have settled a centuries-old mystery over the authorship of an unattributed play from the late 1500s called The Reign of Edward III…. With a program called Pl@giarism, [Sir Brian Vickers, a literature professor at the University of London] detected 200 strings of three or more words in Edward III that matched phrases in Shakespeare’s other works.

As Vickers reminds readers, computers can’t do the work alone – human knowledge, skill, and judgment are still an integral part of the process. He says what he is hoping to do is “bring about a marriage between human reading and machine reading. If you distrust computers, you won’t advance at all; if you have just computers and know nothing about literature, you’re likely to go wrong as well.”

To me, this is a great example of using technology to advance the work of humans, rather than allowing technology to assume the role of primary agent and in the process rendering humans the subject of a passive sentence.

Thanks, Gaelle , for a thought-provoking article.

This week, my studies have been heavy on abstract, philosophical thought. In defense, I have resorted to a Lewis-Carrollian attempt to add a bit of lightness to the study of Walter Benjamin, David Lynch, and William Blake. Enjoy!

When Benjamin Met Lynch and Blake

When Benjamin met Lynch and Blake
They all went out for tea,
Except that Blake re-named the cakes,
And Lynch forgot the brie.

“No problem, friend,” said Blake to Lynch,
“I have this pound cake here.
But since the name has now been changed
We’ll eat it all as ‘Prear’!”

“Except, dear sir,” said Benjamin,
“There’s not enough for three.”
“But wait! But wait!” cried David Lynch
“Mix dirt in with the tea!

The taste, you’ll find, is not unlike
A bit of blood and worms:
Quite suited for the appetite
Of men who’ve come to terms.”

“He has a point,” said Benjamin,
“The aura is quite rare.”
“Well then, let’s dreat,” said William Blake,
“And sup this glooging fare.”

Since glooging fit the mood by chance,
They all agreed to “dreat”
And when they’d dreaten all the prear,
They called it quite a treat.

But after all was cleared away,
A feeling strange came on,
And William Blake asked David Lynch,
“That dirt you chose – a pond?”

“A puddle, Will,” said David Lynch
“With scum that has no peer!”
“Aha,” said Benjamin to Blake,
“At last it’s all come clear.

The sounds that whistle round our guts
Are not the Future’s art.
Instead, quite simply, what we hear
Is nothing but the start…

It’s Lynch’s first film coming true,
Except not six but three.
You see, our skills are better spent
On books than fixing tea.”

Lately, I’ve been exploring the questions, what is literature? and what does it mean to study literature? There’s so much great stuff to think about.

Another thought-provoking angle comes from a 1994 TIME article “Hurrah for Dead White Males!” by Paul Gray. Gray addresses literary scholar and critic Harold Bloom’s ideas about the purpose of literature.

In his book The Western Canon, Bloom argues “All that the Western Canon can bring one is the proper use of one’s own solitude, that solitude whose final form is one’s confrontation with one’s own mortality.”

The article’s author suggests that “Such guidance was once the province of religion, and it is ultimately the religious experience that Bloom seeks in secular writing.” He quotes Bloom again: “Since I myself am partial to finding the voice of God in Shakespeare or Emerson or Freud, depending on my needs, I have no difficulty in finding Dante’s Comedy to be divine.”

The instinct to seek truth — or, as Bloom says, to seek  meaning and religious experience — in literature is, I think, somehow human. We are granted a glimpse of something bigger, grander, in truly powerful works of literature. (C.S. Lewis might have called it sehnsucht, fulfillment tinged with longing.)

Unfortunately, the nature of literary language (unlike the quality of mercy) is often strained between an attempt to mimic reality and an awareness that language is insufficient for even this task, let alone for describing Truth.

I am repeatedly brought back to the work of French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan and his theories of the Real. Lacan defines the Real as that for which we long, but which we can know only as the lack or gap we experience in the symbolic (language-mediated) world.

I wonder, then, if it is wiser to understand literature not as containing truth (which supposes truth to fit into the human mind and human language and would be a small truth indeed), but as pointing toward truth, truth being always just out of reach of explanation.

If so, it is a problem, unfortunately, that my blog is doomed to share.

This weekend, a professor at my university is hosting a discussion group on literature and literary language. The prospect has gotten me thinking even more about literature as literature: what it is, and what it means to study it.

As I’ve read further, I encountered one thoughtful perspective from Andrew Kern of the CiRCE Institute. It starts with this post, What is Literature Anyway?. Kern asks,

“Are there any schools that self-consciously regard themselves as carriers of that tradition, who deliberately set aside the relative trivia of the modern curriulum, and who teach their children deeply to contemplate those few masterpieces that sustain civilization and nourish our souls?

What am I dreaming about? A school that teaches its students only a few books and teaches them how to read them with all their hearts and souls and minds and strength. They read them, they translate them, they discuss them, they imitate them, they write about them, they live in their wisdom.”

Here Kern addresses the question of canon and “Great Books,” about which I have mixed feelings.

To me, setting up a select few works as “great” literature involves claiming an absolute standard that is, in its relationship to literature, vague and imprecise. Like it or not, these definitions are also closely linked to systems of power, and focus almost exclusively on the literature of the western world.

It seems to me that if great literature is based on great truth, that truth will not emerge only in the West, or, to quote the cliche, in the writings of “dead white males.”

On the other hand, without some judgment of what is true and valuable, meaning becomes generic, nothing more than an arbitrary construct; and I find that conclusion no more satisfying than the first.

I wonder if there is a place for acknowledging the presence (and absence) of quality writing, truth, and beauty in literature without categorically eliminating works that range outside the traditional canon.

As usual, my next question is, if so, what would that look like?

Lots of food for thought here. More to come…

Answering the question why read literature? is a recurring theme on this blog. That’s one reason I’ve chosen “How Fiction Reading Affects Empathy” by Aaron Schutz on the Education Policy Blog for the next ProfoundNet. Here’s a snippet:

We have discovered that fiction at its best isn’t just enjoyable. It measurably enhances our abilities to empathize with other people and connect with something larger than ourselves.

The post points to a set of neurological studies that develop this idea further. The author of the article “Changing Our Minds…By Reading Fiction,” Dr. Keith Oatley, writes this:

But is the idea of fiction being good for you merely wishful thinking? [...] Through a series of studies, we have discovered that fiction at its best isn’t just enjoyable. It measurably enhances our abilities to empathize with other people and connect with something larger than ourselves.

Oatley describes fiction as a simulation of the mind, one which allows us to construct the state of another person’s mind. He says empathy requires a similar simulation.

Oatley and the other psychologists in his research group surveyed what type of books (nonfiction or fiction) participants read and then gave two tests measuring perception and interpretation of social situations. Fiction readers scored higher on both tests. A related study suggested that reading fiction can actually alter an individual’s personality.

Of course, the results of any study can be skewed or contain alternative explanations or relationships between data. However, if reading literature has the potential to improve our ability to understand the people around us, that’s certainly impetus to pick up that novel that has been sitting beside your bed.

What is more, it is impetus to think carefully about the literature we do read. If reading a novel can alter the way I perceive the world–and I tend to agree that it does–my choice of reading material becomes a matter of much greater consequence.

Thanks, Aaron, for a thought-provoking post, and Dr. Oatley, for a thought-provoking article.

Being sick has very few advantages that I can name. Literary enthusiast that I am, I would not subject myself to illness simply to come upon insight about literature. However, it can happen.

Having been sick recently, I was reminded today how much of medicine is reliant on, first, self-diagnosis, and second, the communication between doctor and patient. As a result, the doctor’s role is far less different from a literary scholar’s than you might think.

The doctor can rely on certain objective (if all equipment functions and is used and interpreted correctly) measurements like weight, heart rate, lung sounds, blood pressure, and temperature. Similarly, literati can note (with some discrepancies) the meter, rhyme scheme, rhetorical devices, and shape of a poem.

After that, though, unless the diagnosis is serious enough to merit more tests, much of the examination is based on the patient’s response to questions:

• Are you in pain?
• How much pain?
• How often do you cough?
• Have you noticed improvement since you started the medication?
• Have you experienced any side effects?

Even I, a conscientious patient, notice the ambiguity in my conversations with the doctor. I ask clarifying questions, but I’m not always sure that we understand each other. I’m not sure if I’m describing my condition accurately or in the right terms.

Like it or not, some symptoms are subjective and not as “scientific” as medical personnel would like. It is the doctor’s job to take what I’m saying and try to translate that into what it means for my health. A poet does something similar, looking not simply at the words that are used, but how they relate to one another to produce meaning.

I am not making the argument that analyzing poetry is the same or as important as diagnosing illness. As much as I love literature, I go to see a doctor, not a scholar, when I’m sick.

What I am suggesting is that the broadest divide is one of knowledge, and to a lesser extent, purpose—not method. Both jobs require thoughtful consideration of words and the meanings they convey. Both require judgment skills. Both require the ability to synthesize individual pieces of information into a deeper understanding of the whole.

And in that respect, Pre-Med and English majors may have more in common than the initial diagnosis would indicate.

“The poet [of Beowulf] was reviving the heroic language, style, and pagan world of ancient Germanic oral poetry, a world that was already remote for his contemporaries and that is stranger to the modern reader, in many respects, than the epic world of Homer and Virgil.”
-Norton Anthology of English Language, 7th ed., Vol.1)

Oral poetry may be strange to modern readers, but if the Edinburgh Fringe Festival is any indication, storytelling may be experiencing a revival of its own. That’s one reason I’ve chosen “Storytellers Star At Edinburgh Fringe” from NPR’s Rob Gifford for the next ProfoundNet. Here’s a snippet:

Once upon a time, Scotland had a vibrant tradition of storytelling. But then wicked visual media and evil high-tech gadgets drove storytelling from the land. Until one day, the brave storytellers fought back, made their own castle and celebrated with a big festival in a town called Edinburgh.

According to Donald Smith, director of the Scottish Storytelling Center, “The tales have always been told in homes and in pubs. But now they’re entering the mainstream, as people search for something a little deeper than Facebook and Twitter.” He calls it a “magic space” that requires individuals to spend time together and embark on journeys in and out of time. ”People hunger for that,” he adds.

Imagination. Community. Delight.

Literature has the ability to provide all of these things. Perhaps it takes a few brave individuals “on the fringe” to remind us what stories – what humans – are capable of offering society.

Thanks, Rob, for a thought-provoking article.

Science and math are the keys to global competitiveness.

Science and math are where the jobs are.

Science and math are…

Now you finish the sentence. I’m sure you’ve heard this line of thought before. As an avowed humanities scholar, I sometimes find it frustrating that my field of choice is ignored beyond its connotations for literacy and national standards of reading among young children. Once they can read, start them in science, where they can be useful.

That’s one (albeit selfish) reason I’ve chosen “Dehumanized: When math and science rule the school” from Judy Rabin, based on an article by Mark Souka, for the next ProfoundNet. Here’s a snippet:

[Mark Slouka] argues the emphasis on mathscience and the devaluing of the humanities by those who control education and write and talk about education in the general media have framed the discussion within the context of economic success and competition.

He asks the question, Why is every Crisis in American Education cast as an economic threat and never a civic one?

Take a look at any publication coming out of the department of education or from political pundits debating national standards, or pre-K education, or community colleges. You’ll see a theme: education recovery = economic recovery. Better schools = better economy.

This theme underscores what is, to me, a bigger problem in our way of thinking about education. From the original article by Souka:

It’s about the victory of whatever can be quantified over everything that can’t. It’s about the quiet retooling of American education into an adjunct of business, an instrument of production. [...] only by studying this world can we hope to shape how it shapes us; that only by attempting to understand what used to be called, in a less embarrassed age, “the human condition” can we hope to make our condition more human, not less.

Foremost in concerns about education are not the familiarity of individuals with the U.S. constitution, understanding of the  judicial system, or intelligent dialogue about foreign policy, scientific ethics, or personal responsibility.

Science and math are important, certainly. But such a single-minded focus comes with the risk of ignoring the civic, as well as economic, value of education.

Don’t forget: what made the United States different (or has set it apart) from its inception was the way its civic society, not its economic system, was established.

Thanks, Judy, for a thought-provoking post.

“The very spring and root of virtue and honesty lie in good education”
- Plutarch

Who wants to study mythology anymore?

Ancient literature? Who cares?

Well, as it turns out, videogame developers, and whether they know it or not, the masses who buy their games, care deeply. That’s one reason I’ve chosen “The Influence of Literature and Myth in Videogames” by Douglass Perry for the next ProfoundNet. Here’s a snippet:

But how exactly have myth and literature shaped the videogames we play today? Why do they matter? For developers, to improve the games of the future, they must understand the right and wrong of the present, and seek lessons from the past. The videogame medium isn’t an island unto itself. In fact, in a way, it’s a symbiotic creature that thrives on other entertainment successes; it’s also a shiny junkyard of rehashed, reshaped, and re-invented ideas re-forged for a powerful new medium still going through growing pains.

Perry points to the influence of Greek and Norse mythology on both literature and gaming. He mentions Tolkien, Lovecraft, Heinlein, and other writers of science fiction and fantasy, who were in turn influenced by mythology and the stories of the ancients.

“I would go as far to say that all literature and all entertainment are influenced by myth,” said Denis Dyack, head of Silicon Knights, the development team behind the original Blood Omen: Legacy of Kain, Eternal Darkness, and the upcoming Xbox 360 game, Too Human. “Whether people think so or not, basically, we are immersed in the mythologies in our culture. In some sense, mythology defines culture. It’s unavoidable. Any typical storyline almost always falls back to some mythology.”

Perry concludes that the eye-catching graphics and special effects are not enough anymore. Instead, he says games with the most “story and content” will go the farthest.

If he is correct, it is encouraging to see this medium reaching back and recognizing the depth of story and content literature can offer. It’s equally encouraging to see this unexpected demonstration that the value of great stories never grows old.

Thanks, Douglass, for a thought-provoking article.

If you’ve read my blog before, you know that academic honesty is very important to me, both for the sake of developing personal integrity, and for the sake of recognizing and valuing the work of others.

The fluid, fluctuating nature of online communication makes it hard to consistently define and uphold academic honesty. It’s hard to define what respect of intellectual property looks like on a blog, for example, or a website, or a MySpace page.

Should all bloggers be required to use MLA citations when they quote a fellow blogger? Do permalinks make it acceptable to reproduce an entire post or article on your own site? What about images?

These questions can be overwhelming. One of the dangers of online communication is that too much information–and too little–can lead to carelessness and apathy. “No one told me I had to cite that image from Google Images. There’s no guide for quoting a website on another website, so I didn’t bother.”

Personal responsibility is out of vogue in our era. We like step-by-step instructions, and if the warning label “hot” isn’t on the cup of coffee, we have every right to legal restitution.

I am as guilty as the next person. In writing this blog, I have attempted to develop my own system of ethical use guidelines for quoting and “borrowing” others’ content. When I quote a blog or online article, I use the “blockquote” feature, and I include a permalink to the source. When I use an image to supplement my text, I link the image back to its source rather than to my site.

Is that the best way to do it? Probably not. Could I do more? Yes. Should I? I’m not sure. But am I freed of responsibility because there is no one right way to do it? Absolutely not.

Cracking down on Internet piracy and protecting copyrights have cost the writing, publishing, film making, and music industries enormous effort, and have done little to stem the flood. Smart people circumvent the system every day. Smart people will continue to find new ways around the new protections designed by other smart people.

The only way that real change will occur is when smart people take responsibility and choose to be honest people.

Unfortunately, if that sounds over-simplified, it is. Our postmodern view that all ethical systems are equal has made it easy to justify downloading pirated music (“Hey, I wasn’t the one who posted it!”) or leaving out the quotations marks once in a while (“It’s only Wikipedia; I could have written the same thing.”).

It’s a slippery spiral, isn’t it?

Relativism is only attractive until someone else’s ethical system interferes with us; until we write something and see it spread over the Web without our permission; until we cry “not fair” and no one listens.

So where do we go from here?

In blogging, just as much as in college classrooms, I think it is worth considering what honesty means, on what it is based, and how we erode it, or build it up, in each choice we make and webpage we open.