Audri Swisher's Blog

In “Strong Arts, Strong Schools,” an excerpt from a 1994 keynote address, Steven Fowler presents several answers to the questions: What is the connection between excellence in education and excellence in the arts? Why are schools with strong arts programs better schools? How do the arts add significantly to the dimensions of general education?

First of all, Fowler argues that the arts form an integral part of a comprehensive education. No single way of learning forms a complete picture of the world around us, so we must take from as many systems of learning as we can. Arts also offer a different way of education, one that encourages critical thinking and different solutions to the same problem. Students aren’t told what to think, but instead taught how to think.

In the third section, Fowler calls the arts “the cement that brings all the disparate curricular areas together.” The arts relate to almost any other subject matter and can help students relate to the past in a much more personal way than a dry textbook. Similarly, students can use the arts to relate in the present time as well – to other cultures, other countries, other ethnicities, etc. This teaches us to be more empathetic and open.

Fowler writes that the arts enlighten. For instance, theater shows us aspects of our human nature so that we can see them more objectively and perhaps recognize our own shortcomings or strengths. He then concludes by saying, “The arts are our humanity.”

Response:

I can’t count how many essays I’ve written on this very subject. I’m not sure how anyone can still look at the piles of data, statistics, hard evidence, etc. and still be convinced that the arts aren’t valuable subjects in schools.

Indeed, the issue doesn’t center on whether arts education is beneficial to students; instead, in the harsh reality of low funds and little space, the question becomes how it can remain in a public school’s budget. After all, a school won’t keep a band over a science class; it just doesn’t make sense. In a world where finances quickly dry up and schools are punished for low test scores, schools feel backed against the wall and “cut the fat.” But, it’s clear from years of study that music and art programs are worthwhile; how, then, can schools keep them?

On a local level, organizing fundraisers and asking stores or corporations to donate products for free or a reduced price might take away from the high cost. Individuals must also make their voices heard, whether it be supporting a candidate for the school board who favors education in the arts, or increasing interest in music and art programs by arranging concerts or appearances by well-known artists. The efforts of those concerned should strive to restore and maintain music and art programs in schools. Their loss would be devastating, effectively cutting off many from an opportunity they will get nowhere else.

In “The Vanishing Hitchhiker,” we find that urban legends are perpetuated because of three basic elements: a strong story appeal, a foundation in actual belief, and a meaningful moral. These “true” tales fill in gaps left by formal news reports and gratify our sensation-seeking minds. As with other narrative folklore, urban legends vary by the storyteller, to fit local places or to update old stories. In later pages, the book goes on to analyze several (in?)famous urban legends.

The Freakonomics podcast discussed the disappearance of hitchhikers in America. Popular culture and movies warned “If you hitchhike, you will DIE,” and the practice faded from use. The podcast asks, how dangerous was it? How common was hitchhiking violence in reality? (answer: uncommon.) What happens when you let small numbers balloon into large fears? One person interviewed in the podcast pointed out that hitchhiking wasn’t the danger – the crazy people out there will still be crazy people with or without hitchhiking.

Demand for hitchhiking fell because of fear, but also probably because the supply of transportation increased – fewer people needed a lift. There were more cars that were longer-lasting and more drivers in general. Today, the average commuting car leaves eighty percent of its passenger load unused.

Near the end of the podcast, several interviewees lament the loss of trusting others in America. Our biggest fear, he says, is strangers – odd, since we’re infinitely more likely to be hurt by the people we know.

Response:

All right, first thing. At home, we still use a phone book, hang laundry on a clothesline, and have a computer that accepts floppy disks (though it’s unlikely that they’ve ever been used in its slot). I have also seen plenty of hitchhikers on the road, so to hear that most of these guys haven’t seen one in twenty years was odd to me. Maybe it’s just a western South Dakota thing. Heck, hitching a ride is the only way my dad got across South Dakota when he was in college.

Let’s recap.

1. Hitchhiking saves money.
2. Hitchhiking is environmentally friendly.
3. Hitchhiking is fairly safe. One interviewee compared it to annual shark attacks. Well, I can think of several things that are more likely to harm you than a shark. (deep breath) Biking, jumping on a trampoline, swimming in a lake, swimming in a pond, swimming at all, using an oven, driving, playing sports, eating peanuts, sleeping on the top bunk, climbing ladders, working machinery, playing with a dog, waterskiing, snow skiing, snowboarding, snowmobiling, using a vending machine (you laugh, but people get crushed after shaking it in anger and tipping it over as a result). Hey, the presidency has an almost 10% rate of being killed on the job, and look how many people are still going for that job :P.
4. A return to hitchhiking would signify a renewal of trust between Americans.

In the face of these perfectly logical arguments for hitchhiking, do I think that it will ever see an upsurge? No – and that comes back to urban legends and their morals, etc.

I believe our greatest fear as Americans isn’t only strangers, but the unknown as a whole. With that said, the idea of either getting into a stranger’s car or inviting a stranger into yours is completely foreign to some people. As opposed to every other action I described in 3., hitchhiking is unregulated and random – we can’t be in control if we choose to partake. Urban legends like the ones described in “The Vanishing Hitchhiker” morph into our idea of the worst-case scenario of a relatively harmless action, and we try to protect ourselves. It’s not incomprehensible – merely a sign of the times.

(Random: anyone else notice the three Hs on the Moodle hitchhiker link? 😉 )

This week in Honors, we abandon our theme of beauty to venture into the wild world of themelessness (gasp!). So, naturally, we come to…Christmas?

In “Christmas Was Not Always Like This: A Brief History,” Bruce Forbes essentially puts the kibosh on any rosy ideas we may have had of a completely “spiritual, wholesome” Christmas of the good ol’ days. He begins, appropriately enough, with the beginnings of Christmas. In the very early church, much more emphasis was put on the death and resurrection of Christ than on his birth. When Christmas began to be celebrated, it was through a combination of pagan and Christian traditions.

The residents of early America neither practiced Christmas in a common manner nor necessarily recognized it at all. Instead of the almost across-the-board celebration of Christmas today, a “patchwork” of Christmas celebrations varied from family to family. The phenomenon as we know it today had its roots in the mid-1800s, corresponding to the development of Santa Claus and the backing of Christmas by businesses.

Forbes’s last point has to do with Christmas and gift-giving. Gifts were not a central part of early Christmas, though small gifts for children did arise for a celebration earlier in December, Saint Nicholas Day. Similarly, people gave presents on New Year’s Day. In 1800s America, the gift-giving portion for both holidays converged on Christmas, Saint Nicholas became Santa Claus, and, driven largely by business, Christmas became a dominant celebration in the United States.

Response:

I’ll respond to each of his three comments at the end of the article.

1)      “Christians need to make their peace with the fact that Christmas is partly a winter festival…expecting Christmas to be a purely spiritual celebration is a desire for something that never was” – Granted, the point is well-made. But I believe that the tables can be viciously turned. It’s unreasonable to expect Christmas to be “purely spiritual,” sure, but apparently also unreasonable to expect some to accept it as a “spiritual” holiday at all. Businesses and government fall over themselves trying to be PC and usually manage to annoy more than whom they started with.

2)      As the early America showed, meaningful Christmas celebrations can happen without everyone joining in – Again, well-made point and very true. But rather than stand by the sidelines and simply not participate, parts of the “entire culture” join in, all right – but only to dig at and aggravate any fault they can find. Christmas (at least, when it comes to religion) is “offensive”: well, so are some things on TV, but we’re told to shut it off, change the channel, stop our ears. Nativity scenes and “Merry Christmas” shove religion down our throats, but sex, violence, and bad language on daytime TV are creative expression. After all, “You don’t have to watch it!”

3)      If gift-giving has overwhelmed Christmas, it’s not the store’s fault – Commercialism dominates Christmas, as those statistics earlier showed. Well…it’s good for the economy.

My apologies for getting on my soapbox. Merry Christmas everyone!…albeit a bit early.

A common theme emerged when I was looking over the blog posts of the last several weeks: change vs. tradition.

In our very first reading, calliagnosia presents a huge change for society – taking away our ability to judge a person’s face by its appearance. The author likely wants us to reevaluate how we have traditionally viewed people and consider what good might result from a change.

Cicero, in our second reading, compares how men had lived in the past (who had determined not by reason, but by brute strength) with the eloquent men of his time. He recognizes the changes in and history of eloquence, and much of what he said can still be applied today.

The authors of “The Televised Sports Manhood Formula” analyze and define manhood according to a range of different sports on television. This definition, for the most part, follows the traditional views of what it means to be a man: aggressive, gutsy, a fighter; someone who’s willing to compromise his own health to win. LZ Granderson, on the other hand, wonders if sports could eventually take a step ahead of the rest of society to redefine what it means to be manly.

In our fourth reading, we learned about fractals and their first pioneer, Benoit Mandelbrot. He flew in the face of classical mathematics with his discovery of fractal geometry. Traditionally, math was limited to smooth lines and regularity. However, in the 1970s, Mandelbrot pointed to the seeming chaos of nature and claimed that fractals could describe its patterns, as classical geometry described man-made patterns – a huge step forward in mathematical thinking.

Finally, we come to Vonnegut. Vonnegut discussed some of the changes that science brought in his lifetime and called for abandoning capitalism in favor of socialism. I believe he tried to change the world for the better with his satire.

My other tie-in for all of the blog posts has less to do with their topics and more to do with our discussion. It’s intriguing to me to see the different perspectives on these varied subjects. I tend to read the articles and have a certain expectation for what everyone else will think, and I’m always surprised where the discussion leads. So…I’d add “unexpectedness” to my theme.

(Re: title of today’s post – it’s from Fiddler on the Roof. Watch it. 🙂 )

This week in Honors we tackle two speeches by Kurt Vonnegut, an American writer known for his pessimism, heavy satire, and humanist beliefs. The first address was given in 1970 to a women’s college graduating class. Vonnegut first recounts the loss of his optimism – mostly due to his experiences in World War II – and laments that science lost its luster when he realized that it couldn’t “make us so happy and comfortable.”

Therefore, no matter how much he would have liked to, he can’t bring light and happiness to this graduating class; all he offers is the truth, bleak and gloomy as it is. He calls for putting hope in superstition (“become an enemy of truth and a fanatic for harmless balderdash”), which he defines, essentially, as believing that humanity is a creation of God Almighty. According to Vonnegut, both this “superstition” and the arts put humanity on a pedestal. If a person believes that, then he will not treat his fellow man with contempt; at least, that’s his theory.

Vonnegut advertises socialism for a little while and ends. Gotta give points for brevity. Moving on…

Vonnegut’s last speech (delivered by his son after Vonnegut’s death) was given in his hometown of Indianapolis. The speech is a rather convoluted mishmash of ideas, wherein he tries to find a universal American sentiment, informs us that the Mona Lisa is not a perfect painting, succinctly summarizes the origin of the universe (“…BANG! And that’s where all this crap came from”), proclaims the apocalypse, discourages the use of semicolons, and praises communism and Karl Marx. He mentions asking his son what life is all about, to which his son replied, “Dad, we are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is.”

Response:

Oh, Kurt Vonnegut.

What I love about Vonnegut is that even if you think he’s crazy or his politics are complete and utter trash, he’s still a fun read. His writing is that kind of gallows humor that you laugh at, then sort of shift guiltily and look around to make sure you’re not the only one to do so. His personality comes through so well – probably because it seems as if he writes down whatever happens to be wandering by in his thoughts. His style is brief and simple, punctuated often by seemingly random tangents.

Coming into this reading, I was curious to see what thirty-seven years would do. How had those years changed him? Truthfully, I didn’t see much of a difference. However, it made me wonder – what would Vonnegut have expected to see from those almost-forty-years-older girls from his 1970 speech, now that they were “old enough” to change the world?

I can appreciate that Vonnegut writes from his personal hardships and that his beliefs come from his own experiences. However, his presentation of the “truth” is permeated with the very worst assumptions. After all, why believe that anything is true or good or pure when you can lower your expectations and believe the very opposite? Hey, if you’re proven wrong, you haven’t lost anything, have you?

The saying goes, “The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all possible worlds, and the pessimist fears this is true.” Vonnegut was honestly trying to change the world for the better, I think; but, I also believe he had a few things wrong.

I read Slaughterhouse-Five several years ago. In it, Kilgore Trout, a character who functions as a sort of alter ego to Vonnegut himself, had a maxim for life: “Being alive is a crock of shit.” Mr. Vonnegut, being alive is not a crock of shit. I wonder if you had that figured out before the end.