The Power of Stories What is the value of creative and expressive freedom? What do we lose when it is limited?

Haroun and the Sea of Stories (allegorical novel) by Salman Rushdie “The Secretes of Storytelling” (scientific

excerpt from Love’s Knowledge (philosophy)

article) by Jeremy Hsu

by Martha Nussbaum

“The Art of Reading” (podcast)

excerpt from Ceremony (novel) by Leslie Marmon Silko

How are we and our world shaped by words and language?

What are we studying when we study “English”? What is the value of stories and storytelling?

“The Allegory of the Cave” in Plato’s The Republic (philosophy)

your understanding of archetypes and the hero’s journey

What is the relationship between fiction and reality? Where does “truth” lie in the world of stories?

“The Word” (poem) “Words”

“Words” from Radiolab (podcast)

by Sylvia Plath

new texts & personal contributions:

English 10 Honors Unit 1

by Pablo Neruda

“The Art of Reading,” on To the Best of Our Knowledge Podcast Listen to the podcast and reflect on these questions in your notebook. These questions are intended to guide your listening. Your notes do not have to connect perfectly to each question. Part I: Why It’s Hard to Read in the Electronic Age, with Maryanne Wolf (beginning - 10:25) Before she speaks with Maryanne Wolf, the podcast’s host opens by explaining that she feels she has changed as a reader. How? Does her age make her a different kind of reader than you are? In what ways have you changed as a reader? How did Wolf respond when she found that she no longer loved reading Magister Ludi, by Hermann Hesse? What can we learn from her response? What does Wolf worry we will lose if we let our reading practices change entirely? Does the interviewee suggest that print is better than digital? If not, what does she suggest about the medium in which we read? What do you think? Do you ever have a “grasshopper mind”? When is a “peripatetic” mind productive and when does it interfere with your productivity? Wolf and the host have attempted to understand the impact of internet and social media on your reading brains and began to offer strategies for navigating the conflicting demands for your attention. What can you take away from their reflection? What kind of practical advice would you give readers who experience these conflicting demands? Part II: What Makes a Good Book Critic? with James Wood (10:25-21:40) Skip James Wood (unless you are insatiably curious about all things/bored and just want to listen ‘cause why not?/just want to be able to win every trivia game you ever participate in) and pick up again at about 22:00. Part III: Teaching Kids to Love Books In the Middle East, with Rana Dajani (22:00-27:00) What kind of reading was missing in Jordan, according to Dajani? What does Dajani’s story tell you about what motivates people to read? Does Rana Dajani’s story about her reading program in Jordan give you a new perspective on the value of reading for pleasure? Part IV: Reading History from the Margins, with Jonathan Gottshall (27:00-37:00) What is different about the way people used to read? What might be useful (or not) about these ways of reading? What does Gottshall’s story about magic have to do with the history of reading? What can we learn from Machiavelli’s attitude toward reading? The host and Gottshall discuss how technology has changed reading in this segment, too. What observations do they share? What reading lessons can we take away from these observations? Stop after the end of this segment (unless you are insatiably curious about all things/bored and just want to listen ‘cause why not?/just want to be able to win every trivia game you ever participate in).

The Word by Pablo Neruda The word was born in the blood, it grew in the dark body, pulsing, and took flight with the lips and mouth. Farther away and nearer, still, still it came from dead fathers and from wandering races, from territories that had become stone, that had tired of their poor tribes, because when grief set out on the road the people went and arrived and united new land and water to sow their word once again. And that's why the inheritance is this: this is the air that connects us with the buried man and with the dawn of new beings that haven't yet arisen. Still the atmosphere trembles with the first word produced with panic and groaning. It emerged from the darkness and even now there is no thunder that thunders with the iron sound of that word, the first word uttered: perhaps it was just a whisper, a raindrop, but its cascade still falls and falls. Later on, meaning fills the word. It stayed pregnant and was filled with lives, everything was births and sounds: affirmation, clarity, strength, negation, destruction, death: the name took on all the powers and combined existence with essence in its electric beauty.

Human word, syllable, flank of long light and hard silver, hereditary goblet that receives the communications of the blood: it is here that silence was formed by the whole of the human word and not to speak is to die among beings: language extends out to the hair, the mouth speaks without moving the lips: suddenly the eyes are words. I take the word and move through it, as if it were only a human form, its lines delight me and I sail in each resonance of language: I utter and I am and across the boundary of words, without speaking, I approach silence. I drink to the word, raising a word or crystalline cup, in it I drink the wine of language or unfathomable water, maternal source of all words, and cup and water and wine give rise to my song because the name is origin and green life: it is blood, the blood that expresses its substance, and thus its unrolling is prepared: words give crystal to the crystal, blood to the blood, and give life to life. -Pablo Neruda appearing here from: 'Full Woman, Fleshly Apple, Hot Moon' Translated by Stephen Mitchell

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” - The Bible, John 1:1 Connections: Return to your notes from the Radiolab podcast, “Words.” Does Neruda’s poem reflect any of the ideas or attitudes introduced in the podcast?

Words by Sylvia Plath

Axes After whose stroke the wood rings, And the echoes! Echoes traveling Off from the center like horses. The sap Wells like tears, like the Water striving To re-establish its mirror Over the rock That drops and turns, A white skull, Eaten by weedy greens. Years later I Encounter them on the road---Words dry and riderless, The indefatigable hoof-taps. While From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars Govern a life. free verse poetry that has no regular meter or line length and depends on natural speech rhythms and the counterpoint of stressed and unstressed syllables enjambement

also called a “run-on line,” a line of verse which runs into the next line without any grammatical break

Connections: How does the tone and figurative language of Plath’s poem contrast with Neruda’s? How does that difference affect meaning?

Dante’s Fourfold Method of Allegorical Interpretation

Dante Alighieri (c. 1265–1321), the Italian poet of the Late Middle Ages.  Dante’s Divine Comedy was his masterpiece; in it, the speaker journeys through Hell (Inferno), Purgatory (Purgatorio), and Paradise (Paradiso).  In the first part of the poem, his guide is the Roman poet, Virgil; later his guide is Beatrice, his true love.  In the “Letter to Cangrande” that follows, Dante tells the lord how to read his Divine Comedy as an allegory. Dante did a lot of thinking about allegory, and we’re going to read quite a few allegorical novels, so it would be prudent to let Dante enlighten us a bit. allegory “The term derives from from the Greek word allegoria, meaning “speaking otherwise.”  As a rule, an allegory is a story in verse or prose with a double meaning:  a primary or surface meaning; and a secondary or under-the-surface meaning.  It is a story, therefore, that can be read, understood, and interpreted at two levels (and in some cases three or four levels).  It is thus closely related to the fable and the parable.  The form may be literary or pictorial”  (Penguin). fable A short narrative which points to a moral.  Non-human creatures or inanimate things are normally the characters.  The presentation of human beings as animals is the characteristic of the literary fable.   parable From the Greek meaning “side throwing, comparison.”  A short and simple story, related to allegory and fable, which points to a moral.    Dante’s Fourfold Method opens the reader to the full life of an allegory.  Readers should contemplate allegory on four levels: 1.  The literal level (“historia”):  the concrete, tangible level.  What is actually happening in the story at the surface?   What are the concrete places, objects, and events?  Who are the concrete characters? 2.  The political level (“allegoria”):  the level on which human beings relate to others in a community and in the world.   Who has power?  Who wants power?  How do people use power to influence or control one another?   What is the relationship of the individual to the society?  What political powers can the reader see in the real world? 3.  The moral or psychological level (“tropologia”):  the level that relates to the realm of ethics.   Which characters’ actions are ethical and which are not?  What set of moral values or what ethical position emerges from the conflict and its resolution?  What moral parallels can the reader see in the real world? 4.  The spiritual level (“anagogia”):  the universal level transcending time and place; how a person relates to the grand scale of the universe and the nature of reality; the “way of the pilgrim soul” finding itself in the cosmos. (Definitions from Penguin Dictionary of Literary Terms & Theory and The A.P. Guide to Vertical Teaming)

Primary Source: Dante’s Fourfold Method of Allegorical Interpretation excerpt from Dante Alighieri’s “Epistle to Can Grande” Those who wish to give some kind of introduction to a part of any kind of work ought to offer some information about the whole of which it is a part. Whence also I, wishing to offer something concerning the above named part of the whole Comedy by way of introduction, thought that I ought to first set down something about the whole work, that it might be a easier and better entry to the part. . . . For me be able to present what I am going to say, you must know that the sense of this work is not simple, rather it may be called polysemantic, that is, of many senses; the first sense is that which comes from the letter, the second is that of that which is signified by the letter. And the first is called the literal, the second allegorical or moral or anagogical. Which method of treatment, that it may be clearer, can be considered through these words: `When Israel went out of Egypt, the house of Jacob from a barbarous people, Judea was made his sanctuary, Israel his dominion' (Ps. 113.1-2). If we look at it from the letter alone it means to us the exit of the Children of Israel from Egypt at the time of Moses; if from allegory, it means for us our redemption done by Christ; if from the moral sense, it means to us the conversion of the soul from the struggle and misery of sin to the status of grace; if from the anagogical, it means the leave taking of the blessed soul from the slavery of this corruption to the freedom of eternal glory. And though these mystical senses are called by various names, in general all can be called allegorical, because they are different from the literal or the historical. Now, allegory comes from Greek alleon, which in Latin means `other' or `different'. Now that we have seen this, it is obvious that the subject around which the two senses turn must be twofold. And therefore it is to be determined about the subject of this work when it is taken literally, then about the subject when it is understood allegorically. The subject of the whole work, taken only from a literal standpoint, is simply the status of the soul after death, taken simply. The movement of the whole work turns from it and around it. If the work is taken allegorically, however, the subject is man, either gaining or losing merit through his freedom of will, subject to the justice of being rewarded or punished. The following sources were paraphrased and quoted above: Dante’s “Epistle to Can Grande” The Penguin Dictionary of Literary Terms and Literary Theory The College Board’s The A.P. Vertical Teams Guide for English

... The title of the book is: `Begins the Comedy of Dante Alighieri, Florentine in birth, not in custom.' In order to understand you need to know that comedy comes from komos `village' and *oda*, which means `song', whence comedy sort of means `country song'. And comedy is sort of a kind of poetic narration, different from all others. It differs, therefore, from the tragedy, in matter by the fact that tragedy in the beginning is admirable and quiet, in the end or final exit it is smelly and horrible; and it gets its name because of this from *tragos*, which means `goat', and oda, sort of like `goat-song', that is, smelly like a goat, as can be seen in Seneca's tragedies. But comedy begins with harshness in some thing, whereas its matter ends in a good way, as can be seen by Terence in his comedies. . . . . . . And from this it is obvious that the present work is called comedy. And if we look at the matter, in the beginning it is horrible and smelly, because *Inferno*; in the end it is good, desirable and graceful, for it is *Paradiso*; as to the manner of speaking, it is easy and humble, because it is in the vulgar tongue, in which also women communicate. And thus is is obvious why it is called Comedy.

Plato’s Republic, Book VII Socratic dialogue Socratic Method

SOCRATES - GLAUCON SOCRATES:  AND now, I said, let me show in a figure how far our nature is enlightened or unenlightened:--Behold! human beings living in a underground den, which has a mouth open towards the light and reaching all along the den; here they have been from their childhood, and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you will see, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the screen which marionette players have in front of them, over which they show the puppets. GLAUCON :  I see. SOCRATES:  And do you see, I said, men passing along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels, and statues and figures of animals made of wood and stone and various materials, which appear over the wall?  Some of them are talking, others silent. GLAUCON :  You have shown me a strange image, and they are strange prisoners. SOCRATES:  Like ourselves . . . and they see only their own shadows, or the shadows of one another, which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave? GLAUCON :  True; how could they see anything but the shadows if they were never allowed to move their heads? SOCRATES:  And of the objects which are being carried in like manner they would only see the shadows? GLAUCON :  Yes. SOCRATES:  And if they were able to converse with one another, would they not suppose that they were naming what was actually before them? GLAUCON :  Very true. SOCRATES:  And suppose further that the prison had an echo which came from the other side, would they not be sure to fancy when one of the passers-by spoke that the voice which they heard came from the passing shadow? GLAUCON :  No question. SOCRATES:  To them, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images. GLAUCON :  That is certain. SOCRATES:  And now  look again, and see what will naturally follow  it:  the prisoners are released and disabused of their error. At first, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look towards the light, he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress him, and he will be unable to see the realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows; and then conceive some one saying to him, that what he saw

before was an illusion, but that now, when he is approaching nearer to being and his eye is turned towards more real existence, he has a clearer vision, -what will be his reply?   And you may further imagine that his instructor is pointing to the objects as they pass and requiring him to name them, will he not be perplexed? Will he not fancy that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him? GLAUCON:  Far truer. SOCRATES:  And if he is compelled to look straight at the light, will he not have a pain in his eyes which will make him turn away to take in the objects of vision which he can see, and which he will conceive to be in reality clearer than the things which are now being shown to him? GLAUCON :  True, he will. SOCRATES:  And suppose once more, that he is reluctantly dragged up a steep and rugged ascent, and held fast until he's forced into the presence of the sun himself, is he not likely to be pained and irritated?  When he approaches the light his eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be able to see anything at all of what are now called realities. GLAUCON :  Not all in a moment. SOCRATES:  He will require to grow accustomed to the sight of the upper world.  And first he will see the shadows best, next the reflections of men  and other objects in the water, and then the objects themselves; then he will gaze upon the light of the moon and the stars and the spangled heaven; and he will see the sky and the stars by night better than the sun or the light of the sun by day? GLAUCON :  Certainly. SOCRATES:  Last of all he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections of him in the water, but he will see him in his own proper place, and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is. GLAUCON :  Certainly. SOCRATES:  He will then proceed to argue that this is he who gives the season and the years, and is the guardian of all that is in the visible world, and in a certain way the cause of all things which he and his fellows have been accustomed to behold? GLAUCON :  Clearly, he would first see the sun and then reason about him. SOCRATES:  And when he remembered his old habitation, and the wisdom of the den and his fellow-prisoners, do you not suppose that he would felicitate himself on the change, and pity them? GLAUCON :  Certainly, he would. SOCRATES:  And if they were in the habit of conferring honours among themselves on those who were quickest to observe the passing shadows and to remark which of them went before, and which followed after, and which were together; and who were therefore best able to draw conclusions as to the future, do you think that he would care for such honours and glories, or envy the possessors of them?   Would he not say with Homer,  better to be the poor servant of a poor master, and to endure anything, rather than think as they do and live after their manner? GLAUCON :  Yes, I think that he would rather suffer anything than entertain these false notions and live in this miserable manner. SOCRATES:  Imagine once more, one [of these men] coming suddenly out of the sun to be replaced in his old situation; would he not be certain to have his eyes full of darkness?

GLAUCON :  To be sure. SOCRATES:  And if there were a contest, and he had to compete in measuring the shadows with the prisoners who had never moved out of the den, while his sight was still weak, and before his eyes had become steady (and the time which would be needed to acquire this new habit of sight might be very considerable) would he not be ridiculous?  Men would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes; and that it was better not even to think of ascending; and if any one tried to loose another and lead him up to the light, let them only catch the offender, and they would put him to death. GLAUCON :  No question. SOCRATES:  This entire allegory, you may now append, dear Glaucon, to the previous argument; the prison-house is the world of sight, the light of the fire is the sun, and you will not misapprehend me if you interpret the journey upwards to be the ascent of the soul into the intellectual world according to my poor belief, which, at your desire, I have expressed whether rightly or wrongly God knows. But, whether true or false, my opinion is that in the world of knowledge the idea of good appears last of all, and is seen only with an effort; and, when seen, is also inferred to be the universal author of all things beautiful and right, parent of light and of the lord of light in this visible world, and the immediate source of reason and truth in the intellectual; and that this is the power upon which he who would act rationally, either in public or private life must have his eye fixed.

1.  Illustrate the concrete (literal) story of the cave as you understand it.  Use both images and written explanations.   Imagine that you would use the drawing to explain the story to someone else. 2.  Using Dante’s Fourfold Method, offer at least three abstractions or interpretations of the allegory of the cave. Consider details in your analysis of the allegory.  

Concrete element of story

Political, Moral, or Spiritual Interpretation political:

moral:

spiritual:

Introduction to Haroun and the Sea of Stories by Salman Rushdie

In 1989, our novelist Salman Rushdie found himself in quite a bit of hot water after the publication of his 1988 book, The Satanic Verses. The book offended a very important leader: Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini of Iran. In the tradition of the most deeply offended, Ayatollah Khomeini had not actually read Rushdie’s book; if he had, he would perhaps have taken less offense. Nevertheless he issued a fatwa declaring that Salman Rushdie should be executed for the blasphemous content of the book. After the bombing of one of Rushdie’s publishers proved this threat was real, he went “underground,” moving with the help of the British secret service from safehouse to safehouse. The fatwa separated Rushdie from his family, friends, and career. At times, it separated him from his health and sense of sanity. Writing Haroun and the Sea of Stories for his son gave him hope. Note: At this time in American history, when too many Americans are ignorant of Middle Eastern politics and culture, it is important to remember that Salman Rushdie's life was threatened by terrorists motivated by religious extremism; unfortunately, some too often ignorant Americans mistakenly think the sentiments of these terrorists are common among Muslims, when they are actually extremely rare. In fact, those radical believers are at odds with everyday Arabic culture.  Worldwide, ordinary Muslims are the most common victims of extremist terrorists.   • Watch a Charlie Rose interview with Salman Rushdie upon publication of his 2012 memoir, Joseph Anton.

Reading the allegory: Review and clarify your understanding of allegory and Dante’s Fourfold Method. Use that understanding to consider the allegorical parallels between the world(s) of Haroun and the Sea of Stories and our real world. The table below is a model. Please continue your exploration in your notebook and/or in Spartan Apps. (HW/CW Credit)

Concrete element of story

Interpretation

“a city so ruinously sad that it had forgotten its name” (15)

moral/psychological: In establishing that when the city loses its happiness, it also loses its name, he implies that joy and happiness are somehow associated with language, with names.   How?  To be named is to be known and loved; to have an identity, a life, a purpose.  To lose that name is to lose that identity, that purpose, that love and connection to the “namer.” What happens to the fictional town is therefore the same sadness that any person or group might experience when they lose their sense of identity, their sense of connection to the people who love and celebrate their existence. (Incidentally, in Salman Rushdie’s real life, he had to give up his name when he was in hiding.)

Rashid loses his storytelling ability literally because his “story tap” is disconnected from the “Sea of Stories.”

Here we have “writer’s block” made literal--Rashid’s creative flow is literally cut off. Highly creative people often credit their sense of creativity to something that feels larger than they are, or to something external that “flows” into their consciousness when they are open to it. The concept of a vast sea that contains the wealth of all stories ever conceived of, mixing in nearly infinite combinations speaks to that sense of creativity. More specific analogies exist within the sea metaphor. The neglected Old Zone, for instance, represents those ancient tales that provided the universal, archetypal plots we have never stopped using.

The Secrets of Storytelling: Why We Love a Good Yarn Our love for storytelling reveals the workings of our minds Hsu

By Jeremy

by Jeremy Hsu When Brad Pitt tells Eric Bana in the 2004 film Troy that “there are no pacts between lions and men,” he is not reciting a clever line from the pen of a Hollywood screenwriter. He is speaking Achilles’ words in English as Homer wrote them in Greek more than 2,000 years ago in the Iliad. The tale of the Trojan War has captivated generations of audiences while evolving from its origins as an oral epic to written versions and, finally, to several film adaptations. The power of this story to transcend time, language and culture is clear even today, evidenced by Troy’s robust success around the world. Popular tales do far more than entertain, however. Psychologists and neuroscientists have recently become fascinated by the human predilection for storytelling. Why does our brain seem to be wired to enjoy stories? And how do the emotional and cognitive effects of a narrative influence our beliefs and real-world decisions? The answers to these questions seem to be rooted in our history as a social animal. We tell stories about other people and for other people. Stories help us to keep tabs on what is happening in our communities. The safe, imaginary world of a story may be a kind of training ground, where we can practice interacting with others and learn the customs and rules of society. And stories have a unique power to persuade and motivate, because they appeal to our emotions and capacity for empathy. A Good Yarn Storytelling is one of the few human traits that are truly universal across culture and through all of known history. Anthropologists find evidence of folktales everywhere in ancient cultures, written in Sanskrit, Latin, Greek, Chinese, Egyptian and Sumerian. People in societies of all types weave narratives, from oral storytellers in hunter-gatherer tribes to the millions of writers churning out books, television shows and movies. And when a characteristic behavior shows up in so many different societies, researchers pay attention: its roots may tell us something about our evolutionary past. To study storytelling, scientists must first define what constitutes a story, and that can prove tricky. Because there are so many diverse forms, scholars often define story structure, known as narrative, by explaining what it is not. Exposition contrasts with narrative by being a simple, straightforward explanation, such as a list of facts or an encyclopedia entry. Another standard approach defines narrative as a series of causally linked events that unfold over time. A third definition hinges on the typical narrative’s subject matter: the interactions of intentional agents—characters with minds—who possess various motivations. However narrative is defined, people know it when they feel it. Whether fiction or nonfiction, a narrative engages its audience through psychological realism—recognizable emotions and believable interactions among characters. “Everyone has a natural detector for psychological realism,” says Raymond A. Mar, assistant professor of psychology at York University in Toronto. “We can tell when something rings false.” But the best stories—those retold through generations and translated into other languages—do more than simply present a believable picture. These tales captivate their audience, whose emotions can be inextricably tied to those of the story’s characters. Such immersion is a state psychologists call “narrative transport.” Researchers have only begun teasing out the relations among the variables that can initiate narrative transport. A 2004 study by psychologist Melanie C. Green, now at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, showed that prior knowledge and life experience affected the immersive experience. Volunteers read a short story about a gay man attending his college fraternity’s reunion. Those who had friends or family members who were homosexual reported higher transportation, and they also perceived the story events, settings and characters to be more realistic. Transportation was also deeper for participants with past experiences in fraternities or sororities. “Familiarity helps, and a character to identify with helps,” Green explains. Other research by Green has found that people who perform better on tests of empathy, or the capacity to perceive another person’s emotions, become more easily transported regardless of the story. “There seems to be a reasonable amount of variation, all the way up to people who can get swept away by a Hallmark commercial,” Green says.

In Another’s Shoes Empathy is part of the larger ability humans have to put themselves in another person’s shoes: we can attribute mental states— awareness, intent—to another entity. Theory of mind, as this trait is known, is crucial to social interaction and communal living— and to understanding stories. Children develop theory of mind around age four or five. A 2007 study by psychologists Daniela O’Neill and Rebecca Shultis, both at the University of Waterloo in Ontario, found that five-year-olds could follow the thoughts of an imaginary character but that three-year-olds could not. The children saw model cows in both a barn and a field, and the researchers told them that a farmer sitting in the barn was thinking of milking the cow in the field. When then asked to point to the cow the farmer wanted to milk, three-year-olds pointed to the cow in the barn—they had a hard time following the character’s thoughts to the cow in the field. Five-year-olds, however, pointed to the cow in the field, demonstrating theory of mind. Perhaps because theory of mind is so vital to social living, once we possess it we tend to imagine minds everywhere, making stories out of everything. A classic 1944 study by Fritz Heider and Mary-Ann Simmel, then at Smith College, elegantly demonstrated this tendency. The psychologists showed people an animation of a pair of triangles and a circle moving around a square and asked the participants what was happening. The subjects described the scene as if the shapes had intentions and motivations—for example, “The circle is chasing the triangles.” Many studies since then have confirmed the human predilection to make characters and narratives out of whatever we see in the world around us. But what could be the evolutionary advantage of being so prone to fantasy? “One might have expected natural selection to have weeded out any inclination to engage in imaginary worlds rather than the real one,” writes Steven Pinker, a Harvard University evolutionary psychologist, in the April 2007 issue of Philosophy and Literature. Pinker goes on to argue against this claim, positing that stories are an important tool for learning and for developing relationships with others in one’s social group. And most scientists are starting to agree: stories have such a powerful and universal appeal that the neurological roots of both telling tales and enjoying them are probably tied to crucial parts of our social cognition. As our ancestors evolved to live in groups, the hypothesis goes, they had to make sense of increasingly complex social relationships. Living in a community requires keeping tabs on who the group members are and what they are doing. What better way to spread such information than through storytelling? Indeed, to this day people spend most of their conversations telling personal stories and gossiping. A 1997 study by anthropologist and evolutionary biologist Robin Dunbar, then at the University of Liverpool in England, found that social topics accounted for 65 percent of speaking time among people in public places, regardless of age or gender. Anthropologists note that storytelling could have also persisted in human culture because it promotes social cohesion among groups and serves as a valuable method to pass on knowledge to future generations. But some psychologists are starting to believe that stories have an important effect on individuals as well—the imaginary world may serve as a proving ground for vital social skills. “If you’re training to be a pilot, you spend time in a flight simulator,” says Keith Oatley, a professor of applied cognitive psychology at the University of Toronto. Preliminary research by Oatley and Mar suggests that stories may act as “flight simulators” for social life. A 2006 study hinted at a connection between the enjoyment of stories and better social abilities. The researchers used both self-report and assessment tests to determine social ability and empathy among 94 students, whom they also surveyed for name recognition of authors who wrote narrative fiction and nonnarrative nonfiction. They found that students who had had more exposure to fiction tended to perform better on social ability and empathy tests. Although the results are provocative, the authors caution that the study did not probe cause and effect—exposure to stories may hone social skills as the researchers suspect, but perhaps socially inclined individuals simply seek out more narrative fiction. In support for the idea that stories act as practice for real life are imaging studies that reveal similar brain activity during viewings of real people and animated characters. In 2007 Mar conducted a study using Waking Life, a 2001 film in which live footage of actors was traced so that the characters appear to be animated drawings. Mar used functional magnetic resonance imaging to scan volunteers’ brains as they watched matching footage of the real actors and the corresponding animated characters. During the real footage, brain activity spiked strongly in the superior temporal sulcus and the temporoparietal junction, areas associated with processing biological motion. The same areas lit up to a lesser extent for the animated footage. “This difference in brain activation could be how we distinguish between fantasy and reality,” Mar says. As psychologists probe our love of stories for clues about our evolutionary history, other researchers have begun examining the themes and character types that appear consistently in narratives from all cultures. Their work is revealing universal similarities that may reflect a shared, evolved human psyche.

Boy Meets Girl … A 2006 study by Jonathan Gottschall, an English professor at Washington & Jefferson College, found relevant depictions of romantic love in folktales scattered across space and time. The idea of romantic love has not been traditionally considered to be a cultural universal because of the many societies in which marriage is mainly an economic or utilitarian consideration. But Gottschall’s study suggests that rather than being a construct of certain societies, romantic love must have roots in our common ancestry. In other words, romance—not just sex—has a biological basis in the brain. “You do find these commonalities,” Gottschall says. He is one of several scholars, known informally as literary Darwinists, who assert that story themes do not simply spring from each specific culture. Instead the literary Darwinists propose that stories from around the world have universal themes reflecting our common underlying biology. Another of Gottschall’s studies published earlier this year reveals a persistent mind-set regarding gender roles. His team did a content analysis of 90 folktale collections, each consisting of 50 to 100 stories, from societies running the gamut from industrial nations to hunter-gatherer tribes. They found overwhelmingly similar gender depictions emphasizing strong male protagonists and female beauty. To counterbalance the possibility that male storytellers were biasing gender idealizations, the team also sampled cultures that were more egalitarian and less patriarchal. “We couldn’t even find one culture that had more emphasis on male beauty,” Gottschall notes, explaining that the study sample had three times as many male as compared with female main characters and six times as many references to female beauty as to male beauty. That difference in gender stereotypes, he suggests, may reflect the classic Darwinian emphasis on reproductive health in women, signified by youth and beauty, and on the desirable male ability to provide for a family, signaled by physical power and success. Other common narrative themes reveal our basic wants and needs. “Narrative involves agents pursuing some goal,” says Patrick Colm Hogan, professor of English and comparative literature at the University of Connecticut. “The standard goals are partially a result of how our emotion systems are set up.” Hogan does not consider himself a literary Darwinist, but his research on everything from Hindu epic poems such as the Ramayana to modern film adaptations of Shakespeare supports the idea that stories reveal something about human emotions seated in the mind. As many as two thirds of the most respected stories in narrative traditions seem to be variations on three narrative patterns, or prototypes, according to Hogan. The two more common prototypes are romantic and heroic scenarios— the former focuses on the trials and travails of love, whereas the latter deals with power struggles. The third prototype, dubbed “sacrificial” by Hogan, focuses on agrarian plenty versus famine as well as on societal redemption. These themes appear over and over again as humans create narrative records of their most basic needs: food, reproduction and social status. Happily Ever After The power of stories does not stop with their ability to reveal the workings of our minds. Narrative is also a potent persuasive tool, according to Hogan and other researchers, and it has the ability to shape beliefs and change minds. Advertisers have long taken advantage of narrative persuasiveness by sprinkling likable characters or funny stories into their commercials. A 2007 study by marketing researcher Jennifer Edson Escalas of Vanderbilt University found that a test audience responded more positively to advertisements in narrative form as compared with straightforward ads that encouraged viewers to think about the arguments for a product. Similarly, Green co-authored a 2006 study that showed that labeling information as “fact” increased critical analysis, whereas labeling information as “fiction” had the opposite effect. Studies such as these suggest people accept ideas more readily when their minds are in story mode as opposed to when they are in an analytical mind-set. Works of fiction may even have unexpected real-world effects on people’s choices. Merlot was one of the most popular red wines among Americans until the 2005 film Sideways depicted actor Paul Giamatti as an ornery wine lover who snubbed it as a common, inferior wine. Winemakers saw a noticeable drop in sales of the red wine that year, particularly after Sideways garnered national attention through several Oscar nominations. As researchers continue to investigate storytelling’s power and pervasiveness, they are also looking for ways to harness that power. Some such as Green are studying how stories can have applications in promoting positive health messages. “A lot of

problems are behaviorally based,” Green says, pointing to research documenting the influence of Hollywood films on smoking habits among teens. And Mar and Oatley want to further examine how stories can enhance social skills by acting as simulators for the brain, which may turn the idea of the socially crippled bookworm on its head. One thing is clear—although research on stories has only just begun, it has already turned up a wealth of information about the social roots of the human mind—and, in science, that’s a happy ending. MLA Citation: Hsu, Jeremy. "The Secrets of Storytelling." Scientific American 2008: n. pag. Web.

Below or in your notebook, please paraphrase five of Hsu’s claims about the power of narrative and storytelling. Connect three of them to an experience or observation from your own life.

Philosophy: Love’s Knowledge by Martha Nussbaum pp. 45-48 The opening of this chapter is disorienting not only because of Nussbaum’s allusions and vocabulary but also because of its reference to other chapters. Allow yourself to read it without panicking. Nussbaum’s intention will become clearer by the middle of page 46.

the Aristotelian conception

A

to discern

salient

omniscient

Philosophy: Love’s Knowledge by Martha Nussbaum pp. 45-48

B

schematic particularity emotive indeterminacy entangled

C

Philosophy: Love’s Knowledge by Martha Nussbaum pp. 45-48

vehicle

D

scrutinize

parochial

E

F

G

normative concurs

Philosophy: Love’s Knowledge by Martha Nussbaum pp. 45-48

obtuse routinized sentient

H

I aesthetic altruism

constitutive dialectical

J

Martha Nussbaum tells us that stories extend our lives “horizontally” and “vertically” to reinforce points she has already made.  Explain what she means, focusing on the meaning of the underlined metaphor.  

Philosophy: Love’s Knowledge by Martha Nussbaum Multiple Choice questions based on pp. 45-48

1. In the Passage A, Nussbaum’s phrase, “a family of inquiries,” refers to a. b. c. d.

the claims of the Aristotelian conception those scholars interested in pursuing the claims of the Aristotelian conception the set of questions proposed at the end of the first paragraph the set of questions pursued in the second paragraph

2. In Passage B, Martha Nussbaum’s purpose is to a. b. c. d.

qualify her claim by adding that not all literature addresses daily life and human psychology authentically remove authors like Proust and James from consideration assert that some people’s lives are too humdrum to be illuminated by literature juxtapose genres of literature

3. In passage C, “the particularity, the emotive appeal, the absorbing plottedness, the variety and indeterminacy” is the antecedent to the phrase(s) a. “our reflective lives” b. “these structural characteristics” and “these features” c. “the exposed and entangled state” d. “schematic philosophers’ examples” 4. Which passage best develops the claim that literature possesses the quality of “indeterminacy”? a. b. c. d.

D E F G

5. Which passage best reflects the ultimate civic and political purpose of our reading, according to Nussmbaum? a. b. c. d.

G H I J

EEssay: “On Censorship” by Salman Rushdie MAY 11, 2012

On Censorship BY SALMAN RUSHDIE No writer ever really wants to talk about censorship. Writers want to talk about creation, and censorship is anti-creation, negative energy, uncreation, the bringing into being of non-being, or, to use Tom Stoppard’s description of death, “the absence of presence.” Censorship is the thing that stops you doing what you want to do, and what writers want to talk about is what they do, not what stops them doing it. And writers want to talk about how much they get paid, and they want to gossip about other writers and how much they get paid, and they want to complain about critics and publishers, and gripe about politicians, and they want to talk about what they love, the writers they love, the stories and even sentences that have meant something to them, and, finally, they want to talk about their own ideas and their own stories. Their things. The British humorist Paul Jennings, in his brilliant essay on Resistentialism, a spoof of Existentialism, proposed that the world was divided into two categories, “Thing” and “NoThing,” and suggested that between these two is waged a never-ending war. If writing is Thing, then censorship is NoThing, and, as King Lear told Cordelia, “Nothing will came of nothing,” or, as Mr. Jennings would have revised Shakespeare, “No-Thing will come of No-Thing. Think again.” Consider, if you will, the air. Here it is, all around us, plentiful, freely available, and broadly breathable. And yes, I know, it’s not perfectly clean or perfectly pure, but here it nevertheless is, plenty of it, enough for all of us and lots to spare. When breathable air is available so freely and in such quantity, it would be redundant to demand that breathable air be freely provided to all, in sufficient quantity for the needs of all. What you have, you can easily take for granted, and ignore. There’s just no need to make a fuss about it. You breathe the freely available, broadly breathable air, and you get on with your day. The air is not a subject. It is not something that most of us want to discuss. Imagine, now, that somewhere up there you might find a giant set of faucets, and that the air we breathe flows from those faucets, hot air and cold air and tepid air from some celestial mixer-unit. And imagine that an entity up there, not known to us, or perhaps even known to us, begins on a certain day to turn off the faucets one by one, so that slowly we begin to notice that the available air, still breathable, still free, is thinning. The time comes when we find that we are breathing more heavily, perhaps even gasping for air. By this time, many of us would have begun to protest, to condemn the reduction in the air supply, and to argue loudly for the right to freely available, broadly breathable air. Scarcity, you could say, creates demand. Liberty is the air we breathe, and we live in a part of the world where, imperfect as the supply is, it is, nevertheless, freely available, at least to those of us who aren’t black youngsters wearing hoodies in Miami, and broadly breathable, unless, of course, we’re women in red states trying to make free choices about our own bodies. Imperfectly free, imperfectly breathable, but when it is breathable and free we don’t need to make a song and dance about it. We take it for granted and get on with our day. And at night, as we fall asleep, we assume we will be free tomorrow, because we were free today. The creative act requires not only freedom but also this assumption of freedom. If the creative artist worries if he will still be free tomorrow, then he will not be free today. If he is afraid of the consequences of his choice of subject or of his manner of treatment of it, then his choices will not be determined by his talent, but by fear. If we are not confident of our freedom, then we are not free. And, even worse than that, when censorship intrudes on art, it becomes the subject; the art becomes “censored art,” and that is how the world sees and understands it. The censor labels the work immoral, or blasphemous, or pornographic, or controversial, and those words are forever hung like albatrosses around the necks of those cursed mariners, the censored works. The attack on the work does more than define the work; in a sense, for the general public, it becomes the work. For every reader of “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” or “Tropic of Capricorn,” every viewer of “Last Tango in

Essay: “On Censorship” by Salman Rushdie Paris” or “A Clockwork Orange,” there will be ten, a hundred, a thousand people who “know” those works as excessively filthy, or excessively violent, or both. The assumption of guilt replaces the assumption of innocence. Why did that Indian Muslim artist have to paint that Hindu goddess in the nude? Couldn’t he have respected her modesty? Why did that Russian writer have his hero fall in love with a nymphet? Couldn’t he have chosen a legally acceptable age? Why did that British playwright depict a sexual assault in a Sikh temple, a gurdwara? Couldn’t the same assault have been removed from holy ground? Why are artists so troublesome? Can’t they just offer us beauty, morality, and a damn good story? Why do artists think, if they behave in this way, that we should be on their side? “And the people all said sit down, sit down you’re rocking the boat / And the devil will drag you under, with a soul so heavy you’ll never float / Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down / You’re rocking the boat.” At its most effective, the censor’s lie actually succeeds in replacing the artist’s truth. That which is censored is thought to have deserved censorship. Boat-rocking is deplored. Nor is this only so in the world of art. The Ministry of Truth in present-day China has successfully persuaded a very large part of the Chinese public that the heroes of Tiananmen Square were actually villains bent on the destruction of the nation. This is the final victory of the censor: When people, even people who know they are routinely lied to, cease to be able to imagine what is really the case. Sometimes great, banned works defy the censor’s description and impose themselves on the world—“Ulysses,” “Lolita,” the “Arabian Nights.” Sometimes great and brave artists defy the censors to create marvellous literature underground, as in the case of the samizdat literature of the Soviet Union, or to make subtle films that dodge the edge of the censor’s knife, as in the case of much contemporary Iranian and some Chinese cinema. You will even find people who will give you the argument that censorship is good for artists because it challenges their imagination. This is like arguing that if you cut a man’s arms off you can praise him for learning to write with a pen held between his teeth. Censorship is not good for art, and it is even worse for artists themselves. The work of Ai Weiwei survives; the artist himself has an increasingly difficult life. The poet Ovid was banished to the Black Sea by a displeased Augustus Caesar, and spent the rest of his life in a little hellhole called Tomis, but the poetry of Ovid has outlived the Roman Empire. The poet Mandelstam died in one of Stalin’s labor camps, but the poetry of Mandelstam has outlived the Soviet Union. The poet Lorca was murdered in Spain, by Generalissimo Franco’s goons, but the poetry of Lorca has outlived the fascistic Falange. So perhaps we can argue that art is stronger than the censor, and perhaps it often is. Artists, however, are vulnerable. In England last week, English PEN protested that the London Book Fair had invited only a bunch of “official,” State-approved writers from China while the voices of at least thirty-five writers jailed by the regime, including Nobel laureate Liu Xiaobo and the political dissident and poet Zhu Yufu, remained silent and ignored. In the United States, every year, religious zealots try to ban writers as disparate as Kurt Vonnegut and J. K. Rowling, an obvious advocate of sorcery and the black arts; to say nothing of poor, God- bothered Charles Darwin, against whom the advocates of intelligent design continue to march. I once wrote, and it still feels true, that the attacks on the theory of evolution in parts of the United States themselves go some way to disproving the theory, demonstrating that natural selection doesn’t always work, or at least not in the Kansas area, and that human beings are capable of evolving backward, too, towards the Missing Link. Even more serious is the growing acceptance of the don’t-rock-the-boat response to those artists who do rock it, the growing agreement that censorship can be justified when certain interest groups, or genders, or faiths declare themselves affronted by a piece of work. Great art, or, let’s just say, more modestly, original art is never created in the safe middle ground, but always at the edge. Originality is dangerous. It challenges, questions, overturns assumptions, unsettles moral codes, disrespects sacred cows or other such entities. It can be shocking, or ugly, or, to use the catch-all term so beloved of the tabloid press, controversial. And if we believe in liberty, if we want the air we breathe to remain plentiful and breathable, this is the art whose right to exist we must not only defend, but celebrate. Art is not entertainment. At its very best, it’s a revolution.

Essay: “On Censorship” by Salman Rushdie This piece is drawn from the Arthur Miller Freedom to Write Lecture given by Rushdie, on May 6th, as part of the PEN World Voices Festival. Illustration by Matthew Hollister. Salman Rushdie has written twelve novels, including “Two Years Eight Months and Twenty- eight Nights,” which will be published in September.

For discussion/contemplation: In the beginning of the article, Rushdie talks about the value of creativity and free speech. Return to the first page, reread, and contemplate what he is saying about the value of creativity and free expression in our society. Do you agree or disagree with him? If you agree, how would you expand his argument further? If you disagree, why do you disagree?

Rushdie mentions quite a few specific instances of censorship and, depending on the reader’s worldview, says some potentially offensive things himself. Why do suppose we preserve free speech even when it offends others? How should society negotiate the tension between free speech and the potential to offend or hurt?

Do you think there should ever be any limitations placed on speech? (e.g. hate speech)

Here, Rushdie is working in the genre of the essay. How does Rushdie make some of the same points in his novel, Haroun and the Sea of Stories? (Taking a “windier, twistier road”?)

Vocabulary & Review

Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave” • know the literal, concrete events of the story • be prepared to offer two interpretations using Dante’s Fourfold Method • know new-to-you words Salman Rushdie, Haroun and the Sea of Stories • complete your notes on Haroun and the Sea of Stories as allegory • be sure to bring your book and notes for the open-book/open-note portion Martha Nussbaum, Love’s Knowledge • Review your paraphrasing of Nussbaum’s main ideas and your answers to the multiple choice questions • Know new-to-you vocabulary words

Jeremy Hsu’s “Secrets of Storytelling” and Rushdie’s “On Censorship” • know new-to-you vocabulary and major points • review answers to the multiple-choice questions • Review new-to-you vocabulary words used in the short poems, articles, and excerpts.   • Also know: free verse, enjambment allegory, fable, parable Dante’s Fourfold Method universal transcend archetype archetypal plot archetypal hero

Power of Stories Essay “What’s the use of stories that aren’t even true?” - Haroun Overview Draw on your intellectual response to the unit texts to write an essay about the value of creativity and free expression, also considering the problems or dangers of censorship. Formulate a specific, insightful, and unique thesis that reflects your own authentic thinking about the questions and texts. Support your thesis in a well-developed, original essay using evidence from and analysis of the texts below. Your primary focus should be an allegorical reading of Haroun and the Sea of Stories. Required texts: - Salman Rushdie, Haroun and the Sea of Stories (primary focus-at least two body pages) - Salman Rushdie, “On Censorship” - Martha Nussbaum, Love’s Knowledge Supplemental texts (must use a minimum of one): - Jeremy Hsu’s “Secrets of Storytelling” - “Words” podcast (link on website) - notes from an interview with Guillermo del Toro: “The Power of Myth” - from Ceremony by Leslie Marmon Silko - Plato’s Allegory of the Cave - notes on myths and universal archetypes - Pablo Neruda’s “The Word” - Sylvia Plath’s “Words” Be sure to - formulate a clear, specific thesis statement - organize your ideas into focused paragraphs with clear topic sentences that relate directly to the thesis - develop your paragraphs with analysis of specific textual evidence (including valuable, relevant direct quotations) from the text - integrate quotations from the text smoothly - use concise, correct language Specifications - length: 3.5-4 pages; 12-point font - 100 points - graded with the AP Essay Rubric scaled for 10H - due dates on agenda