Week 10: Why I Came in the First Place

I try to make a habit out of not geeking out very often, but every now and then, I have to indulge my inner nerd. Today was one of those days. Averyl and I took the chance to see the Writing Britain exhibit at the British Library, and it was just stunning. Something I didn't expect to discover while in the U.K. is what makes a good museum or exhibit (believe me, I've seen some terrible ones). I suppose Writing Britain had a leg up on most of the other things I've seen. I've obviously got a natural inclination to the written word, and I often feel a little faint at bookstores because I just enjoy them too much, so seeing books—some really, really, really old books—preserved and displayed beautifully and kept under tighter security than some jewelry stores ... well, let's just say I was happier than a pigeon with a french fry. Er, chip. (My British English is still a disaster. I say "pants" instead of "trousers" daily. No joke.)

When I started thinking about doing a field study in London, I kept thinking, "There has to be something in the water there that produces good writers, because England is just chock-full of them." I wanted to see what this place was that had inspired so many people to write such high quality literature. I mean, this is a relatively small island and yet it's the nation that has produced some of the most inspiring stories ever known. I mean really, what on earth is going on here?

I'm sure there's some kind of scientific or historical or sociological or whatever study that could be done to justify the massive proportion of British writers (and more importantly, outrageously successful British writers) in the whole scheme of world literature, explaining how things involving the climate, politics, health, spirituality, and economic qualities of this small corner of the globe somehow propelled it in literary production. I, however, am not doing that kind of study, nor am I interested in ever trying to possibly do such a one. (If I'm honest, I probably wouldn't even be interested to read anything other than the Spark Notes of that research because it would be an enormous beast of work.)

At any rate, London has left me with something of an enormous question mark: how could this possibly be the inspiration for so many people? Culture shock left me bitter, blaming modern London for being creatively destructive, as well as being filthy, stifling, and tourist-plagued to boot. I saw somewhat in Scotland what I'd hoped to find in London—that sense of the magic, the mystical, the fantastical. That was gratifying, but I still wondered how on earth London could continue to be a creative resource, having clearly lost that magical feeling that seems to be present in so much of the British literature from previous centuries. (I obviously can't comment on the areas of the UK outside of London.) I have so many happy memories of reading these stories, and I felt a little gypped that I wasn't having visions of teenage wizards or orphans coming into inheritances or period romances that could someday be spun into tales that could place my name indelibly among the Literary Gods. 

In all seriousness, my time in London has been so far from skipping around town on cloud nine just because I'm here; it's been a lot of the opposite. I'm not trying to be a downer or anything, because I have had some incredible experiences here and I'm happy a lot of the time, but I've been surprised at how hard it has been to be here. Lack of literary inspiration has been remarkably low on my list of troubles (although, being somewhat involved with one of my classes, it has been a little higher than it would otherwise be). Though it's not a problem, per se, it has been frustrating. I've asked myself, "Why doesn't this city have magic for me the way it has for others? How am I ever going to write my essays for my classes when things have been so difficult and I haven't been running around worshiping London for the past nine weeks?"

This is why I loved Writing Britain so much. (You thought I was never going to get back to it, didn't you?) Writing Britain is very much what it sounds like—an exhibit of how different people have written about Britain, how they've written its very landscape and character into their work, including the city, the country, the water, and London specifically. Not only was it fascinating, I was getting all kinds of nerdy over the various books and manuscripts and things they had on display. But I also loved it for another reason, and that's because I realized I have a lot more in common with those writers than it initially seemed to me, and that maybe I'm not having an overly pessimistic perspective of London after all. 

I realized that writers have been dealing with a Britain that they've seen progressing downhill for literal centuries. To illustrate that, one of the major sections of the exhibit, and the main face of the advertising campaign, was this:

Yes, "Dark Satanic Mills" and a landscape with a bunch of fire in it, emphasizing the hellishness of Britain's dive into the Industrial Revolution. Talk about dark. I started thinking about the stories I loved so well—Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens, North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell, Tess of the d'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy—not all necessarily featuring London, of course, but I think they still count. You know what I realized? These are dark, dark, dark, dark stories. I mean, lovely and beautiful, but not at all ignorant of the injustices and industrialization and injuries that are very much a part of the real world that we live in. They aren't sugar-coated fairy tales by any stretch of the imagination. As for London itself, I began to recall that it is often shown in an unfavorable light—because it's city instead of country, because it's full of seedy characters, because it's filthy. 

As I thought about and read through the different writers' work and experience, I began to realize that many of them were very much like mine—tending towards the melancholy and pessimistic. (Please don't let that make you sad, especially not for me; I'm only explaining this because it's clear to me that these emotions I've been having actually are connecting me to the city and its inhabitants and its history, not driving me away.) I realized that it hadn't been the writers romanticizing the sights and landscapes they were describing; it was me doing the romanticizing, because I didn't understand what this city is truly like. I thought it had been my fault, my pessimism, my homesickness, my culture shock that was unfairly perceiving London and casting it as the villain in my field study story. But that might actually be closer to the truth. 

A couple of hours ago, I ran across a quote that is extremely relevant to this whole subject. It's from Peter Cameron's book, Someday This Pain Will Be Useful to You: 

“People who have only good experiences aren’t very interesting. They may be content, and happy after a fashion, but they aren’t very deep. It may seem a misfortune now, and it makes things difficult, but well—it’s easy to feel all the happy, simple stuff. Not that happiness is necessarily simple. But I don’t think you’re going to have a life like that, and I think you’ll be the better for it. The difficult thing is to not be overwhelmed by the bad patches. You must not let them defeat you. You must see them as a gift—a cruel gift, but a gift nonetheless.”

I've begun to realize how much struggling in this city has been a more real, true experience than being a happy-go-lucky student going crazy and having a fun time all the time.

Yes, it's been the grit of the city that has contributed to my challenges; but it's been the very same grit that has forced me to see a side of life that I often like to pretend doesn't exist. As unpleasant as that has been, I think I'm the better for it. 

Maybe what I thought I'd find in London is something that isn't actually there.

Maybe I've found real London after all.

***

This post is done, but I need to take a moment to brag. Today I saw the 1,000 year old Exeter Book. I read text directly from the notes and manuscripts and proofcopies of George Eliot's Middlemarch, Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre, Jane Austen's Persuasion, George Bernard Shaw's Pygmalion, Charles Dickens' Hard Times and Our Mutual Friend, Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca, Robert Louis Stevenson's Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Thomas Hardy's Far from the Madding Crowd and Tess of the d'Urbervilles (my favorite book!), Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures Underground, and many many more. 

Oh, and I read a section of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone directly from the paper on which J.K. Rowling originally wrote it. It's okay to be jealous, because the fact that I was able to do that is awesome and I would be jealous too if it wasn't me that did it. 

Did I almost burst into tears a few times in the exhibit? Okay, yes. What can I say? I'm a lit nerd. I'll defend myself and close with the words of one of my favorite present-day authors, John Green, whom I have quoted here before: 

"Nerds like us are allowed to be unironically enthusiastic about stuff ... Nerds are allowed to love stuff, like jump-up-and-down-in-the-chair-can't-control-yourself love it. ... When people call people nerds, mostly what they're saying is 'you like stuff.' Which is just not a good insult at all. Like, 'you are too enthusiastic about the miracle of human consciousness'."

"Saying 'I notice you're a nerd' is like saying, 'Hey, I notice that you'd rather be intelligent than be stupid, that you'd rather be thoughtful than vapid, that you believe that there are things that matter more than the arrest record of Lindsay Lohan'." 

Maybe it's okay to fly my nerd flag a little more often. :)

Week 8: Romance & Public Transportation

So because of my A/C adapter going the way of all the earth last week, and then because of our mid-semester retreat to Scotland, this is coming a week after I intended to post it. But whatever. Here's a post from my personal blog, describing a few of my London discoveries:



This past Wednesday night (June 27th), I made a most astonishing discovery. It came upon me as we were walking from The Globe after a particularly risqué performance of Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew. Loathe though I am to admit it, I prefer the Heath Ledger/Julia Stiles interpretation, most especially, now, for the lack of blinding white full-moon-light (if you catch my drift …) involved. At any rate, I think 10 Things I Hate About You injected a fair portion of romance that the original play lacks, and this lack of romance, in combination with the aforementioned moonlight, left me feeling somewhat less than amorous.

You can imagine my surprise, then, when I discovered that London is quite, well … romantic. (Or, as Averyl would put it, “ro-tic,” since there was actually no “man” involved.) We had walked out of the theater and were crossing Millennium Bridge (the one the Death Eaters destroy in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, which is how I recognized it) when this enormous and potentially summer-changing discovery occurred. 

Death-Eater-ized Millennium Bridge

Real Millennium Bridge

I should point out that Averyl and I had had a conversation a few hours earlier about how sometimes you want to jump off a bridge, just for the thrill of it, but looking at the Thames quashes that desire almost instantaneously. It’s a foul, filthy, brown river with outrageous quantities of rubbish floating in it. I mean, it is really disgusting. The kind of thing that would make you want to bathe in bleach if you ever accidentally touched it. Visually, it has no redemptive qualities, in my opinion.

Anyways, as I was saying, we were walking over the Thames on Millennium Bridge. It was pretty late, as the play had started at 7:30, so obviously it was dark outside which meant that you couldn’t tell that the river was brown anymore. Instead, all you could see were the reflections of lights on the water, just sparkling all twinkly-like. Each of the bridges were lit up and looking ever so lovely, and the absolute treat of it all was looking at St. Paul’s Cathedral sitting right at the end of the bridge. The way it’s lit up at night is like seeing life in high-definition—by which I mean that when you look at St. Paul’s at night, you feel like you’re seeing more of it, crisper details. Maybe it’s just the fact that my eyes have been afflicted by allergies and my contacts seem to get dirty fairly easily and quickly, so it’s entirely possible that my vision is usually diminished. But that cathedral… Wow. It was a remarkable sight.

Millennium Bridge at night

I suppose this whole thing is a little pathetic. After nearly two months of living here, you would think that I’d have discovered the city’s romantic side. I know that, more often than not, I’m the kind of girl that enjoys romance in movies and books and all, but not in real life because I just can’t get into it without feeling Kraft Mac’n’Cheese “The Cheesiest” … but even still. You’d think you’d be able to drop an English major who lives on a steady entertainment diet of Masterpiece and 19th century novels, and expect her to immediately realize the romantic potential of one of the world’s greatest cities.

But not so! During the daytime, I’ve got a pessimist’s eye for tourists (because, as a 3-month resident, I’m allowed to hate them a little bit) and pigeons (sorry Natalie!) and litter and expense … and frankly I’m getting more than a little tired of having Fifty Shades of Grey coming out of my nose every time I've spent a few hours in the city. (I’m also obviously more than a little judgmental of seeing so many women reading Fifty Shades of Grey on the tube. Shouldn’t they be a little more embarrassed to be reading that filth in public?)

As for my perceptions of the city come nightfall, if I’m ever out alone past dark (which happens very, very rarely), I basically feel like I’m walking through a death trap that’s riddled with people who want to mug, rape, murder, or take me and sell me into an eastern European human trafficking ring. Don’t worry—I’ve imagined the entire spectrum of horrors that could potentially befall me on my five minute walk from the train station to my front door.

Anyways, I’m getting away from my point (as always), so I suppose I’d best get to it: friends, it is a curious coincidence that in the very same week that I discover the truly romantic potential in this enormous city, I should also fall in love.

Yes, it’s true: I have somehow, magically, mysteriously, and beautifully fallen in love …


... with buses.

Oh, boohoo. Don’t pretend to be disappointed and get your pants (that's British English for "underwears") in a twist. Just calm down and let me tell you about buses and why I’m hopelessly in love with them.

London’s double-decker buses are iconic—of this you are almost certainly aware. They’re as “London” as Big Ben and probably the most frequent way of establishing modern London as the setting in a movie. When you get to London, you can’t help but smile the first time you lay eyes on that flashy cherry paint … and sometimes you can’t help it even after you’ve seen hundreds of them. (Not gonna lie, I’m significantly more likely to smile if it comes with a Magic Mike advert. I won’t ever see that movie, but I can guiltlessly enjoy the fruits of the advertising campaign.) They’re just cheery, and since much of London is a generally grayish-brown sort of color, that pop of red is lovely. Plus, red is my favorite color. I’m naturally predisposed to love setting my eyes on them.

I’ve ridden on plenty of buses recently, but during my first month here, I tried to avoid them since they are much slower than the tube, and besides that, expensive, especially considering how long it takes to get anywhere. Because of all this, it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I first got the chance to ride in the front seats on the second deck of the bus. Riding in any of the other seats, even on that second deck, pretty much feels like riding on any lame old bus anywhere. It’s not a big deal at all. The front seats, however, are like a theme park ride. A really slow and lurchy theme park ride, but certainly more exciting than anything else. You’re right up against the glass and you get an awesome view of where you’re going. It’s so much fun to just watch the people down on the street, and the number of times you think you’re going to hit something (or someone) is so high that you almost feel dangerous. Hark back to Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, and recall the scene where Harry’s on the Knight Bus, and it squeezes between two double-deckers—you have no idea how accurate of a portrayal that is. Buses are reckless and exciting and I just love them.

Another reason I love buses is that they’re a great way to explore the city without having to walk a million miles. Several weeks ago, I walked twelve and a half miles around London with a hefty backpack and lousy shoes, so I feel qualified to tell you that if you want to really get a good view of London, get a picture of what it looks like and feels like and moves like, you need to spend some time on a bus. Yes, get off every now and then to see the museums and get lunch. (I don’t recommend eating on the bus, both because of the non-optional exchange of hand-sweat from touching the handrails, and because it’s kind of gross to be on public transit and smelling someone else’s lunch, especially if it’s hot and a badly ventilated bus.) By all means, get a closer look. But buses let you see so many interesting things! And they don’t make your feet hurt for days afterwards.

A couple of days ago, I went out searching for this new style of bus that they’ve just developed. I think there’s only one or two in service, and they’re only running on one route right now, but they’re beautiful things. They bring back the old Routemaster style—the kind that lets you hop on the back whenever the bus is stopped, which is something you really come to appreciate after the tenth time you’ve missed a bus by ten seconds and have to wait for another 12 minutes for the next one to come.

Check that back end out. Dat a bootylicious bus right thurr.
...Since I'm being so PC, go watch Beauty and the Beat.

Anyways, I wasn’t bored enough to wait for it to come along the route, so I just got on one of the other buses and took it all the way to the end (though I did catch a few glimpses of this spectre-of-the-transport-gods). I had intended to get off and go to a park to read and work, but then it was raining when I got off so I figured, heck I can read as well on a bus as on a park, so why not get back on? And that’s what I did. I just rode buses around London for a few hours, and it was fabulous. I got to sit in the front seats, and it was a lovely day though I didn't get very much reading done because I was enjoying the ride so much.

I should point out that buses are great for leisurely experiences. They’re absolutely wonderful if you don’t really care where you’re going or when you get anywhere. They are, however, a nightmare if you want to get anywhere at any specific time. Today, for example, we missed our train and so we had to take a bus to another tube stop. (Then I had to take the Underground to an Overground station, take the Overground to get on another Underground line to get to the stop I needed. Talk about your transportation mess.) I was probably on that bus for over half an hour. It was delightfully sweltering outside today which was a grand break from the typical chilly wetness, but the heat is not so delightful when you’re trapped in a metal box with twenty other people. Especially when that box is a single-decker without any of the lovely front seats. If I could have sat in some of those, it would have been much more bearable. Instead, it was a bumpy, lurching oven of body stink that periodically stopped for no reason or person at all. I was not overjoyed because I hate being late, I hate making other people wait for me. It’s a pain in the neck on its own without the added misery of an unpleasant journey.

Perhaps at this point you're thinking me a fool for loving the buses so much. And yet, such is love, is it not? I mean, sometimes you’re just into something that’s great for leisure and entertainment and fun, but not so great for when you’re actually trying to go anywhere with any sort of haste or accomplish anything according to any kind of schedule.

Consider me a hopeless victim of the Transport for London game.

As for the current countdown (which seems to have become customary): exactly four weeks from today I will be back on a plane to the States. I don't know how it's happened, but it has. I've only got a month left. Crazy!!

Week 6: So Many Churches

Yesterday (although it was so early and I took such a huge nap afterwards that it feels like it was two days ago) Averyl, Ben and I attended some of the morning services at Westminster Abbey. Although we had visited the abbey on basically our first full day here in London, we had the opportunity to attend communion in the Shrine of St. Edward the Confessor, which is cool in and of itself, but even more so because it's surrounded by the tombs of some of England's major kings.

The morning prayers and communion were very different from the style of worship that I'm familiar with, naturally, but I still felt that there was a special feeling present during the services. There's a certain sense of sacredness that comes with that place because the abbey has been a place that so many thousands of people have gone to try to get closer to God. It's a different kind of sacredness than we're used to in the LDS Church, but I still found it very moving.

After we were finished at Westminster Abbey, we went to the Brompton Oratory (or the Church of the Immaculate Heart of Mary). It's a Catholic church, and the first Catholic church I've been in (possibly ever, but certainly) since I arrived in London—the rest have been Anglican. It was very different in style from the other churches I've visited, but still very beautiful.

While visiting both of these churches, I found myself reflecting on a lot of things. First of all, it was so moving to see people worshiping in each of these locations, although it was somewhat sad to walk into these enormous halls with so many seats, and then to see only a few people participating. Ben's project can say a lot more about dwindling religiosity in London than I can, but it's fairly apparent to me that, for all the presence of these enormous houses of worship, religion is not popular among the residents.

Secondly, during this past semester in my Christian History class with Brother Gaskill, we talked about the minimal numbers of people who choose to become clergy in major religions, most notably Catholicism and Eastern Orthodox. It seems that this trend is also occurring in the Anglican Church, because the majority of their clergy are quite old. That being said, it warmed my heart a little bit to see a much younger man among their ranks yesterday—it's such a great sacrifice, and somewhat comforting to see someone willing to make it.  

The third thing I spent a lot of time thinking about was the level of ornateness present in each of these churches. As I've visited each of them and taken note of how they are decorated and designed, I've spent a lot of time thinking about the symbolic nature of these various things. All the while, I kept having this same idea run through my head that has been thrown at me from so many different people: the idea that other churches whose meetinghouses are so ornate are "gaudy" and that this somehow is indicative of them being less true than our church, which in comparison is much more minimalist in design. Although I've always been taught to be respectful of other religions and to appreciate the beauty in these things, somehow this idea got slipped in there as well. 

And perhaps there is some truth to it. I'm thinking particularly of Nephi saying that his "soul delighteth in plainness" which may simply be a words/scriptures/doctring reference, but which could potentially be applied to other aspects of worship (2 Ne. 25:4) ... Or perhaps it's our just our Protestant background informing us that "'tis a gift to be simple" that makes our buildings seem so plain in comparison. 

I just kept thinking, as I was sitting in these churches, that they employ many of the same architectural and decorative strategies that we do in our meetinghouses and temples to symbolize aspects of our faith, especially symbolizing the path to return to God. We might see the bright colors and statues and paintings and vaulted ceilings and filigrees and columns and molding as being "gaudy" in comparison to what we're used to. But don't we employ spires and paintings and colors and staircases and various forms of decor to carry symbolic meaning? Don't we also focus on having everything be of the highest quality in a building that we're dedicating to the Lord?

I guess what I'm saying is that it seems to me that it's simply different interpretations and applications of similar principles: creating symbolic meaning in our places of worship. This might not be the most incredibly insightful post, but I spent so much time thinking about it yesterday, trying to understand what was so wrong about the so-called gaudiness of these buildings, trying to reconcile what I'd been taught with what I was experiencing, that it felt like a bigger realization than it was since now it seems like an obvious thing.

In other news, today is the 20th of June. Do you know what this means? It means I've been here for six weeks. It also means that in approximately 24ish hours, I will have been in London for 45 days. And that means that I only have 45 days more to go in London ... 

... which means this Field Study is halfway over, y'all. :)

Week 4: The Great Grocery Store

Today marks one month since I left the US. I don't know how this can be possible—I feel both like I just got here and like I've been here for forever somehow. Tomorrow will also be my last day in this flat before I move up to Enfield, and it's kind of bittersweet. While I'm excited for the new place and the good things that will come with it (like a real shower), I've really come to enjoy living with this family and the kindness that they've extended towards me. One of the children didn't realize that I'd be moving, and when she found out on Sunday, her lower lip ballooned out and it made me feel so sad. They're a really excellent family and I feel like I've learned a lot from living with them (including an incredible soup recipe that I will definitely be using in the future). So I'm sad to leave, but I'm glad I've been here and I'm excited for what's to come.


I've obviously been thinking a lot about the culture of London as I've walked its streets and talked to locals and long-term visitors and short-term visitors alike. The thing about London is that its culture is about as easy to pin down as nailing Jello to a tree or herding cats or some other such nonsense, the reason being that London is a massive collection of international people. We think of the US being a great melting pot, where people from all over the world were able to come together and become one thing: Americans.

London, however, is not a melting pot. Not even close.

As I see it, London is like an enormous grocery store. It brings in products from all over and collects them in one place, but in no way are these items melted together. It's divided into sections, each with their own particular focus—just like London's boroughs. It has particular sections that are dedicated to specific regions—like Chinatown, and the Middle Eastern sectors of the city. And then, of course, there are people milling about each of these areas and aisles—these are the tourists.

London is often called the Crossroads of the World, and rightly so. At times, I feel like I'm walking across BYU campus for the number of languages I hear being spoken! Not only does the city become a home for people from all across the world, but it plays host daily to thousands upon thousands of international tourists. In a way, this is has its perks. I love that I can get fantastic, authentic Indian food just a few minutes from Chinatown where there are spits of roast duck and bright orange squid-things, and still be within sight of a regular English pub.

London also has its own history that's remarkably present, which adds a certain sense of anachronism to a walk down almost every street in the city. Standing by the castle built in 1078 (now known as the Tower of London) and your eyes can pass over sections of a Roman wall built in the 2nd century AD and then on to the Tower Hill underground station that opened in 1967 and was refurbished in 2008. That's nearly two thousand years of London construction captured in one glance! Naturally, there are going to be hundreds of residents—homegrown or immigrants—and tourists captured in that glance as well who represent who knows how many nationalities. In fact, the first Sunday I was here, I went to Relief Society and we had small group discussions. My group had an English girl, a couple Scottish girls, a French girl, an Australian girl, and myself, an American. How's that for international?

Having never experienced this city before, I didn't know what to expect. I think I may have thought that somehow I could capture the concept of London culture in three short months and get a pretty solid understanding of it, that I could come out on the other side and be able to describe it in fairly certain terms, that I could catch on to what makes this city tick. It's become overwhelmingly clear to me that this would be like walking into my monstrous metaphorical grocery store, and then exiting with my basket of shopping somehow able to describe what the entire place was like. All the same, I've enjoyed wandering up and down London's metaphorical aisles, and catching glimpses of what each place holds.

So far, the best I can do to give you a full picture is to simply explain what I've just explained: that London is, to some extent, inexplicable. It is defined by its very own indefinability and mutability, by the endless stream of footprints that cross to and fro, over and under each other as people from all walks of life and all nationalities come into this city, to stay or go.

Week 3: Time

Time has been on my mind a lot lately in a couple major ways: (1) the amount of time I've been here and (2) how I'm using my time.

Today (Tuesday/Wendesday/Whatever) marks three full weeks of being in London! It also happens to mean that this field study is a full quarter of the way over. I don't know if I believe it; it seems impossible somehow that such a huge chunk of it can be done already. And next week, it'll be a third of the way complete. That being said, I'm still in the I-can't-wait-to-go-back-home phase, so time can't possibly pass quickly enough for me. Thankfully, I'm pretty much over the misery hump, and I'm actually starting to enjoy my time here. I feel pretty comfortable for the most part, and I feel like I've been able to somehow miraculously adjust (more or less) to living in London.

I think part of the reason that I finally feel like time is starting to cruise is that I put together a full calendar for my field study, complete with (almost) weekly goals for having drafts of my essays and sections of my research paper completed. There's nothing I dread quite like an academic deadline, and let me tell you, having a deadline to stress about means that it's flying towards you at the speed of light. I couldn't be happier about this. I've also set some exercise goals, which I'm really excited about. It's nice to have things to do ... which brings me to my next point.

Life is harder when you don't schedule your time, especially when doing a field study. There have been more days than I'd like to admit where I've just found myself thinking, "I have nothing to accomplish today and I don't want to wander aimlessly through London again. I'd rather just sit home." The vast majority of the time, I talk myself into working on things, but self-motivation can be so difficult when you don't have any person or any plan to feel responsible to. I think this has been one of the things that made the first few weeks being here so hard—I didn't know what to do with my time. And, granted, a lot of that had to do with where I was living the first week; I didn't have keys so I had to be very careful about when I decided to leave the flat. I didn't have a library card, and I honestly was so miserable and culture-shock-y that I didn't even want to think about working on my project, which just made everything worse! What a mess!

All that being said, the difference it has made to have things I'm trying to accomplish every single day, to have goals I'm working towards every single week, has helped turn things around. Yes, there are still days that I just don't want to have to get on the Tube and go all the way across London just to sit in the library until my eyes hurt (in case you can't tell, this week has been especially library heavy, since I'm trying to finish up the first draft of the first section of my paper); there are days when I'd just as well not leave my bedroom, except for the occasional snack. I don't know how I've made it through three years of college without learning this lesson (possibly because I'm a little too Type-A to ever let myself get truly behind on my coursework) ... but I've suddenly realized how much happier I am when I use time wisely. I don't know that I've ever been as aware of my own agency in the time usage department as I have been the past week or so. But it's terribly apparent to me right now that, at least in Field Study Land, a good schedule is the recipe for happiness.

This week has been so different from the previous two. Still hard sometimes, of course, and still some tears. (Though these ones were prompted by a TV show finale and then perpetuated by listening to a song whose lyrics are "Dear Mama, here's a letter from your girl. Well I think my city days are done, and it ain't been three weeks since I came..." You get the drift—way too close to home there.) But all in all, it's been a lot better. Yes, my brain still hurts from all the library time I've had over the past couple of days, but I've got so much material to work with that I feel totally fine. I spent about twenty or thirty minutes just writing a pre-rough-draft and got three full pages of text written, which is incredible speed for me for an academic paper. I  can already tell it's going to be a lot of work getting all the information I have to fit down into a smaller space. I also found out today that John Donne is someone I want to place a little more emphasis on; apparently he was someone who really struggled with trying to accept the new cosmological system, and so his poetry is very reflective of how he worked through the switch. I might have to jump him up in my schedule a couple of weeks, just because I think I'm going to want to spend more time on him. And since he was also the dean of St. Paul's. Granted, he was a pre-1666-fire dean, but he just seems to be cropping up a lot, and I've been a fan of him for several years anyways, so I feel like there has to be just a little bit of justification in giving him a little more attention than I'd originally expected.

Week 2: Walking

London has an interesting relationship with walking. Historically, London writers have a grand walking tradition, and an even more interesting tradition of documenting walks for others to take. I have a guide book of London Walks (featuring 25 walks by 25 London writers), and it's only one of thousands. There are regular London Walks guides, Country Walks guides, guides for waterways walks, food-centric meanderings, published pub crawls. There are guides that specialize in certain villages, in being "quiet" walks, parks and gardens, tea and cakes. A few guides claim to show you "Secret London" or "The London Nobody Knows." I think you get the idea ... Walking is huge. So, I decided to take part in this little walking scheme. 

I wasn't feeling too keen on public transportation, and since London today was unusually gorgeous and deliciously hot, I decided I'd just walk the whole day, maybe find a bench in some park somewhere and read for a bit, not get too crazy. Not getting crazy failed magnificently. I ended up wandering around some twelve and a half miles of London today in jeans, lousy shoes, and a pretty heavy backpack. That's not to say I didn't enjoy it, but let's just make it clear that I've been back in the flat for about five hours, and my feet and calves are still throbbing. That being said, just wandering took me to some pretty cool places and helped me get a really good feel of how this enormous city is compiled in a way that taking the Tube just can't do—there's something about the Tube that makes you feel like each individual station isn't connected to the others above the ground; am I the only one that feels this way? Anyways, it was really cool! I know I walked through Chelsea to Wandsworth, through Vauxhall, then Lambeth, on to Westminster, into the City of London/the Square Mile, then through Belgravia, and back into South Kensington. While I only touched bits and pieces of each of these places, each of them is a part of London, and it was fascinating to see the change of pace and tone as I passed through each of them. (I also seem to have developed a talent of finding high-society crowds to awkwardly amble through. Last week, it was the red carpet event attended by the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. Today, it was a pack of Buckingham Palace invitees, complete with top hats, ascots, and fascinators galore! You know, I always feel like a total bottom-feeder walking between them in my comparatively grubby clothes. Whatever.)

I think these distinct boroughs of the city are very fascinating in the way that they've developed their own personalities. I was watching My Fair Lady a couple of nights ago, and not only was it fun to see and hear things referenced that I am now familiar with, but it was interesting to see the character of Henry Higgins noting the variations in people's speech patterns, based on the area of the city they lived in. I suppose this is a lot like New York City, the way it has its own five boroughs with their own personalities and accents. I'd guess that most Americans are familiar with a Brooklyn accent, even though it's only a borough in NYC. So strange. Anyhow, London's definitely got NYC beat with 12 boroughs in the city, and a full 32 in the Greater London area. That's a lot more accents! And it's just in London alone! Never mind the fact that there's a whole island of dialectical variation! So far, I can only barely distinguish a northern England accent from a not-northern England accent, and with dodgy accuracy. I don't expect my inner Henry Higgins to emerge any time soon, so I don't expect that to improve at all. 

Regardless, I am proud of one major accomplishment today: I got a farmer's tan. Yes, that's right. I tanned. In London. If you don't realize what a major feat that is, I dare you to come over here and try to get one in a months' time. You probably won't succeed as it's almost perpetually overcast and/or rainy. To be fair, it's very faint and seems to be a little more on the side of mild sunburn than tan, and only that after a good six sunscreen-less hours, but even still, I am proud of it! It was wonderful to see the sun again; I hope it makes more frequent visits over the coming months, as being cold is getting old. (I honestly didn't intend for that to rhyme. It just happened.) Anyways, two weeks down... eleven more to go!

First Week!

The only possible words to describe the past seven days would have to be: complete roller coaster. I hardly know where to start in explaining things, but I'm going to try to keep things upbeat, so I'm going to organize this into a few categories so we can begin and conclude on a high note. Those categories will be: (1) touristy-things, (2) frustrations and culture shock, (3) research progress, (4) cool cultural stuff.

1. Touristy Things. We kicked off Thursday with a group meeting, which was awesome. We went on a lovely tour of Westminster Abbey, got lunch at a pub, walked down Southbank to Tower Bridge, saw an ancient Roman wall, had some incredible ice cream (I got Ferrero Rocher flavor ... you can bet I'll be having that again a few times this summer!), spent a few minutes in the Natural History Museum, biked around Hyde Park a bit, and went to institute! Talk about a busy day! But it was excellent.
      On Friday, I went to St. Paul's Cathedral. I was planning on going for my project anyways, and Friday happened to be the day that the BYU Singers were giving a concert, so I figured it was a perfect day to go. The concert was incredible--not only did they sing beautifully, but the acoustics in the dome made it even better. Touring the cathedral was fabulous; I went all the way to the top of the dome, which was almost 600 steps up! The views from up there were fantastic. I'd highly recommend it to anyone!
      After St. Paul's, I wandered around Kensington, Chelsea, and Knightsbridge for about four hours (I was locked out of the flat). It's a beautiful area though and very nice. I walked past a lot of embassies and consulates and whatnot, as well as numerous international restaurants and shops. It was a huge reminder of how international a city London is.
      Yesterday, I went back to the Natural History Museum, to the Science Museum, and to the V&A. I'll probably go back to a couple of them because I only really looked at a few specific exhibits, and then moved on to the next thing. One of the great things about London is that they have so many free museums! (It makes up for the ridiculously expensive admission prices for the religious sites, in my opinion.)
2. Frustrations and Culture Shock. All I can say is thank goodness for Averyl and everything she's done for housing. If I had to navigate this for myself, I probably would have navigated myself back to the States, honestly. It's stressed me out so terribly and I'm not even the one that's been going out and looking for stuff. Fortunately, some lovely girls from the YSA ward have been letting me sleep on their couch since I got here, which has been absolutely wonderful. I'll be able to move in with a family tomorrow morning. Anyways, enough about that for now.
      I figure I might as well be honest about this: culture shock is hitting hard. It's kind of pathetic, since England is about as close to America as you can get on this side of the Atlantic, but I'd categorize it more as a homesick kind of culture shock than "This culture is completely different from the one I left behind." (That's not to say that London is just like America, because it's not. It just also isn't as different from America in the way that, say, Ghana or Paraguay or Mongolia, is different from America. But I'll get into some cultural things later.)
      The funny thing about culture shock is that it was one of those things that I thought I'd be prepared for. And although I was pretty accurate in guessing which of the "symptoms" I'd display, it's interesting to realize that anticipating outward symptoms is not the same as anticipating the actual emotional impact of culture shock. The emotional impact of culture shock is hard. I don't know how I failed to really think about it, but it's definitely not like you're suddenly doing these things without a reason. You have a reason: you're completely distraught. Whether or not there's a reason to be completely distraught varies and it certainly isn't perpetual, but when it strikes, it's hideous for a little bit.
3. Research Progress. Although I haven't really gotten into the bulk of my research yet or really followed my schedule at all, but I've found some really interesting things that relate to my project.
      Like I said earlier, I went to St. Paul's Cathedral. Strangely enough, the architect of St. Paul's Cathedral happened to also be an astronomer. !!!!!!. How cool is that?? Not only was he an architect who was influenced by cosmology, but he was an architect of a major cathedral! It's like religion + science/intellect + architecture all in one! I was so excited when I found out. His name is Sir Christopher Wren, and he's someone I'd definitely like to understand better.
      The architecture of St. Paul's itself was also very thought-provoking. What really struck me was that the building is structured to represent our journey to God, so the doors open on the west side, and at the opposite east wall is the high altar. The audio guide I listened to as I was walking around talked about how, when the priest performs services at the high altar, he stands with his back to the congregation, in a sense standing with them, as they approach together what the guide called a "transcendent God." It spoke of God as being "totally different" and "beyond" the people. I found it interesting that this building is supposed to be representative of the people's journey to God, and yet the services suggest that God is unreachable.
      I thought this contrasted very significantly with LDS temples. They, similarly, are representative of our journey to God; but these buildings include the Celestial Room, which is meant to be representative of being in the presence of God. The journey is actually completed, at least symbolically. The Anglican concept of a transcendent God is something I'd definitely like to explore more deeply and understand where it came from. (I probably should know this, since I just took Christian history, but I've forgotten so I'll have to go back to my notes I guess.)
      At the Science Museum, I was really excited because there was an exhibit called "Cosmology & Culture." It ended up being something of a bust, because there wasn't much in the way of new information. That being said, I did get to see some copies of the Almagest, De Revolutionibus, Dialogue Concerning the Chief World Systems, and others, as well as some cool little contraptions. The one that really interested me was a Celestial Sphere made by Vincenzo Coronelli in the 17th century. It's like a globe of the night sky, if that makes sense. It's beautifully decorated with depictions of the constellations, both as stars and then filled out with illustrations.
      I also found a picture and a name that I'm excited to look into a little bit more. The man is named Camille Flammarion, and the picture is an engraving from one of his books, though the artist is unknown. It depicts a man who is in the world's sphere, and then breaks through it and is able to see the spheres outside of it. How cool! It's from 1888, so it's a little bit late for being a huge discovery, I think. But I think that Flammarion will be an interesting character in terms of getting an idea of where the whole medieval cosmology concept went by that time period (since apparently it was still relevant), and how that fit in with later perceptions of God.
   

   

   The Flammarion engraving

      I also saw an exhibit called "Signs, Symbols, Secrets," which was about alchemy. Alchemy was very closely related with Medieval/Renaissance cosmology, and there was a little bit of stuff from the museum that suggested God's role in alchemy. Although I don't think this will have a large impact on my project, it may be helpful. I got a good list of 16th-18th century texts that would be relevant to this  area.
      The final exciting thing for my research is that I found a book that I think will be helpful for my project called The Story of Astronomy by Couper & Henbest. It does cover a huge time period, but it does particularly discuss how astronomical discoveries impacted people's perspectives. I think it will be helpful in getting an overview of things, and in seeing how things have changed since the Copernican Revolution. 
4. Cool Cultural Stuff. 

• Stay Left. The words of the day during our group meeting were definitely "paradigm shift." It popped up several times, including in a conversation Ben and I had about walking. Some things you just take for granted in a country where you drive on the right side of the road, such as the propensity of everyone to carry this rule to the sidewalks. We don't think about it often, but pedestrian traffic in the US mimics vehicular traffic in a lot of ways. The same thing is true in London. I have to constantly remind myself to "stay left." Sometimes it's hard. When I'm crossing the street, even if I can see cars coming, after I've looked both ways, I always look left again right before I walk. It's just habitual! I'm afraid I'm going to break the habit, come back to the States, and get plowed by a bus. Or just be perpetually confused for a few months. 
• Buskers. There's a website that I follow called Thought Catalog. It calls itself "a place for relevant and relatable non-fiction and thought," and I really enjoy it. Yesterday, someone posted an article that was about something I happened to have a lot of experience with yesterday: street performers. Or, to use the apparently technical term, "buskers." I walked past a fabulous quartet and a guy who was singing the same song for several hours (or at least, every time I walked by him). The article is pretty cool, and can be found here:  http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/the-buskers-of-londons-underground-music-scene/. It was exciting to see something that I'd just been able to start experiencing on a website I've been following for months. Just to think that if I were home, I wouldn't really know what this is like ... but I'm in London, so I do! It's definitely cool. 
• Pants vs. Trousers. Remember this post? You know, the one where I posted that hilarious picture of pants and suspenders? Well, wouldn't you know that I messed it up right after getting here. We were in institute, and I decided to make a comment that involved me using the word "pants," which Averyl (thankfully) corrected for everyone. Naturally, I got laughed at. Thankfully I was able to laugh at myself too. I hoped that public humiliation would be enough to permanently change "pants" to "trousers" in my head. No such luck. I've messed it up like three times since then. :)

Whew! I think I'll leave it at that for now! I'm excited to see what the next week holds!

Learning Journal #29 (4/9)

I'm somewhat at a loss for what to do with this last learning journal post ... It doesn't seem possible that this could be the last one! It doesn't seem like the semester can be ending! It doesn't seem like I could possibly be officially stepping foot in London exactly one month from today. Can it really be? I've been saying it for weeks, but I think I'll say it again: this does not feel real. There's too much to be done between then and now; a month might as well be an eternity. And yet it was only the bat of an eye ago that I was saying, "It's still more than two months away" to a friend, so I'm sure this next four or so weeks will go by with just as much speed, if not more.

It's funny, but I don't really spend so much time thinking about going to London and being in London anymore. I guess I never really did, but you'd think that it would take up a little more of my brain time than it really does. Maybe it's just because it still doesn't seem real at all that I don't think about it, at least not in serious terms. There have been so many other things on my mind lately—finals, classes next semester, graduating next April, applying to graduate programs—my brain's already living after London, it seems like. Things have been so stressful that the field study has become almost something to check off my list so I can get onto all these other things that I need to do. Even worse, it sometimes jumps up in my mind like a barrier that's keeping me from other things I want to do this summer with friends and family. I hadn't realized this until this weekend, and it struck me that this is remarkably tragic. I'm going to one of the world's greatest cities, and I'm already thinking of it like it's over because my brain is completely preoccupied with the future beyond it. This is not something that I want. 

Living in London is going to be hard because I already know I'm going to get horrifically lonely for a bit (that's just the way I am and I'm already mentally preparing myself for it) and because it's going to be tempting for me to go away into my little library corner and sit there all day and then go home and sit in my room and be a hermit because I'm so stressed about being by myself in a foreign country and doing a project that will inevitably stress me out while I'm missing out on all the fun things that my friends and family will be doing together while I pay for four months of housing contract in Provo because I haven't been able to sell my contract yet, so why didn't I just stay in Provo in the first place because it would have been a whole darn lot easier?

Calm down, calm down ... I'm not serious. Entirely. I'm just trying to explain that as soon as I start thinking like that, I'm going to kick myself or something, because that is not the attitude I want to have at all. Yes, staying in Provo would be easier. It would be a lot easier. And yeah, I'm going to miss out on doing fun things with my friends and family. And it's true that I'm going to be working on a project that's probably going to be very frustrating, because that's just the way that projects are. And I know (oh boy do I know) that this is going to be one of the most emotionally taxing experiences in my life to date. But I know it's going to be worth it. Doing this project is going to do amazing things for my ability to do academic research and synthesize real information. It's going to be integral in me figuring out if this is the kind of thing I want to do long-term or not. It's going to help me get into graduate school and pursue whatever I decide my dreams are going to be. And the benefits don't even stop at academia!

And so, I have a resolution: I am going to live in London.

So what do I mean by living in London? Pretty much just what it says. I'm going to live my life in London. I'm not going to think about what I'm missing back home or in Provo. I'm not going to think about what's ahead. London is going to be my life, and I'm going to make every effort I can to live in the present. Not very often anyways. Thinking about all the things I have to do and everything that's happening outside of London will inevitably stress me out beyond my ability to do anything productive, let alone enjoy myself.

Again, this is not what I want.

I want to enjoy my time in London. I want to be able to have a good experience, immerse myself in life there, and not be stuck thinking about things beyond what is right in front of me, and furthermore way more awesome and exciting than anything I could possibly be doing in the U.S. (This is a significant part of the reason that I chose to have Eng317 be one of my classes that I take while in the field--it will basically force me to enjoy London and do the things that are most helpful when I'm stressed. It's basically an academic tranquilizer, honestly. Not that I'll need a tranquilizer or anything...).

This is going to be a great experience academically, culturally, and personally. I can't wait!

And let me just say it ...

See you in a month, London!

Learning Journal #28 (4/6)

I figure since I spent so much time preparing for my presentation, I might as well put the fruits of my efforts on here:

London Field Study Sp/Su 2012 on Prezi

Learning Journal #27 (4/4)

Reading about culture shock this week was really interesting. In fact, I think sometimes we can even experience a kind of culture shock during the course of our normal lives, even when we haven't actually gone anywhere that actually constitutes a new culture.

I felt something like culture shock the first time I came back from a semester at school. Home was kind of like going to a new culture: my family had moved to Missouri right after I graduated from high school, so it wasn't really home to me, and when I realized that life at home had gone on without me, that I'd somewhat lost my place of belonging within the family, that there were jokes I wasn't on the inside of ... it was really rough. I was all kinds of emotional for about a week before I could get anywhere even close to normal. Not exactly the best time of my life, but it certainly taught me a lot of things. I think one of those things might be how culture shock is going to affect me. I could almost go down the list of symptoms and say, "Yep, that's going to be me" and "No, I won't do that." I'm sure most people would argue that you can't know until you get there.  I'd argue that I'm more in touch with my emotions than most people I know, and I'm almost 100% certain that I'm absolutely right. I'm sure that at some point in the first month of being there, I'll write a post about whether or not I'm correct at present (just wait and see ... I will be!)

My mom has been dealing with me for the past 21 years, and so she's really got my number when it comes to handling my emotions (which are many, and frequent, and potent), and I'm really grateful that she's taught me so well how to take care of myself because (1) I need it badly, and (2) I think it will help me cope with culture shock. I mentioned this in class, but she gave me a mantra a couple of years ago, kind of a set of questions to ask myself when I'm feeling upset or angry or whatever and don't really know why. Or even if I know why, but I'm overreacting. The mantra is, "Never let yourself get too hungry, too tired, or too lonely." So, when I feel myself getting down, I ask myself: Have you eaten today? Are you well rested? Have you talked to people today? Have you taken time to be by yourself today? (Because for me, being over-socially-stimulated can be just as lonely as being under-socially-stimulated.) In class, we also talked about making sure we get exercise, so maybe that'll be another question to ask myself, though I don't think it's as likely to be a problem since I plan on taking long, lovely walks every morning, and I don't exercise any more than that on a regular basis anyways :)

So, that's my plan for handling culture shock! I'm 150% sure it's coming, but at least I have a plan. It feels good to have some kind of preparation!

Learning Journal #26 (4/2)

I've been thinking a lot about the "why" behind my project. As more and more people have been asking me about my plans for the summer, and I've concisely explained that I'm studying how the perception of God changed as a result of the Copernican Revolution, and watched blank stares come up on their faces, I've found myself thinking, "Why am I really doing this?" Sure, there's the fact that it's something study-able that I'm interested in, something that doesn't really seem to have a book written about it, something that is intensely personal and that I, nosy as I am, want to delve into and explore. 

But what does it really matter? Who really cares about changing definitions of God? It's in the past, it's not going to change the future, so why do it? 

I've recently permitted myself to take up reading for pleasure again, and found the following quote in John Green's Looking for Alaska: 

With a sigh, he ... wrote on the blackboard: How will we ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering? ... [And then said, "E]verybody who has ever lost their way in life has felt the nagging insistence of that question. At some point we all look up and realize we are lost in a maze, and I don't want us to forget ... I don't want to forget that even when the material we study seems boring, we're trying to understand how people have answered that questions and the questions each of you posed...—how different traditions have come to terms with what Chip ... called 'people's rotten lots in life.'"

I guess the real reason that I want to know, that I care at all about how these people understood God, is because it matters to me. Because when I am lost in the labyrinth of suffering, there's only one way I know to get out, and that is to rely on God. And if I don't know who God is, if I have no functioning way to define His existence and understand how that definition relates to me, then the labyrinth has won, and I have no way to come to terms with those rotten lots in life that I get.

Ultimately, I know how heavily I rely on my understanding of God and my relationship to Him, and so it's nigh unto impossible for me to comprehend the magnitude of something like Copernicus coming along and bringing that understanding into question. I just can't fathom what that would be like, or how I would cope with it because it would be such an intense test of my faith. I think it's the incomprehensibility of the situation that draws me to it, knowing that I would just shatter on the inside if I found out that suddenly that something I had constantly counted on, which showed me just how much I matter to God, wasn't true anymore. My mind and heart just hurt thinking about it, and maybe that's just because it's fairly early in the a.m. and I'm in the middle of reading a really dramatic emotional-roller-coaster of a book, and therefore am prone to my own dramatizations of situations ... but I still think my point is valid. I know that I would care if my cosmological paradigm shifted, and so I can't imagine that they didn't; I just want to know how they coped, how they tried to reassemble their definition of God, which is so vital to the relationship between God and man.

Learning Journal #25 (3/28)

Every now and then in the enormous notebook that holds all my notes for all my classes, I'll have a page that is covered in hasty, scrawling cursive that doesn't fit quite on the lines. It's almost always got a huge star next to it that says, "For Field Study!" Today, I thought I'd talk about one of them.

One of my favorite TED talks is by Brené Brown, and it's called "The Power of Vulnerability." Apparently I wasn't listening very well in class because I was reading the transcription of her talk, and copied the following quote:

... we make everything that's uncertain certain. Religion has gone from a belief in faith and mystery to certainty. I'm right, you're wrong. Shut up. That's it. Just certain. The more afraid we are, the more vulnerable, the more afraid we are.

My first question written right after this quote is: were people during the Renaissance more uncertain before or after the Copernican Revolution?

To start off, I've seen how much people during the medieval period accepted mystery. The play cycles that depicted Biblical stories were called mystery plays, so the idea that some things remained unknown wasn't a problem. I think this was also built into their cosmology, which of course continued into the Renaissance. Sure, they built their universe system, but they didn't have much definite proof to back it up, or to prove it wrong.

Then, of course, Copernicus came along and crushed it.

One of the books that I've included as one of my annotated sources is a book by Jamie James called The Music of the Spheres: Music, Science, and the Natural Order of the Universe. While this book primarily focuses on music, it contains some wonderful explanations about how the course of science was forever changed by scientific discoveries that started with Copernicus, and which I think gives a bit of an answer to my question. He writes:

Picture to yourself, if you can, a universe in which everything makes sense. A serene order presides over the earth around you, and the heavens above revolve in sublime harmony. Everything you can see and hear and know is an aspect of the ultimate truth ... It is not simply a matter of faith: the best philosophical and scientific minds have proved that it is so.

This is no New Age fantasy but our own world as scientists, philosophers, and artist knew it ... Those ideals are gone forever. After the revelations of modern scientific enquiry, educated people will never again be able to face the universe, now unimaginably complex, with anything like the serenity and certitude that existed for most of our history. ... 

The asking of ... questions was the intellectual breakthrough, and the answers were as poetic and expansive as the questions, for there existed no data with which they were expected to conform, aside from the perceived order and beauty of creation. "Doing things" was disdained as unworthy of science, whose true purpose was to elucidate the fundamental unities that explain the function and thus the meaning of the phenomenal world. 

As scientific observation accumulated information, ostensibly to make the answers to the questions more precise, the universe revealed itself to be far more complicated than anyone had ever imagined. The assumption throughout centuries of science had been that there was a logic underlying the apparent chaos of creation, but that the human perception was too clouded and fallacious to discern it. By the nineteenth century science had abandoned that position, and the search for the fundamental unities became more and more a theoretical goal. An abrupt conceptual turnabout had taken place: whereas Plato had taught that anything the eye could see was illusory, modern science teaches that the only things that do exist are those we can see and touch... (from p. 3-5)

I know that was an absolutely enormous quote, but isn't it great? There were some others that might have been better, but I returned the book to the library, and that's all I can pull from the Google Books preview. As I see it, the discoveries which started with Copernicus did a couple of things. First, they made some things more certain. By giving the science and mathematics behind his observations, Copernicus introduced a new level of certainty about the structure of the universe to the world. However, it did another thing: it opened a whole new can of uncertainty worms, and these uncertainties were not just about how the universe was built, but about what that meant for humanity.

Science, of course, has been forever changed. While as a discipline it once accepted mystery and uncertainty as still valuable, now we've gone so far as to do exactly what Brené Brown was talking about: we've pushed for certainty. We need to see numbers, facts, reality. And yet, with every new discovery, it seems that the certainty we seek gets even further out of our reach. I've been watching The Fabric of the Universe on Nova recently, and it seems to me that the deeper you get into science and the universe, the weirder it gets, the more questions there are to ask, the more answers remain elusive. It's that whole, "The more you know, the more you know you don't know" sort of thing.

I guess it just seems to me that the more we get into trying to make things certain, the further we get from understanding them. Maybe there's more truth in mystery than we realize. Because really, in terms of defining God, my own experience has told me that the more people try to find tangible proof, the more it eludes them. Finding proof of God comes through faith—through accepting mystery. Or, as Keats would put it, through negative capability, "that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason." It's only then that tangible proof comes.

I don't have time to fully explore what I'm thinking right now because I've spent so much time writing this already. But I want to explore later (note to self!) the relationship between perceptions and definitions of God and the controversy between faith and proof. That is, did the response to the Copernican Revolution initially encourage more proving, or more faith in God's mystery? For myself, I totally reject the idea of an unknowable, unexplained, undefinable God; I think He means for us to know who He is. But at the same time, we can't expect to prove who God is—faith is absolutely necessary. So we have to accept, but we shouldn't blindly and blithely accept; we should think, but not so much that we lose the ability to have faith. It's the entire controversy that we're currently discussing in my Christian History class—faith vs. reason. (Goodness. No wonder Martin Luther made such a beef about it.) I understand the concept, it's just difficult to verbalize. And it's even more difficult to mesh with the whole concept of changing perceptions and definitions of God as a result of the Copernican Revolution. Add this to the stack of things to think about ...

Learning Journal #24 (3/26)

After preparing for class last week by reading up about books, television, and radio in English newspapers, I found myself asking one big question: why is everyone so obsessed with Doctor Who? Having been raised on Masterpiece Theater and Monty Python and the Holy Grail, I thought I had this English entertainment thing down without ever seeing an episode of Doctor Who. But after seeing three articles about "the Doctor's new companion" on the main television page, and even on the paper homepage, I began to wonder if this was an issue of national concern, rather than just a weird corner of Tumblr fandom.

Apparently it is.

Apparently, it has also been running for forty-six years (with a sixteen-year hiatus of cancellation somewhere in there), and is the most popular science fiction television series of all time. Doctor Who knew? (My apologies. That was horrendous. Absolutely unacceptable. Moving right along ...) A Google search about the popularity of the show includes results such as "The Doctor's skyrocketing popularity in America" and "Doctor Who prompts surge of popularity of bow ties" ... now that's what I call power!

I read an article, "What  Makes Doctor Who So Great?" by Kendall Korolowicz, who describes the show as "something of an institution for the whole country." His explanation for the show's popularity is its

... sheer level of originality and diversity of its storytelling caused by the production team’s willingness to go as far 'out there' with itself as possible. Giving themselves a universe of opportunities with a character that can travel throughout the universe they decide to boldly go to the places that other TV shows, primarily American TV shows, have no sack to go to. Other shows like Star Trek may go around the spectrum with what they do, but Star Trek is still science fiction, while Doctor Who, in a fashion that makes his regenerative abilities quite symbolic, can change to any genre at undeterminable will.

An interesting interpretation. I suppose if it's really that popular and pervasive in English culture, I'm going to have to watch it. For research purposes only, of course.


... ;)

Learning Journal #23 (3/21)

I found Fox's chapter on linguistic class codes fascinating, and how both pronunciation of words and the words themselves are indicative of class. I don't think we're half as aware of class as the English are (at least, as Fox describes them), but I think Americans do have some reflection of this in our culture. Like the English, we have regional accents: southern, Jersey, Utah ... lots that seem to be attached to actual states. These affect pronunciation, and sometimes word usage. For example, in, say, Colorado, someone can offer you a Coke, and you will say "yes" or "no" and that's perfectly acceptable. In the south, someone will offer you a coke, and if you say "yes" or "no," they're going to ask you what kind, because "coke" doesn't mean "Coca-Cola," it means "soda." But back to the point I was making, I don't think we attach class distinctions to these sorts of linguistic variations for various reasons which I'd assume include the sheer size of the U.S. compared to the U.K. and general lack of attention to class distinctions in the U.S. period. We just don't have the class-ridden history that England does; in fact, we've kind of made a point of dismantling the class system. It's kind of a selling point for us.

At any rate, I realized as I was reading that, for whatever reason, I was subconsciously cataloging words I shouldn't say and congratulating myself for saying "upper class" words ... I was a little bit appalled because for one, I'm American, therefore I'll probably have a lot more problems in the way people perceive me than my socioeconomic class. Soon afterwords, I was scrolling through Tumblr, and found the following gem:

I had been previously made aware of the difference in the meaning of the word "pants" in America vs. Britain, but I had no idea about suspenders. It was at this point that I realized that, if I'm going to try to English-ify my grammar, I should probably worry more about eradicating the word "pants" than the word "pardon." Because talking about my pants in public is going to be a lot more problematic.


(FYI, there's a whole list of words that have different meanings in Britain vs. the U.S.: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_words_having_different_meanings_in_British_and_American_English:_A%E2%80%93L)

Annotated Sources #22-34 (3/7-4/3)

And the backlog of annotated sources finally presents itself ....


(3/7) Baker, Herschel Clay. The Dignity of Man: Studies in the Persistence of an Idea. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1947. Print.

• This text provides a history of how man has thought of himself. The text is divided into three sections: the Classical View of Man, the Christian View of Man, and the Renaissance View of Man. Baker's book will be useful in providing information on how man has perceived himself in relation to God. This text was recommended to me by Dr. Young. 

(3/9) Bamborough, J. B. The Little World of Man. London: Longmans, Green, 1952. Print.

•  This book examines psychology and English Renaissance literature. This text was recommended to me by Dr. Young. 

(3/12) Bush, Douglas. Science and English Poetry: A Historical Sketch, 1590-1950. New York: Oxford UP, 1950. Print.

• This book explores the relationship between science and poetry in England. I hope that the broad time period it covers will give an interesting overview of how the Copernican Revolution continued to have an impact on literature. This text was recommended to me by Dr. Young.  

(3/14) Craig, Hardin. The Enchanted Glass the Elizabethan Mind in Literature. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1950. Print.

• This book explores the impact of sixteenth century culture on the Elizabethan mind, and how this was expressed through literature. This will hopefully address how cosmological ideas are represented in literature. This text was recommended to me by Dr. Young. It is available to read online:  http://www.questia.com/library/book/the-enchanted-glass-the-elizabethan-mind-in-literature-by-hardin-craig.jsp 

(3/16) Lewis, C. S. A Preface to Paradise Lost. London: Oxford UP, 1961. Print.

• This book is, of course, focused on Milton's Paradise Lost, which I hope will be helpful to my research. It particularly addresses the Elizabethan world picture and some contemporary theological issues, which I think will be very enlightening in relation to my project. This text was recommended to me by Dr. Young. It is available to read online:  http://www.questia.com/PM.qst?a=o&d=4359520 

(3/19) Lovejoy, Arthur O. The Great Chain of Being; a Study of the History of an Idea. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1936. Print.

• This book discusses the Great Chain of Being, and will be very helpful in understanding the definition of God according to the Renaissance cosmology that is closely tied with the Chain. This text was recommended to me by Dr. Young.  

(3/21) Lowes, John Livingston. Geoffrey Chaucer: Lectures Delivered in 1932 on the William J. Cooper Foundation in Swarthmore College. London: Oxford UP, 1949. Print.

• I can't find any information on this text, but it was recommended to me by Dr. Young. 

(3/23) Spencer, Theodore. Shakespeare and the Nature of Man. New York: Macmillan, 1942. Print.

• This book, particularly the first two chapters, provide an overview of the relationship between man and the cosmos. This text was recommended to me by Dr. Young. It is available to read online:  http://www.questia.com/PM.qst?a=o&d=9028720

(3/26) Tayler, Edward W. Nature and Art in Renaissance Literature. New York: Columbia UP, 1964. Print.

• This text addresses nature and art, and particularly nature and art as they relate to God and man—sometimes one was closer to God, and sometimes it was the other. Their representation in literature may give me a good idea of how God was defined by those living during the Renaissance. This text was recommended to me by Dr. Young.  

(3/28) Tillyard, E. M. W. The Elizabethan World Picture. London: Chatto & Windus, 1943. Print.

• This book discusses Renaissance cosmology and related concepts, such as the Great Chain of Being, and how they are represented in literature. This text was recommended to me by Dr. Young.  

(3/30) Wilson, F. P. Elizabethan and Jacobean. Oxford: Clarendon, 1945. Print.

• This book discusses the relationship between the Elizabethans and the Jacobeans. I am particularly interested in the first chapter, which discusses their shared concept of man's relationship to God. This text was recommended to me by Dr. Young.  

(4/1) Wilson, John Dover. The Essential Shakespeare. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge UP, 1952. Print.

• I can't find much information on this text, but it was recommended to me by Dr. Young.  

(4/3) Patrides, C. A. "The Numerological Approach to Cosmic Order During the English Renaissance." Isis 49.4 (1958): 391-397. Print.

• Patrides's article cites the previous twelve sources, and outlines the hierarchical structure of the cosmos. This will be useful in getting a stronger idea of man's perception of God during the Renaissance. 

Learning Journal #22 (3/12)

"Helping, Fixing, Serving?" was a fantastic article, and not just from the perspective of field studies. I think it's incredibly important to approach field research from a service-oriented perspective, rather than from the perspective of wanting to help or fix a situation. Of course, for projects such as mine, the tendency towards helping and fixing is fairly unlikely, simply because short of engaging in open war with a nearly-hundred-year-old-article, the focus of literary research is more about finding and compiling information than finding and enacting solutions. However, I think that there's something to be said for applying the spirit of service to my project: service in terms of living with my host family, and service in approaching the perspectives of the long-deceased that I will be studying.

I think that a service-oriented perspective is important to research, even that which is primarily library-based, because I will be attempting to present the opinions of individuals who can no longer speak for themselves. As such, I have a responsibility to approach a study of their beliefs and opinions in a way that allows me to present them accurately, to serve their memories with as much gentleness and humility as I would serve a living person.

Annotated Source #21 & Learning Journal #21 (3/5)

"Western Concepts of God." Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy. 7 July 2005. Web. 07 Mar. 2012. <http://www.iep.utm.edu/god-west/>.

• This source outlines the course of man's understanding of God throughout time, highlighting the sources of Western concepts of God, the historical overview, and the divine attributes of God. It also includes a list of references for further reading on the subject. This is particularly helpful for my project because it provides a quick look at how the perception of God was changing. 

Behold, the slow but sure narrowing of a project focus:

I've been thinking a lot lately about DTR's—a BYU-slangronym for "Define the Relationship." Typically, this is a term we use to describe a conversation that establishes a relationship status (or dissolves the hope of one). A relationship definition is built upon the definition of Person A's feelings for Person B, and the definition of Person B's feelings for Person A. It is also built upon the definition of Person A and the definition of Person B. Can Person A have a relationship with Person B without being able to, in some terms, define Person B? Without being able to define their feelings for Person B?

I'd argue that it's pretty difficult. If you can't define something, how can you have a relationship with it? To have a relationship is "the state or fact of being related; the way in which two things are connected; ..." (OED). I suppose it's possible to have a relationship without understanding it; just because two things are connected doesn't mean that we understand the way they are connected. But I would argue that it's very difficult to understand your relationship with something if you don't know how to relate to it, if you don't understand what it is.

So, to narrow my focus, I don't want to focus on the perceived relationship between man and God, but on the way that people defined God. For me, it's hard not to go that second step (which is such an easy jump), because when I think about how I define God, I immediately apply that to my relationship with Him. However, I think that focusing simply on definitions of God will be interesting.

This week I went to the Beauty & Belief exhibit in the MOA, and there was an interesting portion of the exhibit that showed the 99 Names of God. In Islam, God is the Creator, the Guardian, the All-Seeing, the Hidden, the Manifest, the Avenger, the Pardoner. Each of these names is part of the definition of who God is. This reminded me of the Renaissance depiction of God as the geometer:

This depiction of God reminded me distinctly of the 99 Names of God in Islam. There are various groups that speak of God the Artist, or God the Great Architect ... however, so far none of them seem to be rooted in the Renaissance/Early Modern Period (and Christianity) in the same way as this depiction of God the Geometer is. All this being said, I think there is still a lot to be understood about the Renaissance/Early Modern definition of God.

Learning Journal #20 (3/2)

Over the past few days, I've been trying to think of ways to make my topic even more narrow in scope so that it will be not only more manageable, but more specific. I want it to be more specific, because the narrower I make my topic, the deeper I can dig. Otherwise, I'll just be digging a really wide and shallow research pit, and nobody wants that. I haven't decided exactly how I want to do this yet, but I've had a couple of ideas come into my head:

• Focus only on the writings of a few specific authors—possibly the Sidneys, John Donne, Margaret Cavendish, or Alexander Pope
• Restrict myself to writings produced during a specific decade (or a few decades)
• Focus on the similarities and differences between literary and official Church responses—essentially a more theological approach
• Focus on one genre—prose, poetry, or drama (I'd probably choose poetry)
• Some combination of these, such as how Alexander Pope's literary response to the Copernican Revolution differed from the responses of the scientific and religious communities

The only trouble with these ideas is that, so far, I don't like them much at all, either because they just don't appeal to me, or because they feel too narrow (and make it difficult to incorporate actually being in London into it), or some other reason. If I'm going to dedicate three months of my life to studying one particular topic, it'd be nicer if I mostly like it and that it also takes advantage of being in London. This will be something I'll be trying to work out over the next few weeks. 

Annotated Source #20 (3/2)

Koyré, Alexander. From the Closed World to the Infinite Universe. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins Press, 1957. Print.

• Koyré's book provides an excellent discussion of the impact of the scientific discoveries of the seventeenth century, and includes several chapters discussing the specific results of these discoveries on perceptions of God within the scope of the new universe concept. 

Annotated Source #19 (2/29)

Nicholson, Marjorie. "The 'New Astronomy' and English Literary Imagination." Studies in Philology 32.3 (1935): 428-462. Print.

• Nicholson here discusses the impact of other various discoveries surrounding the Copernican Revolution, particularly the development of the telescope, and the impact that that had on man's understanding of the universe, and then how that impacted the English Literary Imagination. She pays particularly attention to Donne, whose sonnets and sermons I intend to look at in the course of my research.