Expectations in ENGL& 101

Sample Reading:

       The way we see things is affected by what we know or what we believe. In the Middle Ages when men believed in the physical existence of Hell the sight of fire must have meant something different from what it means today. Nevertheless, their idea of Hell owed a lot to the sight of fire consuming and the ashes remaining – as well as to their experience of the pain of burns.
When in love, the sight of the beloved has a completeness which no words and no embrace can match: a completeness which only the act of making love can temporarily accommodate.
Yet this seeing which comes before words, and can never be quite covered by them, is not a question of mechanically reacting to stimuli. (It can only be thought of in this way if one isolates the small part of the process which concerns the eye’s retina.) We only see what we look at. To look is an act of choice. As a result of this act, what we see is brought within our reach – though not necessarily within arm’s reach. To touch something is to situate oneself in relation to it. (Close your eyes, move round the room and notice how the faculty of touch is like a static, limited form of sight.) We never look at just one thing; we are always looking at the relation between things and ourselves. Our vision is continually active, continually moving, continually holding things in a circle around itself, constituting what is present to us as we are.
Soon after we can see, we are aware that we can also be seen. The eye of the other combines with our own eye to make it fully credible that we are part of the visible world.
If we accept that we can see that hill over there, we propose that from that hill we can be seen. The reciprocal nature of vision is more fundamental than that of spoken dialogue. And often dialogue is an attempt to verbalize this – an attempt to explain how, either metaphorically or literally, ‘you see things’, and an attempt to discover how ‘he sees things’.
In the sense in which we use the word in this book, all images are man-made.
An image is a sight which has been recreated or reproduced. It is an appearance, or a set of appearances, which has been detached from the place and time in which it first made its appearance and preserved – for a few moments or a few centuries. Every image embodies a way of seeing. Even a photograph. For photographs are not, as is often assumed, a mechanical record. Every time we look at a photograph, we are aware, however slightly, of the photographer selecting that sight from an infinity of other possible sights. This is true even in the most casual family snapshot. The photographer’s way of seeing is reflected in his choice of subject. The painter’s way of seeing is reconstituted by the marks he makes on the canvas or paper. Yet, although every image embodies a way of seeing, our perception or appreciation of an image depends also upon our own way of seeing…
Images were first made to conjure up the appearances of something that was absent. Gradually it became evident that an image could outlast what it represented; it then showed how something or somebody had once looked – and thus by implication how the subject had once been seen by other people. Later still the specific vision of the image-maker was also recognized as part of the record. An image became a record of how X had seen V. This was the result of an increasing consciousness of individuality, accompanying an increasing awareness of history. It would be rash to try to date this last development precisely. But certainly, in Europe such consciousness has existed since the beginning of the Renaissance.
No other kind of relic or text from the past can offer such a direct testimony about the world which surrounded other people at other times. In this respect images are more precise and richer than literature. To say this is not to deny the expressive or imaginative quality of art, treating it as mere documentary evidence; the more imaginative the work, the more profoundly it allows us to share the artist’s experience of the visible.

– John Berger, “Ways of Seeing,” pp. 8-10

Sample Reading Questions:

• What does Berger mean when he suggests that in the Middle Ages “the sight of fire must have meant something different from what it means today?”
• Why, for Berger, is there much more to the act of “seeing” than a mechanical “process which concerns the eye’s retina?”
• Referencing paragraph 8, explain how the study of art and images also affected the study of history.

A Recipe for Innovation

       The recipe for true innovation, whether it be of the mind or of the physical creation of new ideas, is a mixture of education, environment and position in life. Without these factors we tend to cycle through already-existing ideas are able only to embellish what is already there. American futurists Neal Stephenson and Isaac Asimov and the Greek philosopher Plato, each use a different method to share this one vital idea: that our education, environment, and the resources available to us are the preeminent factors in being able to truly innovate.
In his essay “Innovation Starvation,” Stephenson explains, “I worry that our inability to match the achievements of the 1960s space program might be symptomatic of a general failure of our society to get big things done.” (par. 3). Compared to the earlier days of invention, today’s innovation is like watching television reboots. We know what we’ve created in the past; we have seen it a million times.  To break free, we need to be able to learn and grow from those old “shows” rather than sit and watch them happen again with slight modifications.
While Stephenson uses comparisons to argue his point, Asimov outlines a method for the nurturing of educated minds so that they may have the opportunity to be more innovative. To do this, he describes how one must be “capable of making a connection between item 1 and item 2 which might not ordinarily seem connected” (par. 6). Like a tree needing a combination of factors to thrive (such as water and sunlight), we need the right environment in which to think creatively. Being stifled by high-pressure work or limited education won’t lead to innovation, but nurturing free thought purposefully and in the right environment can prompt connections that would have gone unrecognized otherwise.
Plato agrees with Asimov that our surroundings and understanding of the world play a vital role in the ability to think in the first place. In his The Allegory of the Cave, Plato argues that “the soul has its own innate vision, but does not apply it properly. There must be some kind of means for bringing this about” (51). While most of us have a great capacity to think, without the proper tools it’s as if we are chasing our own tails, going in circles and coming up with the same conclusions. Asimov outlines a method for “bringing about” innovative vision and encouraging thinkers to flourish. He envisions a group in which the participants are free to make mistakes and share at first what might seem like outlandish ideas. “It is only afterward that a new idea seems reasonable,” he says. “To begin with, it usually seems unreasonable” (par. 10). What works in kindergarten classes, it seems, also works for adults. We need to be given the opportunity to make mistakes and try again: to have a safe space to think, to share ideas freely, and to be able to take those ideas—however unreasonable they might seem—and to process them through trial and error.
Stephenson, on the other hand, believes that our failure to innovate or think comes from our “broader inability as a society to execute on the big stuff” (par. 6). Whether due to political red tape, stifling managers, or the selfish interests of shareholders, we have become mired in short term solutions and unable to tackle our biggest societal problems. While we need an environment for our thoughts to thrive and grow in, we more importantly need a society in which we are able to come together and tackle these long-term, big-picture problems like sustainable energy before attempting an idea as (not so) grand as a flying car.
While Stephenson, Asimov and Plato all differ in their approach to delivering the message; whether through an outline of the perfect environment for a thinker, comparisons to the great achievements of our past, or through an allegory instilling the importance of teaching oneself how to think, they all assert that having the space to make mistakes and learn from those mistakes, as well as having an environment conducive to learning, is what provides the fundamental stepping stones to bring forth innovation and new ideas, however unreasonable they seem.

Works Cited

Asimov, Isaac. “How Do People Get New Ideas?” MIT Technology Review, 20 Oct. 2014,
www.technologyreview.com/2014/10/20/169899/isaac-asimov-asks-how-do-
people-getnew-ideas/.

Plato. The Allegory of the Cave. Translated by Shawn Eyer. Plumbstone, 2016.

Stephenson, Neal. “Neal Stephenson: Innovation Starvation.” Wired, Conde Nast, 27
Oct. 2011, https://www.wired.com/2011/10/stephenson-innovation-starvation/.