28 May 2005
A critical essay: How do nineteenth century composers bring the plight of the individual to the consciousness of their responders?
Because I haven’t got time to come up with content solely for this website at the minute. 1645 words.
Nineteenth century composers bring the plight of the individual to the responder’s awareness through their portrayal of such characters in a way that appeals to the responder either through the use of empathy, or, in the case of other works, through the use of a rising/falling conflict model in conjunction with elucidatory dialogue to elicit a response from the responder.
Henrik Ibsen’s play Ghosts uses the latter model, making use of clever expositions presented by character in order to force readers to question the society in which they find themselves, and their roles as individuals within that framework. An encompassing work, Ghosts has been criticised as being “a little bare, hard, austereâ€, in which Ibsen has conformed too much to the prosaic ideal and stifled his poetic nature – and, in this, become an author who “cares more for ideas and doctrine than for human beings.†Ironically, it is this portrayal of such ideas and doctrine that, for many, makes this work one of overwhelming humanity.
The model employed by Ibsen here renders characterisation superfluous – his characters are not bound to a single person, to a single individual, but are seen to represent any number of people individually within humanity. Having said this, Ibsen’s works do not generally support the notion of a universal common humanity in which beliefs are shared, drawing a distinction between the “outpostsâ€, the ruling classes, and the “compact majority†– and there is no reason to suppose he deviates from this understanding in Ghosts.
Rather than being a character-driven book, in which empathy is used to endear a protagonist to the responder, Ibsen’s characters are somewhat flat and undeveloped, although in their behaviours, established through dialogue and stage directions, as well as their interactions, they are portrayed as being in conflict. Pastor Manders embodies the oppressive, hypocritical nature of religion – he is more concerned for the appeasement of those who would criticise his lack of faith than he is for the practicality of insurance – a practicality he recognises, but advises against for “the attacks that would assuredly be made upon me in certain papers and periodicalsâ€.
The gullibility of this character with regard to Jacob Engstrand’s nature is not simply that, but rather a reflection of the blindness of religion to many aspects of individual natures within society as a whole – Ibsen comments on the irrelevance of religion in the limited characterisation of Manders, and then further delineates this irrelevance through the conflict introduced between various characters and this figure.
Yet Manders is not simply the representative of the church. Within Ibsen’s model of society, Manders wields a ruling influence from which the “compact majority†draw their values and belief systems. The critique is not only one of the religious establishment, but is inclusive of the state and legal systems – something reflected in the injustices portrayed in A Doll’s House. The accusation levied against such institutions is one of aloofness – Ibsen proposes such institutions are distant from the individual, and cannot adequately comprehend their needs. The epitome of this is his support of euthanasia in the closing scene of the play – a something wholly unacceptable within that society, and similarly open to question in this age. Ibsen argues in favour of this, the closing scene of the play being emotive in its stark nature and eloquent stage directions. The work concludes almost poetically, with Oswald mindlessly repeating a phrase, as his mother, Mrs. Alving, grows hysterical at what he has asked her to do – and the responder can empathise with both figures, neither of which have been understood by the establishment. In establishing such a dichotomy between the state and the individual, the plight of the individual in a collective sense – that is, humanity as a collection of individuals – is brought to the consciousness of the responder.
Empathy is limited as a result of (deliberately) restricted characterisation, but Ibsen’s purpose is still achieved in this work, though perhaps without the nuance of his other works. An Enemy of the People, also by Ibsen, draws a distinction not between the state and the individual, but rather between those on the “outposts†and the common people. It is not, however, solely a work of philosophical self-gratification.
In this instance, the denunciation is instead of the failure of society as a whole to hear any message contradictory to its desires, irrespective of what evils this may require, and similarly without regard for the sustainability of such a stance. The pollution, Dr. Thomas Stockmann argues, is not simply of the baths, but of society. He declares at a public meeting that he has discovered “all the sources of our moral life are poisoned and that the whole fabric of our civic community is founded on the pestiferous soil of falsehood.â€
Such blatancy is not wholly uncharacteristic of Ibsen, his career being one of the more controversial of the great nineteenth century playwrights – undoubtedly also as a result of his popularity. Yet the point remains as an ostracised individual shouts his disillusionment and chagrin with society in this play, a point common to each of his five prose plays, composed from 1877, and termed by Ibsen the “drama of ideasâ€.
The context in which it was written must also be considered, quite apart from the period in time in which these works were composed. Ibsen’s plays were performed to audiences all across Europe, and resistance to these works varied from active censorship in Prussia (unified Germany) and England, to passive censorship – the play was eighteen months old before a theatre agreed to produce it – to public and media criticism. Ibsen’s plays attacked many aspects of the establishment, and, by his own acknowledgement, point to nihilism as an inherent human condition for many people, leading to their turmoil during the play, and subsequent social demise (or, more optimistically, their emancipation) at its conclusion.
France was perhaps one of the more liberal nations in Europe at this time, with the Enlightenment of the eighteenth century perhaps having the most effect upon their state. The subsequent revolutions that had swept across France had created a pervasive progressive mood, but there remained a societal structure rather in accordance with Ibsen’s portrayal of it, albeit with the addition of a middle class supportive of more liberal ideals. This notion of ‘class’ was, for many of the French people, a remnant of a time past which numerous revolutions had failed to abolish – or, more accurately, class distinctions. Artists such as Gustave Courbet criticised this continuing societal rift towards the middle of the century, through the portrayal of alms-giving. His work was not unique in this theme, with other artists such as Bonvin and Pils creating works depicting the same action in the same year, but Courbet’s The Village Maidens Giving Alms to a Guardian of Cattle (or The Village Maidens, 1852.) is unique in the manner it portrays such an act. The work is “an unvarnished, enormous and most unwelcome reminder of class distinctions in the provinces – a reminder that all was not smiling peasantry and reassuring folklore in Franche-Comté, but that there too, the petty bourgeoisie was setting itself apart from the, now threatening, proletariat – and furthermore, with the artist’s own sisters, clad in contemporary bonnets and dresses, rather than regional folk costume, playing the role of moneyed beneficience.â€1 This was, for the middle-classes of Paris, a rather unwelcome reflection of themselves that they sought to avoid recognition of.
The theme of such charity is continued in another of Courbet’s works, Beggar’s Alms (1868), which portrays a beggar granting a young boy a coin – significant, relative to the beggar’s means. The plight of the individual in both these works is portrayed as being of little consequence in an uncaring society – the poor are required to care for the poor, as an indifferent bourgeoisie continues life unburdened.
Burdening of the individual is another theme common to many works of the nineteenth century critical of society, a key example of this being Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles. The protagonist of this text, Tess Durbeyfield (or d’Urberville), bears the sin of a man who goes on unhindered by his act, unaware of its consequence, until he again meets Tess some years later, leading to his demise. Her marriage to Angel Clare is an unqualified failure, despite her continuing devotion to him until, finally, under the weight of her desperation, hope of his return elapses and she is compelled to reside with Alec d’Urberville in order to support her mother and siblings.
Without a husband, Tess d’Urberville is ‘incomplete’ – she is incapable, in the society in which she finds herself, of living independently, as a result of the expectations placed upon her. Society has caused this circumstance through the patriarchal expectation of ‘purity’ falling solely upon a woman with no means of recourse – Alec d’Urberville may be viewed as a motif of oppression rather than an actual character, as his persona is developed by its elements, rather than explicit characterisation. Conversely, Angel Clare is extensively developed so he is endeared in the mind of the responder, such that he exists as an individual as does Tess – his individual actions being guided by his own failure to meet society’s expectations (his lack of religious convictions), but he remains in conflict with this as he leaves Tess whom it is quite clear he loves from his unconscious actions on the first night of their marriage.
Ultimately, Hardy’s protagonist’s plight is the tragic consequence of a sin against her held by society to be a fault of her own. The responder is brought to value the protagonist as an individual in such a conflict through Hardy’s endearing portrayal of her in accordance with the first model outlined at the beginning of this critical essay, and it is thus that an awareness of her plight is raised.
1 Nochlin, L. Realism. Penguin, 1971. Page 124.
28 May 2005
An essay, examining the nature of the nineteenth century, and identifying (some) shaping influences pertaining to this. 1142 words
The nineteenth century was a period of comparative oppression when juxtaposed against today’s more liberal society, especially in terms of societal expectations of behaviour. This encompasses gender roles, political viewpoints, opinions of established institutions, and the acceptance of societal hierarchy, amongst other things.
Gender roles fell increasingly under scrutiny towards the end of the nineteenth century, as authors became more and more open in their criticism of the plight of the individual in society, particularly in terms of the requisite adherence to established roles within the home. A ruling class dominated by male figures demonstrated little regard for the autonomy of females within society; this was reflected both explicitly, in the form of policy enshrined in the legal system of the time, as is evident in the plight of Nora in A Doll’s House, and implicitly, as is demonstrated by Thomas Hardy in the character of Tess in Tess of the d’Urbervilles as she lives apart from her husband at his request.
The notion of gender equality was a prevailing concern of both these works, which may, perhaps, be considered iconoclastic to the concerns of the society that they were published in. Both are, amongst many other works, ‘guilty’ of bringing to light the hypocrisy of the period in its treatment of women, particularly – although this is not their sole concern. Hardy’s work, from its very subtitle (“A Pure Womanâ€), criticises a society in which a protagonist is made to bear the consequences of a sin against her, whilst the offender, Alec d’Urberville, can go on to achieve a (short-lived) salvation which Tess herself rejects in her blind devotion to her husband. In this society, authors argued, a person’s inherent nature was inconsequential in the face of prejudice and societal expectations forced upon people.
The only way such requirements could be circumvented, as portrayed in literature of the period, was through sufficient status created by wealth – something reflected in Henry James’ The Portrait of a Lady, in which Mrs. Touchett claims “You can do a great many things if you’re rich which would be severely criticized if you were poor,†which is similarly echoed in sentiment albeit not as explicitly, in Hardy’s Far From the Maddening Crowd, in which his protagonist rules over an estate even when she is unmarried in a notably assertive manner. She is, to an extent, androgynous in nature; this character is portrayed as having typically ‘masculine’ qualities, whilst Hardy actively develops her feminine nature – Bethsheba’s attraction of no fewer than three suitors, and particularly her flirtations with Boldwood, all serve to reinforce this in face of her assertive qualities. The proposition that a woman was capable of such leadership would generally be rejected in the society of the time, but, through granting her an inheritance, her status was assured by economic means.
There is a dual comment in this – the first of which identifies a prevailing inequality in terms of societal expectations, and secondly on the class distinctions which existed within that society. Artists of this period were revolting against the establishment in their work, and not accepting the ‘limitations’ society imposed upon them. Brontë, for example, could never have enjoyed success but for her use of a male pseudonym to publish her works in the earlier part of the 19th century. This observation is made irrespective of the message present in her works – the notable act in this instance is not the content published, but rather the means by which she achieved this. Class distinctions had, to an extent, diminished towards the middle of the 19th century, at least in urban centres – this made works such as Courbet’s The Village Maidens all the more controversial, as they were an unwelcome reminder of continuing class distinctions in provincial France.
Rejection of such limitations was not restricted to the realms of gender inequality and class. As has already been suggested, composers such as Hardy were criticising other aspects of the establishment – and religion was not excluded from this. Tess of the d’Urbervilles was one such text, in which the ‘purity’ of a woman was based on something outside of her control, and the hypocrisy of the pervading religion of the time was exposed in this. Similarly, Ibsen’s play Ghosts comments on a wide range of perceived societal problems, commenting also on religious hypocrisy through Pastor Manders’ concerns of social perception, and extending so far as to propose euthanasia as right, much to the chagrin of audiences.
Such overt criticisms may be attributed to new scientific observations, such as Darwin’s theory of evolution halfway through the century, and the philosophy of the late Enlightenment (specifically the writings of Kant and Rousseau) bore heavy influence upon many of the thinkers of the nineteenth century. Socially, a belief in absolute values dictated by a deity continued to be pervasive, but the artists of the period bore the scepticism of the previous century, instead adopting a belief system based around extreme relativism – and, in the case of some philosophers, a belief system based around the inversion of Judeo/Christian morality, a prominent example being the writings of Nietzsche, whose ideology focussed on the betterment of society through whatever means necessary, rejecting the conventional notion of ‘sin’.
The rise of socialism is also influential on the writings of many European authors, particularly in light of the industrial revolution, which resulted in the emergence of a ‘proletariat’ viewed by observers as the victims of an unregulated marketplace. Marx and Engels’ Communist Manifesto (extrapolating their theory of ‘scientific socialism’) proposed that social justice could only be brought about by means of a revolution, although this was by no means the only proposed solution. Figures such as John Stuart Mill proposed liberalism as a solution – an enlightened bourgeoisie whose action would reform capitalism to achieve social justice whilst preserving the notion of ownership. Socialism was a pervasive force in the literature of the nineteenth century, and, towards its end, of growing relevance to the general populace.
The literature of the nineteenth century was characterised by the emergence of these new philosophical and political ideologies, as well as the decline of absolute value systems mandated by religious belief systems. Towards the end of the century, individualism was an emergent force, and, as the feminist movement began to gain support, compositions of the period came to reflect that also.
Despite the changes in philosophy seen to have taken place in literary circles, oppression of free expression by artists continued throughout the century – but this is not reflected in the literature created so much as circumstances and correspondence regarding it. The work of more controversial composers such as Henrik Ibsen, Richard Wagner and Émile Zola, amongst others, was all subject to much criticism, as the views communicated in their work, as with that of innumerable other artists, clashed with a society still reluctant to accept their liberated ideals.
26 May 2005
Or maybe just “extended stress”? Either way.
I’ve got a draft due at the end of next week, but ironically I’m not worried about that so much. Of greater concern is the bundle of paper that has, for the past several months, sat relatively dormant atop a speaker in my room. So… umm… the glue is getting a workout this weekend. Note to self – buy glue.
Haphazard organisation is permitted, perhaps even encouraged – insert some rubbish about reflecting creativity here. I believe in sponteneity and a certain extent of anarchy in composition, but, in my experience, there’s little that can’t be actually coherently documented – in fact, ‘sponteneity’ generally has a catalyst, although our ability to recollect these circumstances will fail. Essentially, I’m going to prepare a document I have little faith in the authenticity of. But that’s okay, provided I do it well, and make it look substantial.
Gaps are creativity. Or something.
As for the draft that is due, I consider that to be more of a process that must be undertaken at some point, rather than anything of inherent importance. Which, it may be added, is something of an inversion of my perspective of some months ago when I first submitted a proposal. Initially, I believed the end product was ultimate, and the process was a necessary evil that must be undertaken to placate markers.
I suppose not that much has changed – I’ve just refined my viewpoints somewhat. The documentation of process is still a necessary evil, but I don’t feel like the end product is so vital. Don’t understand that as my saying “I’m demotivated”… I’m perfectly fine in terms of that.
I now respect process as necessary for the creation of complex ideas, and the shaping of direction from a bunch of (mostly) unrelated threads. Right now, however, I perceive the idea (“perceive” because it may change, of course) to have reached closure. I recognise the plot in its entirety. I could now talk any individual through the story, verbally, albeit perhaps without the same eloquence that may be achieved on paper, sans sponteneity.
Of course, the process of the writing itself refines, but… I don’t mind the idea as is. And that’s what the process is about. Ideas. Not tangible sentences, structure, semantics and implicit post-modernist (contrived) nuance, but concepts. Sometimes, concepts work better than their extrapolated cousins. Not, it must be said, in an underdeveloped way – but simply in terms of power of expression. And confidence.
I think that’s a big part of it, actually. Recognising you have an idea and only you can put it onto paper. That it won’t go anywhere from your mind, unless someone else thinks of it, at which point it ceases to be your idea. The confidence that justice can be done to a notion. Writing something that will be read, and that the author is prepared to have read. That it can be adequately represented — this is my greatest concern.
- a work placement
- new technology at school
- a web development proposal
- weblogs
- cynicism
- influential people/authors of related texts
- other “stuff” I’ve read, influencing style
25 May 2005
I stumbled across the website of Huh?, an “enclave of new-age e-movers.”
If you’re still not convinced, we’ll show you lots of marketing research and consulting cost analysis and global design positioning strategy reports to confuse you and hopefully convince you that we’re so knowledgeable you couldn’t possibly succeed without us. Because you can’t. So don’t even try.
Quality stuff!
Via… somewhere, but I’ve honestly forgotten.
24 May 2005
Attended this one this afternoon – it was rather impressive, with over 600 exhibitors. I was surprised by the prevalence of open-source businesses there… that, along with VoIP, were probably the two emergent technologies this year. There were also the usual business CRM/”knowledge” drones, but they generally stuck to themselves, so that was okay.
Aside from that, various content management systems were out in force – including one or two that apparently haven’t caught onto the semantic web yet. Most notably, one was demoing their CMS on a massive plasma screen with blatantly obvious character encoding errors everywhere (you know, characters displaying as black diamonds with question marks). I quizzed one of them about it and he basically said that it was something to do with their not demoing it on a live site. Bull.
If you can’t get that sort of stuff right at a trade show, when you’re trying to sell products, what are the chances of actually being able to deliver?
Another provider, Netcat.biz, seemed to have the right idea in terms of sematics at least in their presentation at CeBIT, but a quick check of their own website reveals a lack of a DOCTYPE, despite their use of CSS for presentation and a not-too-horrible (or relatively easy to patch up) markup situation.
There’s still clearly a market for truly accessible content management, although I doubt many business customers would actually know the difference. Unfortunately, that’s the reality of it, and possibly why neither of these two companies (there were other CMS exhibitors, but those two stood out as most ‘impressive’, regardless as to the quality of their solution) have bothered to develop such a product.
Sigh.
Whilst I’m on a bit of a rant, the exhibition had a blatantly sexist culture happening. ATI and Sapphire were probably the worst offenders, employing lycra bodysuits to attract attention, but they were by no means the only ones. Short skirts were the norm for many female salespeople at the event – one has to wonder when the IT industry is going to grow up.
In all, however, the event was impressive – signage and event displays were wonderfully over-the-top, exhibitors, for the most part, knew what they were talking about, and free coffee abounded!