( Olivia Snow ) Patcnews June 10, 2018 The Patriot Conservative News Tea Party Network Reports Olivia Snow © All Copyrights reserved By Patcnews

 

Hi there!

My name is Olivia Snow, and I am a recent graduate of Brigham Young University who studied interdisciplinary humanities and English literature with a minor in editing. When I’m not in devouring as many Brandon Sanderson books as I can, I am watching Star Trek, painting with my acrylics, or spending time with my dog, Indigo. My life experience thus far has given me a desire to enrich human communication, and I aspire to refine the exchange of creative thought by editing written language and designing print and digital publications.
Please feel free to look at my résumé and explore my editing, writing, and design samples. If you would like to contact me, please send me an email or fill out the form on the “Contact Me” page.

Connect with me on LinkedIn and read my profile on Mormon Insights.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

OLIVIA SNOW

 

editing  |  writing  |  design

 EDUCATION

Brigham Young University (BYU), 2013–2017   |   3.91/4.00 GPA (Phi Kappa Phi)

B.A. in interdisciplinary humanities: English literature   |   4.00/4.00 GPA

Minor in editing   |   4.00/4.00 GPA

WORK EXPERIENCE

Assistant Editor for Utah Life Magazine   |   June 2017–December 2017
Wrote, edited, and photographed editorial content for a bimonthly print magazine.
Managed freelancers, designed the website (www.UtahLifeMag.com), and designed layout samples OF Recommendations References

Please feel free to ask for the contact information for my references—just send me an email at oliviabrowningsnow@gmail.com, and I will get back to you as soon as I can. I am happy to provide professional as well as personal references. Also, I invite you to read some of the testimonials below from people who have worked closely with me in various circumstances.
Leadership, editing, and training Sarah Keenan, Writing and Editing Intern at Liahona Magazine
Olivia was my editor in chief when I worked as the managing editor at the BYU linguistic journal, Schwa. I had worked with Olivia many times before in editing classes, but I never really understood her competence at every aspect of editing and her natural ability to lead others until I worked under her in the student journal. When Olivia inherited the title of editor in chief, the Schwa team had no returning members other than herself. Since the last staff had not published anything the previous semester, she also had no experience completely publishing a journal issue. Olivia recruited 20 other students (myself included), most of which attended every meeting and committed to returning next year. She got people excited about editing and, since a lot of the newcomers were inexperienced with editing, she also gave multiple trainings to help the staff improve their edits. She learned everything she needed to know about publishing a journal in her free time, and had a new issue of Schwa to present the staff at the end of the semester. Olivia is an excellent leader and will be a huge benefit to anyone looking for a great editor.
Diligence, work ethic, and attitude Rebecca Cazanave, Freelance Writer and Editor
I have worked with Olivia for over six months now and have been extremely impressed with her diligence, work ethic, and attitude. She gives 100% into every project she tackles, and it shows in the quality of product she produces. One of her most impressive attributes that I have noticed is her motivation to get something done right and to get it done immediately. She is a pleasure to associate with, and I would highly recommend her for any position.
Enthusiasm, organization, and confidence
Audrey Madsen, Student at BYU
The reason I stick with Schwa is because I find Olivia’s example of leadership skills as valuable to me as the editing experience. She has contagious enthusiasm, she is organized and on top of things (but without micromanaging), she values each team member and helps us feel important (which sparks creativity), and she has the rare trait of being both confident and humble at the same time. Olivia reminds me of a devotional where Liz Wiseman spoke about “multipliers”—leaders who are not only intelligent themselves but who bring out the intelligence of everyone around them. Olivia is truly one of my heroes!

Editor in chief of BYU’s linguistics journal (Schwa)   |   September 2017–December 2017
Organized and led team of  editors and designers to produce a biannual publication
Applied skills in substantive editing, copyediting, and design

Teaching assistant for linguistics, humanities, and digital humanities classes   |   June 2016–present
Worked with students one-one-one to refine writing and design skills
Taught a class once a week and graded essays
Worked for professors Cynthia Hallen, Gary Gardner, and Debbie Harrison

Research Assistant for the BYU Linguistics and English Language Department   |   April–June 2016
Transcribed documents from the 1800s for Dr. Cynthia Hallen’s research on Emily Dickinson
Assisted in editing and drafting a scholarly book for publication

Intern transcriber for for WWII veteran accounts with Dr. Don Norton   |    June–September 2016
Edited interviews to conform to Standard American English
Reorganized discourse to increase readability

RELEVANT COURSEWORK

English Language 430, Editing for Publication
Led team of designers to create images for Mormon Insights and completed substantive edits

English Language 410, Genre and Substantive Editing
Principles of book publishing and training in graphical, index, and substantive editing

English Language 350, Basic Editing Skills
Copyediting principles found in the Chicago Manual of Style

English Language 322, Modern American Usage
Current usage conventions of Standard American English

Digital Humanities 230, Intro to Print Publishing
Design and layout skills in Adobe Illustrator, Photoshop, and InDesign

English 218, Intro to Creative Writing
Wrote short fiction, poetry, and nonfiction

SKILLS AND INTERESTS

Familiarity with the Chicago Manual of Style
Adobe skills in Illustrator, Photoshop, and InDesign
Proficiency with WordPress
Mid-level Spanish, written and spoken
A passion for enriching human communication

 

Photography Samples 

 

POETRY

A Mermaid Vacations in Flathead Lake

I skipped off the dock
like a flat-iron rock flung into the bay,
a grand jeté on the waves.
There was no splash.
There wasn’t even a splish.
I slipped into watery pantyhose,
the slick silver shark of Bigfork, Montana.
Under my cutting gills, entombed in my air-womb,
a terrible oxygen crept to my fingernails,
which sliced through the snake-green slime
that consummated with waterlogged wood.
I deflated my balloon body down the ladder
until my spider hair canoodled the sand,
and I shimmied under the dock’s bottom
like a crab on a bad day.
Freshwater champagne bubbles raced me
to the air pocket under the marina.
My tongue split the surface,
and a childhood fear dripped down my tail
like the water drops from the wet feet
that marched above my elastic-wrapped head.
Sticking my fingers through whistle-gray planks,
sinking their algae-curled tips into blush-baked flesh,
I grew butter-knife fins and penny scales
and never walked again.

SCHOLARLY WRITING

 

Disney’s Zootopia as a Modified Trickster Tale: Reconciliation for a Racist Past

It was not until I took a humanities class at Brigham Young University that discussed the controversy surrounding Song of the South that I comprehended the movie’s disagreeable nature: the film and its Disneyland counterpart feature underlying racist qualities. However, in 2016, Disney released Zootopia, a film about different animal species working together that provides an obvious allegory to overcoming racism. As I watched Zootopia, I felt that some aspects Song of the South damaged were mended in Disney’s new film.
The shocking similarities between Song of the South and Zootopia beg for comparison. Both movies not only incorporate elements of trickster tales—specifically those of African American folklore—but also modify those tales in various ways. These parallels between the movies suggest that Zootopia and Song of the South are connected somehow. Although some movie critics argue that Song of the South is not racist and that Disney has no interest in offering political commentary, my exploration of the films suggest that Zootopia is Disney’s restitution for the company’s racist trickster-tale modifications in Song of the South. In Zootopia, Disney again modifies trickster tales to achieve a progressive commentary on racial issues, which invites the audience to join the fight against racial injustice.

Is Song of the South racist?

Before we start comparing the two movies, we have to ask: is Song of the South even racist? Does Disney have something to apologize for? There are people who believe that Song of the South is not racist. Some might argue that the film was a historical milestone in African American history because James Baskett, the actor who played Uncle Remus, was the first African American male to win an Academy Award. If the movie is so racist, how did it facilitate this landmark achievement? Although Baskett’s accomplishment is an important triumph in African American history, Song of the South still contains many racist elements that sadly overshadow Baskett’s milestone for black history. These issues include the ambiguous time period (did the movie start pre- or post-slave era?), subservient black roles (the black servants say “yes’m”), and the portrayal of black people who seem to happily accept slavery (the slave-like laborers sing cheerfully while working in the plantation). These examples are just a few of the many racial concerns in Song of the South.
It is also important to note that the numerous criticisms of the movie far outnumber the defenses. In fact, when I googled “Song of the South,” most results included discussions of the movie’s racist qualities. However, criticism of the movie is not found only in online forums. Peggy Russo, author of “Uncle Walt’s Uncle Remus: Disney’s Distortion of Harris’s Hero,” provides multiple negative reviews of Song of the South that were given when the movie was released. She quotes Walter F. White, NAACP’s executive secretary in 1946, when she discusses how the NAACP “issued a statement…protesting the perpetuation of ‘a dangerously glorified picture of slavery’” (26). Russo also describes how the National Urban League viewed the film as “another…perpetuation of the stereotype casting of the Negro in the servant role” (26). These reviews are but two of many, and, in the end, the only voices that really matter are those of the African American community. Because organizations like the NAACP and the National Urban League have spoken out against Song of the South, we should support their view and consider the movie racist.

Does Disney even care about politics?

In order to recognize Zootopia as Disney’s restitution for racist features in Song of the South, it is important to understand Disney’s participation in the political sphere. Does Disney even have a political agenda? Would Disney Studios make a movie like Zootopia in order to impart a political message? Richard Breaux, professor of ethnic and racial studies at University of Wisconsin-La Crosse, explains in his paper about Disney’s Princess and the Frog (the first Disney film to star an African American character) that Disney claims to have no interest in making political commentary through its movies. Breaux quotes Kathy Franklin, vice president of Disney’s Global Studio Franchise Development, when he says that Disney “was neither trying to make a social statement nor did it ‘make a conscious decision to say we need an African American princess’” (413). Statements like Franklin’s are rare; Disney Studios is usually silent about the political implications of its movies, especially when it comes to race. Breaux says that Disney has “presented itself as a racially neutral, colorblind corporation with no intention of making a political statement” (413). Although Disney’s desire to paint itself as an impartial, monochromatic corporation, the company’s recent productions speak otherwise. For example, because Zootopia includes such a blatant moral warning against racial stereotyping, it would be naïve to claim that Disney had no intention to involve racial elements in the movie (more on Zootopia’s message on stereotyping later). Zootopia suggests that Disney does indeed participate in the political sphere, and therefore would be able to produce a politically sparked movie that could atone for the racist Song of the South.

Trickster Tales

Now that I have established that Song of the South is seen as a racist film and that Disney seems to now place political commentary in its movies, I can now explore the final preliminary step: what trickster tales are, where they came from, and what their purpose is. Trudier Harris, an English professor at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, defines trickster tales as stories about “animals or characters who, while ostensibly disadvantaged and weak in a contest of wills, power, and/or resources, succeed in getting the best of their larger, more powerful adversaries.” In African American folklore, the trickster figure (the prey) is commonly a rabbit, while the animal the trickster has to overcome (the predator) is commonly a fox. Sound familiar?
Knowing the features of trickster tales is essential to understanding the connection between Song of the South and Zootopia, but it is also important to understand where trickster tales came from and what their original purpose was. Harris describes how trickster tales originated in oral stories told by African slaves brought to America. She also explains how the tales were later recorded by Joel Chandler Harris, who published a collection of the tales in a book titled Uncle Remus: His Songs and His Sayings. Joel Chandler Harris wrote his book to share the “the folk-lore of the old plantation” (J. Harris 1). The history of trickster tales is closely related to the purpose of the tales. Trudier Harris notes that the trickster tales of the slavery-era “contain[ed] serious commentary on the inequities of existence in a country where the promises of democracy were denied to a large portion of the citizenry.” The purpose of these tales was to criticize the oppression against the African slaves; the tales reflected the lives of the people telling them, exploring the persecution they faced.

Song of the South as a Modified Trickster Tale

Trickster tales are present in Song of the South. While trickster tales themselves are not marked as racist, Song of the South is. Although some critics have theories about what exactly makes Song of the South racially insensitive, my research suggests that some of the racist elements are a result of Disney’s modifying the original trickster tales.
Before I discuss how Disney modified the tales, it is necessary to illustrate how Song of the South can even be linked to trickster tales. Besides the obvious connection that the animated scenes in Song of the South are based on Joel Chandler Harris’s collection of trickster tales, which Walt Disney bought the rights to in 1939 (20–21), such tales are also exemplified by the animated characters. Brer Rabbit, the trickster figure, is continually threatened by Brer Fox and Brer Bear, the predators. Brer Rabbit uses his wit and cleverness multiple times to overcome his attackers. For example, when Brer Fox catches Brer Rabbit and threatens him, Brer Rabbit begs, “Only please, Brer Fox, please don’t throw me into the briar patch” (Song of the South). Wanting to harm Brer Rabbit, Brer Fox throws the rabbit into the briar patch, unknowingly delivering Brer Rabbit safely home. The elements of the trickster figure (a rabbit), the predator (the fox), and the trickster’s ability to outwit the predator combine to make the typical trickster tale.
Although many of the elements of the movie constitute the usual attributes of a trickster tale, Disney modifies other features of the tales, modifications that result in some of the film’s racial insensitivity. For example, the focus of the film is not on the African American folklore; only three tales are present in the film. The rest of the movie follows the little boy, Johnny, in his adventures on the plantation and in his struggling relationship with his separated parents. In fact, of the movie’s 94 minutes in length, only 25 of those minutes present the Brer Rabbit stories. The short amount of time dedicated to the tales is partly a result of Walt Disney’s attempts to save money (Russo 20), but Russo offers another explanation as to why Disney did not focus on the Brer Rabbit stories: Disney’s desire to make the movie a commentary on divorce, “a popular topic in 1946 because of the rising divorce rate” (23). However, we know from Trudier Harris’s article that trickster tales were originally supposed to be a commentary about slavery and racial injustice. These differing purposes create a problem: the modification is disrespectful not only to the folklore itself but also to the authors of the folklore as well as the authors’ descendants. Russo also claims that Disney did not have an African American audience in mind when Song of the South was created (27). A white-only audience would enable the movie creators to strip the trickster tales of their original purpose and replace it with their own moral lesson about divorce.
In addition to downplaying the tales and replacing their purpose, Disney modified the intensity of the trickster tales. Russo suggests that Brer Fox and Brer Bear “come across as inept bullies picking on the smart little kid on the block, and Brer Rabbit never seems in much danger” (25). Modifying the violence level reflects Disney’s desire to tame and sweeten the tales for child audiences. However, the violence in the trickster tales reflects the time period that they originated from: the slavery era. Because these tales mirror the trials of the slaves, taming the tale is like taming history. This modification belittles the grave oppression that slaves faced.
A third modification that Disney made to the original trickster tales is the demeaning portrayal of Uncle Remus. Although Uncle Remus is not one of the animal characters, he acts as Joel Chandler Harris’s narrator for the tales, and is therefore closely related to the trickster tales. Many movie critics have commented on the various reasons why the Uncle Remus character is a racist representation of a black man. Bernard Wolfe, an American writer, describes Uncle Remus as “an Uncle Tom Negro telling amusing stories for the little white boy, son of the plantation owners.” Wolfe adds that “this painful reminder of slavery times, in which a grown Negro man is depicted as the playmate or nursemaid of a ‘boy,’ is offensive to contemporary American Negroes and some whites” (42). Surely this portrayal is not how Joel Chandler Harris intended his narrator to be. Disney’s modification of the Uncle Remus character from moral teacher to playmate results in a racist projection of Joel Chandler Harris’s hero.

Zootopia as a Modified Trickster Tale

Like Song of the South, Zootopia incorporates elements of trickster tales. Although the movie is not advertised as having anything to do with African American folklore, the movie’s use of trickster-tale features implies a connection. Because Zootopia is such a recent film, there has been little time for scholars to explore it; thus, my analysis is my own interpretation.
So how does Zootopia involve trickster tales? Judy Hops, the protagonist, is a rabbit. The second main character is a fox named Nick. Judy and Nick exhibit the typical trickster rabbit versus fox storyline that is found in trickster tales. Nick fulfills the stereotype of a predator; he is portrayed as a conman, trying to swindle Judy. Judy similarly fulfills her role as trickster by tricking Nick into confessing his tax fraud into a tape recorder. However, Nick is not the only predator that Judy faces. Zootopia follows Judy through many confrontations with animals who are physically larger and stronger than she is (such as the mayor, a lion; the police chief, a buffalo; the schoolyard bully, a fox, etc.), but Judy consistently uses her cleverness and wit to overcome them.
In addition to these elements, Zootopia follows the traditional structure of trickster tales when it comes to the intensity of the violence. In Song of the South, the violence levels are lowered to the point of disrespecting the tales’ original purpose while Zootopia preserves it. For example, when Judy is trapped in a display in the natural history museum with Nick, Assistant Mayor Bellwether shoots Nick with a poisoned night-howler bullet, with hopes of turning him “savage.” Bellwether wants Nick to attack and kill Judy, but Nick only appears to fatally bite her neck. Although this whole scene is just an act put on by Judy and Nick, for a moment Judy appears to be dead. This moment highlights how Zootopia tries to follow the trickster tales’ use of violence in a way that is still acceptable for child audiences.
Now that I have connected Zootopia and trickster tales, I will explore how Zootopia has made modifications to these tales. For example, Judy Hops uses not only her wit and cleverness to overcome bigger animals but also her high sense of morality. When Judy is chasing a thief, she spots a stray donut rolling toward a small mouse, about to squish the small creature. Although becoming sidetracked means possibly letting the thief run free, Judy runs to the small mouse’s rescue and catches the donut before it kills the mouse. This mouse ends up being the daughter of a mafia boss named Mr. Big. Judy’s selfless act allows Judy to earn the respect and aid of Mr. Big. This relationship with Mr. Big not only ends up saving Judy’s life (Mr. Big’s daughter begs her father not to “ice” Judy, because Judy saved the daughter from the donut) but also enables Judy to have Mr. Big as a valuable ally, which would not have been possible if it were not for Judy’s high morals.
In addition to modifying personality traits, Disney modifies the trickster tale by reversing the role of the oppressed figure. In traditional trickster tales, the predator oppresses the prey. However, in Zootopia, the prey oppresses the predator. The big dilemma in Zootopia is that many predators have gone “savage,” meaning they have reverted to their animalistic tendencies toward violence. Because only predators have been affected, the characters believe that the reversion is a result of biology: only predators can go “savage.” Singling out predators causes the prey in the city of Zootopia to fear the predators and oppress them. For example, when a tiger sits down next to a rabbit family on the bus, the mother rabbit eyes the tiger suspiciously and pulls her child in close to her, even though the tiger is harmless. Another example is when the police department’s receptionist, a cheetah, is demoted because of his predator status.
Why would Disney modify the trickster tale in this way? Back when Joel Chandler Harris recorded trickster tales from the plantations, the slaves were like prey—under complete control of the predator, the slave owner. However, in modern times, there are many people who, sadly, view African Americans as predators. This awful stereotyping is discussed in Shaun Gabbidon’s et al. book African American Classics in Criminology & Criminal Justice. Gabbidon examines how black people have been demonized, resulting in many people viewing blacks as “dangerous” (349). Disney reversed the original structure of prey versus predator so that modern viewers would be able to apply the movie to their own lives and time period. Zootopia’s highlighting of stereotyping is especially poignant in light of current events of the last few years. Racial profiling has been a hot topic recently, especially with the growing #BlackLivesMatter movement. Perhaps it is no coincidence that Zootopia and #BlackLivesMatter originated around the same time. According to Marc Gaser, senior editor of Variety online, Zootopia was announced to the public in August 2013, a little over a year after the formation of the #BlackLivesMatter movement. Disney might have observed the growing political tensions and the produced its own take on the matter: Zootopia.
In addition to commenting on racial profiling, Zootopia demonstrates that stereotypes are not always true. Because Disney reversed the roles of prey and predator, the audience learns that villains are not always who we expect them to be. For example, although animals like lions, tigers, and bears exist in Zootopia, the truly violent animals are the sheep. The mastermind behind the savage-animal plot (Assistant Mayor Bellwether) is a sheep, and the violent attackers on the train scene (Bellwether’s minions) are also sheep. Stereotypically, sheep are gentle animals, but Zootopia illustrates that people (or rather animals) are not always who they appear to be. This message is especially relevant in today’s world, where black people are often automatically assumed to be criminals, and white criminals seem to be given lenient punishments. Zootopia invites the audience to remember that villains come in every color, reminding us that we should never be quick to judge someone on the basis of their race.
Another modification Disney made to the trickster tales is that the rabbit and the fox work together to overcome challenges. Although Nick is Judy’s opponent at first, they quickly become friends. In the original tales, the rabbit and the fox would have never befriended each other. Disney’s decision to bring the two together illustrates a moral lesson that we as audience members should adopt: love everyone, no matter what color, shape, size, or species they are. This modification enables Disney to call the viewers to action, to join in the fight against racial injustice, working together to love one another.

Conclusion

This call to action is what enables Zootopia to act as atonement for Song of the South. The invitation to fight against racism is a result of modifications that Disney made to the original structure of trickster tales. Unlike Song of the South, those modifications resulted in a racially progressive commentary against such injustices as racial profiling and stereotyping. Russo says that Disney would need to make a new version of Song of the South in order to reconcile the racist image it creates in that film (32). However, I think that Disney does not need a new version of Song of the South; I see Zootopia as Disney’s reconciliation. It seems that many other viewers have accepted Disney’s peace offering as well; movie critics have praised Zootopia and its timely message against racism. For example, Rotten Tomatoes, a popular movie review website, says that “Zootopia offers a thoughtful, inclusive message that’s as rich as timely as its…animation.” Rotten Tomatoes’s view is shared with other movie critics (see New York Times and Rolling Stone). Although Disney has made no official apology for Song of the South, I am pleased to see the racially progressive commentary Zootopia offers, because it shows the start of a healing process. In Zootopia, when Judy apologizes to Nick for speaking against predators, she says, “I was ignorant, irresponsible, and small minded.” Perhaps Judy’s apology is Disney’s apology too. No longer will Disney be “ignorant, irresponsible, and small minded” in its movies; the company will try to produce films that are inclusive and are filled with messages of love and equality.

BACK TO WRITING SAMPLES

Works Cited

Barnes, Brooke. “‘Zootopia’ Tops the Box Office.” New York Times. New York Times, 6 March 2016. Web. 5 July 2016.
Breaux, Richard. “After 75 Years of Magic: Disney Answers Its Critics, Rewrites African American History, and Cashes In on Its Racist Past.” Journal of African American Studies 14.4 (2010): 397-416. Web.
Campbell, Brent. “Baskett, James (1904-1948).” BlackPast.org. Web. 5 July 2016.
Gabbidon, Shaun L., Helen Taylor Greene, and Vernetta D. Young. African American Classics in Criminology & Criminal Justice. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2002. Web.
Gaser, Marc. “D23 Expo: Disney Reveals Animated ‘Zootopia’ for 2016.” Variety. Variety, 9 Aug. 2013. Web. 13 July 2016.
Harris, Joel Chandler. Uncle Remus: His Songs and His Sayings. New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 1921. Print.
Harris, Trudier. “The Trickster in African American Literature.” Freedom’s Story, TeacherServe©. National Humanities Center. 12 July 2016.
Lester, Neal A. “Disney’s the Princess and the Frog: The Pride, the Pressure, and the Politics of being a First.” The Journal of American Culture 3.4 (2010): 294. Web.
Russo, Peggy A. “Uncle Walt’s Uncle Remus: Disney’s Distortion of Harris’s Hero.” The Southern Literary Journal 25.1 (1992): 19-32. Web.
 Song of the South. Dir. Wilfred Jackson. Perf. James Baskett. Walt Disney Pictures, 1946. Film.
Travers, Peter. “Disney’s New Animated Movie May Be the Most Subversive Movie of the Year.” Rev. of Zootopia, dir. Bryon Howard. Rolling Stone 3 Mar. 2016: Web.
Watts, Steven. “Walt Disney: Art and Politics in the American Century.” The Journal of American History 82.1 (1995): 84-110. Web.
Wolfe, Bernard. “Uncle Remus and the Malevolent Rabbit.” Mother Wit from the Laughing Barrel. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1973.
“Zootopia (2016).” Rev. of Zootopia, dir. Byron Howard. Rotten Tomatoes. Web.
 Zootopia. Dir. Byron Howard. Perf. Ginnifer Goodwin. Prod. Perf. Walt Disney Pictures, 2016. Film.

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Learning to Die in The Course of Empire: Thomas Cole and the Anthropocene

In many Romance languages, the words for story and history are the same, suggesting a strong link between the two denotations. For Hayden White, historian and literary critic, the way we organize history is through narrative (The Historical Text as Literary Artifact). Depending on the perspective, a history can be labeled as a comedy or tragedy. Thomas Cole’s five-part series, The Course of Empire, appears to portray the history of human’s interaction with nature as a tragic narrative, illustrating the rise and fall of civilization. Although painted at the dawn of the Industrial Revolution, Cole’s prophetic series provides a new perspective on the tragedy of the Anthropocene. In this modern era where the death of our civilization looms as an inevitability, The Course of Empire offers a look into our near future, where mankind’s footprint on the earth is no more than ruins buried under the healing hand of time. Looking at Cole’s series through the lens of climate change gives modern viewers an opportunity to learn how to die in the Anthropocene and provides an example of how the humanities can help turn our hearts toward environmental stewardship.
Before discussing Cole’s series, it is helpful to understand the meaning and consequences of the Anthropocene. Clive Hamilton and his co-writers, authors of The Anthropocene and the Global Environmental Crisis, provide three definitions of the Anthropocene: (1) the interval in geologic history proceeding the Holocene, (2) a shift in the Earth characterized by several different systems, such as sea-level rise and species extinction, and (3) mankind’s influence on the geo- and biologic landscape, or as Hamilton puts it, “The cumulative impact of civilization” (2–3). These definitions imply that humans have become as much a geological influence on the planet as, if not more than, forces such as volcanic activity and plate tectonics. Hamilton also points out that these definitions suggest that “human inhabitants of our planet will face, in a time lapse of just a few decades, global environmental shifts of an unprecedented scale and speed” (4). These environmental shifts will usher in dangerous consequences; the threats we face shake the foundation upon which we live—figuratively and literally. NASA’s website on global warming lists the various effects of climate change: shrinking glaciers, intense heat waves, more frequent droughts, stronger hurricanes, rising sea levels, etc. Although some consequences can be viewed as more positive changes (e.g., longer growing seasons), the negative effects overshadow the beneficial ones. The earth is in crisis.
It is true that these consequences will take decades to reach their full effect, which is one of various reasons behind why many people do not prioritize environmental stewardship. However, according to the head of the US Pacific Command, Admiral Samuel J. Locklear III, “Global climate change is the greatest threat the United States faces, more dangerous than terrorism, Chinese hackers, and North Korean nuclear missiles” (qtd. in Scranton 14). Instead of thinking of the effects of climate change as something distant and detached from us, we should perceive the threats, as environmental theorist Rob Nixon phrases, as a “slow violence,” which “occurs gradually and out of sight, a violence of delayed destruction that is dispersed across time and space” (2). Using his coined phrase, Nixon poses a question: “How can we convert into image and narrative the disasters that are slow moving and long in the making, disasters that are anonymous and that star nobody, disasters that are attritional and of indifferent interest to the sensation-driven technologies of our image world?” (3). Similarly, Aldo Leopold claims that “we can be ethical only toward what we see” (qtd. in Scranton 14). The effects of climate change are invisible to many people, especially those who do not suffer from poverty (those in third-world countries are directly and negatively affected by the changing climate). These dilemmas leave environmentalists asking a central question: How can we get people to care about something that does not immediately or severely affect them?
This question captures one of the philosophical challenges we face as humans in the Anthropocene. Roy Scranton—environmental theorist, stoicist, and humanist—believes that the greatest challenge for us is “understanding that this civilization is already dead” (23). Although this realization may seem depressing, Scranton poses that learning to die in the Anthropocene can be a great benefit to mankind and to earth. As a soldier, Scranton understands first-hand what it means to picture one’s death to the point of detachment. Only after he envisioned the myriad of potential deaths before him could he continue with his work sanely, a practice that echoes Yamamoto Tsunetomo’s teachings in his eighteenth-century Samurai code, the Hagakure, where he writes, “The Way of the Samurai is found in death” (4). Contemplating death to a point where one already believes oneself to be dead resembles death itself. Scranton writes, “Study and contemplation draw our soul out of us to some extent and keep it busy outside the body which is a sort of apprenticeship and semblance of death” (91). This pondering allows us to practice our own death, enabling us to prepare for the only inevitable outcome of our lives—the end of our earthly existence.
Only by imagining the worst that could happen to us collectively, the destruction of civilization, will we find the courage to change the way we live. Scranton posits that the only way humanity can survive the Anthropocene is to recognize and accept the end of our current civilization. We have outgrown the way we conduct our existence; burning fossil fuels, clearing land for agriculture, and capitalistic industry have crippled us to a point where we will be unable to live the way we do for much longer (“The Consequences of Climate Change”). For Scranton, there is no other choice for us but to “[let] go of this particular way of life and its ideas of identity, freedom, success, and progress” (24). The very discourse of our time has to change, the epistemes must shift, and our definition of humanity needs to be revised. Scranton calls for an upheaval of our current perceptions of our existence:

In order for us to adapt to this strange new world, we’re going to need more than scientific reports and military policy. We’re going to need new ideas. We’re going to need new myths and new stories, a new conceptual understanding of reality, and a new relationship to the deep polyglot traditions of human culture that carbon-based capitalism has vitiated through commodification and assimilation. Over and against capitalism, we will need a new vision of who “we” are. We need a new humanism—a newly philosophical humanism, undergirded by renewed attention to the humanities. (19)

So how would Scranton have us change the discourse of humanity? Through the humanities, which is an appropriate term that simultaneously alludes to the human race collectively and also the “learning or literature concerned with human culture, especially literature, history, art, music, and philosophy” (Dictionary.com). Through the humanities, humanity will find survival. The humanities allow us to enter into the emotional realm of history, inserting ourselves into the art, immersing ourselves in it, and obtaining new thoughts and perspectives as a result of our sacred experience with it. Because we understand history as a narrative, as White would argue, it is essential that we find works of art that present a story to us so that we can better connect with it. The Course of Empire illustrates history in a five-part chronicle, so it enables us to contemplate the tragic historical narrative that is not only in the paintings but also in our own future. This specific narrative provides us with a template to understand the human experience, and the humanities are the key to doing so more fully. With this gained understanding, we will be more able and willing to adapt to a world affected by climate change.
Cole’s The Course of Empire stands as an excellent example of a product of the humanities that allows us to learn how to die in the Anthropocene. The sequence illustrates the rise and fall of mankind. The first panel, “The Savage State,” depicts a stormy, forested scene. Clouds swirl sublimely around a mountain lit with the light of dawn. Humans are sparsely scattered throughout the trees and are dressed in clothing reminiscent of Native American skins and furs. The second panel, “The Arcadian or Pastoral State,” echoes the idealized landscapes of the European Romantics. A structure alluding to Stonehenge rests to the right of the same mountain from the previous panel. The trees have thinned out and have been replaced with agricultural land. Shepherds herd sheep, and women watch as their children play. It is an idealized scene. The next panel, “The Consummation of Empire” introduces a dramatic change to the landscape. Although the peak of the mountain is still visible, all of the natural landscape has been replaced with a white-marble city. Pleasure-seeking crowds flock among the classical architecture. At a shallow glance, this panel appears to exude progress and riches—the exceptionalism of civilization. However, a closer look reveals the immorality of civilization: sexual immodesty and gluttony are apparent in every corner. The next panel, “Destruction,” introduces the dark, smoky clouds and highlights the dangers of corruption. The once-white city is blackened from the ashes of burning buildings, women and children are killed, and armies clash, leaving only rubble behind. This utter destruction is calmed in the final panel, “Desolation,” where humanity exists only as a footprint on the landscape. This is the only panel that does not include human beings. All that remains from the last panel are a handful of picturesque ruins. The sun sets on two birds, and the mountain reemerges as a prominent feature. Nature covers the crumbled civilization; it looks peaceful—almost like a blanket of snow. The wounds that civilization inflicted upon the landscape are in the process of healing, and mankind’s harmful footprint is fading away. For the first time since the second panel, nature is more prominently displayed than civilization.
After viewing this panel, some may ask: “What narrative from history is this?” Instead of thinking of the series as a replication of the past, it is more useful to think of it as an allegory for the future. By placing ourselves into this series, we are more able to answer theorist Dipesh Chakrabarty’s summons: “We have to insert ourselves into a future ‘without us’ in order to be able to visualize it” (197–198). To harken back to Scranton, in order to learn how to die in the Anthropocene, we have to picture ourselves in the final panel where humanity does not survive. Again, we are able to place ourselves into a historical narrative that we can easily comprehend. Because the fifth panel shows no sign of living humans, only their aging ruins, we can follow Chakrabarty’s advice to see ourselves in a future “without us,” which is destined to happen. With this concept of humanity’s self-destruction as an unavoidable event in mind, Cole’s series becomes a prophetic journey for viewers to come to terms with the end of civilization. The title itself suggests that this destruction is not an accidental occurrence, but rather an inevitable end that is the result of human action. The word course stems from the Old French cors, which meant “run, running, flow of a river” (Online Etymology Dictionary). Just as sure as a river flows, civilization will come to an end. One major difficulty the world is facing in the fight against climate change is indifference; even with sufficient scientific understanding, many are unwilling to do anything about it. But Scranton’s call to action through learning to die in the Anthropocene opens up an entirely new door to responsiveness. Perhaps once people insert themselves into a humanless future, they will find a new motivation behind adapting to a changing climate.
Before exploring the nuances of what the series teaches us about death, it is helpful to discuss Cole’s relationship with nature. As an American painter living in the first half of the nineteenth century, Cole was well acquainted with the beauty and sacredness of nature. Cole enjoyed a widespread admiration as a Hudson River School artist, which was based “not only on his ability as a painter but also on his high ethical standards and deep religious feelings” (Huth 46). These ethical standards were captured in his treatment of nature in his artwork. His early pieces focused on the sublimity of natural landscapes (e.g., “Landscape with Tree Trunks” or “The Clove, Catskills”). However, his later work experienced a shift in theme. He began producing paintings with Biblical subjects, such as “St. John the Baptist Preaching in the Wilderness” or “The Garden of Eden.” Even with this difference in focus, Cole’s paintings still celebrated nature’s sacredness. Cole’s minister, Louis Noble, described Cole as “a youthful romantic in spiritual communion with nature” (qtd. in Miller). Cole’s relationship with nature was inspired by William Wordsworth’s philosophies. Biographer Angela L. Miller notes that this “intense communion with nature derived from Wordsworth’s religious and moral idealism was expressed in every one of Cole’s paintings,” including The Course of Empire (Miller). Therefore, it is not a stretch to analyze the series through an environmental lens.
Cole’s beliefs about nature were not limited to only views about himself; his paintings reflect his deep consideration about all of humanity’s relationship with the earth. His comprehension of our destructive influence on the world around us may have come to light during Cole’s first seventeen years in Lancashire, England, which had been an industrialized town since the eighteenth century. When Cole and his family moved to Steubenville, Ohio, via Philadelphia in 1820, he was very much aware of the great contrast between urbanized England and rural America. Miller comments, “To a greater extent than his American contemporaries, therefore, Cole sensed the fragility of the American wilderness, threatened by settlement and industry.” Cole’s heightened sense of human impact on nature is visible not only in his artwork (e.g., “The Oxbow on the Connecticut River”) but also in his poetry. In a poem titled “On seeing that a favorite tree of the Author’s had been cut down,” Cole writes, “Destroying man! What demon urg’d the speed / Of thine unpitying axe?” (lines 4–5). The term “destroying man” seems to be a pattern among Cole’s poetry and paintings, including The Course of Empire. The theme continues in his poem “Lament of the Forest” (originally titled “Complaint of the Forest,” but later altered by William Cullen Bryant), where Cole gives a voice to the trees and allows them to speak out about their woes from mankind’s interference (Marks 94). Cole’s writing about mankind and nature suggests that he sees human beings as a destructive force that through their own immorality and unethical perceptions of nature devastate the very landscape that sustains them.
Cole’s ideas about man’s destructive tendencies are prominently featured in The Course of Empire, which makes it a perfect candidate for Scranton’s theory of learning to die through the humanities. Jessica Friedlander, author of “Mastering the Hudson: A Study of Thomas Cole’s Lasting Impression on the Hudson River Valley,” discusses Cole’s anxieties about industry:

During the commission of one of his most famous works, called The Course of Empire, Cole expressed his concern with the frailty of nature and humankind’s insatiable thirst for industrial growth—a terrifying monster whose only interest with the natural world was to crush it. (76)

Cole’s concerns are expressed through the painting’s narrative. The first two panels, “The Savage State” and “The Arcadian or Pastoral State” depict a close human-nature relationship. People directly depend on the land. In the first painting, the most prominent human being is a hunter with a bow. A small teepee village is located on the right side of the frame, and is so small and seemingly insignificant that it creates a non-duality with its surroundings—almost as if it is just another part of the landscape. At first glance, this painting appears nothing more than a dramatic landscape; it isn’t until one takes a closer look that people are even visible. In the second painting, the human impact is more apparent, but the relationship between man and nature is still very intimate; they still live off the land directly. However, the first hint of moral corruption is evident in the boy in the bottom of the frame, who is drawing a stick figure with a sword—a symbol of the looming violence. The remainder of the allegory illustrates mankind’s detachment from nature. In “The Consummation of Empire,” the only parts of nature visible are distant mountain peaks and potted plants. This taming of nature reflects man’s control and vast influence over nature. They have replaced forests with marble, so to speak, and, as the fourth panel suggests, will suffer from the consequences. Cole seems to be drawing a connection between human excess and greed and distancing from nature, which prophetically illustrates our modern capitalistic society. A closer and more limited relationship with nature would mean a smaller economy, proving that sustainable environmentalism and capitalism cannot easily coexist. The final painting highlights the peace that comes once human corruption is eliminated. The weather has returned to its calm state; the smoke from the destructive fires has cleared. Nature becomes the driving force in the landscape once again. Vines creep up ruined columns and birds build their lives in a nest upon crumbling marble. The corruption is removed, and all that remains is nature’s soothing hand.
The narrative in The Course of Empire seems to indicate that Cole relates immorality with destruction, specifically that our lack of ethics will be our end. The classical architecture is analogous to the historical rise and fall of the Roman Empire. Miller writes, “The implied analogy with ancient Rome reflected Cole’s growing disillusionment with America’s cultural arrogance and what he felt was its unwitting re-enactment of previous historical cycles.” By drawing a parallel between modern times and the Roman Empire, Cole is again highlighting the inevitable nature of civilization’s destruction. Miller also notes how Cole draws upon various works of art that highlight other apocalyptic events, for example, “The Fifth Plague of Egypt” by Joseph Mallord William Turner. In the era of climate change, we can view Cole’s series as a warning against the cycle we are currently in: poisoning the environment from which we draw our livelihoods and lives. This cycle of civilization’s destruction present in the painting is paired well with Cole’s 1838 poem “On the Frore Shadow of Yon Mountain-steep”:

On the frore shadow of yon mountain-steep
I gaze remembering every tender dye
Of Summer and of Autumn, rich and deep,
The joyous forest’s gorgeous pride, and sigh
That the soft seasons speed so swiftly away
And Winter lingers with unkind delay—
I gaze; but not as once ‘twas mine to gaze
With heart too full of youthful hope for gloom
Ere those Belov’d Ones we did gently place
Within the confines of the Silent Tomb—
Since then the seasons wear a sadder hue
And Evening’s golden tints are faded too—

The first line mirrors the repeating image of the mountain in the series that silently watches the course of civilization take place. We as viewers are also “on the frore shadow of yon mountain steep,” watching the natural course play out. The poem also reflects the paintings by introducing a temporal element; while the poem travels from summer to winter, the painting presents dawn to dusk. Both summer and dawn signify life, while winter and dusk are symbolic of death—an inevitable course for all living things. Cole then speaks of “Belov’d ones” who were placed in a “Silent Tomb,” which seems to mirror the fourth panel, “Destruction,” where war and violence incite death. His final line in this poem aligns with the final panel, which is lit with the “evening’s golden tints.” But his final phrase “And Evening’s golden tints are faded too—” implies that the loss of humanity is a tragic one; however, in The Course of Empire, the end of civilization is presented as peaceful and picturesque. A soft light bathes the battered landscape, and everything appears to be contentedly still.
Cole’s portrayal of mankind’s elimination in “Desolation” draws some interesting implications about the Anthropocene. For Cole, the narrative of civilization’s self destruction is not necessarily tragic at all. If Cole were to witness our self-destruction today—meaning our harmful impact on the environment that will eventually and ironically harm us—he may mourn it, but he might also see it as just another chapter in the natural course of humanity. In his poem “Lines Written after a Walk on [a] Beautiful Morning in November,” Cole reveals his beliefs about transience and how death is just a natural part of the cycle: “So quickly fly / All beauteous things, we gaze and love—they die. / . . . Transient is the sun; / But earth rejoices as his course is run—” (lines 108–113). Note how Cole uses the word course—the same word he uses in the title of his five-part series. Cole’s beliefs about death are given a second witness in his poem “On seeing that a favorite tree of the Author’s had been cut down”: “But death sometimes leaves hope” (line 12). These poems supplement the fifth panel: humanity is gone, but the earth rejoices nonetheless. Nature and time will heal the wounds we have created.
Some radical environmentalists may approach climate change’s effects on human life in the same way that Cole seems to approach his series: that nature is better off without mankind. However, most environmental theorists do not share such extreme views but rather invite a more harmonious and self-aware co-existence with the earth. Scranton’s theories call for adaptation through accepting that we are already on an unavoidable course that will—not might—lead to our ruin. Although we are somewhere between the third and fourth panels, Scranton would have us imagine ourselves in the fifth panel, “Desolation.” Until we can insert ourselves into a situation where we no longer exist, we will not have the ability or motivation to survive in the Anthropocene. Scranton writes, “We are humanity. We are the dead” (94). Pondering products of the humanities, such as Cole’s The Course of Empire, that provide a window into our desolate future allows us to practice our death. Practicing death enables us to adapt to our changing environment. Even if some people witness their inevitable destruction and turn to apathy, perhaps this approach to the Anthropocene through the humanities will inspire others to respond to the call to action. Because climate change is such a large and complex problem, there is no one solution to ensuring everyone’s participation in helping the environment. But does that mean that we should not pursue Scranton’s advice? Even if it means only a handful of people respond positively, we should still act upon Scranton’s invitation, because every point counts when it comes to surviving climate change. The same argument exists in other environmental acts like recycling. If even just one person recycles, he or she is making a difference.
Both Cole and Scranton seem to be urging us to recognize our position on the inevitable course of civilization that stops for no one. This cycle happens on global and local settings. Each panel from Cole’s series is evident around the world; some areas are in “The Savage State” while others are in “Desolation.” Globally, however, we are closer to the end of the cycle than we think, and it is time that we envision the end so we can survive it. Scranton writes, “Accepting the truth of our end is the beginning of wisdom” (90). Perhaps we can begin a new cycle, accepting truth and beginning wisdom, and perhaps this new cycle will be our salvation. Although Cole’s paintings and Scranton’s theories suggest that we may never escape the course of civilization’s rise and fall in the Anthropocene, we can still find refuge among the humanities.

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Works Cited

Chakrabarty, Dipesh. “The Climate of History: Four Theses.” Critical Inquiry 35.2 (2008): 197-222. Web.
Cole, Thomas. The Course of Empire. Museum Collections, New York Historical Society Museum and Library, New York City, 1835, www.nyhistory.org/exhibit/course-empire. Accessed 3 June 2017.
Cole, Thomas. “Thomas Cole’s Poetry.” Thomas Cole’s Poetry. The University of Virginia Library. 1825. Web. 17 May 2017. <http://xtf.lib.virginia.edu/xtf/view?docId=chadwyck_ap%2FuvaGenText%2Ftei%2Fchap_AM1181.xml&chunk.id=d3&toc.id=d3&brand=default>.
“The Consequences of Climate Change.” Global Climate Change: Vital Signs of the Planet, NASA, climate.nasa.gov/effects/. Accessed 1 June 2017.
“Course.” Online Etymology Dictionary, Douglas Harper, www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=course. Accessed 1 June 2017.
Friedlander, Jessica. “Mastering the Hudson: A Study of Thomas Cole and His Lasting Impression on the Hudson River Valley.” The Hudson River Valley Review, vol. 23, no. 2, pp. 73–81. www.hudsonrivervalley.org/review/rvw_thomas_cole. Accessed 1 June 2017.
Hamilton, Clive, Christophe Bonneuil, and Francois Gemenne. The Anthropocene and the Global Environmental Crisis. Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge, 2015. Print.
“Humanity.” Dictionary.com, Dictionary.com, www.dictionary.com/browse/humanities. Accessed 1 June 2017.
Huth, Hans. Nature and the American: Three Centuries of Changing Attitudes. Berkeley and Loss Angeles, CA, University of California Press, 1957.
Marks, Alfred H. “Thomas Cole as Poet.” The Hudson River Valley Review, vol. 1, no. 2, pp. 73–81., pp. 92–96. www.hudsonrivervalley.org/review/pdfs/hvrr_1pt2_marks.pdf. Accessed 1 June 2017.
Miller, Angela L. “Cole, Thomas.” Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online. Oxford University Press. Web. 15 May. 2017. <http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T018539>.
Nixon, Rob. Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 2011. Print.
Scranton, Roy. Learning to Die in the Anthropocene: Reflections on the End of a Civilization. San Francisco, CA, City Lights Books, 2015.
Tsunetomo, Yamamoto. “Hagakure The Book of the Samurai.” Hagakure The Book of the Samurai, Translated by William Scott Wilson, www.kendo.org

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