One of my
classes, Benjamin and Adorno, focuses on the era of Enlightenment, which was
succeeded by 19th century Romanticism. Romanticism is one of my
absolute favourite eras to explore within literature, and I might write about a
few particular poems in future, but today I wanted to look into an aspect of
Enlightenment we covered in class today: nature. This post will probably be
nonsensical and personal, as I connect elements of the subject to my own life
in a way that barely serves any purpose.
The topic,
Enlightenment versus Romanticism was introduced with an overview of Benjamin’s The
Concept of Criticism in German Romanticism, a hefty read detailing the significance
of reflection upon reflection upon reflection of art, which forms the basis of
art. As we encounter art, we devise a reflection of that piece; this reflection
is followed by another reflection, and the cycle continues limitlessly. The infinite
nature of reflection is therefore an act, according to Fichte, to which we can
attribute a conscious awareness. Its infinite nature is also apparent in the
number of objects we observe; each different object will have its own various
reflections, rendering the cycle unending. I resonate with this pervasive thought
of reflection, as do so many others, in the form of overthinking. How many of us
overthink into the night, dampening our own sorrows by focusing on sad memories
and anxiety-inducing fears? It gets tiring, fast.