If I was still at high school, I'd be tempted to ditch chemistry or physics (or both, preferably), for history and classics, or some other equally "vocationally irrelevant" subject of literary-focused indulgence.
Little good came from the "applicability" of those science subjects, anyway; tertiary courses are disappointingly discontinuous from their secondary precursors.
Now, despite my dislike of chemistry (which was even greater than that of physics), I was too much of a goody-good(y gumdrops) to skip class altogether.
Some seat in the back row was usually occupied by my physical presence, but unfortunately the same can't be said for my conscious attention.
However, regardless of how little concentration I dedicated to those subjects in class, I spend even less time studying them now. On the other hand, I've more than made up for missed classes on Greek mythology, Hellenistic artwork and ancient philosophy through pursuits of general interests (and occasionally John Keats-related research).
As it always does, this Keatsian research recently deviated steadily further and further from course.
When the Clocktower Building struck some hideous hour on Sunday morning, I found myself reading William Hazlitt's writings on "Why the Arts are not Progressive".
Apparently, Keats really admired Hazlitt. From what little I've read of him, I think I do, too. As a writer, critic, philosopher, painter, he was one of those all-art-encompassing types of the English Romantic era, and certainly deserving of much more attention than is now paid to him.
The reason it's much easier to read for interest's sake about history, or classics, or any other area of the humanities, is because, in the world of arts, "recent developments do not displace earlier ones".
"Progressing" subjects, those which "admit of gradual improvement", are, according to Hazlitt, "mechanical, reducible to rule, or capable of demonstration".
The sciences face forwards, and new knowledge seeks to support or refute theories of previous generations.
Unlike those of science, artistic pursuits don't have an expiry date.
Look to ancient Greece, for example. Their art and architecture remains at the height of all human aesthetic achievement, even thousands of years later.
Hippocrates' medical model of the four humours, however, is long obsolete.
Hazlitt goes on to lament the passing of art's irrecoverable "golden age", as even in his lifetime art had become an ornamental commodity, monetarily valued by a utilitarian society.
I have an agenda here.
As a nation we seem to occasionally adopt a very science-typical approach to our history; we continually face forwards, only reaching for the past when searching for a small part of it to maintain or disprove.
History is an art. It deserves to be imitated, learned from, celebrated, shunned. Tonight at the Rialto is the first of a second run of screenings of Paora Joseph's film, Tatarakihi: The Children of Parihaka. If you haven't already seen it, I can't recommend it highly enough. As well as providing a poignant retelling of our local history, it represents a positive movement towards appreciating the timeless relevance of the past.
Many countries are far too old to remember their roots with any clarity. We're fortunate in our youth.
Let's not waste its opportunities.
- Katie Kenny studies English at the University of Otago.
