Is innocence really that important?

This week will be more of a writing inquiry, not as such a discussion inquiry. We will discuss a little throughout the week with journal prompts.

The provincial prompt we will be connecting innocence to is as follows:

Our journey into the future begins in the past.

There are two things to consider when thinking about innocence. Does innocence really exist in weathered adults? Can innocence be kept whole throughout a person’s life?

Also, consider this: (Journal for Monday)

  1. What, in your definition, is innocence and how is it related to your own life experiences?
  2. Why are ‘coming of age’ stories so popular? Can you think of any that you have connected to? (Think movies, TV shows, short stories, novels, plays, etc.)
  3. How can our journeys into the future begin in the past? Can this be connected to innocence as a whole?

There are many coming of age stories about innocence, but my all time favorite is one by Voltaire, called Candide. It is below if you’d like the PDF.

candide-12mw7dg

Also, I have a wonderful juxtaposition of 2 poems by William Blake that encapsulate a fine line between innocence and experience (and, aptly, his poetry titles were named the same thing).

“The Lamb”
from Songs of InnocenceLittle Lamb who made thee
Dost thou know who made thee
Gave thee life & bid thee feed.
By the stream & o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing wooly bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice:
Little Lamb who made thee
Dost thou know who made thee

Little Lamb I’ll tell thee,
Little Lamb I’ll tell thee:
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb:
He is meek & he is mild,
He became a little child:
I a child & thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.
Little Lamb God bless thee.
Little Lamb God bless thee.

 

 

  “The Tyger”
from Songs of ExperienceTyger Tyger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes!
On what wings dare he aspire!
What the hand, dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water’d heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger, Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?