I’m Hyper-Trans-Post-Modern

When I was an undergraduate at Hampshire (1990-1993), I didn’t really understand what “the culture wars” were. I just thought it was a hassle that I had to go over to UMass to take a Shakespeare course, since the only offering we had was “Shakespeare’s Treatment of Women.”

I ended up with plenty of academic horror stories that I share with the incredulous from time to time, especially when they think they went to a far-left, theory-laden school. Trust me: you had nothing on Hampshire.

That’s not to say that the school only churned out jargon-spouters and bitter rejects. My buddy Mark considers his Hampshire experience entirely worthwhile and definitely doesn’t fall into the pomo camp.

Ron Rosenbaum recently posted about a particularly theory-focused Shakespeare professor, whom he called The Relic:

It’s not about him, but about a sadly obsolete, discredited vision of literature he shares with all too many in academia who committed to it without much skepticism when they were graduate students and lack the intellectual independence to question it now. The Relic was the embodiment of two generations of pseudo-scientific sophistry that gave itself the shorthand name Theory in literary studies. It was based on the work of a French theorists, notably Foucault, Derrida and Lacan, whose transmittal by gullible relics continues. Continues even despite the recent revelation that Foucault had, in his recently translated late works, repudiated the sophistry upon which most academic literary criticism is founded (I wrote about this in an earlier blog post citing the distinguished philosopher Richard Wolin writing in The Chronicle of Higher Education last fall).

Now, as long as this stuff “only” affects literary studies, I guess we could recover. After all, I went on to St. John’s, where we throw out the critics and dive into the books themselves. (Early on, most of the graduate students face the moment in seminar when they cite a critic or theorist’s take on one of the books and get asked, “Yes, but what do you think about the book?”)

But according to Ron’s followup post, this trend has walloped the study of physics, too. Ron included a long comment by Professor Frank Tipler of Tulane (coincidentally enough, my other undergraduate institution):

At the overwhelming majority of physics departments at American elite universities, the importance of gravity is denied. I am aware of no American university that requires, for an undergraduate degree in physics, a course in general relativity, which is Einstein’s theory of gravity. At the overwhelming majority of American elite universities, one is not even required to take a course in general relativity even to get a Ph.D. in physics! As a consequence, the overwhelming majority of American Ph.D.’s in physics do notunderstand general relativity. If a problem arises that requires knowledge of Einstein’s theory of gravity, almost all American physicists can only look blank. This is in spite of the fact that general relativity has been known to be the correct theory of gravity for almost a century.

And it gets worse. The greatest achievement of physics since the Second World War has been the discovery of the Standard Model of particle physics, a unified theory of all forces and matter not including gravity. The Standard Model has been experimentally confirmed, and some dozen and more Nobel Prizes in physics have been awarded for the discovery and experimental confirmation of the Standard Model. Yet I am aware of no physics department in the United States that requires a course in the Standard Model for an undergraduate degree in physics. Very few, if any, require a course in the Standard Model even for a Ph.D. in physics.

So one can get an undergraduate degree in physics and even a Ph.D. in physics, without knowing anything at all about the fundamental forces that control the universe at the most basic level. Since our entire civilization requires at least somebody knows basic physics, requires that at least people who have Ph.D.’s in physics know basic physics, this is a disaster.

In the Mathematics and Natural Science segment at St. John’s, some students took issue with the definitions at the beginning of Euclid’s Elements. The first two gave them fits: A point is that which has no part, and a line is breadthless length.

They kept trying to deny the validity of the rest of the geometry by denying the truth of the definitions (when we studied Lobachevsky, things really went off the rails: ha-ha). All of this bickering came to a head on the first day of the semester. My buddy Mitch got up from the table, stormed to the blackboard, hit the chalk against it once, then dragged it across the board, and said, “There! That’s a point! And that’s a line! The only people who really need to get them right are NASA and they can’t and that’s why the Mars Observer vanished!”

This shut everyone up. Except the incoming graduate student who happened to work for NASA.

The moral? Get yer basics down, and worry about denying reality later.

Happy May Day!

In honor of The Worker, Hugo Chavez will be seizing 4 oil projects in the name of a free Venezuela today! By “free” I mean “free to see their oil production fall apart as they drive out foreign investment”:

Critics say that [state company PDVSA] has hired many inexperienced personnel, resulting in a string of deadly refinery and oil field accidents. The company had a chance to retain hundreds of experienced employees from its joint-venture partners when it took control of the 32 fields last year, but it stumbled badly by cutting salaries by an average of 30%. That led to mass desertions [. . .] Production at the 32 fields taken over by the company last year has fallen 100,000 barrels a day, or roughly 20%, the result of lower investments by PDVSA and its minority partners, prompted in part by legal uncertainties. Diminishing prospects in Venezuela lead international companies to cut their investment there last year to $540 million, down from $1 billion in previous years.

As Mr. Nobody put it, “Workers of the world, ignite! You have nothing to lose but your minds!”

Monday Morning Montaigne: Of Age

I made two discoveries when I started my Montaigne reading this weekend: the essays are actually divided into three books, and I was about 20 pages from the end of the first book! So my self-imposed project of reading the Essays and writing about them each Monday was actually going to reach some sorta milestone. Yippee.

My other discovery this weekend is that M.’s essays “only” comprise 1,045 pages of the collection, while the remaining 300 are from letters and his travel journal. So the project has become slightly easier, I guess.

Now, I know there are plenty of things that are bizarre about this Monday Morning Montaigne project, but I guess the most bizarre is that I did zero research into Montaigne before starting it. Honestly, I only knew two things about him prior to starting out:

  1. The undergraduates at St. John’s College read some of the essays (but we didn’t in the Graduate Institute).
  2. Harold Bloom included him among the greatest writers in his Western Canon (but I don’t recall reading the chapter on Montaigne, which was combined with Moliere).

So, soon after finishing at St. John’s (c. 1995), I figured I oughtta read them thar essays sometime. Problem is, the paperback edition I bought used a terrible typeface, so I wish-listed the Everyman’s hardcover edition of his complete works, which my in-laws-to-be got for me at the holidays in 2005.

Then the goofy “3M” title of these posts hit me, and I got started. Early on, I would try to read at least one essay and post a quote-of-the-week sorta thing, but eventually I decided I’d try to write a little about these essays. Fortunately for you, you can always just scroll down to the next post.

So, what I know of Montaigne I’m getting from the essays themselves (along with an occasional biographical footnote in the text). I don’t necessarily advise this course, but I feel like I’m learning about him and myself, and that’s making it all worth it for me.

This week I thought I was going to have to write on Of Prayers, in which M. complains about the commonplace of prayer, its overuse, the deceitfulness of those who pray in public, and the problems with translating the holy word into the languages of Jews and Mohammedans:

There is . . . a certain passage in Xenophon where he shows that we should pray to God more rarely, since it is not likely that we can restore our soul so often to that orderly, reformed, and devout state in which it must be for that purpose; otherwise, our prayers are not only vain and useless, but vicious. “Forgive us,” we say, ” as we forgive those who have trespassed against us.” What do we mean by that, if not that we offer him our soul free from vengeance and rancor? However, we call on God and his aid to conspire in our faults, and invite him to our injustice.

Or, to paraphrase Jayson Williams, “I don’t pray before big games. God doesn’t care about basketball till the playoffs anyway.” So sez the guy went on to suffer a monstrous injury that ended his career and ended up drunkenly shooting a limo-driver in the chest.

Of Prayer is a worthy essay, but I felt that writing about it would be too, well, preachy, and I didn’t feel like moralizing this weekend. Fortunately, it turns out that the final essay in Book One interested me more. Of Age discusses the changing conceptions of age, retirement, and what makes for a “natural death”. Writing around 1580, M. laughs off the idea of death from old age as “natural”:

What an idle fancy it is to expect to die of a decay of powers brought on by extreme old age, and to set ourselves this term for our duration, since that is the rarest of all deaths and the least customary! We call it alone natural, as if it were contrary to nature to see a man break his neck by a fall, be drowned in a shipwreck, or be snatched away by the plague or pleurisy, and as if our ordinary condition did not expose us to all these mishaps. Let us not flatter ourselves with these fine words: we ought perhaps rather to call natural what is general, common, and universal.

Which is to say, “Life’s too short,” and this leads to M.’s real point: too much of our time is scheduled for apprenticeship and retirement, and not enough for working in the world:

Augustus . . . declared that it was enough for those assuming the office of judge to be thirty [. . .] Augustus had been universal judge of the world at nineteen, and yet would have a man be thirty in order to pass judgment on the position of a gutter.

“As for me,” he tells us, “I think our souls are as developed at twenty as they are ever to be, and give the promise of all they ever can do.”

Cue cold knife of dread.

“Well,” I thought, “he’s talking about a time when life expectancy was still pretty short. I mean, 40 is the new 20! I’ve still got some great years ahead of me, right?”

I hold it as certain that since that age [thirty] my mind and my body have rather shrunk than grown, and gone backward rather than forward. It is possible that in those who employ their time well, knowledge and experience grow with living; but vivacity, quickness, firmness and other qualities much more our own, more important and essential, wither and languish.

Sigh. It put me in mind of a story I heard from official VM buddy Tom Spurgeon. As the story goes, Tommy Lee Jones was once asked when he decided to focus seriously on acting.

“When I realized I wasn’t going to be the quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys,” he replied.

“How old were you?” the interviewer asked.

“Forty.”

You can’t imagine how happy I was to reach “END OF BOOK ONE” a paragraph or so later.

Bulb-Us

In one of those “power of the internet” moments, Instapundit mentioned the One Billion Bulbs movement last week. The idea behind the site is to get one billion incandescent light bulbs replaced with compact fluorescents. The site lets you calculate how much power you save, based on wattage and estimated daily hours of use. His post on it led to hundreds of people signing up on the OBB site, joining the Instapundit group, and documenting the number of bulbs they’ve swapped out.

Now, I’ve held off on buying these things for a while, because I heard they gave off crappy light. But, on Insta’s recommendation, I picked up a pair of 20 watt GE Soft White CF bulbs at a local hardware store (Home Despot only carries a limited selection) and plugged them into the lamp in my office, which is in use 8 hours a day. The light’s just fine (it’s a shaded lamp, which probably helps), and the 20w CFB is the equivalent of 60-70 watts of incandescent light. I haven’t noticed much of a difference in the quality of the light, which I take as a good sign.

So, in the spirit of Instapundit, but with infinitely fewer readers, I’ve started my own group on One Billion Bulbs. If you’re of a mind to start replacing any of the incandescents in your home or office, click on the One Billion Bulbs banner in the sidebar (above the Links section), sign up at the site, and join Byron’s Brigade (it’s a Pynchon reference; sue me).

(But do your due diligence first, or you might find that you’ve spent $5-$8 on a bulb that gives off really crappy light.)

“Good design” = bad cities

I meant to post this James Lileks bleat a while ago. He engaged in some “wretched, slanted cherry-picking of selected quotes” from a newspaper interview with professor Thomas Fisher, the dean of University of Minnesota’s new School of Design. The interview discusses “the Design Economy,” and Lileks uses some of Fisher’s quotes as a springboard to discuss cities (starting with Minneapolis), suburbs, and the economies that are tied to them. Starting point:

[I]f all you have is a degree in Design, everything looks like a design problem.

It’s a long post, but I recommend giving it a read, if only because it helps me justify my own life in the suburbs:

Boring people live everywhere. Interesting people live everywhere. People have reasons for wanting to live in certain places, and if someone wants to live in the city, it’s his business. If he wants to live in the burbs, it’s his business. I could argue that people who confine themselves to the city are removing themselves from the experience of suburbia, which is actually more germaine to understanding America’s future than experiencing some of the lousy blocks I drive through daily.

So there’s some Friday afternoon reading for ya, in case it’s a slow day at the office.

High Times

I finally got to see the new NYTimes building up close this week, during my meanderings to and from the Javits Center. It’s a mighty impressive exterior. NYT design director Khol Vinh just got to move into the building, and has high praise for it:

It’s early yet, but I think I’m completely enraptured by this building. Maybe it’s just my first time being exposed so intimately to fine, contemporary architecture, but the whole structure feels energizing to me. And it makes a certain kind of sense, too; Piano eschewed organic curves and aesthetically suspect design flourishes in favor of a wonderfully, wonderfully rectilinear construction. It’s an ornate, beautiful grid, in essence; of all the buildings in Manhattan, I feel like this is the one that makes the most sense for me to spend my working days. Forgive me, but I feel like a lucky bastard today.

Strange correspondence

This was waiting in my mail when I got back to the office this morning:

At first, I thought it was one of the collage envelopes I receive from official VM buddy Paul Di Filippo. Then I noticed the postmark and thought, “I don’t remember Paul saying he had a trip to India.”

Turned out to contain some circulation renewal forms for my magazine, from a few subscribers who evidently believe that, if the USPS has trouble finding my address (cut out of a page of my magazine), at least they’ll be able to find me from the c. 1999 photo from my From The Editor page.

Two Years and Counting

It’s the second anniversary of my dad’s quintuple-bypass! I’d put his e-mail address here so you could send him well-wishes, but I know you’d just write him goofy questions about how strange I was as a kid.

Anyway: best wishes, Dad!