August 31, 2004
The Folly of Learning
This afternoon we had a pretty interesting department seminar, with a presentation from our head of graduate studies, John (Durham) Peters ("Neither a commie, nor an elitist."). He pointed out that, first, most of what scientists, social scientists, and humanities scholars write in their lifetimes will plunge into the abyss, never to be seen again by human eyes, nor destined to have any impact whatever on the larger scheme of human existence. He also reminded us that, as teachers, most of what we say will inevitably be forgotten by indifferent undergraduates whose only goal is to hit the sweet spot between doing bong hits and studying so they can pass while having the best time possible. But it wasn't as bluntly nihilistic as my summary makes it sound - he pointed out that, by the same token, you never know what piece you're writing will win you a Nobel twenty years down the road, and you never know which of your hundreds of undergrads will suddenly develop a fascination with your subject matter. He described Universities, given the insanity and ridiculousness inherent in the very fact of their existence, as functioning as great storehouses of potential . . . they're kind of like boxes of chocolate, you see.
That relates in a way to something my professor for Contemporary American Poetry said after class in a discussion group for the graduate students. It was just an off-hand, joking comment, but he said that academics don't read each other's writing; they only write things themselves, scholarship being a highly narcissistic activity.
Ok, not fair to put the "box of chocolates" line at the end when I thought it was safe to drink from my coffee. Not fair at all. Still coughing, damn it.