To anyone who wishes to learn Latin: stay away from Wheelock's. Instead, get Reading Latin (requires the exercises). The texts are far more interesting and have not been horribly mutilated by the authors in a misguided attempt to make them easier to understand. Relatively early on, you read idiomatic Latin and fairly complex sentences; you aren't comprehension-crippled. The presentation of declensions and conjugations is also done in a way that makes them easier to retain. The relationship expressed in a Horace quotation I recently read in the text—vilius argentum est auro, virtutibus aurum [silver is cheaper than gold, gold than virtues]—applies equally well to that between Wheelock's and Reading Latin.
This post must be one of the most interesting takes on a language I've read:
I don't remember exactly when I first had the thought that French sounded, to my ears, like birds being strangled - certainly before I moved into seventh grade, I'm sure - but I can say that it's a concept that burrows into the mind like few others. I had three different French teachers in the five years I took French. It's cruel, I know, but every time I heard one of them speak I'd start to speculate on exactly which bird's death she sounded like
I'm not sure I'll ever be able to replicate this experience in my own mind since I've spoken French most of my life (implication: I think the language sounds just fine), but it's certainly an interesting reason to not like a language. I don't think French is the incredibly beautiful language a lot of people seem to, though. I like it fine, but prefer English. French is highly rule-bound, unstressed (properly spoken, news casters, rappers, etc. stress syllables), and a direct descendent of Latin, all characteristics that limit the potential variations. While the language is certainly mellifluous, it is also more constrictive than English. The confluence of several languages have provided us with a massive, synonym-rich vocabulary permitting authors to find the mot juste (note also our liberal borrowing from other languages that further enriches English). Our stressed words also allow for more variety in cadence than French, creating, in English, a panoply of subtle sounds and rhythms lacking in French. Naturally, this doesn't mean that their isn't beautiful poetry and such in French, just that I find English to be potentially more complex and ear-pleasing.
Here's an interactive, stop motion quicktime video of the creepiest doll ever. Let the whole thing load, then click on the various glowing things in the room. Best with sound.
(via BoingBoing)
It has begun:
Instead, the crazed automaton – reportedly the size of a good-sized TV, which in California means it must be at least the size of the average British garden shed - careened past the drug depository before barging into a room in the hospital’s radiation oncology department where an examination was in progress.The psychotic pill pusher reportedly refused to leave, sending both doctor and patient fleeing for their lives.
It's difficult to tell from this vantage point whether they will consume the captive patients or merely enslave them. One thing is for certain: there is no stopping them; the robots will soon be here. And I for one welcome our new android overlords. I'd like to remind them that as a trusted blogger I could be helpful in rounding up others to toil in their underground sugar caves.
This recent post (with good reader comments) at the Valve on reductive political readings of Moby Dick does a good job detailing a particular case of the more general problem of ham-handed applications of theory:
What a thoroughgoing denial of the integrity of such a singular work as Moby-Dick to suggest it is valuable because it might ultimately inculcate a “love of country”! Does Boyagoda really expect that thoughtful people will want to read Melville’s novel so they can get a good dose of such patriotic medicine? How does it return Melville to Melville to reduce his literary achievements to such pap? On the other hand, is it any better to value Melville primarily because his work can be similarly wrenched out of shape from the other direction and made into a left-wing critique of American excess? Does it return Melville to Melville to portray him as a political polemicist, of whatever persuasion?
I think English departments should split in two. There could then be degrees in literature and degrees in theory. The former degree would be for those interested in studying the particulars of literary works and for those who understand theory is but a set of blurry lenses; the theory degree would be for those who employ literature as evidence to support their agendas. With such a structure in place, those of us who study literature as art, philosophy, and exploration will no longer be lumped with the idolators of theory. Idolators burn in hell, you know.
The blog will be down for a few hours this evening for a server migration.
UPDATE: Things are (obviously) back up. Please comment on any problems.
This has to be one of the funniest Triumph skits Conan has done in a long time. The best part is when people catch on and start cussing... at a hand puppet.
Via Pharyngula, here's a wonderful post examining the evolutionary history and physical design of cats. It even begins with some light verse:
Felus Catus is your taxonomic nomenclature.
An endothermic quadruped, carnivorous by nature.
Your visual, olfactory, and auditory senses
Contribute to your hunting skills and natural defenses.I find myself intrigued by your sub vocal oscillations.
A singular development of cat communications.
That obviates your basic hedonistic predilection
For a rhythmic stroking of your fur to demonstrate affection.A tail is quite essential for your acrobatic talents.
You would not be so agile if you lacked its counterbalance.
And when not being utilized to aid in locomotion,
It often serves to illustrate the state of your emotions.Oh Spot, the complex levels of behavior you display
Connote a fairly well developed cognitive array.
And though you are not sentient, Spot, and do not comprehend,
I none the less consider you a true and valued friend.
What's better than a poem written by a fictional android?
I have a feeling I'll never be learning Arabic:
Arabic is a VSO language, which means the verb usually comes before the subject and object. It has a dual number, so nouns and verbs must be learned in singular, dual, and plural. A present-tense verb has 13 forms. There are three noun cases and two genders. Some European languages have just as many forms to keep track of, but in Arabic the idiosyncrasies can be mind-boggling. When Karam explains that numbers are marked for gender—but most numbers take the opposite gender from the word they are modifying—we students stare at each other in slack-jawed solidarity. When we learn that adjectives modifying nonhuman plurals always have a feminine singular form—meaning that "the cars are new" comes out as "the cars, she are new"—I can hear heads banging on the desks around me. I want to do the same.
Even though the two most important skills in learning any language are memorization and pattern recognition, it helps if the language is also structured in a somewhat logical way. The rules this author gives as an example are completely arbitrary, however. It's one thing to remember that, as in Latin, French, and many other related languages, adjectives and nouns must agree in number and gender and, in the case of Latin, err, case, but rules that require things not to agree are just plain weird.
John Bruce, in his ongoing quest to expose the ills of academia and of those who teach the humanities, asks if college professors are "professionals?" Although his conclusion is a resounding "no," a foregone answer as anyone who reads his blog with any regularity knows, both the question and his reasoning interest me. First, though, you should read the posts that these most recent ones grew out of, speculation about a national PhD qualifying exam. Since blogspot archives are a little wonky, you'll have to scroll down to May 24th. In essence, Bruce proposes "national comprehensive subject-area exams for PhD candidates" as a remedy to what he perceives as rampant corruption, incompetence, and cronyism among university professors (exemplified by Ward Churchill, the Valve writers, and, his latest target, Sean McCann):
Nevertheless, it's plain if you can somehow take the English PhDs at The Valve as representative, there is a persistent problem in some disciplines with the ability of professors to be hired and advanced with little other than a gift of obscurantist gab. "Aphysicist" in recent comments has suggested that multiple-choice questions could vitiate the academic rigor of national exams to ensure PhD competence, but as I think about it, I'm not sompletely sure.
As is clear from just this paragraph, Bruce is far more interested in the problems of English professors than the other fields, which is fine. This is just a point to keep in mind as some of his rhetoric implies that he's talking about all professors. From what I've read (many, but not all of his posts), he consistently focuses on English. That caveat aside, I agree wholeheartedly that English professors should, ideally, be able to write well. Clear, yet complex, prose often indicates clear-thinking, though not always. Likewise, overly obscure criticism unnecessarily taxes the reader; the primary function of criticism is to provide ideas, not exercise one's ability to parse difficult sentences. This does not mean, however, that all poorly-written criticism is bunk. It's just poorly written. I've read some awfully dense criticism that, while I wished it were written better, still contained very good and useful ideas. Since the primary function of criticism is to provide ideas, these pieces did their job, though ungracefully. While willful obscurantantism should be avoided at all times and anyone engaging in it should be called out, it can be difficult to determine whether someone is being purposefully dense in order to conjure the illusion of intelligence or is merely a bad writer. The ability to write well, while learned to some extent, is like any other skill. Some people invariably have the talent, while others do not. Barring all who cannot write the most lucid and ludic of prose would rob the critical conversation of some important ideas. Bruce continues:
In my own PhD comprehensive exams in English, I was required to list the kings and queens of England and the UK between certain dates several centuries apart, in order, giving the years of the reigns and the relationship of each to his or her successor. I couldn't do that now, and at this remove, I'm not sure how I managed it at the time (the answer is probably that I took writers like Shakespeare and Milton seriously enough to be fully aware of the political issues they discussed).But this is the kind of thing that could easily be rendered into a series of multiple-choice questions, and in fact the multiple-choice questions could potentially be more difficult, since they wouldn't need to rely on chronological order. I have a feeling that few, if any, of the worthies at The Valve could answer such a series of questions, but this would have the useful effect of screening out those who are good at recondite blather, but who resist tests of actual competence. The mere ability to regurgitate facts is not in itself an indicator of scholarly worth, but on the other hand, if you don't know certain basic things and are getting by only through arcane references to French deconstructionists, that's also a problem.
While I am a bit suspicious of standardized tests as they tend to determine who tests well rather than who is knowledgeable, they seem to work well for lawyers (although any lawyers or lawyers-to-be studying for the bar are welcome to correct me here), so perhaps such a test might be workable for English PhDs as well. Maybe something along the lines of the GRE Subject Test, but more detailed and intense. It is notable, however, that the material Bruce tentatively wants to test is history, not literature. Would he propose a test that covers the major authors of each time period for a history PhD? Maybe so, but flipping the topics shows a clear flaw in his proposed test. The historical milieu is essential to an understanding of any time period's literature, but is nevertheless not the essence of an English PhD. The history is only to further one's knowledge of literature, the true object of study. Indeed, if you read Bruce's other posts on this topic, particularly his lambasting of Sean McCann's syllabuses, you find that his criticism comes in two basic flavors: too little history and too few classics. I suspect that the ideal English PhD program in his mind would be one that is equal parts history and literary canon, an admirable and challenging curriculum.
While his dream program would, indeed, be worthwhile, it is also limited and limiting. No PhD program can encompass all literature (or even just the canon) and the relevant history. Filling these gaps is the dedicated work of a lifetime. Instead, a PhD, as it is currently designed, typically means that one focuses on a particular time period, genre, or author. An advanced degree in English is meant to give one mastery of no more than a few specific areas, not the entire canon and Western history, nor should it try. If students are expected to become experts in their chosen area, then they must also be free to choose that area. As Samuel Johnson said, "A man ought to read just as his inclination leads him; for what he reads as a task will do him little good." This means that some people, like Sean McCann, will choose to specialize in detective novels. This is decidedly a Good Thing. The canon exploded relatively long ago; I would not care to put it back together. While I'm currently engaged in filling in the gaps in my canonical knowledge, I don't expect that such a course of study would interest everyone else, nor would I demand it of them. There are other realms of literature that beg for exploration. Likewise, the little history I know has been, for the most part, learned indirectly through literature, not through the memorization of the English monarchy. Nevertheless, I'm confident that, of the topics I know well, my historical knowledge is at least good enough that it doesn't hinder me. There is only so much that one can learn within the limited time frame of a degree program.
I also find it ironic that Bruce regularly flogs English professors for relying too heavily on theoretical frameworks like Deconstruction; his desire to inject more history into the study of literature fits perfectly well with the aims of New Historicism, another critical apparatus. Theory is simply a tool; overreliance on any one tool will warp one's understanding. That does not mean that all the tools should be abandoned—and in favor of what, exactly? Bruce seems to propose a return to the days of a stable canon inflected with heavy doses of New Historicism and New Criticism, a prescription just as certain to lead to the sort of cookie-cutter understanding he rightfully decries.
With these bits of background out of the way, now I feel I can turn to a discussion of this post's title, the most recent iteration of Bruce's series on professors. A glaring problem with his discussion is that never defines "professional," a significant oversight given that his argument is all about definitions. He implies that a professional is one who is licensed to do their work, which is just silly. Massage therapists, hairstylists, and auto mechanics are all licensed; few people would include them in a list of "professionals." I'm licensed to drive, but not a professional driver. NFL players are considered professional athletes, but aren't licensed to tackle. His implied definition is simply untenable. Common sense states that what Bruce really means to ask is, "Do professors act like professionals?" This sense of "professional"—"characterized by or conforming to the technical or ethical standards of a profession" or "exhibiting a courteous, conscientious, and generally businesslike manner in the workplace"—makes a good deal more sense and has the added benefit of being a valuable question. After all, simple etymology tells us that professors are, by definition, professionals, i.e., "ones who profess."
We now come to the impetus for Bruce's new bête noire: unethical or incompetent humanities professors. No one can reasonably argue that plagiarists, sexual predators, or simpletons should be retained as professors once their failings come to light. The only place in which to differ, then, is method. Bruce proposes a national qualifying exam, licensing, and a board with the power to sanction offenders. As it stands, only a professor's dean, president, or other boss in the bureaucracy can reprimand or fire him or her (at least, as far as I know). However, tenure, an institution Bruce would demolish for protecting these unworthies from unemployment, does not, in fact, prevent a professor from losing his or her job for unethical behavior or incompetence. Given this fact, I see no reason that professors need to be subjected to the same whims of the market experience in other jobs. The upfront investment of time, effort, and money for a PhD is simply too great to remove one of the key incentives, particularly as it does not protect errant professors the way he seems to think it does. Perhaps tenure does reward past performance, but until English departments start paying their professors salaries comparable to their counterparts in the Medical, Business, and Law Schools, it's a fair reward for at least two decades of hard work.
A licensing board, however, seems a fair, reasonable, and common solution. It would not doubt make the discplinary process more transparent, a great boon for students when they do have problems. There should be no place at universities for bad professors. If the corruption is as rampant as Bruce makes out, surely something needs to change. Even if it's not quite as ubiquitous, more accountably would hurt nothing, with the stipulation that any board would need constitutional rules protecting professors for holding unpopular views. While that is currently one of the functions of tenure, a review board able to impose fines and other punishments would weaken the protection provided by tenure and might easily abuse those powers.
Another minor quibble I have with Bruce's argument is that he assumes the corruption is so rampant that the entire system deserves dismantling. I'm not so convinced. Even at the unspectacular university where I did my undergraduate work, the great majority of professors were competent, ethical instructors. Likewise, at my current institution, almost all the professors are, in my experience, excellent. Indeed, this entire discussion about corruption in the academy, one that has been going on for years now in the blogosphere, revolves around anecdotes. As we all know, the plural of "anecdote" is not "data." Furthermore, the loudest critics are invariably those who invested a significant number of years working toward advanced degrees but, for one reason or another, failed to complete their work. Bruce, for example, is an ABD. There's certainly no shame in that (he can count himself in company with T.S. Eliot, among others), but it does make me question his perception of the problem's scope. He could have quite easily wound up at a particularly bad and unrepresentative university, one that drove him away from the field. Likewise, I might be at an especially good one. Neither of our experiences are valid bases for large-scale policy decisions, upending or defending the status quo. What we need are hard numbers that measure the problem. To begin, numbers on predatory sexual behavior and plagiarism seem most important, as they are the most egregious misdeeds and the easiest to judge. After all, who will judge whether a given professor writes obscurantist garbage or valid, though difficult-to-read criticism? Furthermore, even if every idea a professor has is wrong, if he or she can argue those ideas persuasively and with good textual support, they will prompt debate and further the critical discussion. Only once the worst offenses have been measured and appropriately dealt with should we turn to other, harder to judge ones. Next on the list would have to be competence, but only review by peers can determine that. Student evaluations are notoriously unreliable for numerous reasons. Perhaps a review board of disinterested members from other, distant universities might suffice to judge competence. Of course, publication in peer-reviewed journals performs some of this function already, as articles are read anonymously and usually by several experts before publication. If something makes it through this process, it's typically worth consideration.
Despite my several quibbles and criticisms of Bruce's arguments, I do think that his desire to reform the current system is admirable. A few years ago, he wrote a long series on his experiences in the business world, detailing almost infinite corruption and incompetence, but without calling for any reforms. That he does so in this case suggests that he recognizes the importance of higher education and wants our universities to provide the best one possible. I agree completely with this goal, though I do not think the problems are nearly as large as he. I also think he should consider enlarging his focus to encompass all schooling in America. Our entire school system has serious problems that result in an impoverished education, which has repercussions throughout society. Only a well-educated and informed populace can be trusted to vote in relatively reasonable and beneficial ways. The worse our collective education becomes, the worse our collective decisions.
I just found out that a paper I submitted to a conference in the Fall has been accepted. This should look pretty good on my PhD applications. The title of the paper is "Chaucer's Unruly Bodies" and, oddly enough, focuses on his depiction of bodies in the Canterbury Tales. I guess now I should start revising my paper for presentation.
Nina Gordon has, among other interesting covers, an acoustic version of the NWA classic "Straight Outta Compton."
(via Boing Boing)
Human Events, a self-proclaimed "national conservative weekly," has a list of the ten most harmful books of the last two centuries. Jim Henley thinks it's funny that they're trying to make money off these books. Jonathan Goodwin wonders about the rankings. I, too, find their choices fascinating. A number of authors that you might find regularly praised or, at least, mentioned among the more theoretically or politically-minded professors in an English department appear on the list: Marx and Nietzsche, in particular. Darwin, Mills, Foucault, and de Beauvoir all get honorable mentions. Any list of evil books that includes Darwin, even if only as an honorable mention, clearly deserves mocking.
While this sort of list is moderately ridiculous, inviting people to make the comparison with book-burning, even if such a comparison is not entirely accurate, I do agree with Henley that books can, in fact, be dangerous. Or, more accurately, the ideas contained within them can be implemented in a dangerous way. Suppression, however, fails. Only open debate and even better, more forceful books can successfully counteract nefarious or simply misguided ideas. The question is, who decides which books are Bad? Is it possible to know without hindsight? After all, Marx's desire for social and economic equality is admirable and widely accepted. His theory of materialist identity-formation is a useful and valid (if incomplete) tool even today. The idea that "the Evil Empire of the Soviet Union put the Manifesto into practice" would be laughable, were it not so misinformed. A more useful discussion would be how and why the Soviet Union's policies diverged from and distorted Marx's ideas. In a similar vein, I can't help but think that Beyond Good and Evil, which likewise contains some wonderful and important insights into human nature, made the list because of Nazi enthusiasm for and misunderstanding of Nietzsche's ideas. They liked Wagner, too. That doesn't mean we should plug our ears against Der Ring des Nibelungnen. Even Mein Kampf is crucial as a historical document. While I realize Hitler's book sold incredibly well, I seem to remember that those sales only came after he was already in power. Before then, it was far from a best seller. In other words, it appears more likely that Hitler's demagoguery was far more influential than his book. The book did not give rise to Nazism. If anything, his book should have served as a warning to the West, a clue to his true intentions that was routinely overlooked.
The article's authors' unhidden desire to unwrite the books on this list acknowledges the power of words, but fails to draw any interesting conclusion from this. The list says nothing more than, "We disagree with these authors' ideas; therefore, these books are evil." Clearly, they determine each book to be bad for wildly divergent reasons worth considering in more detail (by someone else). The books on this list cannot simply be lumped together as "bad." The specifics of each should be investigated beyond simplifying blurbs. As it stands, the list does little more than vilify ideas and, to an extent, books in general. What difference is there between this list and one that wants to ban Huckleberry Finn?
UPDATE: Mark in Mexico weighs in and has a nice collection of links to others discussing this list. The most substantial of these are PoliBlog, Pandagon, BunkoSquad, and Bostondreamer. He writes, "The top 3 on the list as well as number 6 are books that either directly or indirectly lead to the deaths of more than 300 million people." While I certainly won't defend the content of those books, I think most of their impact was more indirect than direct. As I wrote about Hitler's book, it had far less effect than Hitler himself (as far as I know; history buffs, feel free to dispute this). I imagine a similar situation is the case with Chairman Mao's book. This raises the question of whether a book advocating harmful beliefs that are already being put into place can really be considered that dangerous. As a comparison, what if Bush were to write a best-seller justifying his reasons for invading Iraq (with heavy ghost-writing help, of course)? Should we consider the book itself dangerous?