The Riveting Professor Greene

I went to see Maxine Greene speak at Teachers College tonight--on the occasion of her 90th birthday. It was a thrilling thirty-five minutes, which ended delightfully, as the packed auditorium broke out with the happy birthday song. Her lecture, "Towards Pedagogy of Thought and Imagination," seemed to pull together so much of the work I have been dwelling in. Her speech moved seamlessly between poetry, fiction, and philosophy; Adrienne Rich, Camus, Melville, Freire, Fitzgerald, Morrison, Ellison, Delillo, and Ricouer were among those cited. After assailing abstraction and disinterestedness as dehumanizing modes of being ("Abstractness can cripple pity and feeling itself"; "Disinterest, a lack of recognition, can kill"), she implored us to keep questions open and alive for the sake of imaginative possibility: "The thing that keeps you going is incompleteness"; "I am what I am not yet." She enumerated three kinds of imagination: poetic, ethical, and political. (I am sure there can be more.) What I found interesting was how she tied imagination to action. She was very politically oriented, showing her Deweyan roots by this advocacy for active participation in the democratic process.

Simply put, she was captivating. I hope to see her again and again and again.

To the Overprogrammed

Lay down your duties for the moment. Set aside those chores. Look out your window and notice, observe, think. Take a walk and reflect on your life--not on the cares and worries, but on something good: a funny story or two. Or just be present. That's all.

Notes on Transcendence

Transcendence connotes permanence and irreversibility. That is, if one transcends a particular condition, the agent may no longer experience that condition. If I transcend “the tragic,” I can no longer experience tragedy.

It appears that transcendence, then, involves temporality. There must be a sequence of before, during, and after. The prefix trans assures us of this dimension of the word.

Or, is transcendence non-temporal? Is transcendence an attitude with which the agent perceives the world? Hence, I would continuously transcend. (I strongly doubt this. It seems impossible to me to transcend conditions that one has not yet encountered. Must one be familiar with or experience a condition in order to transcend it. Is transcendence retroactive?)

Transcendence is a way the agent relates to internal or external conditions. Transcendence is relational.

He transcends and is transcendent. As a verb transcend marks a process, as an adjective or noun, an end-state or product.

Transcendence is value-laden. I simply cannot think of a case in which transcendence is immoral. Can I transcend goodness? It would seem that, if I did, I would transcend the entire sphere of morality and would not, therefore, assert evil. (Nietzsche does this when he calls for an end to morality but not ethics.)

Transcendence is the route to Zen. When I think of transcend I imagine an ascending curve that tapers off. The slope of the curve is greater at the onset. But why?

What is the opposite of transcendence? …Immanence? I am not sure.

Today's Boredom

Boredom is restlessness, a longing for action, a moment when one's creative impulses come to a halt. To appreciate boredom is difficult; the experience is unpleasant, but the agitation that boredom stirs up can be very fruitful. One must think of new ways to occupy oneself in order to emerge from boredom. One is compelled to creativity, at best. Though, at times, procrastination will do the trick...

I think that boredom was an important part of my childhood; I always had to invent new games for myself. Boredom helped me grow and stretch my imagination and my capacity for patience. I did have television as a boy, but not video or computer games, nor the internet.

I wonder what boredom looks like today (in the cities and suburbia of first-world nations). My worry is that boredom means sitting in front of the computer or TV, with no destination in mind. Here, I sound patronizing, I know. I think the child's imagination is alive and well today. I would also wager that children spend just as much time being bored today as they did when I was growing up.

Just some thoughts that I need to investigate...

Name Change

I once taught a class on the significance of changing one's name... So, this site was christened "boredomsophia" and now gleefully switches to "loveboredom" as an imperative for the 21st Century. More on this coming soon...

Opening 5 Dialogues

Zo:

Thanks again for your comments. I really, really enjoyed reading them. I haven’t posted in a while, and I think part of the cause is a lack of dialogue. I’d like to respond to each of your comments. Although, I must say that only some of my responses directly engage your comments, others were inspired by them.

RE: The Count

When the abbe says he can teach Dantes all of his knowledge in two years, he uses the verb “transfer.” This essentially is the traditional model for university teaching: knowledge transmission. The professor stands before his class and presents his vast array of facts for student absorption.

Knowledge and facts are integral. But I think “knowledge transmission” will only develop and transform the minds of independent, active learners. For most, knowledge transmission done well is entertaining and informative. Done poorly, knowledge transmission is terribly boring. Moreover, the students who passively receive the information aren’t transforming themselves. (Transference is not transformation. Is this too bold a claim?)

Of course, my progressive, constructivist colors are showing through here.

I like the abbe’s definition of philosophy, “the union of all acquired knowledge” (a lot of experience) and “the genius that applies it” (wisdom). This brings me back to the original question regarding the relationship between knowledge and wisdom. I think wisdom needs knowledge. It’s an abstract faculty that operates in a deeply contextual world…

RE: Socrates

Does the writer simply package the seeds, or does he construct the seeds? If the former, where do the seeds come from? If the latter, does the writer’s molecular construction have any effect on the reader who plants the seeds?

RE: Amateurish Notes

Another fragment that underscores the passivity of knowledge and activity of wisdom: Knowledge is used; wisdom is use.

Also, my breakthrough in these notes is that wisdom (in the conventional way we use the concept) is fundamentally, necessarily good. Genius, on the other hand, can be good or evil. To be sure, knowledge can be used for good or evil as well. But wisdom is always right and just. I called wisdom “value-laden,” because its definition resides partially within the sphere of ethics. Thus it’s more complex than knowledge. If I may take a poetic liberty, I’d say that wisdom has more dimensions than knowledge. (If we can even categorize concepts as having dimensions. I like this idea. What’s the difference between a 2- and 3-dimensional concept?)

RE: Nee-chu

This is Nietzsche’s famous doctrine of perspectivism! There’s more to it as I’m sure you’ve read by now. I don’t think Nietzsche argues that there is objectivity. As I said in an essay I once wrote, notice that objectivity appears in quotation marks. Nietzsche doesn’t use the word, he only mentions it.

RE: The Madman

I could go on forever about this aphorism. I think there are two themes present here that connect with Nietzsche’s overall (non) program. The first is that Europe is severely shortsighted, having not attained the status of bovine rumination. Thus the Europeans don’t even recognize that their morality is based on a system they no longer believe in. The second point is embodied in the madman’s questioning. Now that God is dead, who will fill the void? For Nietzsche, I think the answer would be “the strongest men.” The madman broaches this when he looks to the future generations for an answer to this question. But, sadly, the madman (like Nietzsche) came too early. The villagers weren’t ready to hear any of it. I imagine he skulks away—back to a forest or cave—to wait until the world catches up with him, if he doesn’t die first.

The Madman...

The Gay Science, Book III, No. 125

"The madman.— Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours, ran to the market place and cried incessantly: "I seek God! I seek God!"— As many of those who did not believe in God were standing around just then, he provoked much laughter. Has he got lost? asked one. Did he lose his way like a child? asked another. Or is he hiding? Is he afraid of us? Has he gone on a voyage? emigrated?— Thus they yelled and laughed. The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his eyes. "Whither is God?" he cried. "I will tell you. We have killed him—you and I! All of us are his murderers! But how did we do this? How could we drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving? Away from all suns? Are we not plunging continually? And backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there still any up or down? Are we not straying as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is not night continually closing in on us? Do we not need to light lanterns in the morning? Do we not hear nothing as yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we smell nothing as yet of the divine decomposition?—Gods, too, decompose! God is dead! God remains dead! And we have killed him! How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives,—who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it? There has never been a greater deed,—and whoever is born after us, for the sake of this deed he will belong to a higher history than all history hitherto!"— Here the madman fell silent and looked again at his listeners: they, too, were silent and stared at him in astonishment. At last he threw his lantern to the ground, and it broke into pieces and went out. "I have come too early," he said then; "my time is not yet. This tremendous event is still on its way, still wandering—it has not yet reached the ears of men. Lightning and thunder require time; the light of the stars requires time; deeds, though done, still require time to be seen and heard. This deed is still more distant from them than the most distant stars—and yet they have done it themselves!"— It has been related further that on the same day the madman forced his way into several churches and there struck up his requiem aeternam deo. Led out and called to account, he is said always to have replied nothing but: "What after all are these churches now if they are not the tombs and sepulchers of God?" —"

A Primer for Formal Essay Writing on Literature

An essay is an argument: that's all. It presents a point of view, an opinion, a stance on a particular topic, etc. Essays are not necessarily written; there can be visual essays, kinesthetic essays, and the like. Moreover, essays can come in various forms and structures within these different media.

The particular essay that I will describe is what I would call the formal essay. It goes by other names too, like the critical, analytical, or academic essay.

Formal essays are written. They also generally follow a particular kind of logic called deductive reasoning. Through deduction, the argument advances premises that prove its conclusion. In addition, deduction makes an essay's trajectory quite linear. I move from point A to B to C, crafting each step and transition so that they're airtight and incontestable.

The structure of an essay mirrors the very structure of a paragraph. The paragraph, as a microcosm, contains a thesis or topic sentence, evidence and analysis, and a conclusion or transition. The formal essay has an introduction, "body" paragraphs, and a conclusion.

An introduction is generally one paragraph in length, though to be sure this depends on the size of the essay. I would expect to find the thesis statement in the introduction as either the first or last sentence of the paragraph. The thesis is a clear articulation of the central message of the essay; it is the principal reason for the essay's existence; it is the main point, which all others try to support. The introduction must also present all points the argument puts forward in the order of their appearance.

Thus, a general introduction will begin with a hook that interests or prompts the reader, proceed to explain the argument with clarity and precision, and then offer the thesis.

Body paragraphs, while containing topic sentences and theses of their own, are the substance of a formal essay. They are the evidence and analysis in support of the thesis. Within the body paragraph, I expect to find direct quotation from the text and in-depth analysis of its language. This is the crux of an excellent formal essay: critical engagement of the text. The words of any novel will move us in so many directions. Thus, the language of the text is the starting point for formal essay writing. By isolating and cataloging those parts of the novel that move us, we begin the process. Then, through contemplation and scrutiny and introspection, we understand why we reacted to those words in that way. Salience happens for specific reasons. Examination of the salient pieces of a text will reveal great, overlying import: whether it's a thematic revelation or a radical development in one of the novel's characters. The analysis of a quotation must show the quantity and quality of thought one has invested in its words.

A conclusion should answer the question: So what? Now that the writer has expended himself in careful craftsmanship and articulation of a central point, the conclusion must secure the argument's importance. The trick here is that a conclusion must not offer anything new or open up new avenues for discussion. The great magic of formal writing is that an essay must be self-contained. But do not simply rehash the argument; that would be perfunctory, merely adequate, and quite boring. Reveal and solidify the "big picture" with elegance.

Nee-chu's Perspective

"…[T]o see differently in this way for once, to want to see differently, is no small discipline and preparation of the intellect for its future ‘objectivity’—the latter understood not as ‘disinterested contemplation’ …but rather as the capacity to have one’s pros and cons in one’s power, and to shift them in and out: so that one knows how to make precisely the difference in perspectives and affective interpretations useful for knowledge…

"There is only perspectival seeing, only a perspectival ‘knowing’; and the more affects we allow to speak about a matter, the more eyes, different eyes we know how to bring to bear on one and the same matter, that much more complete will our ‘concept’ of this matter, our ‘objectivity’ be."

On the Genealogy of Morality, Third Treatise, Section 12

Reading to Write (formal essays): the Often Overlooked First Step

Currently, I'm trying to process my last four years as an educator. I've found that one result is an intense desire to write down my thoughts on certain aspects of my pedagogical beliefs and style. My thoughts on reading to write, below, are influenced greatly by my belief that teachers must help students become independent thinkers, which requires a heightened critical capacity and increased self-awareness.

Reading to write cannot happen when one reads passively. Passive reading is done solely for leisure. Thus, it's comfortable, not exacting. My eyes take in the words with minimal meaning and, sometimes, without meaning at all. I receive the written word, the visuals images, unthinkingly, uncritically. My higher order processes shut down for the moment, and I experience enjoyment and delight on a small, matter-of-fact scale. I believe passive reading has many merits, but its easy-going, non-intensive mode cannot generate the material and sensations necessary for essay writing.

In the world of education, teachers often speak of active reading as the appropriate mode for students to learn and employ. While I realize the distinction between passive and active reading is, perhaps, too simple and might collapse easily under scrutiny, I'm using it as a crutch: that's all. Put simply, active reading requires attentiveness. This attentiveness primarily comes from two sources: the teacher (top-down) and/or the student (bottom-up). If a teacher assigns a class some portion of a novel, he might give the students study questions or tell them what to look for. This is very comforting for the class. It provides structure and allows the students to feel like they are on the right track. However, for most of the students, I imagine this top-down approach to active reading turns off, stops up, or desensitizes the students in relation to their personal reactions. (Such a claim is highly contentious, of course. Students who are self-confident will not feel their sentiments suppressed by directives.)

If the teacher truly wishes to foster independent thinking, he'll empower the students to search themselves for a text's meaning; this level of attentiveness, here, comes from the bottom-up (or from the subjective interior out).

For me, reading is an intensely personal experience. I've found that reading is transformative. The reader builds a text's world with his imagination. At the same time, the text challenges, provokes, inspires, excites, saddens, disturbs, vexes, and interests the reader on multiple levels. A relationship is born. Sometimes it's volatile: my conception of a story might change with every run-through. Other times, we can solidify or systematize our beliefs regarding a text, notwithstanding the number of times we read it.

When I ask my students to read, I want them to do so with heightened sensitivity: paying special attention to what moves them. On a first read through, I believe this is very important. Whether it's the mind, heart, or gut, something in us reacts intuitively to a text. That intuition is usually the best starting place for essay writing. It's an insight ripe for the harvest.

Those subjective impressions often take the back seat in formal writing. Yet, I believe they're the wellspring for "objectivity." How to transform an initial sensation into written discourse involves much, much more.

Hobbes's Trans. of Thucydides III.83

83. Thus was wickedness on foot in every kind throughout all Greece by the occasion of their sedition. Sincerity (whereof there is much in a generous nature) was laughed down: and it was far the best course, to stand diffidently against each other, with their thoughts in battle array, which no speech was so powerful, nor oath terrible enough to disband. And being all of them, the more they considered, the more desparate the assurance, they rather contrived how to avoid a mischief than were able to rely on man's faith. And for the most part, such as had the least wit had the best success: for both their own defect, and the subtlety of their adversaries, putting them into a great fear to be overcome in words, or at least in pre-insidiation, by their enemies' great craft , they therefore went roundly to work with them with deeds. Whereas the other, not caring though they were perceived, and thinking they needed not to take by force what they might do by plot, were thereby unprovided and so the more easily slain.

Amateurish Notes on Knowledge and Wisdom

Knowledge is active in acquisition, but passive in use. Knowledge as fact is always static, though a body of knowledge needs maintenance.

Wisdom is active in acquisition and dynamic in use.

To what extent does wisdom mediate knowledge? Is wisdom another word for understanding?

Knowledge and wisdom seem to both touch on "truth" or what is true about individuals, humankind, or the world.

Most would say that knowledge is factual; a body of knowledge is a collection of "truths." Wisdom, however, is much more abstract, even metaphoric. Compare a piece of knowledge, "I have ten fingers," with a bit of wisdom, "Patience is a virtue."

Wisdom appears to be a product of our higher order functions. A dog can know things, but cannot be wise.

Compare the adjectival forms: knowledgeable and wise.

Are clichés knowledge or wisdom?

Knowledge can be put to good or evil. Wisdom seems to be inherently good: a value-laden term.

Knowledge can be taught, the abbé says, but wisdom cannot.

Wis-dumb

Zo says, "Wisdom is slow, roundabout, and indirect." I think I agree. More on this later...

From Plato's Socrates

During a sharp critique of written discourse, Plato writes:

"No, that is not likely--in the garden of letters he will sow and plant, but only for the sake of recreation and amusement; he will write them down as memorials to be treasured against the forgetfulness of old age, by himself, or by any other old man who is treading the same path. He will rejoice in beholding their tender growth; and while others are refreshing their souls with banqueting and the like, this will be the pastime in which his days are spent...

"But nobler far is the serious pursuit of the dialectician, who, finding a congenial soul, by the help of science sows and plants therein words which are able to help themselves and him who planted them, and are not unfruitful, but have in them a seed which others brought up in different soils render immortal, making the possessors of it happy to the utmost extent of human happiness."

From Phaedrus 276d-277a

Pre(R)amble to a Philosophy of Education

I never studied pedagogy in a formal setting. So my “philosophy” is by no means systematic. In fact, it’s a bit impressionistic: stringing together concepts from my liberal arts education with truisms gleaned from my brief career as a teacher. What follows might read better as highlights than anything else.

Early on, I was introduced to the notion of multiple intelligences. While I have only skimmed through Howard Gardner’s work, I believe I’ve come to know his meaning by living in my various classrooms and, thus, wholeheartedly agree with his ideas. It seems like the absolute truth to me that every student’s mind operates differently. I would even add that for certain age groups particular types of learning are more appealing than others. For example, Kindergarteners, for the most part, require kinesthetic activities due to their sprightly dispositions and attention spans. Whenever I plan a lesson or unit, I try to present the information in as many ways as possible—in order to offer my students multiple handles to access and form meaning and knowledge for themselves.

I encountered constructivist theory while working at Columbia University's School for Children. My general understanding of constructivism is twofold (and watered down): the learning is student-centered and the students must build and acquire knowledge for themselves. On the whole, I agree with these tenets. In practice, though, I find that balance is extraordinarily important. The teacher, too, needs to feel some ownership in his classroom. I enjoyed leading discussions and lecturing as much as assigning group work. I think a good Socratic method is not necessarily "traditional." There is a time and place for every lesson that sits on the philosophical spectrum. (While I acknowledge the distinction between teacher-directed and student-centered, I believe that the best lessons blur this dichotomy.)

Upaya is an Indo-Tibetan concept that translates from Sanskrit as "useful means." In the Vimalakirti Sutra, the hero exercises upaya when he runs off with 10,000 maidens to help them reach Zen. Along not too dissimilar lines, I have come to adopt upaya as a virtue of teaching. For me, this concept means flexibility in approach. Learning is deeply contextual. Being able to "read" a classroom and determine the best way to present information is a tremendous skill. Variety, to the same extent as routine, is essential. I always look for new, fascinating, and fun ways to disclose materials.

I read Ralph Emerson's essay on self-reliance in my junior year of high school. His acceptance of man as a political animal and advocacy for individual autonomy has stuck with me throughout the years. In the classroom, I aim to help my students become independent thinkers. So often a student desires to please her teacher. "Is this right?" she'll ask. Teachers can either say yes or no, or say something along the lines of "…use your best judgment." I'll say both. But, in addition, I might tell her that she is incredibly smart and must trust herself to find the correct reply. This extra boost, I believe, helps a student grow her awareness as a problem-solver and independence as a thinker. Self-reliance also helps students take risks: that space where the most learning occurs.

Lastly, I would like to list some kernels of wisdom I've received over the years. (1) Always decide ahead of time what crucial idea you want the students to take away from a lesson. (2) Always be ready to throw your lesson out the window. (3) Listen, value, and respect what the students have to say. (This is, perhaps, most important to me.) (4) Celebrate mistakes. (5) and (6) are somewhat contradictory. The former is: Never teach a lesson that would bore you as a student. Yet, I am most thankful that a dear colleague counteracted that measure with: Every lesson need not be great; some can be just average.

From The Count

"'Alas, my child,' he said, 'human knowledge is very limited and when I have taught you mathematics, physics, history and the three or four modern languages that I speak, you will know everything that I know; and it will take scarcely two years to transfer all this knowledge from my mind to yours.'

'Two years!' said Dantes. 'Do you think I could learn all this in two years?'

'In their application, no; but the principles, yes. Learning does not make one learned: there are those who have knowledge and those who have understanding. The first requires memory, the second philosophy.'

'But can't one learn philosophy?'

'Philosophy cannot be taught. Philosophy is the union of all acquired knowledge and the genius that applies it: philosophy is the shining cloud upon which Christ set His foot to go up to heaven.'"

From The Count of Monte Cristo by Dumas

Inaugural Post

"Boredom as a factor in human behaviour has received, in my opinion, far less attention than it deserves." (Bertrand Russell)

In an effort to spur my own writing, I have created this blog, which, among other things, might discuss the curious intersection of boredom and wisdom, education, literature, and philosophy. Maybe I'll cut loose every now and again, and attempt something humorous.