Satyagraha

Cultural Psychology

Archive for the ‘college’ Category

Hamlet’s Soliloquy in Modern Vernacular (Humor)

leave a comment »

hip_hamlet

Oxbridge University Press is pleased to announce our new Shakespeare Today® series. Our aim is to eliminate all the awkward and pretentious Elizabethan English that makes the bard virtually impossible for modern college students, especially those who’ve been educated in American secondary schools, to read. After all, did Shakespeare’s original groundling Globe Theater hoi polloi audience  London’s fishmongers, shop-keepers, and chimney-sweeps  need dictionaries to look up all those weird words? Did they have to ponder over the complicated sentence constructions? No, it was ordinary language to them. We think it’s in the true spirit of Shakespeare to translate his works into a modern vernacular that today’s semi-literate readers can relate to.

Please enjoy the following sample from our edition of Hamlet, which shows Shakespeare’s original wording followed by our clear, modernized version:

To be, or not to be: that is the question:

Should I just stick my head in an oven?

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind

I mean, is it better, brainwise,

to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

to put up with the bullets and missiles of a hypothetical personified power that unpredictably determines events,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them?

Or instead to get a bunch of weapons and fight back like Rambo?

To die: to sleep; no more;

Death is sleep.

And, by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache

A sleep where we end acute symptoms of coronary artery disease,

and the thousand natural shocks

and the large number — probably not less than 800 (or else we’d say ‘hundreds’), or more than 1999 (i.e., ‘thousands’), and not astronomical (e.g., ‘millions)’ — of annoyances

that flesh is heir to,

that our bodies are genetically programmed for.

’tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d.

Cool!

To die, to sleep;

Recap: death is sleep.

 To sleep: perchance to dream:

Wait a second — when you sleep, you dream.

 Ay, there’s the rub;

Shit!

 For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

Who knows what lousy dreams there are

 when we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

once we’ve wriggled out of our skin like a snake or frog?

 Must give us pause.

Better slow down, dude.

 There’s the respect that makes calamity of so long life;

That’s why we take all this bullsh*t.

 For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

For who’d put up with letting time first spank and then look down its nose at us,

the oppressor’s wrong,

or bosses,

the proud man’s contumely.

being harangued by a**holes,

the pangs of dispriz’d love,

feeling crappy because your girlfriend or boyfriend dumps you,

the insolence of office,

diplomats who double-park but don’t get tickets,

the law’s delay,

cops never being there when you need them,

and the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes,

and bad people pushing you around, no matter how many patience points you’ve earned,

When he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin?

when he could make it all go away with an awl, or a stiletto-shaped steel hairpin, or, by extension, any dagger or dagger-like object?

Who would fardels bear,

Who’d carry piles of sticks around on their backs,

 To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

To perspire and make pig-like noises when really tired?

But that the dread of something after death,

If we didn’t get nauseous thinking how it could actually be worse

The undiscover’d country from whose bourn no traveler returns,

beyond the boundaries of that place for which Travelocity only sells one-way tickets?

puzzles the will,

It makes us give up and look for the answers at the bottom of the page,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of?

And ask like “Why fly to Rio, only to get kidnapped there or worse?”

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

Thus, either (1) a socially-conditioned mental function that inhibits expression of natural instincts, or (2) an innate moral faculty which some associate with the ‘image and likeness’ of God, makes us all chicken.

And thus the native hue of resolution

And the red face we get, like an indigenous person, when we’re fired up and rarin’ to go

is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,

is plastered over the sick look of someone who thinks too much.

shakespeare for dummies

Advertisements

Written by John Uebersax

October 4, 2014 at 8:46 pm

End Diploma Discrimination!

leave a comment »

Wherever I go in California these days I meet young people who either can’t afford to attend college, so they don’t, or else are going to college and taking out huge student loans. (I don’t know which group I feel more sorry for, though I think the first group are smarter.)

The thing is, none of this is necessary. The problem, of course, is the unrealistic and outrageously high tuitions at colleges and universities today. And while I’m scarcely a knee-jerk ‘free market solves all’ libertarian, in this case I think the principle applies. The reason tuitions are so high is because we have a closed system, a monopoly of players in collusion who control higher education. The racket works like this:

  1. Universities convince people that they need a diploma to get a job.
  2. Employers collude with universities, so that they do in fact require diplomas.
  3. Further add the requirement that the diploma must be granted by an accredited university.
  4. Control which colleges and universities get accredited and which don’t, thereby limiting competition. In particular, make the accreditation process so expensive that small independent colleges are excluded.

The net result is that the service (education) becomes virtually mandatory, but only members of the monopoly can supply the service. Consequently the members of the monopoly can charge (or extort) unrealistically high tuitions and get away with it.

So there are two related problems that go into making higher education a monopoly: accreditation, and the use of diplomas. My proposal is that we should seriously consider eliminating both. By eliminating accreditation we would open the marketplace to free competition, the result being lower prices. By eliminating diplomas, at least at the undergraduate level, we would teach people because they want to learn, not because they want a piece of paper.

What is the rational basis for accreditation? One can see why, perhaps, we should require physicians to be licensed — we don’t want quacks endangering the lives of unsuspecting patients. But do students need to be protected from ‘incompetent’ colleges? Can’t we let students themselves decide which colleges are supplying adequate service?

Consider the power of consumer choice in other areas. Does a hamburger chain need to be accredited, or can it just sell hamburgers, competing with other chains, succeeding if it satisfies customers and failing if it doesn’t? Do you check to see where your car mechanic is trained before doing business? Or do you choose based on demonstrated skill and reasonable price? If you can make your own choice of mechanics, restaurants, and movies, why are you deemed incapable of discriminating between excellent and lousy colleges? Why do you need an accreditation organization to do this for you?

Let’s look at another reason people claim to need accreditation: to control admission to professional and graduate schools. So accredited doctoral programs require bachelor’s or master’s degrees from accredited universities so they can turn out PhD’s qualified to teach at accredited universities. It is egregiously self-serving.

I hate to disappoint my fellow academicians, but I have a little confession to make. I went through a fully accredited PhD program. But the truth is that I learned almost nothing in my classes. There were a few good professors, but more often than not they were pompous bores. What I did learn I mainly learned by checking statistics books out of the library and reading in my own time. I taught myself Fortran, developed skill as a programmer, and wrote statistics and simulation programs. That was how I got my education. And I could have done just as well at an unaccredited university — or for that matter, if supplied only with a library pass and computer account.

It surprises me that people aren’t challenging employer diploma discrimination in court. It is a flagrant injustice, if not a clear-cut abuse of civil rights. Take two identical twins. Send one to an accredited university for four years, give the other a computer and internet access. Let them both read the same books and articles. Let one attend in-person lectures, let the other buy lectures from The Teaching Company. After four years you will likely find two equally well educated people. Then have them both send job applications to the same company. The non-degreed twin won’t even be granted an interview; his or her resume won’t be read or sent out of the HR department. Does anybody seriously believe that is legal?

It amazes me that so much interest and energy gather around an issue like gay marriage equity, while everybody sits silently and tolerates diploma discrimination, which is arguably much more serious, because it amounts to rich vs. poor discrimination, unmitigated elitism, and exploitation.

White Paper: Materialism, Idealism, and Higher Education in California

with one comment

UC seal 200x200

I’ve just completed a new White Paper on public higher education policy in California.  Here is an abstract:

For the last 50 years, a belief that building a robust and competitive state economy should predominate California’s public higher education goals has become increasingly prevalent, and today it is taken as an unchallenged assumption. This White Paper emphatically rejects that assumption, and argues that broader cultural and social goals are of equal, if not greater importance for Californians’ well-being than purely economic ones; and that to achieve these broader social goals we must place more emphasis on humanities and the classical model of liberal education.

A more detailed Executive Summary is included with the paper.   You can download a copy to read here, at the Californians for Higher Education Reform website.

Fiat Lucrum: Berkeley Faculty vs. California Citizens on Online Courses

with one comment

Let There Be Loot!

Fiat Lucrum

California State Senator Darrell Steinberg is co-sponsoring SB 520, titled “California Virtual Campus.” The Senate Bill would potentially enable California students to receive credit at public universities and colleges (UCs, CSUs, and CCCs) for courses taken online from any source.  This would presumably stimulate competition, lower course costs, and make higher education available to more Californians.

Predictably, there is resistance from faculty associations.  The Berkeley Faculty Association, for example, is circulating a petition to oppose SB 520.  The petition states that SB 520 “will lower academic standards (particularly in key skills such as writing, math, and basic analysis), augment the educational divide along socio-economic lines, and diminish the ability for underrepresented minorities to excel in higher education.”

This, of course, is all nonsense.  Nearer the truth is that the Berkeley Faculty Association wants to protect faculty jobs. It is sad indeed when they place their own job security ahead of sensible efforts to make higher education affordable and accessible to more Californians.

That said, anything the State Government touches will be tainted by money.  No doubt many private online universities (e.g., Univer$ity of Phoenix) will jump at the new chance to make money.  Whether online universities are actively lobbying State Senators is anybody’s guess (but what do you think?).

What we ought to do is to simply eliminate expensive and needless accreditation requirements for undergraduate colleges, whether brick-and-mortar or virtual.  Consumers and market competition would then assure the highest quality courses for the lowest price.  We should similarly eliminate four-year degrees, which are meaningless.  People should take classes for the purpose of learning, not to get a degree.  If undergraduate education were completely de-regulated, everybody – minorities included – would follow their natural inclinations to educate themselves, and select high-quality vendors.  A world-class college lecture series would cost no more than to rent a Blu-Ray movie.

Explaining the College Tuition Crisis in Concrete Terms

leave a comment »

This infographic, sent to me by some colleagues, documents in clear and sobering terms the scope of the college tuition crisis and soaring higher education costs.  It’s a very creative and effective way to get the message across, don’t you think?

College Isn't Cheap

The full article can be found here.

Written by John Uebersax

January 28, 2013 at 7:19 pm

James Freeman Clarke — Self-Culture by Reading and Books

with one comment

Jamesfreemanclarke

“Knowledge of books, and a habit of careful reading, is a most important means of intellectual development.”

One of the many hidden gems in New England Transcendentalist literature. This insightful essay by James Freeman Clarke (1810–1888) is as valuable today as ever. (Source: James Freeman Clarke, Self-Culture Physical, Intellectual, Moral And Spiritual. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1908 [orig. ed. 1880]; ch. 15, pp. 307—324.)*

space

Culture By Reading And Books

space

THE subject of this chapter is “Reading as a Means of Culture.”

The “Publisher’s Circular” gives the statistics of the books issued each year from the press in England. The annual number of titles, one year with another, is about five thousand. About two-thirds of these are new books; the others are reprints. Last year there were 737 theological books, 529 educational works, 522 juvenile books, and 854 works of fiction. I have not at hand the statistics of books for the United States, but it must compare favorably with that of England, as a larger proportion of our population are able to read than in that country. The number of copies of newspapers printed and circulated every year in the United States is enormous, — I was about to say frightful. The annual circulation is fifteen hundred millions of copies, which would give about forty copies every year to every man, woman, and child in the United States.

These statistics show how much time is occupied by the people in reading. And it is a valuable education, so far as it goes. Poor as much is that is printed, it is better than the common talk. The average newspaper is higher than the average conversation. The newspaper does not swear, does not use coarse and gross language; it is often weak, but does not talk pure nonsense. It is trying to say something, and it has to seem to be aiming at something honest, true, and generous. The newspapers give a vast amount of information in regard to the affairs of mankind. The nation which reads newspapers is able to sympathize with the people of other countries; men’s hearts are enlarged, and they are helped to love their fellow-men. Without newspapers, we should never have felt sympathy with Greece in her revolution, with Poland in its misfortunes, with Italy in its independence and unity, with France in her great disasters and subsequent recovery. Without the newspapers, we should not have sent food to starving Ireland in its years of famine, for we should, as a people, have known nothing about it. The newspapers create a common feeling and a common opinion through the whole land, and a sympathy with the people of other lands. So they help the cause of humanity and of social progress.

But with all this good done by reading newspapers, there is one particular evil. It produces that state of mind which the Book of Acts ascribed to the Athenians: “The Athenians and strangers at Athens passed all their time,” so we are told in the Acts, “in seeing and hearing some new thing.” What they wanted was not the new, but the novel. They wished for novel sensations, perpetual change.   Therefore, neither St. Paul – nor Socrates four centuries earlier – had much success teaching the Athenians anything really new.  There was no depth in that soil.

Now, today the newspaper creates and feeds the appetite for news. When we read it, it is not to find what is true, what is important, what we must consider and reflect upon, what we must carry away and remember, but what is new. When any very curious or important event occurs, the newspaper, in narrating it, often gives, as its only comment and reflection, this phrase, “What next?” That is often the motto of the newspaper and the newspaper reader, “What next?” The only reflection and moral derived from learning a great fact is simply this, “Now let us hear of another.” The whole world rushes to the newspaper every morning to find out what has happened since yesterday; and the moment it finds what has happened, it cares no more about it. We think no more of yesterday’s newspaper than of yesterday’s dinner. We forget both as soon as possible. This is a mental dissipation which takes away mental earnestness, and destroys all hearty interest in truth. It also weakens the memory. The memory, like all other powers, is strengthened by exercise. We cultivate our memory by remembering. But if we read, not intending to remember what we read, but expecting to forget it, then we cultivate the habit of forgetting. I think that the effect of reading newspapers, in the way we read them, must be to weaken steadily and permanently, the memory of the nation. Every generation will be born with a worse memory than that which preceded it. The proper way to cure this evil would be to select every day from the newspaper certain important facts to be carried in the mind, considered and thought about. These would be fixed in the memory. They should be made the subject of conversation with friends or in the family, and this would improve the memory, instead of destroying it.

In short, in reading, and in all that we read, our mind should be active, and not passive. Milton says:—

                                 “Who reads
Incessantly, and to his reading brings not
A spirit and genius equal or superior,
Uncertain and unsettled still remains,
Deep versed in books and shallow in himself.”

And Lord Bacon tells us that “reading makes a full man, conference (or conversation) a ready man, and writing an exact man;” and that we should read, not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider. Montaigne, who had a passion for books, who never travelled without them, and called them the best viaticum for this journey of life, said that the principal use of reading, to him, was, that it roused his reason. It employed his judgment, not his memory. “Read much, not many things,” is good advice. There was an old saying, “He is a man of one book.” If one reads but one book, he may read that one book so well as to be a very hard man to encounter. But he is a happy person who enjoys his books, and to whom the day does not seem long enough for reading. For books are friends who never quarrel, never complain, are never false; who come from far ages and old lands to talk with us when we wish to hear them, and are silent when we are weary. Good books take us away from our small troubles and petty vexations into a serene atmosphere of thought, nobleness, truth. They are solace in sorrow, and companions in joy.

Knowledge of books, and a habit of careful reading, is a most important means of intellectual development. It gives mental breadth, poise, and authority. The man of great practical abilities, but unacquainted with the history or theory of a subject, is liable to make serious mistakes. He cannot be trusted. If he is conscious himself of his ignorance, he is timid; if not conscious, he is rash. It would be impossible for our members of Congress to commit so many blunders if they should pass an examination in political economy before taking their seats. To read two or three good books on any subject is equivalent to hearing it discussed by an assembly of wise, able, and impartial experts, who tell you all that can be known about it. You see the whole field, understand all that can be said on one side or the other, know what has been the result in practice of either course. The experience of the whole world, and of all past history, comes to your aid.

The moral influence also of good books is very great. They purify the taste, elevate the character, make low pleasures unattractive, and carry the soul up into a region of noble aims and generous purposes. All first-class books are eminently moral; and all immoral books are, so far, poor books. Homer, Shakspeare, Plato, Dante, are pure in their spirit, and elevate the character. No one can make a thorough study of such books as these without being a better man. Milton says, and says truly, that “our sage and serious poet, Spenser, is, I dare be known to think, a better teacher of temperance than John Duns Scotus or Thomas Aquinas.” Who can read the biography of Benjamin Franklin without learning to admire such a life of perpetual study, unfailing industry, large patriotism, temperance, good-humor, and general good-will? When we read the story of Washington we become sure that disinterested public service is a real thing. The charming allegory of the “Pilgrim’s Progress” teaches, in pictures too vivid to be ever forgotten, of the temptations and dangers we must encounter in any serious effort to save our soul.

Religious books are usually considered dull and uninteresting; but that they need not be so appears from the example of this book of Bunyan’s, and from the popularity of religious books far inferior in their quality. In fact, religious books stand at the summit of literature. First come the Sacred Scriptures of the race, —the books of books,—and, before all others, the Christian and Hebrew Bible, read by countless millions. Then come the Scriptures of the Hindus, the Persians, the Chinese, the Buddhists, also circulated by millions of copies during numerous centuries. Next come religious books of the second class, as the works of Homer, Hesiod, Aeschylus, Pindar; the great poems of Dante and Milton; and, after these, the lives of saints, the liturgies and hymns of the ages, the manuals of devotion, “The Imitation of Christ,” “Taylor’s Holy Living,” the works of Aquinas, Luther, Calvin, Wesley, Swedenborg, Channing. The vast circulation of such works testifies that there is nothing so interesting to the human heart as religion.

But “let him that readeth understand.” It used to be thought a great credit to a boy to “love his book,” to be fond of reading. But all depends on what we read and how we read. One may have a morbid love of reading. The habit of reading may become an evil. I have known persons who had acquired such a love for novel-reading that it was a real disease. They swallowed novel after novel as a rum-drinker swallows his glass of spirits. They lived on that excitement. They were passive recipients of these stories, and the more they read the weaker grew their minds. The result of this sort of reading is mental imbecility. Better, instead of it, to walk in the fields, to dig potatoes, or to talk with the first man you meet.

I do not mean to say that novel-reading is necessarily bad. It was formerly thought wrong to read novels at all; or, at least, wrong to read anything but the regular moral romance: the writings of Miss Edgeworth, Miss Burney, and the like. But novels in which the moral is too prominent are usually not so influential as those in which it comes, as in life, out of the incidents themselves. “The Vicar of Wakefield” has not any moral which compels your attention. “Don Quixote” has no obtrusive moral. But who can read the first and not sympathize with the good man, who, with all his ignorance of the world and its ways, commands our respect by his honorable purposes and his loyalty to truth and right. So, while we read “Don Quixote,” we smile at the folly of the good knight with the surface of our mind, and love and honor him in the depths of our heart, for the magnanimity and nobleness of his character. We smile at him, but respect him. Such books make us feel how much better is inward purity and uprightness than any mere knowledge of the world or outward success. That is their moral, and it is a great one. But it is nowhere stated in so many words.

The great merit of Walter Scott’s novels is their generous and pure sentiment. There is a strain of generosity, manliness, truth, which runs through them all. They nowhere take for granted meanness; they always take for granted justice and honor. Now this is the real, though subtle, influence which comes from novels, poems, plays. This indirect influence, this taking for granted, is the most influential of all. Some books take for granted that man is selfish and mean. Others take for granted that he is noble and true. Some assume that all men are led by selfishness, and all women by vanity. Such books are deeply immoral, no matter what good maxims are tacked to them. For our standard of right and wrong is usually that of the public opinion just around us, and the books we read create a part of that public opinion. Such works as those of Dickens have gone into public opinion, and have been the guides of the public conscience. They have made us all feel the duty of caring for such poor orphans as Smike; they have made us love the lowly; they have infused an aroma of generous feeling into the public mind. Catholics have their confessors, and those priests whom they call their directors, to whom they go to tell them what they ought to do. Such writers as Scott and Dickens are the directors of the public conscience. Well when they direct it aright.

Novels are good or bad, like other books. To ask whether we ought to read novels is like asking whether we ought to go into society. Choose your associates; choose your books. Do not read anything and everything because it is printed. Meanness, cynicism, cruelty, falsehood, get themselves printed. It is necessary that each one should examine for himself the character of what he reads, and find what effect it has on him.

Let him that readeth understand. “Weigh and consider.”

I return to the maxim to which I referred above, non multa, sed multum. Read much, but do not read many things. Select the great teachers of the race, the great masters, and read them. Read Bacon, Milton, Shakspeare, Dante, Homer, Herodotus, Thucydides, Schiller, Goethe, Lessing. Do not read about these authors in magazines, but read the authors themselves. He who has once carefully read Bacon’s “Advancement of Learning,” or Milton’s “Areopagitica,” or the “Phaedo” of Plato, has taken a step forward in thought and life. We read many criticisms on books; it were better to read the books themselves. Who, in visiting Niagara, instead of looking at the majestic cataract itself, would wish to see it reflected in a mirror in a camera obscura? Drink at the fountain, not from the stream. Read Pope, rather than Dr. Johnson’s account of him. Read Milton before you read Macaulay’s article on Milton. Read Goethe, and then Carlyle’s essay on Goethe. Literature tends too much to diluted and second-hand reading. Instead of great books, we read the reviews of books, then articles on the reviews, then criticisms on those articles, then essays on those criticisms.

It is an epoch in one’s life to read a great book for the first time. It is like going to Mont Blanc or to Niagara without the journey or the expense. When I was a boy I lived in the country, and had constructed for myself a reading-room amid the massive limbs of an old chestnut-tree. There I retired, and spent long mornings in reading the plays of Shakspeare, the “Paradise Lost,” the songs of Burns, the poems of Wordsworth or of Walter Scott. I immersed myself in them. The hours passed by, the sun sank lower toward his setting, the shadows moved on; entranced in my book, I read and noticed nothing. To read a good book thus is an event in one’s life.

I once spent a long day in reading the Book of Job in the translation of Noyes. I had never read it before from the beginning to the end. It was a day much to be remembered. I beg of you to take such books as these when you have time enough, and read them through; else you cannot know how great they are. Such books are not meant to be read as serials, or to be issued in monthly numbers. To read Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” take a long summer’s day. Go into the country, and sit in the woods alone. Read on and on, and give the whole day to it. Only so can you realize the majesty of that muse,—

“Sailing with supreme dominion
Through the azure depths of air,”

— the genius which paints in turn the sublime horrors of hell, the tender beauty of paradise,—

“The spirits and Intelligences fair
And angels waiting on the Almighty’s chair.”

In reading a book, you will notice that besides the thoughts, besides the visible moral, it has a soul, a leaven of character. The words of a book may be very moral, but the tone immoral. The words may be religious, but the tone sceptical. For the religion may be a mere smooth, cold crust over a deep running tendency to doubt; the morality may be exhortation to correct conduct coming out of a spirit which does not believe in right or wrong. That book, to me, is not moral which is stuffed with moral maxims, or in which good people end by getting rich and prosperous; but that which makes goodness seem both beautiful and possible; which makes it seem worth while to live, that we may live generously and nobly. That book to me is religious, not which exhorts us solemnly to become pious under penalty of going to hell if we are not, but in which love to God and man seem natural, easy, and beautiful.

A book may be religious without being Christian. The religious feeling which pours itself out in expressions of awe, reverence, fear, remorse, trust, is nearly the same in all lands, all times, and all religions. Something of it is to be found in Buddhism, in Mohammedanism, among the Hindus and the Chinese. But Christianity adds the element of faith in God as a living friend, close to us. The spirit of Christianity is the spirit of Jesus. When a book has not the spirit of Christ, it is none of his, though it may be full of religious notions, and may be popular enough to reach a hundred editions. The book which has in it the spirit of Christ is an apostle of Christianity, though it be a novel by Dickens, or a poem by Tennyson.

Biography, history, and travels give us more information than any other kind of works. They should be read together. One illustrates the other. And I think these are the books to read in classes. The best way of learning history is to have a class, in which a certain period of history shall be the subject of the lesson, and each member of the class read in a different book about that period. Then, when they come together, each has something to tell to the others, and something to learn from them. And, in like manner, it is well to form classes to read other works and pursue other studies, for so the stimulus of society and co-operation aids the solitary study which accompanies it.

I will close these remarks with a few rules to assist in reading to advantage.

1. Read what interests you. Interesting books are those which do us good. Unless a book interests us, we cannot fix our attention to it. Unless we attend to it, we do not understand it, or take it in. Then, we are wasting our time on a merely mechanical process, and are deceiving ourselves with a show devoid of substance.

The best books are the most interesting. Those which are clearest, most intelligible, best expressed, the logic of which is the most convincing; which are deepest, broadest, loftiest. Therefore, read the books on subjects which interest you, by the best writers on those subjects. And these are also interesting to that degree that, having once read them, you will never forget them.

The most interesting books, as regards their subjects, are well-written biographies and well-written books of travels. The one shows us human nature, the other the world and life. Therefore the undying charm of such works as “Plutarch’s Lives,” Xenophon’sMemorabilia of Socrates,” Johnson’s “Lives of the Poets,” the biographical essays by Macaulay and Carlyle, and the like.

This rule of reading what is interesting is so important, that it is a good appendix to the rule to stop reading when we find we cannot fix our attention and are reading mechanically. For to read without attention is to form a habit of inattention. To read without interest, will tend to a loss of interest in all reading. To go through the mechanical form of reading when our mind is not in it, weakens the mental powers, and does not strengthen them.

Therefore, select the best and most interesting books to read.

2. Read actively, not passively.  A person may be deeply interested in a sensational story, but it is often a purely passive interest. He does not think about what he is reading. The result is a momentary excitement, and after it is over he has received injury rather than good from it. He is less fit to think or to act than he was before.

We should always, in reading, exercise memory, judgment, and the faculties of comparison and reason. We should repeat in our own words the substance of what we read, take notes of it, converse about it, fix it in our memory, discuss it with others, and compare it with other books on the same subjects. This takes time; but it is far better to read a few books carefully and thoroughly, than many books superficially. Good books should be read again and again, and thought about, talked about, considered and re-considered. So, at last, what we read becomes our own.

3. Therefore, read with some system and method. Arrange circumstances so as to keep yourself up to your work. One method is for two persons to read the same book, and to meet together to talk about it. I read a large part of Goethe and Schiller and some other writers in this way, in company with Margaret Fuller, spending two or three evenings every week at her house, talking with her about what we had been reading. An extension of this method is to form a class to read on certain subjects; for example, a new book, a period of history, a country and people, a system of philosophy, a science, and then to meet and discuss together this common subject. Such a class might be formed in connection with every book-club. Where this cannot be done, a person might, at least, have a note-book, and write down the heads of what he reads, and his own thoughts about it. To these notes he would afterward refer with pleasure and advantage.

If a person, in the course of some years, should read in this way such writers as Shakspeare, Milton, Bacon, Locke, Gibbon, Wordsworth, and our best American writers, he would, by this method alone, acquire a good education and a large intellectual development. Any one important book read in this way would enlarge amazingly the sphere of one’s knowledge. I knew a gentleman who read thus “Carlyle’s History of the French Revolution;” looking up every event, person, and place referred to, and taking notes of all, and thus he became thoroughly versed in the whole history of modern Europe.

Let us be thankful for books. I sympathize with Charles Lamb, who said that he wished to ask a “grace before reading” more than a “grace before dinner.” Let us thank God for books. When I consider what some books have done for the world, and what they are doing, how they keep up our hope, awaken new courage and faith, soothe pain, give an ideal life to those whose homes are cold and hard, bind together distant ages and foreign lands, create new worlds of beauty, bring down truth from heaven, —I give eternal blessings for this gift, and pray that we may all use it aright, and abuse it never. Thank God for books, —

“Those stately arks, that from the deep
Garner the life for worlds to be;
And, with their glorious burden, sweep
Adown dark Time’s untravelled sea.”

* * *

* I have made made minor edits to the text for the benefit of modern readers — webmaster.

Revisioning the University, Part 2: Extra-Educational Motives for College Attendance

with one comment

The first post in this series argued that the brick-and-mortar university is obsolete in its current form, because modern technology makes it unnecessary.  Free, or nominally priced distance-learning courses are an alternative.  As proof of concept, a later post constructed a sample liberal arts curriculum using existing high-quality video courses, with an estimated cost of $400/year.

Given that viable alternatives exist, why do young people still feel compelled to attend status quo corporate-style universities, even if that means paying insane tuition? It seems we must look to motivations beyond the simple wish to gain an education, i.e., to explanations in terms of emotional, social, and ‘intangible’ factors.  Let’s consider a few of these.

Rite of Passage

Every young person instinctively seeks to gain social recognition – i.e., some form of achievement such that society will say, “you have arrived at adulthood.”  This seems a basic requirement for self-esteem, at least in our society.  Graduation from a college or university can meet this need for achievement.  That is reasonable in itself.  But the question must be asked:  should we really subject students to massive debt merely for this purpose?  Other ways to meet the need are possible (climbing Mt. Everest, hiking the Appalachian Trail, going on a mission, starting a business, completing a Great Books list, etc.)

We should add that there is both a good and a bad form of this.  The good form supplies ways that young people can derive *genuine* self-esteem by accomplishing something beneficial to others.  The bad form is elitism, whereby a person does something for the sake of gaining status.  Modern universities appeal to this elitism.

Socialization and Partying

Clearly many students see college largely as an opportunity for socialization and partying.  The former is arguably productive, or at least benign:  young people make friends, join clubs, participate in intra-mural sports, etc.  However this often degenerates into a partying lifestyle.  Not only does that serve no productive purpose, it means that, in the case of public universities, taxpayers are required to subsidize this kind of atmosphere.  This is also unfair to those students who approach college more seriously.

Delay of Entry to Workforce

If there are no jobs, society must have some way to handle the surplus labor.  Colleges can be misused for this purpose.

‘Coasting’

Today’s public elementary and secondary school education, combined with the dumbing-down forces of modern culture generally, have potentially left young people today less emotionally and intellectual mature than in previous generations.  Not really knowing who they are or what they want, students attend college for indefinite periods, hoping to eventually ‘find themselves’. However, all too often what happens instead is that they acquire the habit of laziness and lack of focus.

Transition from Parental Household

A seemingly minor point, but actually fairly important.  If young people didn’t have some convenient and non-threatening way to move out of the parental household, they might stay there indefinitely.  So young people and parents alike have this tacit incentive for  the former to move off to college.

Having noted a few of these secondary motives for attending college, we can ask:  is there some alternative way to address these without making young people pay enormous college tuition?

Of course there are, and if society tried, it could come up with better solutions.  One simple example would be a program of nature camps, whereby young people (e.g. ages 18-20) spend a year or two living and working, say, in the mountains somewhere.  Nominally, they’d do things like building trails or planting trees, maybe train in athletics.  Informally, they could socialize, party, become more mature, etc.  At least in the past, this paradigm was followed in certain Scandinavian countries.

Another alternative would be to encourage a wanderjahr abroad – informal traveling, perhaps organized around some theme of interest, like historical sites, national capitals, or museums.

Once they’ve sown their wild oats and gained maturity, young people could return at age 20 or 21 to begin their college education in earnest.  When I taught I was strongly impressed by how much this age difference helped in terms of student focus.  For example, students who started college after military service just breezed through courses; it made teaching much easier.

The bottom line is that we can separate the educational purpose from certain unnecessary social functions of the modern college.  By addressing the latter in other ways, we should be able to make the educational function of colleges much more efficient, and can reduce tuition accordingly.