Context
Slate magazine often runs a feature whereby they will have one or more participants weigh in on a piece of pop culture. Currently Katie Allison Granju is debating Hanna Rosin on the Elisabeth Badinter book The Conflict: How Modern Motherhood Undermines the Status of Women. Over her past couple of entries, Granju has focused on how Badinter's financial interest in Nestle's PR company disqualifies her from taking a position on breastfeeding, snce Nestle is a multinational manufacturer of infant formula. Here is a paragraph from today's entry:
"So how can anyone take anything Elisabeth Badinter has to say on the topic of infant-maternal nutrition seriously? Her ethical conflict is so enormous, and her motives so glaringly questionable, that her position on the topic ultimately doesn’t even matter. There’s just no way to get past who it is making the argument. It’s as if the Board Chairman for American Beef Association’s publicist released a book criticizing Americans’ “naturalist” eating habits, and vegetarianism in particular. It wouldn’t matter if she had a Ph.D. in nutrition from Harvard or a history of bashing vegetarianism. It also wouldn’t matter if her book were well argued and persuasive. The very idea of someone in that position writing such a book would be laughable."
Commentary
There is a saying in American politics, and maybe elsewhere as well: "If you can't attack the message, attack the messenger." With that in mind, I'm forced to disagree with Ms. Granju. It always matters if a book, or any statement of opinion for that matter, is well argued and persuasive. I have no problem with accounting for someone's character, personal history and economic ties when evaluating an argument, but if those are the only criteria you use, I think you'll miss out on some good stuff. I personally thought the late Christopher Hitchens was an execrable human being, but man could he write stuff!
I also think this critique fails to allow for the possibility that Badinter might be taking a principled position in both the economic and philosophical spheres. If one truly believes in the legitimate uses of baby formula to free up women's time, why wouldn't you invest in Nestle's publicist and even Nestle itself? Are we supposed to expect hypocrisy and cynical self-interest instead, where no one actually puts their money where their mouth is? Wouldn't that be a bigger "ethical conflict?"
So, to sum up, I don't think a well-researched book written by a PhD in nutrition on the evils of vegetarianism would be laughable, even if it was written by someone employed by the American Beef Association. I like to gather as
many reasoned opinions as I can. I'm about done with the Slate series, though. I think the conversation has gone about one entry past "reasoned."
What did you see today?
Showing posts with label intellectual freedom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label intellectual freedom. Show all posts
12/03/2011
I saw a list of classroom rules
Context
There have been papers littered around the park next to my home for a while now, so I decided to go pick them up and dispose of them. Idly looking at some of them, I realized they were schoolwork for a freshman at our local high school, including a long set of rules for a math class. One of the rules was: don't criticize teachers or administrators.
Commentary
I taught high school for a year after I graduated from college, and discipline was my least favorite aspect of the endeavor. Some of that was surely because I don't like being told what to do and therefore don't like telling people what to do. This characteristic of mine is discussed in more detail in this post, if you'd like a blast from the past.
There was more to it than that, though. There was also the idealistic (and who isn't idealistic when they first get out of college) notion that what I was teaching should be interesting enough that the students wouldn't have to be forced to learn it, which is what classroom management sometimes felt like to me. Even then I realized this couldn't possibly be true all the time, and that even I was subject to discipline more than once from my favorite teacher in high school. To this day, though, it still seems like a good goal to keep in front of me when I teach. So if I concede that some classroom rules are necessary, I would like you to return the favor by understanding that the goals behind the rules are an important educational consideration.
A few weeks ago, I read Whatever It Takes by Paul Tough, which is a book about Geoffrey Canada's efforts to rescue kids in Harlem from the poverty cycle. One of the things the Harlem Children's Zone's Baby College tries to teach parents is to not shut their kids up when they ask questions. After all, as Canada puts it, that's what "rich white kids" do all the time, and it gives them an important step up in formal educational settings. This is a struggle for the parents, though, because they want to emphasize good, respectful behavior, which in their eyes includes not pestering people with questions. These goals are in conflict, but I'm foursquare with the Baby College in believing it's better to be smart and annoying than dumb and pleasant. I will confess to having more personal experience with one side of this equation than the other.
I believe that if you're trying to grow smart kids (and I concede this may or may not be the goal of any given educational institution), you have to be understand that all questions in between the poles of completely innocuous (How are you?) and completely obnoxious (Are you always this idiotic?) spring from a void or a conflict within a person. I ask why the sky is blue because I don't know, but also because it is a different color than the grass and because I know the sky is composed of air and air doesn't look blue when it's right in front of me. In other words, I'm trying to make sense of stuff. Answering my question, or at least acknowledging that it's OK to ask it, teaches me that sensemaking is an appropriate thing to do.
The same thing is true of questioning authority, or criticizing it, as the case may be. If someone's beliefs, experience and/or feelings don't mesh well with what they're being told by someone in charge, saying so is a way of making sense of how the world works. I'm not saying this means those in power always have to accommodate what we want or feel, but there's no reason to pretend we don't have those individual needs. That's why the U.S. Constitution protects our right to talk about these conflicts. I guess I'll just be grateful I was reading the rules for a math class instead of a civics one.
What did you see today?
There have been papers littered around the park next to my home for a while now, so I decided to go pick them up and dispose of them. Idly looking at some of them, I realized they were schoolwork for a freshman at our local high school, including a long set of rules for a math class. One of the rules was: don't criticize teachers or administrators.
Commentary
I taught high school for a year after I graduated from college, and discipline was my least favorite aspect of the endeavor. Some of that was surely because I don't like being told what to do and therefore don't like telling people what to do. This characteristic of mine is discussed in more detail in this post, if you'd like a blast from the past.
There was more to it than that, though. There was also the idealistic (and who isn't idealistic when they first get out of college) notion that what I was teaching should be interesting enough that the students wouldn't have to be forced to learn it, which is what classroom management sometimes felt like to me. Even then I realized this couldn't possibly be true all the time, and that even I was subject to discipline more than once from my favorite teacher in high school. To this day, though, it still seems like a good goal to keep in front of me when I teach. So if I concede that some classroom rules are necessary, I would like you to return the favor by understanding that the goals behind the rules are an important educational consideration.
A few weeks ago, I read Whatever It Takes by Paul Tough, which is a book about Geoffrey Canada's efforts to rescue kids in Harlem from the poverty cycle. One of the things the Harlem Children's Zone's Baby College tries to teach parents is to not shut their kids up when they ask questions. After all, as Canada puts it, that's what "rich white kids" do all the time, and it gives them an important step up in formal educational settings. This is a struggle for the parents, though, because they want to emphasize good, respectful behavior, which in their eyes includes not pestering people with questions. These goals are in conflict, but I'm foursquare with the Baby College in believing it's better to be smart and annoying than dumb and pleasant. I will confess to having more personal experience with one side of this equation than the other.
I believe that if you're trying to grow smart kids (and I concede this may or may not be the goal of any given educational institution), you have to be understand that all questions in between the poles of completely innocuous (How are you?) and completely obnoxious (Are you always this idiotic?) spring from a void or a conflict within a person. I ask why the sky is blue because I don't know, but also because it is a different color than the grass and because I know the sky is composed of air and air doesn't look blue when it's right in front of me. In other words, I'm trying to make sense of stuff. Answering my question, or at least acknowledging that it's OK to ask it, teaches me that sensemaking is an appropriate thing to do.
The same thing is true of questioning authority, or criticizing it, as the case may be. If someone's beliefs, experience and/or feelings don't mesh well with what they're being told by someone in charge, saying so is a way of making sense of how the world works. I'm not saying this means those in power always have to accommodate what we want or feel, but there's no reason to pretend we don't have those individual needs. That's why the U.S. Constitution protects our right to talk about these conflicts. I guess I'll just be grateful I was reading the rules for a math class instead of a civics one.
What did you see today?
4/08/2011
I saw ideas about education
Context
I'm still reading What Would Google Do? In the section on Google U, Jarvis posits that most useful education is self-motivated and self-directing, so the current educational model of coming to a specific classroom and learning what the teacher tells you is hopelessly outdated. He allows that our schools may have a socialization function as well as an educational one, but he thinks there are plenty of other communities and experiences that could fulfill the same role.
Commentary
OK, now Jarvis has wandered into my field, so I'm bound to get touchy. Actually, I don't want to talk about education per se; I want to dive into that "socialization" thing. It seems to me that when Jarvis looks at it, he thinks of socialization as the process of helping a student find a community, literally giving them a social life in some respect.
However, that's not entirely what we expect out of schooling, especially public schooling, in this country. We don't just want students to find some community to belong to, we want them to specifically belong to the American community. The most obvious example of our attempts to create Americans is the civics class, but there are others. Take science labs. Performing experiments in school tells our kids that they shouldn't just take someone's word for something. Or gym class, where 8-year-olds learn some of the same lessons about discipline and teamwork they would if they attended military boot camp.
In fact, the biggest battles we fight over education in this country are about what "America" is. Are we a Christian people who should be taught about God in the classroom? Are we an egalitarian people who believe everyone should learn together, regardless of skills or background? Is free speech or good discipline a more important characteristic of Americans? General school board meetings are fun, but if you really want to get a lesson in civics, find a way to get yourself on a curriculum or textbook choosing committee. Then you'll really learn what this country is all about, at least in your neighbors' eyes.
Does it make you uncomfortable when I talk about school as indoctrination? That is, in and of itself, an American thing. We pride ourselves on being free, independent, self-deterministic types. And, to be fair, the fact that we debate the issues mentioned above on a regular basis, rather than being dictated to by a small group of people or a time-honored tradition, speaks to how free we are. And also to why debate techniques are frequently taught in American schools.
What did you see today?
I'm still reading What Would Google Do? In the section on Google U, Jarvis posits that most useful education is self-motivated and self-directing, so the current educational model of coming to a specific classroom and learning what the teacher tells you is hopelessly outdated. He allows that our schools may have a socialization function as well as an educational one, but he thinks there are plenty of other communities and experiences that could fulfill the same role.
Commentary
OK, now Jarvis has wandered into my field, so I'm bound to get touchy. Actually, I don't want to talk about education per se; I want to dive into that "socialization" thing. It seems to me that when Jarvis looks at it, he thinks of socialization as the process of helping a student find a community, literally giving them a social life in some respect.
However, that's not entirely what we expect out of schooling, especially public schooling, in this country. We don't just want students to find some community to belong to, we want them to specifically belong to the American community. The most obvious example of our attempts to create Americans is the civics class, but there are others. Take science labs. Performing experiments in school tells our kids that they shouldn't just take someone's word for something. Or gym class, where 8-year-olds learn some of the same lessons about discipline and teamwork they would if they attended military boot camp.
In fact, the biggest battles we fight over education in this country are about what "America" is. Are we a Christian people who should be taught about God in the classroom? Are we an egalitarian people who believe everyone should learn together, regardless of skills or background? Is free speech or good discipline a more important characteristic of Americans? General school board meetings are fun, but if you really want to get a lesson in civics, find a way to get yourself on a curriculum or textbook choosing committee. Then you'll really learn what this country is all about, at least in your neighbors' eyes.
Does it make you uncomfortable when I talk about school as indoctrination? That is, in and of itself, an American thing. We pride ourselves on being free, independent, self-deterministic types. And, to be fair, the fact that we debate the issues mentioned above on a regular basis, rather than being dictated to by a small group of people or a time-honored tradition, speaks to how free we are. And also to why debate techniques are frequently taught in American schools.
What did you see today?
2/15/2011
I saw responses to unwelcome opinions
Context
Today I saw two similar things in different places. First on PUBLIB, an e-mail list for public librarians, I saw a series of inflammatory posts (one example here, but you can find others if you browse the February entries by the same author, Matthew Price), followed by some equally inflammatory responses and several well-considered ones, including this one by Robert Baillot. Then on Slashdot, I saw another discussion initiated by quoting Glenn Beck in one of his more outrageous moods and evolving into a metadiscussion of how to respond to outrageous opinions. By the way, that last link is a little tricky. You may have to do some collapsing and expanding of comments to see what I'm talking about.
Commentary
Almost since the inception of the internet, people have been using it to exchange opinions. And almost since the start of that activity, there have been trolls, which are defined as people who take an inflammatory stand just for the sake of being inflammatory, not because they actually believe it. The perception is that trolls get off on attention or on getting people upset because they think it makes them superior.
The conventional wisdom about this phenomenon is "Don't feed the trolls," i.e. don't encourage their bad behavior by responding, but I was intrigued by the two responses I saw that seemed to fly in the face of that. "Ephemeriis" takes a civic responsibility approach, saying that since Glenn Beck is taken seriously in some quarters, the opposition is obligated to craft a serious rebuttal. Robert Balliot goes him one better by quoting Aristotle to make the point that every idea deserves consideration, even the rantings of a troll.
These responses are challenging to me. I often believe in operant conditioning, or at least the principle I learned from my mother: "If you ignore someone, he'll go away." But is getting someone to go away really my goal? Or is it engagement, where I continue to grapple with the people who drive me crazy in the belief that the God who loves all of us might be trying to tell me something?
What did you see today?
Today I saw two similar things in different places. First on PUBLIB, an e-mail list for public librarians, I saw a series of inflammatory posts (one example here, but you can find others if you browse the February entries by the same author, Matthew Price), followed by some equally inflammatory responses and several well-considered ones, including this one by Robert Baillot. Then on Slashdot, I saw another discussion initiated by quoting Glenn Beck in one of his more outrageous moods and evolving into a metadiscussion of how to respond to outrageous opinions. By the way, that last link is a little tricky. You may have to do some collapsing and expanding of comments to see what I'm talking about.
Commentary
Almost since the inception of the internet, people have been using it to exchange opinions. And almost since the start of that activity, there have been trolls, which are defined as people who take an inflammatory stand just for the sake of being inflammatory, not because they actually believe it. The perception is that trolls get off on attention or on getting people upset because they think it makes them superior.
The conventional wisdom about this phenomenon is "Don't feed the trolls," i.e. don't encourage their bad behavior by responding, but I was intrigued by the two responses I saw that seemed to fly in the face of that. "Ephemeriis" takes a civic responsibility approach, saying that since Glenn Beck is taken seriously in some quarters, the opposition is obligated to craft a serious rebuttal. Robert Balliot goes him one better by quoting Aristotle to make the point that every idea deserves consideration, even the rantings of a troll.
These responses are challenging to me. I often believe in operant conditioning, or at least the principle I learned from my mother: "If you ignore someone, he'll go away." But is getting someone to go away really my goal? Or is it engagement, where I continue to grapple with the people who drive me crazy in the belief that the God who loves all of us might be trying to tell me something?
What did you see today?
11/10/2010
I saw a description of groupings
Context
I read Andrew Sullivan's article about the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear on The Atlantic's website today. In it, he mentions that although we have three major political groups in the United States (Republicans, Democrats and Independents), we also have three cultural one (idealogues, pragmatists, and the totally indifferent).
Commentary
At first I thought I liked the idea of cultural groupings as opposed to political ones because I don't really fit comfortably into a Republican, Democratic, or Independent box. I mean, I usually self-identify as Independent, but as Inigo Montoya would say, "I don't think that word means what you think it means."
"Independent" for me does not imply "centrist," but rather "left of Democratic." I often vote Democrat, but I'll be danged if I'll call myself one! And if I'm completely honest, I have to say I'm sometimes to the right of the average Democrat as well, especially when it comes to intellectual freedom.
On the other hand, I don't really belong exclusively to an idealistic, pragmatic or indifferent culture either. I'm generally pragmatic, but when it comes to certain bedrock principles (peace, integrity, equality, simplicity), I can be just as dogmatic as the next person. And there are some political issues I'm not interested in. Local elections in Shreveport often revolve around code enforcement. I try to care, but I really don't.
No, I think what attracts me to the cultural groupings described by Sullivan is not that they describe me better, but that they seem to allow for a lot more flexibility in our political dialogue. Maybe I'm being all too pragmatic, but doesn't it seem like things would go better if we could just acknowledge these different characteristics in each other?
Try this on for size: "Oh, that's an issue that's of deep personal concern to you and my treating it clinically is not helpful. Go ahead and tell me about your passion and I'll listen because I care about you as a person."
Or maybe: "I can see you're not as vested in this problem as I am, so I won't waste time for both of us trying to bring you over to my side."
Even: "No, I wouldn't dream of calling you a RINO because your interests are different from mine. That would be rude."
What did you see today?
I read Andrew Sullivan's article about the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear on The Atlantic's website today. In it, he mentions that although we have three major political groups in the United States (Republicans, Democrats and Independents), we also have three cultural one (idealogues, pragmatists, and the totally indifferent).
Commentary
At first I thought I liked the idea of cultural groupings as opposed to political ones because I don't really fit comfortably into a Republican, Democratic, or Independent box. I mean, I usually self-identify as Independent, but as Inigo Montoya would say, "I don't think that word means what you think it means."
"Independent" for me does not imply "centrist," but rather "left of Democratic." I often vote Democrat, but I'll be danged if I'll call myself one! And if I'm completely honest, I have to say I'm sometimes to the right of the average Democrat as well, especially when it comes to intellectual freedom.
On the other hand, I don't really belong exclusively to an idealistic, pragmatic or indifferent culture either. I'm generally pragmatic, but when it comes to certain bedrock principles (peace, integrity, equality, simplicity), I can be just as dogmatic as the next person. And there are some political issues I'm not interested in. Local elections in Shreveport often revolve around code enforcement. I try to care, but I really don't.
No, I think what attracts me to the cultural groupings described by Sullivan is not that they describe me better, but that they seem to allow for a lot more flexibility in our political dialogue. Maybe I'm being all too pragmatic, but doesn't it seem like things would go better if we could just acknowledge these different characteristics in each other?
Try this on for size: "Oh, that's an issue that's of deep personal concern to you and my treating it clinically is not helpful. Go ahead and tell me about your passion and I'll listen because I care about you as a person."
Or maybe: "I can see you're not as vested in this problem as I am, so I won't waste time for both of us trying to bring you over to my side."
Even: "No, I wouldn't dream of calling you a RINO because your interests are different from mine. That would be rude."
What did you see today?
10/23/2009
I saw an article about football fans
Context
The Washington Redskins are not having a good season. They're in no danger of breaking the Detroit Lions' futility record, but as I read in this article today, their fans are unhappy. The article refers to a fan briefly holding up a sign saying "Black Sunday," which refers to this Bruce Dern movie, until security personnel took it away.
Commentary
Ah yes, time for another football post! Eight previous ones right here, so enjoy! In this case, though, I don't want to talk about sports. I want to talk about the right to be offensive. My husband read the part of the Redskins article to me about the Black Sunday poster and we both agreed that it's pretty darn tacky to invoke a terrorist attack just because your team's 2-4. On the other hand, we both enjoy some forms of offensive humor (we often think South Park is a stitch and a half, for example), and as comic book readers we often know that what we consider highly creative is considered irredeemable trash by others.
So is it just a matter of taste, or do some people have more of a right to be offensive than others? I don't mean a legal right, but rather an ethical entitlement, someone I'm less likely to accuse of crossing a line of decency, even if I disagree with her/him. In discussing this over dinner, my husband and I came up with three factors that contribute to our acceptance of outrageous speech or behavior:
1) Artistic license. Although this occasionally drives conservatives up the wall, art is expected to be "out there." It's hard to consider a work creative if it follows convention, and unconventional can sometimes shade over into offensive. "Black Sunday" gets some points for creatively expressing just how bad she thought her team was.
2) Putting your name on it. Anonymity when being offensive makes it seem less like you're making a cogent social statement and more like you're surreptitiously tossing spitballs from the back of the classroom. Our Redskins fan falls about in the middle on this one. She didn't put a bag on her head at the stadium, but neither did she hold up a sign that said "I'm Mary Smith and this is what I believe." A Robert Mapplethorpe photograph says "Robert Mapplethorpe" right on it, so you know who to complain to. Or about, since he died 20 years ago.
3) The social contract. If I go to a Lenny Bruce concert and get offended by the cuss words, I'm not really keeping up my end of the bargain. After all, Bruce himself said he wasn't there to get laughs. This is where the lady at the Redskins' game's justification falls completely apart. NFL football is, as they say, "sports entertainment." Invoking terrorism in a place where people generally go to forget the troubles of the real world is not only offensive, it's also kind of mean.
What did you see today?
The Washington Redskins are not having a good season. They're in no danger of breaking the Detroit Lions' futility record, but as I read in this article today, their fans are unhappy. The article refers to a fan briefly holding up a sign saying "Black Sunday," which refers to this Bruce Dern movie, until security personnel took it away.
Commentary
Ah yes, time for another football post! Eight previous ones right here, so enjoy! In this case, though, I don't want to talk about sports. I want to talk about the right to be offensive. My husband read the part of the Redskins article to me about the Black Sunday poster and we both agreed that it's pretty darn tacky to invoke a terrorist attack just because your team's 2-4. On the other hand, we both enjoy some forms of offensive humor (we often think South Park is a stitch and a half, for example), and as comic book readers we often know that what we consider highly creative is considered irredeemable trash by others.
So is it just a matter of taste, or do some people have more of a right to be offensive than others? I don't mean a legal right, but rather an ethical entitlement, someone I'm less likely to accuse of crossing a line of decency, even if I disagree with her/him. In discussing this over dinner, my husband and I came up with three factors that contribute to our acceptance of outrageous speech or behavior:
1) Artistic license. Although this occasionally drives conservatives up the wall, art is expected to be "out there." It's hard to consider a work creative if it follows convention, and unconventional can sometimes shade over into offensive. "Black Sunday" gets some points for creatively expressing just how bad she thought her team was.
2) Putting your name on it. Anonymity when being offensive makes it seem less like you're making a cogent social statement and more like you're surreptitiously tossing spitballs from the back of the classroom. Our Redskins fan falls about in the middle on this one. She didn't put a bag on her head at the stadium, but neither did she hold up a sign that said "I'm Mary Smith and this is what I believe." A Robert Mapplethorpe photograph says "Robert Mapplethorpe" right on it, so you know who to complain to. Or about, since he died 20 years ago.
3) The social contract. If I go to a Lenny Bruce concert and get offended by the cuss words, I'm not really keeping up my end of the bargain. After all, Bruce himself said he wasn't there to get laughs. This is where the lady at the Redskins' game's justification falls completely apart. NFL football is, as they say, "sports entertainment." Invoking terrorism in a place where people generally go to forget the troubles of the real world is not only offensive, it's also kind of mean.
What did you see today?
12/13/2007
I saw a description of education
Context
I was reading through some more messages on the Information Literacy Instruction mailing list today. One of them was about academic institutions whose campus-wide goals reflect an emphasis on information literacy. Reading the various examples, I found this snippet from the mission statement for the University of North Carolina at Charlotte: "Develop an understanding and appreciation of the themes of liberal education for private and public life in the areas of arts and society, the western tradition, global understanding, and ethical issues and cultural critique." As a person who is generally liberal in my political opinions, the use of the phrase "liberal education" struck me.
Commentary
A quick check of Wikipedia and the Association of American Colleges and Universities' website shows that "liberal education" means essentially the same thing as "liberal arts education": the idea that it's beneficial to learn about many subjects instead of just focusing on the field you plan to make money in.
I was wondering, though, if some people see the term "liberal education" and think it means education in how to be a liberal. In other words, the liberal education one would get at UNCC might be in contrast to the conservative education one would get at Oral Roberts University. I would have never thought that way about liberal arts colleges, but seeing "liberal" and "education" right next to each other made the idea more plausible.
Actually, one might not be mistaken in seeing it that way. A recent poll by Zogby and The Norman Lear Center showed that when it comes to television at least, people with liberal political views are much more likely than political conservatives to watch a variety of different types of shows, not disdaining even those whose views they disagree with. In retrospect this is not a surprising result. For me, liberalism means being open to everything. Illiberalism, on the other hand, posits that certain views are so obviously dangerous or erroneous that they don't even bear examination.
It bears noting, however, that liberalism and illiberalism are not always equivalent to left-wing and right-wing political convictions. I've lived in California; I know plenty of radicals who are convinced the only way to effect social change is to annihilate anyone who holds a contrary opinion. I also have friends who have a Republican's love for small government but don't vilify me for not sharing it. And in spite of my general liberalism, I'm fairly conservative religiously and economically. None of my convictions ever make me want to shut my eyes to what else is out there.
What did you see today?
I was reading through some more messages on the Information Literacy Instruction mailing list today. One of them was about academic institutions whose campus-wide goals reflect an emphasis on information literacy. Reading the various examples, I found this snippet from the mission statement for the University of North Carolina at Charlotte: "Develop an understanding and appreciation of the themes of liberal education for private and public life in the areas of arts and society, the western tradition, global understanding, and ethical issues and cultural critique." As a person who is generally liberal in my political opinions, the use of the phrase "liberal education" struck me.
Commentary
A quick check of Wikipedia and the Association of American Colleges and Universities' website shows that "liberal education" means essentially the same thing as "liberal arts education": the idea that it's beneficial to learn about many subjects instead of just focusing on the field you plan to make money in.
I was wondering, though, if some people see the term "liberal education" and think it means education in how to be a liberal. In other words, the liberal education one would get at UNCC might be in contrast to the conservative education one would get at Oral Roberts University. I would have never thought that way about liberal arts colleges, but seeing "liberal" and "education" right next to each other made the idea more plausible.
Actually, one might not be mistaken in seeing it that way. A recent poll by Zogby and The Norman Lear Center showed that when it comes to television at least, people with liberal political views are much more likely than political conservatives to watch a variety of different types of shows, not disdaining even those whose views they disagree with. In retrospect this is not a surprising result. For me, liberalism means being open to everything. Illiberalism, on the other hand, posits that certain views are so obviously dangerous or erroneous that they don't even bear examination.
It bears noting, however, that liberalism and illiberalism are not always equivalent to left-wing and right-wing political convictions. I've lived in California; I know plenty of radicals who are convinced the only way to effect social change is to annihilate anyone who holds a contrary opinion. I also have friends who have a Republican's love for small government but don't vilify me for not sharing it. And in spite of my general liberalism, I'm fairly conservative religiously and economically. None of my convictions ever make me want to shut my eyes to what else is out there.
What did you see today?
4/17/2006
I saw an article about faith
Context
The American Library Association has a e-mail list that's supposed to relate to intellectual freedom called IFFORUM (archives here). Because it's unmoderated, it often becomes a magnet for all kinds of political commentary. Today someone posted an excerpt from this interview with Sam Harris. There was a great deal of food for thought in the interview, (translation: I could rant about it all day, if you let me), but I was particularly struck by this exchange:
Amazon.com: In other words, you are careful to distinguish between what you term "faith" and "spirituality." In a nutshell, what is this distinction?
Harris: "Faith" is false conviction in unjustified propositions (a certain book was written by God; we will be reunited with our loved ones after death; the Creator of the universe can hear our thoughts, etc.). "Spirituality" or "mysticism" (both words are pretty terrible, but there are no good alternatives in English) refers to any process of introspection by which a person can come to realize that the feeling he calls "I" is a cognitive illusion. The core truth of mysticism is this: It is possible to experience the world without feeling like a separate "self" in the usual sense. Such a change in the character of one's experience need not become the basis for making unsupportable claims about the nature of the universe, however.
Commentary
Let's start with where I agree with Sam Harris: I, too, think there's a difference between "faith" and "spirituality." When I'm at my most cynical, I think faith is when you actually believe in something and spirituality is when you have the vague feeling that you want to/ought to believe in something, but haven't settled on anything in particular.
Thanks to my husband, Mark, I've started thinking about the distinction more rationally. Faith is still when you believe in something, or as the writer of Hebrews would have it, "the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." (Hebrews 11:1 NRSV)
Spirituality has more to do with what one believes in. I agree with Harris that it is something separate from the self, but I think he’s too anthrocentric about it, in that he views the transformation of the individual as the important component. I think the most important aspect of spirituality is learning about an entity that is separate from the self. I’ve been taught to call this entity the Holy Spirit.
At this point, Harris would be perfectly justified in crying “foul!” I’ve taken an article in which he defines spirituality as something separate from the most evil aspects of Western religion, and stuck it smack dab in the center of the enemy camp. The problem is, despite Christianity’s reputation for couching things in terms of black and white, I don’t see the duality Harris proposes. In fact, my “real” definition of spirituality is in some way related to my cynical one above. It’s that separate entity, whether we call it “God,” or “the Holy Spirit,” or “Nature,” or “the Avatar,” that prompts us to think, “maybe I ought to believe in something that’s outside my immediate experience and self-interest.” In other words, “maybe I ought to have a little faith.”
That being said, I think Harris does have some faith himself. For example, he believes that, “It is possible to experience the world without feeling like a separate ‘self’ in the usual sense.” Personally, I think that’s an unsupportable claim about the nature of the universe.
What did you see today?
The American Library Association has a e-mail list that's supposed to relate to intellectual freedom called IFFORUM (archives here). Because it's unmoderated, it often becomes a magnet for all kinds of political commentary. Today someone posted an excerpt from this interview with Sam Harris. There was a great deal of food for thought in the interview, (translation: I could rant about it all day, if you let me), but I was particularly struck by this exchange:
Amazon.com: In other words, you are careful to distinguish between what you term "faith" and "spirituality." In a nutshell, what is this distinction?
Harris: "Faith" is false conviction in unjustified propositions (a certain book was written by God; we will be reunited with our loved ones after death; the Creator of the universe can hear our thoughts, etc.). "Spirituality" or "mysticism" (both words are pretty terrible, but there are no good alternatives in English) refers to any process of introspection by which a person can come to realize that the feeling he calls "I" is a cognitive illusion. The core truth of mysticism is this: It is possible to experience the world without feeling like a separate "self" in the usual sense. Such a change in the character of one's experience need not become the basis for making unsupportable claims about the nature of the universe, however.
Commentary
Let's start with where I agree with Sam Harris: I, too, think there's a difference between "faith" and "spirituality." When I'm at my most cynical, I think faith is when you actually believe in something and spirituality is when you have the vague feeling that you want to/ought to believe in something, but haven't settled on anything in particular.
Thanks to my husband, Mark, I've started thinking about the distinction more rationally. Faith is still when you believe in something, or as the writer of Hebrews would have it, "the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." (Hebrews 11:1 NRSV)
Spirituality has more to do with what one believes in. I agree with Harris that it is something separate from the self, but I think he’s too anthrocentric about it, in that he views the transformation of the individual as the important component. I think the most important aspect of spirituality is learning about an entity that is separate from the self. I’ve been taught to call this entity the Holy Spirit.
At this point, Harris would be perfectly justified in crying “foul!” I’ve taken an article in which he defines spirituality as something separate from the most evil aspects of Western religion, and stuck it smack dab in the center of the enemy camp. The problem is, despite Christianity’s reputation for couching things in terms of black and white, I don’t see the duality Harris proposes. In fact, my “real” definition of spirituality is in some way related to my cynical one above. It’s that separate entity, whether we call it “God,” or “the Holy Spirit,” or “Nature,” or “the Avatar,” that prompts us to think, “maybe I ought to believe in something that’s outside my immediate experience and self-interest.” In other words, “maybe I ought to have a little faith.”
That being said, I think Harris does have some faith himself. For example, he believes that, “It is possible to experience the world without feeling like a separate ‘self’ in the usual sense.” Personally, I think that’s an unsupportable claim about the nature of the universe.
What did you see today?
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