I read my Mum’s response to the post on the Commencement Address and found a very intriguing line, worthy of further response: “So many people, young and old, find references to the soul, human love, and the concept of a mind apart from neurochemistry obsolete and uncomfortable.”
Dr. Kass was correct to note St. John’s as a bastion of learning concerning such things. I’m not claiming that St. John’s can teach anyone what the soul is, or anything at all concerning the soul, but it is conversation that did not disappear throughout my freshman year. From every reading we tackle and every tutorial we hold, there is some question, usually unanswered, that provokes me to consider the soul. Even in my language tutorial, during a mind-numbing day of translation, something in the text or the behavior of the language will lead someone to ponder the soul—be it the soul of the author, of the reader, or of all language-users. This, I think, has a very positive impact on the treatment of difficult, controversial topics, in my opinion. Where students would otherwise be at odds with no further conversation because of a political or philosophical disagreement, there is always something more to be considered for them both, indeed what they both have in common. The soul. Usually a conversation concerning the soul isn’t trying to come to a consensus or agreement on a definition (though it may try); but because the soul is common to all involved in the conversation, the conversation remains alive.
My little blurb of opinion isn’t even approaching the beginning of the importance of soul, only the prevalence and relevance to our education at St. John’s.
It has made me consider another thing: why my tolerance for high school was paper thin. I remember taking Calculus my senior year. Mr. Wright was a excellent teacher (and a swell guy!), and I gained a great deal of knowledge from his class, but I was also left remarkably unfulfilled. I remember taking his final at the end of the first semester, and the grade that turned up was exceptional, one of the best, but it was not indicative of my overall displeasure. He talked to me about taking Calculus II to try to score on the BC test. I didn’t want to take more Calculus. It wasn’t my lack of desire to take the standardized test that stopped me. I remember being frustrated midway through his course at how ridiculous it all was. I could manipulate the numbers, solve for the variables, plug this, derive and integrate that. My technical ability was considered excellent, thanks largely to Mr. Wright’s instruction. But I distinctly remember one day in class when I refused to believe that a line was made up of an infinite number of points. I refused to accept that, when I saw time³, I was treating something that I could comprehend, let alone even perceive. You know what I did instead of Calculus II? I took a painting class. Second best choice of my high school career, next to taking Science Fiction/Creative Writing instead of ACE English.
What was missing from Mr. Wright’s class? It wasn’t philosophy, surely. Mr. Wright has a formidable and interesting mind, capable of stimulating and provoking almost any student to consider some level of mystery, mathematical or otherwise. The soul was missing. What was I doing with the numbers, or the lack of numbers, the “u-substitution” method, and dy/dx? Don’t mistake my point. I think mathematics is one of the most influential and beneficial things available to the human mind. But I discovered that all I was doing with my technical skill was creating more problems to be worked on with technical skill. This is the way most students of mathematics function at first. So be it. But the horror is in the idea that, when the time comes to sit back and contemplate the answers, the mathematician or physicist or engineer or astronomer, etc., won’t be able to see himself in the work that he’s done, and he’ll go on creating a monster with the intention of bringing benefit to humankind without realizing that the answers no longer suit the human soul. And the human soul is what is compromised in the end, because we cannot comprehend or even perceive the derivative or anti-derivative of the soul, in the same way that we (I) cannot do it for time³.
It wasn’t only mathematics that thus tested my patience in high school. It was the so-called “Humanities” courses also. I couldn’t stand the thought of ACE English, based on the reports I’d heard from upperclassmen (though I did miss out on 1984 and Brave New World). The Science Fiction course that I took instead was by far the best class I ever had in the halls of Haverling, because of the very essence of science fiction. As my teacher phrased it, the literary genre asks, “What if?” What if there was an atomic war tomorrow? What if only the most rustic and uneducated people survived? What if only half of humankind reforms its ways and seeks peace? What if we zap a man through a wormhole?—is he the same man on the other side? What if we travel to another planet and find people who worship Jesus? What if the sun explodes and everything is meaningless? What if a robot could dream? All of those questions lead deeper and deeper, not only in a dramatic way, into questions concerning the soul, concerning humanity, and concerning the purpose or lack of purpose in our actions and ideas. It was in this class, even more so than in my art classes, that I brushed most extensively up against the soul. It didn’t require understanding everything, only learning with a view to the soul.
Calculus, too, won’t bother me if I never comprehend time³, but when I can learn it with a view to the human soul, then I think I may see finally what the anti-derivative of acceleration really is and why it’s important to humankind.
Dr. Kass was correct to note St. John’s as a bastion of learning concerning such things. I’m not claiming that St. John’s can teach anyone what the soul is, or anything at all concerning the soul, but it is conversation that did not disappear throughout my freshman year. From every reading we tackle and every tutorial we hold, there is some question, usually unanswered, that provokes me to consider the soul. Even in my language tutorial, during a mind-numbing day of translation, something in the text or the behavior of the language will lead someone to ponder the soul—be it the soul of the author, of the reader, or of all language-users. This, I think, has a very positive impact on the treatment of difficult, controversial topics, in my opinion. Where students would otherwise be at odds with no further conversation because of a political or philosophical disagreement, there is always something more to be considered for them both, indeed what they both have in common. The soul. Usually a conversation concerning the soul isn’t trying to come to a consensus or agreement on a definition (though it may try); but because the soul is common to all involved in the conversation, the conversation remains alive.
My little blurb of opinion isn’t even approaching the beginning of the importance of soul, only the prevalence and relevance to our education at St. John’s.
It has made me consider another thing: why my tolerance for high school was paper thin. I remember taking Calculus my senior year. Mr. Wright was a excellent teacher (and a swell guy!), and I gained a great deal of knowledge from his class, but I was also left remarkably unfulfilled. I remember taking his final at the end of the first semester, and the grade that turned up was exceptional, one of the best, but it was not indicative of my overall displeasure. He talked to me about taking Calculus II to try to score on the BC test. I didn’t want to take more Calculus. It wasn’t my lack of desire to take the standardized test that stopped me. I remember being frustrated midway through his course at how ridiculous it all was. I could manipulate the numbers, solve for the variables, plug this, derive and integrate that. My technical ability was considered excellent, thanks largely to Mr. Wright’s instruction. But I distinctly remember one day in class when I refused to believe that a line was made up of an infinite number of points. I refused to accept that, when I saw time³, I was treating something that I could comprehend, let alone even perceive. You know what I did instead of Calculus II? I took a painting class. Second best choice of my high school career, next to taking Science Fiction/Creative Writing instead of ACE English.
What was missing from Mr. Wright’s class? It wasn’t philosophy, surely. Mr. Wright has a formidable and interesting mind, capable of stimulating and provoking almost any student to consider some level of mystery, mathematical or otherwise. The soul was missing. What was I doing with the numbers, or the lack of numbers, the “u-substitution” method, and dy/dx? Don’t mistake my point. I think mathematics is one of the most influential and beneficial things available to the human mind. But I discovered that all I was doing with my technical skill was creating more problems to be worked on with technical skill. This is the way most students of mathematics function at first. So be it. But the horror is in the idea that, when the time comes to sit back and contemplate the answers, the mathematician or physicist or engineer or astronomer, etc., won’t be able to see himself in the work that he’s done, and he’ll go on creating a monster with the intention of bringing benefit to humankind without realizing that the answers no longer suit the human soul. And the human soul is what is compromised in the end, because we cannot comprehend or even perceive the derivative or anti-derivative of the soul, in the same way that we (I) cannot do it for time³.
It wasn’t only mathematics that thus tested my patience in high school. It was the so-called “Humanities” courses also. I couldn’t stand the thought of ACE English, based on the reports I’d heard from upperclassmen (though I did miss out on 1984 and Brave New World). The Science Fiction course that I took instead was by far the best class I ever had in the halls of Haverling, because of the very essence of science fiction. As my teacher phrased it, the literary genre asks, “What if?” What if there was an atomic war tomorrow? What if only the most rustic and uneducated people survived? What if only half of humankind reforms its ways and seeks peace? What if we zap a man through a wormhole?—is he the same man on the other side? What if we travel to another planet and find people who worship Jesus? What if the sun explodes and everything is meaningless? What if a robot could dream? All of those questions lead deeper and deeper, not only in a dramatic way, into questions concerning the soul, concerning humanity, and concerning the purpose or lack of purpose in our actions and ideas. It was in this class, even more so than in my art classes, that I brushed most extensively up against the soul. It didn’t require understanding everything, only learning with a view to the soul.
Calculus, too, won’t bother me if I never comprehend time³, but when I can learn it with a view to the human soul, then I think I may see finally what the anti-derivative of acceleration really is and why it’s important to humankind.
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