For as long as I have been involved in the study of the Humanities, that wonderful of collection of subjects that defies all attempts at precise (or at the very least concise) definition, I have been interested in the language used to write about it. It's no surprise that the Sciences have a language all their own, or rather that they have multiple dialects, special vocabularies, one for each general subject area.
Take, for example, biology, which has a need to name things in order to discuss them: pharynx, larynx, trachea -- parts of the body used for speech and breathing, among other things. Once could hardly carry around a diagram at all times for the purpose of pointing out "this little bit here, see?" in order to talk about it.
In chemistry, there are systems for the naming of molecules, like adding the prefix "thio-", which means that the molecule has had one oxygen atom replaced with a sulfur atom -- hence thiosulphate has one more sulfur atom and one less oxygen atom than sulphate. These peculiar dialects are still English, of course, but they contain whole new words and systems for creating words, in order to better discuss the intricacies of their subject matter. They are necessary to further the study of their subjects.
The questions I have been wrestling with are the ones that arise when we compare the dialects of subjects in the Sciences with those of subjects in the Humanities: to put it simply, to what degree do the Humanities need their own dialects (if at all), and to what extent are we meeting (or surpassing) that need?
Language, the very point of language, is to communicate. And while it may require that a student learn the dialect of the subject matter to fully understand the subject matter itself, that seems a small price to pay for the furthering of greater human understanding. The unfortunate part is that language can be used to prevent communication as well as to facilitate it.
Every new word that is created to make discussion a little quicker for those already familiar with the subject is a roadblock to those who are not already familiar with it. Because of this, there is a trade-off, a cost-to-benefit ratio that must be weighed when deciding which words to use. There comes a point at which a dialect becomes so specialized that it requires extensive study just to enter into the discussion: this is what I mean when I write of the language that locks others out.
If we start from the principles that greater human understanding is a good thing, and that it occurs best when people understand one another best,* this leads to a series of questions every writer in the Humanities should ask her- or himself when writing.
First: How can I say this? What are my options, as a writer, as to which words to use, what kind of phrasing?
Second: How efficient is each option? It's all well and good to say that X is a very complicated word that will be understood by few, but if the alternative is a two-hundred word explanation, then perhaps it is necessary for the "best" communication.**
Third: Who will understand each option? If I use a highly technical word, how many people will be able to grasp my meaning?
After considering each of these, the writer in the Humanities should be able to make a judgement call as to how best to phrase a particular thought.
What ought never to occur is the deliberate choice of a more technical word out of a desire to seem more worldly, more learned, or more intelligent. Language should not be used to shut others out deliberately.
I realize I've been dancing around the issue a bit; let me be more clear: I have noticed, in past years, what can only strike me as a kind of linguistic envy held by some of those in the Humanities for the complicated dialects used by those in the Sciences. I'm not saying that all complicated concepts should be simplified -- as you may have gleaned from my roundabout writing, I favour an approach that balances communicating efficiently within small groups and communicating effectively with large ones. Many complex terms in the Humanities are necessary, simply because many subjects in the Humanities do build successively from one subject to the next, and so to understand the one, you need to have previously studied the other; however, many more seem to be used just to make writing sound more scholarly, and to build a private walled garden for scholars.
Let me show an example. I won't say where it's from, but some of you might recognize the style. And if it's your writing, I apologize, but this is a perfect example of what I'm talking about.
"art is intractably enmeshed within its originary geotemporality"
What I believe the writer is trying to say is that art is, by its very nature, part and parcel of the time and place from which it comes. Or that art cannot be separated from its time and place of origin. Phrases like "intractably enmeshed" and "originary geotemporality" make up the worst kind of academic writing in the Humanities: they needlessly confuse, obfuscate, enshroud, or (to put it simply) hide the writer's meaning, all in what appears to be an attempt to keep others out of one's chosen field of study.
This is the language that locks others out; this is what needs to stop.
/rant
Comments and questions should be made in itty-bitty words, so's I can understand 'em.
*I understand this is a very loaded term, because "best" could mean both "most efficiently" as well as "with the greatest number of people", but please, keep reading.
**"Best", for me, seems to mean a balance between communicating with the most people and communicating the most efficiently.
Saturday, 15 August 2009
Wednesday, 10 June 2009
Damn You, Castle 24!!
Armor Games, who brought us the wonderful fun of Hedgehog Launch, have a new game worth playing: Crush the Castle. What could be more fun than killing royals in their castles with only a trebuchet? I mean, other than launching cute and cuddly hedgehogs into space with a slingshot. Have fun!
Peace,
Vellum.
Peace,
Vellum.
Saturday, 30 May 2009
INFJ
Okay so I took an online version of the Meyers-Briggs test here, and I learned something interesting. The people at human metrics have a Time Machine. I know this because I have been informed that I have the same personality type as not only Nathan, prophet of Isreal, but also Geoffrey Chaucer. Well, either that or Nathan, prophet of Isreal has a blog.
Friday, 29 May 2009
What Ought to be Buried (or, "Vellum Waxes Philosophical")
Vaulting's latest post ended on a note I'd like to follow from:
"But if we leave everything buried that ought to be buried, what will we put in our history books?"
The question I'd like to raise is, perhaps, one that seems obvious to many of you. Ought anything from history to remain buired? Is there any instance, any part of history that could be better left unsaid?
When it comes to the long-dead stages of history, those where all people involved (and, indeed, all the children of the children (of the children?) of those involved) have passed on, it's easy to say that yes, we ought to know about it. It hurts no-one as the dead have little care for their reputations (that is, unless you believe in the afterlife posited by Dante, where posthumous reputation remains important).
The same is true for any atrocities we know about today. It's easy to say about the holocaust that it's better that we know -- it helps us never to repeat such a horrrific and awful event in our history.
But there are still events where it remains a queston. When it comes to atrocities we don't know about, and when it comes to social issues that could negatively affect the private lives of living people, we ought to at least have the debate.
For the first, imagine that your society was a peacful one. Imagine that mutual respect was universal and poverty scarce. Now imagine that you discover that one, two hundred years earlier, your predecessors created this society by means of a near genocide, the revelation of which could cause violence today. Is that something one would really want to know? When the damage has been done, and the risk of a repeat occurence is low, is it always best to spread the truth?
I'm copping out of that one. I'm not a philosopher, and I can't begin to assess the rights and wrongs. I just thought it was worth the consideration.
The second hits a little closer to home. Imagine that someone's grandfather was a famous person -- an artist, a writer, whatever -- that your contryfolk loved, looked up to, used as a role model for good citizenship. Now imagine that you discover something controversial about that person. Imagine that despite all the good they did, they were a terrible racist, or a terrible sexist, or another as-yet-unnamed kind of bigot. Is it imperative that the world know? What if that controversial aspect is something else, something no fault of their own, something not regarded poorly today because it is actually something bad, but because of our own bigotry? Where, as historians, do we draw the line as to what "truth" to reveal to the world?
I don't know. For me, it would rely on my own conscience at the time. I hope it would rest on anyone's. As much as we think, as historians, that our work is unlikely to affect anyone alive today, I suggest that we must always consider if and how our findings will change the world we live in, here and now. Most of the time, I hope that will result in a more considerate way of releasing possibly sensistive information, rather than resulting in the witholding of said information. If nothing else, it must be said that truth generally finds its own way out, and so repressing it tends to be a pointless venture: when all is said and done, perhaps the best we could do would be to conrol the rate at which the evils of the world escape Pandora's box. If you have any thoughts on this, I'd love to hear them.
Okay, I'm done.
Best,
Vellum.
"But if we leave everything buried that ought to be buried, what will we put in our history books?"
The question I'd like to raise is, perhaps, one that seems obvious to many of you. Ought anything from history to remain buired? Is there any instance, any part of history that could be better left unsaid?
When it comes to the long-dead stages of history, those where all people involved (and, indeed, all the children of the children (of the children?) of those involved) have passed on, it's easy to say that yes, we ought to know about it. It hurts no-one as the dead have little care for their reputations (that is, unless you believe in the afterlife posited by Dante, where posthumous reputation remains important).
The same is true for any atrocities we know about today. It's easy to say about the holocaust that it's better that we know -- it helps us never to repeat such a horrrific and awful event in our history.
But there are still events where it remains a queston. When it comes to atrocities we don't know about, and when it comes to social issues that could negatively affect the private lives of living people, we ought to at least have the debate.
For the first, imagine that your society was a peacful one. Imagine that mutual respect was universal and poverty scarce. Now imagine that you discover that one, two hundred years earlier, your predecessors created this society by means of a near genocide, the revelation of which could cause violence today. Is that something one would really want to know? When the damage has been done, and the risk of a repeat occurence is low, is it always best to spread the truth?
I'm copping out of that one. I'm not a philosopher, and I can't begin to assess the rights and wrongs. I just thought it was worth the consideration.
The second hits a little closer to home. Imagine that someone's grandfather was a famous person -- an artist, a writer, whatever -- that your contryfolk loved, looked up to, used as a role model for good citizenship. Now imagine that you discover something controversial about that person. Imagine that despite all the good they did, they were a terrible racist, or a terrible sexist, or another as-yet-unnamed kind of bigot. Is it imperative that the world know? What if that controversial aspect is something else, something no fault of their own, something not regarded poorly today because it is actually something bad, but because of our own bigotry? Where, as historians, do we draw the line as to what "truth" to reveal to the world?
I don't know. For me, it would rely on my own conscience at the time. I hope it would rest on anyone's. As much as we think, as historians, that our work is unlikely to affect anyone alive today, I suggest that we must always consider if and how our findings will change the world we live in, here and now. Most of the time, I hope that will result in a more considerate way of releasing possibly sensistive information, rather than resulting in the witholding of said information. If nothing else, it must be said that truth generally finds its own way out, and so repressing it tends to be a pointless venture: when all is said and done, perhaps the best we could do would be to conrol the rate at which the evils of the world escape Pandora's box. If you have any thoughts on this, I'd love to hear them.
Okay, I'm done.
Best,
Vellum.
Thursday, 28 May 2009
Public vs Private in art history
Many thanks to Vellum for carrying the blog while I was otherwise occupied. However, now the questions of a PhD program in the fall and worthwhile employment have been resolved (no to the former, emphatic yes to the latter), and I hope to be a tad more reliable now.
No promises.
Today's musings pertain to the boundaries of history/art history. My new job is at a small museum where I am responsible for taking visitors through the exhibit and discussing the artists, their techniques, etc. The environment is very much to my taste, being more concerned with the conditions which produce art and less with the composition, color, and "quality" of the art. Thus, I have spent the last week cramming facts and biographical details (as this museum is not medieval, and, in fact, is just about as far from medieval as you can get). Which has led to an interesting problem which I haven't ever considered.
As a medievalist, I deal with long dead issues. Most scandals and questionable dealings are dealt with from a purely academic perspective. Everyone involved has been dead for centuries, and it's generally quite difficult to find descendants to be offended on behalf of their predecessors.
Not so with history from the turn of the last century. One of my only instructions regarding the nature of my tours of the museum was to not mention a very well-known love affair between a certain prominent artist and one of his models. My response was to stare blankly at the board member, who didn't seem to think this was an odd request. "She was a local girl, and her family still lives here. Some of them come in from time to time," he explained. Well, yes, but that's no excuse to whitewash the artist's entire history. For said model was the artist's model in just about every painting he did for 20 years. And he lived with her for nearly 50 years. And it's quite likely that his relationship with her was the influence for most of his work, and the major decisions he made regarding his work.
And I'm not allowed to talk about it?
Fortunately, I'm in such a position that no one is really able to tell me what to say or not to say. So I will certainly be discussing this artist's life and the people in it. Simply because the truth might be uncomfortable for a few people doesn't give me the right to gloss over it or whitewash it for something prettier. However, I readily admit to understanding where the concern is coming from.
Said prominent artist lived long enough that there are still plenty of people about who knew him, and the woman was alive practically into my lifetime. These are still people remembered as individuals, rather than as historical figures. His children have all passed on, but there's still plenty of family about. They, understandably, want to protect and defend their predecessor's (or grandfather's) memory. Not to mention his cashbox. But I have to tell you:
If hearing stories about Grandpa and wandering down memory lane involves going to a museum, you've lost the right to decide what's public knowledge and what's private.
To be honest, this particular battle was fought and lost some time ago. A book was published on this relationship two decades ago, and the many accusations of slander have long since passed. This is established history now, and to not discuss it at a museum partially devoted to the artist.... well, it's just silly, isn't it?
But it does raise the question of where the line between public history and private falls. Despite his fame, this artist never wanted to be a public figure, and his model certainly didn't - not for having an affair with a married man. It's tempting to then say that he's allowed his privacy, even after his death. However, his art is significant, and an important part of art history; so too are his experiences which resulted in this art. That's ultimately what art history comes down to - and even history. Without understanding the experiences, the art is practically meaningless.
The artist's son was quite open about his life and his father, so much so that when he insisted that something not be mentioned in a book on his father, it wasn't mentioned. Again, I understand his desire to keep what had been family secrets private, but all it served to do was cover up the truth. Were it not for a particularly nosy and observant historian, none of this would have ever seen the light of day. Which is probably where a handful of people prefer it had been left. But if we leave everything buried that ought to be buried, what will we put in our history books?
-Vaulting
No promises.
Today's musings pertain to the boundaries of history/art history. My new job is at a small museum where I am responsible for taking visitors through the exhibit and discussing the artists, their techniques, etc. The environment is very much to my taste, being more concerned with the conditions which produce art and less with the composition, color, and "quality" of the art. Thus, I have spent the last week cramming facts and biographical details (as this museum is not medieval, and, in fact, is just about as far from medieval as you can get). Which has led to an interesting problem which I haven't ever considered.
As a medievalist, I deal with long dead issues. Most scandals and questionable dealings are dealt with from a purely academic perspective. Everyone involved has been dead for centuries, and it's generally quite difficult to find descendants to be offended on behalf of their predecessors.
Not so with history from the turn of the last century. One of my only instructions regarding the nature of my tours of the museum was to not mention a very well-known love affair between a certain prominent artist and one of his models. My response was to stare blankly at the board member, who didn't seem to think this was an odd request. "She was a local girl, and her family still lives here. Some of them come in from time to time," he explained. Well, yes, but that's no excuse to whitewash the artist's entire history. For said model was the artist's model in just about every painting he did for 20 years. And he lived with her for nearly 50 years. And it's quite likely that his relationship with her was the influence for most of his work, and the major decisions he made regarding his work.
And I'm not allowed to talk about it?
Fortunately, I'm in such a position that no one is really able to tell me what to say or not to say. So I will certainly be discussing this artist's life and the people in it. Simply because the truth might be uncomfortable for a few people doesn't give me the right to gloss over it or whitewash it for something prettier. However, I readily admit to understanding where the concern is coming from.
Said prominent artist lived long enough that there are still plenty of people about who knew him, and the woman was alive practically into my lifetime. These are still people remembered as individuals, rather than as historical figures. His children have all passed on, but there's still plenty of family about. They, understandably, want to protect and defend their predecessor's (or grandfather's) memory. Not to mention his cashbox. But I have to tell you:
If hearing stories about Grandpa and wandering down memory lane involves going to a museum, you've lost the right to decide what's public knowledge and what's private.
To be honest, this particular battle was fought and lost some time ago. A book was published on this relationship two decades ago, and the many accusations of slander have long since passed. This is established history now, and to not discuss it at a museum partially devoted to the artist.... well, it's just silly, isn't it?
But it does raise the question of where the line between public history and private falls. Despite his fame, this artist never wanted to be a public figure, and his model certainly didn't - not for having an affair with a married man. It's tempting to then say that he's allowed his privacy, even after his death. However, his art is significant, and an important part of art history; so too are his experiences which resulted in this art. That's ultimately what art history comes down to - and even history. Without understanding the experiences, the art is practically meaningless.
The artist's son was quite open about his life and his father, so much so that when he insisted that something not be mentioned in a book on his father, it wasn't mentioned. Again, I understand his desire to keep what had been family secrets private, but all it served to do was cover up the truth. Were it not for a particularly nosy and observant historian, none of this would have ever seen the light of day. Which is probably where a handful of people prefer it had been left. But if we leave everything buried that ought to be buried, what will we put in our history books?
-Vaulting
Monday, 18 May 2009
New Acquisitions
My copy of ASPR 1, the Junius Manuscript, just arrived today in the mail :) (ahem: *squee!*)
It's in remarkably sturdy condition for a book published over 70 years ago.
Other new acquisitions I've yet to blog about include a Colunga and Turrado Vulgate Bible, a book on Hildegard, a book on celibacy, three PIMS Latin texts (two are still in the mail) and three books of varying quality on Old English poetry and literature.
I'll post about them as I read them, promise.
Best,
Vellum
It's in remarkably sturdy condition for a book published over 70 years ago.
Other new acquisitions I've yet to blog about include a Colunga and Turrado Vulgate Bible, a book on Hildegard, a book on celibacy, three PIMS Latin texts (two are still in the mail) and three books of varying quality on Old English poetry and literature.
I'll post about them as I read them, promise.
Best,
Vellum
"Medieval" Twins Born
I believe I'm right in my belief that in the middle ages there was a superstition that a woman who gave birth to twins must have done so by having intercourse with two different men. "Hogwash!" you may say, or perhaps "Those crazy medieval people, they should've known better, how ignorant!" Well, as it turns out, perhaps not so ignorant as we might think. In what fixed news is calling a "miracle of science," a woman in Dallas has given birth to a pair of twins who have different fathers. Not only that, she did so not by artificial insemination, as the term "miracle of science" might imply, but rather, by having "an affair that resulted in two babies." I kid you not.
Scientists have a fancy name for this: heteropaternal superfecundation. I think in English that translates roughly as "different fathers, super productive" -- I think she should get herself a coat of arms and use that as the motto. Maybe have a picture of some rabbits on there for effect.
Can you tell I'm having a slow day?
Best,
Vellum
Scientists have a fancy name for this: heteropaternal superfecundation. I think in English that translates roughly as "different fathers, super productive" -- I think she should get herself a coat of arms and use that as the motto. Maybe have a picture of some rabbits on there for effect.
Can you tell I'm having a slow day?
Best,
Vellum
Sunday, 17 May 2009
Q: Who Holds the Reins in U.S. Education?
A: Something called the "College Board," apparently.
Just read a very interesting (and troubling) article here about the changes being made to the AP Latin curriculum by a standardized testing organization with far too much power.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I have nothing but the greatest disdain for standardized testing, and view it as a criminally obtuse means of attempting to gauge a student's comprehension of a given subject matter. When the test writers get to start determining what the students learn, there's something gravely wrong.
Don't even get me started on the SATs and the GREs.
Just read a very interesting (and troubling) article here about the changes being made to the AP Latin curriculum by a standardized testing organization with far too much power.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I have nothing but the greatest disdain for standardized testing, and view it as a criminally obtuse means of attempting to gauge a student's comprehension of a given subject matter. When the test writers get to start determining what the students learn, there's something gravely wrong.
Don't even get me started on the SATs and the GREs.
Thursday, 14 May 2009
Two Bits of Medieval News
Just a quick post.
First, Medievalnews (brought to you by Medievalists.net) points out that "Stained glass conservators are a dying breed", to which I feel the need to respond for my former institution: The Centre for Medieval Studies and the Department of the History of Art at the University of York together offer an MA in Stained Glass Conservation and Heritage Management which I would do in a heartbeat if I had the funds. And where better to learn to preserve stained glass than in York?
Second, they also note that efforts are at long last underway to preserve Lindisfarne -- one of the most peaceful places I've ever been. Just don't get stuck on the causeway at incoming tide.
Oh, and over at In The Middle they're looking for your help to decide on what to do with the cover of their new journal, postmedieval. I like the blue one best, but I'd rather have it in a wine or burgundy rather than blue. But what do I know? ^___^
Peace,
Vellum
xx.
First, Medievalnews (brought to you by Medievalists.net) points out that "Stained glass conservators are a dying breed", to which I feel the need to respond for my former institution: The Centre for Medieval Studies and the Department of the History of Art at the University of York together offer an MA in Stained Glass Conservation and Heritage Management which I would do in a heartbeat if I had the funds. And where better to learn to preserve stained glass than in York?
Second, they also note that efforts are at long last underway to preserve Lindisfarne -- one of the most peaceful places I've ever been. Just don't get stuck on the causeway at incoming tide.
Oh, and over at In The Middle they're looking for your help to decide on what to do with the cover of their new journal, postmedieval. I like the blue one best, but I'd rather have it in a wine or burgundy rather than blue. But what do I know? ^___^
Peace,
Vellum
xx.
Monday, 11 May 2009
Kalamazoo Days Three and Four
Though I attended some wonderful sessions, the highlight of the day had to be the second paper delivered by the Societas Fontibus Historiae Medii Aevi Inveniendis, vulgo dicta, “The Pseudo Society.”
In a paper entitled "Medieval Mortality: A Radical Reconsideration," Prof. A. Mark Smith of the University of Missouri-Columbia, argued against the obviously fallacious statement that "death, in the middle ages, took a heavy toll." Making use of only the finest of statistical analyses, Smith displayed an incredibly logical and articulate argument, such that by the end of the paper there was not a person in attendance who was unaware of the undeniable fact that death did not, in fact, take a heavy toll in the middle ages. Then he surprised us all and linked higher modern death rates to wage-earning potential, summing up with the well-known phrase: "stipendia enim ... mors".
The dance, on the other hand, was a little weak. The drinks were too pricey ($6 for a bottle of anything better than a Michelob?) and the best song to dance to was either Time Warp or Love Shack, which I think is pretty telling. Where were the academics behaving badly? Where were the tenured professors getting on down with their bad selves? I had heard rumours, but I saw nothing more than mediocre dancing to mediocre songs, and I was gravely disappointed.
Next year I'm bringing a flask of absinthe and hijacking the DJ's playlist.
I'm also thinking of volunteering a paper for the Pseudo Society. I'll let you know if that goes anywhere.
Day four was filled with buying books for wonderfully low prices. I got a set of OUP Anglo-Saxon Lit. books that normally retail for over $50 for $12, and Vaulting spent just over $50 on over $150 worth of beautiful books on gothic and romanesque art. Thank you Powell Bookstores!
I've also ordered some books online, so by the time I finally arrive home, there should be a nice Vulgate Bible waiting for me, along with a good condition ASPR Junius 11 and a philosophical treatise titled F*ck It. ^___^
Only 14 hours of driving left until we get home.
Oof.
All in all, K'zoo was a wonderful experience. I hope to do it again next year. And the next. And probably after that too. I made new friends, saw old ones, and learned a great deal along the way. First Kalamazoo for the win.
Best,
Vellum
xx.
In a paper entitled "Medieval Mortality: A Radical Reconsideration," Prof. A. Mark Smith of the University of Missouri-Columbia, argued against the obviously fallacious statement that "death, in the middle ages, took a heavy toll." Making use of only the finest of statistical analyses, Smith displayed an incredibly logical and articulate argument, such that by the end of the paper there was not a person in attendance who was unaware of the undeniable fact that death did not, in fact, take a heavy toll in the middle ages. Then he surprised us all and linked higher modern death rates to wage-earning potential, summing up with the well-known phrase: "stipendia enim ... mors".
The dance, on the other hand, was a little weak. The drinks were too pricey ($6 for a bottle of anything better than a Michelob?) and the best song to dance to was either Time Warp or Love Shack, which I think is pretty telling. Where were the academics behaving badly? Where were the tenured professors getting on down with their bad selves? I had heard rumours, but I saw nothing more than mediocre dancing to mediocre songs, and I was gravely disappointed.
Next year I'm bringing a flask of absinthe and hijacking the DJ's playlist.
I'm also thinking of volunteering a paper for the Pseudo Society. I'll let you know if that goes anywhere.
Day four was filled with buying books for wonderfully low prices. I got a set of OUP Anglo-Saxon Lit. books that normally retail for over $50 for $12, and Vaulting spent just over $50 on over $150 worth of beautiful books on gothic and romanesque art. Thank you Powell Bookstores!
I've also ordered some books online, so by the time I finally arrive home, there should be a nice Vulgate Bible waiting for me, along with a good condition ASPR Junius 11 and a philosophical treatise titled F*ck It. ^___^
Only 14 hours of driving left until we get home.
Oof.
All in all, K'zoo was a wonderful experience. I hope to do it again next year. And the next. And probably after that too. I made new friends, saw old ones, and learned a great deal along the way. First Kalamazoo for the win.
Best,
Vellum
xx.
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