Synchronicity is more than just the best Police album.
Earlier this morning I was reading more Neil Postman, this time from Technopoly, specifically a section that describes the relative absurdity of defining intelligence numerically (ala IQ tests). First of all, intelligence is a word that can possibly signify an incredibly wide range of mental faculties, and as some of the wiser guides will tell you there are different kinds of intelligence. Second, as Postman points out, intelligence is a word that signifies an idea, not an object. If I were to say I have five cans of soda, you would know exactly what I was talking about. If I were to say I have five intelligences, you might think I was talking some sort of new Oprah-self-help-babble, or, if you were actually intelligent, you might realize that I actually had very little grasp of the English language. Yet, when we rank people in order of Intelligence Quotient, essentially that is exactly what we're doing.
I have taken IQ tests, I know what they test. I have had psychology courses, and I know that, in some frames of thought, there is certain validity to such instruments. However, if we are to assume in a pseudo-scientific manner that IQ is the only measure of intelligence we are probably proving that we have an IQ of about 90. The fact of the matter is that IQ tests only test a very narrow band of human intelligence, and the idea that a number defines our intellectual potential is a little offensive to our humanity.
So, dinner comes and we are talking about the fact that Jack will have a new teacher this year in the Gifted program at his school, which he is in primarily because he performed quite well on those tests that like to grade intelligence numerically. Cate, teacher's pet that she is, wonders if she should be in the program as well. She almost certainly will be once they apply those numerical intelligence meters to her. While I am explaining these realities to my privileged and gifted children I had Postman's spot-on critique of the very idea ringing in my ears.
I am certainly proud of my children and their precociousness. I am certainly glad that their school will give them the opportunity for a little extra push. But I wonder how many intelligent and wonderful children we will fail because we don't happen to have a good number to define them. Jack is artistic and mechanically inclined, and his talents in these areas probably far outstrip his numerical scores, he's lucky that the numbers opened a gateway that will allow him to more fully explore his talents. But what about the children who don't have a high enough number?
The challenges of mass public education are such that it is probably impossible to function without numerical measures of intelligence, but maybe, just maybe, we should at least ask a few questions about the nature of intelligence that prove that it's more than just a number.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Monday, August 6, 2012
Isn't it Ironic, or at least what most people think of as Ironic.
See if you can follow this, because something keeps striking me as peculiar, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is.
I read a blog post that someone linked on Facebook this morning. The blog post mentioned Neil Postman's book, Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Showbusiness. It was a book that I had heard of in several conversations and thought might be worth reading, but somehow, probably because of my technology depleted attention span, I could never remember to buy it, borrow it or otherwise obtain a copy. Upon reading the blog post, I was reminded and did not waste time. I had been looking for something to read for about a day and a half (in the age of my Kindle Fire that's a long time), since finishing some short stories by Flannery O'Connor. For those of you not familiar with O'Connor, which also means those of you who have never been clinically depressed, let me recommend A Good Man Is Hard to Find, and Other Stories, for that troubling day when you feel like human beings are basically good. If you ever want a refresher in the Calvinist doctrine of total depravity or a general refresher on sin, pick up some O'Connor.
I digress, there's that short attention span again, back to Postman, I guess he needs to ring twice (snare drum please). Amusing Ourselves to Death was written in 1985, in the heart of the Reagan years. He observes in a rather more serious manner the same thing that Doc observes in Back to the Future: "No wonder your president's an actor, he has to look good on television." Postman's premise is that television as a medium was in the process of changing the nature of public discourse. The book as a whole is filled with prescient observations of modern American society that have only become more true as time marched on, but he was only talking about TV.
In 1985 we were playing Atari and the only thing personal computers were good for was writing book reports and playing games like Choplifter in monochromatic green and black. And yet Postman was so right, so very right. "Change changed," the speed at which the culture has changed and is changing is facilitated and defined by the ability to communicate and exchange information. This is sort of a raw data flow phenomenon, meaning it doesn't matter what the quality of the information is, as long as it can move fast and grab people's attention. Which, I think, probably explains why the Fifty Shades of Gray Trilogy is atop the bestseller list.
The book, using mainly the age of "new" cable networks like MTV and CNN, traces how television defines and limits cultural discourse to a decidedly more shallow milieu than the age of print media. Ideas had to "fit" into soundbytes, yeah, yeah, yeah, we've heard that grumpy old man talk a thousand times since then: public discourse blah, blah, blah... I wonder what those crazy Kardashians are up to now?
Oh, dear Lord, maybe we need to change Amusing to Amused, past tense. Whatever damage television may have done to the public discourse, the internet, has visited a hundred fold. Now any idiot (like me), with a computer (like the one I'm typing on), can become part of the public discourse. No vetting, no requirements, no accountability; an easy, anonymous voice to spew nonsense, hate, dirty pictures, whatever you want, whatever people will read or look at, or tweet about.
Great googly moogly, we is in trouble!
Oh yeah, so here's the funny thing: I read about a book that discusses how technology is changing the public discourse in 1985, on a blog by some guy who I have no connection to whatsoever, and an hour later I've downloaded that book on my Kindle Fire and am reading about how an electronic media has supplanted the good old fashioned printed word, but I'm reading the printed word on an electronic medium and now I'm writing about the printed word on another electronic medium, and maybe tomorrow, someone will read this and go read the book about how electronic media are changing the public discourse, and then maybe they'll write a blog about it and so on and so forth and this is getting to be a really long sentence and if I was talking I'd need to take a breath right about... Now.
I think this whole thing might be ironic, at least in the Alanis Morrisette kind of way, which at one time made me really angry because none of the things in that song were actually ironic by the correct definition which is: when the intended meaning of a word is the exact opposite of its actual meaning. But now Alanis doesn't make me angry, she kind of makes me nostalgic for a time when an mediocre looking girl who sang angry songs, even if they were rhetorically flawed, could actually be popular. That is, I guess before the public discourse regarding music shifted from Nirvana to Nickelback, Chuck D to Lil' Wayne, Alanis to Christina Aguilera, or whatever other junk the kids are listening to today. I'm probably a little behind on those changes, because I'm 38 now and I like me my old timey music, like Nine Inch Nails and the Beastie Boys and I don't want to have ANYTHING to do with Justin Beiber, because I lived through Milli Vinilli and Vanilla Ice, so, in the words of the Who, "we won't get fooled again."
So, did you notice?
Are you lost?
Or could you actually follow that incoherent rant?
If you could, congratulations, you're probably a member of Generation X, just like me.
If not, don't worry, you're probably a sane reasonable person who has not been completely corrupted and discombobulated by the rapid changing of change. Hold on to your sanity. Read a book, while you still can.
I read a blog post that someone linked on Facebook this morning. The blog post mentioned Neil Postman's book, Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Showbusiness. It was a book that I had heard of in several conversations and thought might be worth reading, but somehow, probably because of my technology depleted attention span, I could never remember to buy it, borrow it or otherwise obtain a copy. Upon reading the blog post, I was reminded and did not waste time. I had been looking for something to read for about a day and a half (in the age of my Kindle Fire that's a long time), since finishing some short stories by Flannery O'Connor. For those of you not familiar with O'Connor, which also means those of you who have never been clinically depressed, let me recommend A Good Man Is Hard to Find, and Other Stories, for that troubling day when you feel like human beings are basically good. If you ever want a refresher in the Calvinist doctrine of total depravity or a general refresher on sin, pick up some O'Connor.
I digress, there's that short attention span again, back to Postman, I guess he needs to ring twice (snare drum please). Amusing Ourselves to Death was written in 1985, in the heart of the Reagan years. He observes in a rather more serious manner the same thing that Doc observes in Back to the Future: "No wonder your president's an actor, he has to look good on television." Postman's premise is that television as a medium was in the process of changing the nature of public discourse. The book as a whole is filled with prescient observations of modern American society that have only become more true as time marched on, but he was only talking about TV.
In 1985 we were playing Atari and the only thing personal computers were good for was writing book reports and playing games like Choplifter in monochromatic green and black. And yet Postman was so right, so very right. "Change changed," the speed at which the culture has changed and is changing is facilitated and defined by the ability to communicate and exchange information. This is sort of a raw data flow phenomenon, meaning it doesn't matter what the quality of the information is, as long as it can move fast and grab people's attention. Which, I think, probably explains why the Fifty Shades of Gray Trilogy is atop the bestseller list.
The book, using mainly the age of "new" cable networks like MTV and CNN, traces how television defines and limits cultural discourse to a decidedly more shallow milieu than the age of print media. Ideas had to "fit" into soundbytes, yeah, yeah, yeah, we've heard that grumpy old man talk a thousand times since then: public discourse blah, blah, blah... I wonder what those crazy Kardashians are up to now?
Oh, dear Lord, maybe we need to change Amusing to Amused, past tense. Whatever damage television may have done to the public discourse, the internet, has visited a hundred fold. Now any idiot (like me), with a computer (like the one I'm typing on), can become part of the public discourse. No vetting, no requirements, no accountability; an easy, anonymous voice to spew nonsense, hate, dirty pictures, whatever you want, whatever people will read or look at, or tweet about.
Great googly moogly, we is in trouble!
Oh yeah, so here's the funny thing: I read about a book that discusses how technology is changing the public discourse in 1985, on a blog by some guy who I have no connection to whatsoever, and an hour later I've downloaded that book on my Kindle Fire and am reading about how an electronic media has supplanted the good old fashioned printed word, but I'm reading the printed word on an electronic medium and now I'm writing about the printed word on another electronic medium, and maybe tomorrow, someone will read this and go read the book about how electronic media are changing the public discourse, and then maybe they'll write a blog about it and so on and so forth and this is getting to be a really long sentence and if I was talking I'd need to take a breath right about... Now.
I think this whole thing might be ironic, at least in the Alanis Morrisette kind of way, which at one time made me really angry because none of the things in that song were actually ironic by the correct definition which is: when the intended meaning of a word is the exact opposite of its actual meaning. But now Alanis doesn't make me angry, she kind of makes me nostalgic for a time when an mediocre looking girl who sang angry songs, even if they were rhetorically flawed, could actually be popular. That is, I guess before the public discourse regarding music shifted from Nirvana to Nickelback, Chuck D to Lil' Wayne, Alanis to Christina Aguilera, or whatever other junk the kids are listening to today. I'm probably a little behind on those changes, because I'm 38 now and I like me my old timey music, like Nine Inch Nails and the Beastie Boys and I don't want to have ANYTHING to do with Justin Beiber, because I lived through Milli Vinilli and Vanilla Ice, so, in the words of the Who, "we won't get fooled again."
So, did you notice?
Are you lost?
Or could you actually follow that incoherent rant?
If you could, congratulations, you're probably a member of Generation X, just like me.
If not, don't worry, you're probably a sane reasonable person who has not been completely corrupted and discombobulated by the rapid changing of change. Hold on to your sanity. Read a book, while you still can.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Editing
Since discovering the ability to self-publish kindle books a couple of months ago, I have felt rather excited about the prospect of putting some longer form writing out there onto the inter-web. However, given my occupation, I have also felt the keen need for some good editing. Most people, especially in the blogosphere, feel they are entitled and perhaps even compelled to say whatever comes to mind. Experience has taught me that this is not a good idea; it may get you into trouble, you may say things that you regret, you may say things that hurt people, you may just end up giving people who have it in for you ammunition.
Editing yourself is not censorship, it is being a responsible member or society.
So I came to the task of editing the rather prolific amount of material that I have written surrounding the life and death of my brother Jonathan. Written over the course of seven years, it ranges widely and wildly in content and theme, some is raw, some is polished, some is poetry (see the below blog entry, Seven), some is prose, narrative, discursive, theological, there was just a heap of dissimilar parts.
There were some shiny things in the pile, there were some painful things in the pile, there was also a lot rusty, maudlin junk that needed to be done away with.
But that was not always easy, because that rusty, maudlin junk was a record of some very deep water, like an old ship that once proudly sailed through a horrific storm and came out a little damaged. It represented some things I thought and felt, at moments when my approach to life was less than circumspect and pastoral. We all have a right to such times, such thoughts, such words, but perhaps, unless we're C.S. Lewis, we should not inflict them on the world.
Freedom should come with responsibility. Freedom to drive a car comes with the responsibility to obey the rules. Freedom to own a gun should, despite some who would frame it in more rhetorical terms, be accompanied by the responsibility to register the weapon, keep it away from those who would misuse it, and learn the proper and safe handling of the weapon.
Words are weapons sharper than knives, quoth INXS. In an age of Twitter it seems that we are throwing knives rapidly and blindly. How many times in the past year or so have you heard about someone "catching it" for something they said on Twitter and then acting surprised that anyone took notice? Haven't we figured it out? Even with the way language is cheapened and devalued these days, the right words can still move mountains and the wrong words can still ruin lives.
Be careful, little children, what you say
Editing yourself is not censorship, it is being a responsible member or society.
So I came to the task of editing the rather prolific amount of material that I have written surrounding the life and death of my brother Jonathan. Written over the course of seven years, it ranges widely and wildly in content and theme, some is raw, some is polished, some is poetry (see the below blog entry, Seven), some is prose, narrative, discursive, theological, there was just a heap of dissimilar parts.
There were some shiny things in the pile, there were some painful things in the pile, there was also a lot rusty, maudlin junk that needed to be done away with.
But that was not always easy, because that rusty, maudlin junk was a record of some very deep water, like an old ship that once proudly sailed through a horrific storm and came out a little damaged. It represented some things I thought and felt, at moments when my approach to life was less than circumspect and pastoral. We all have a right to such times, such thoughts, such words, but perhaps, unless we're C.S. Lewis, we should not inflict them on the world.
Freedom should come with responsibility. Freedom to drive a car comes with the responsibility to obey the rules. Freedom to own a gun should, despite some who would frame it in more rhetorical terms, be accompanied by the responsibility to register the weapon, keep it away from those who would misuse it, and learn the proper and safe handling of the weapon.
Words are weapons sharper than knives, quoth INXS. In an age of Twitter it seems that we are throwing knives rapidly and blindly. How many times in the past year or so have you heard about someone "catching it" for something they said on Twitter and then acting surprised that anyone took notice? Haven't we figured it out? Even with the way language is cheapened and devalued these days, the right words can still move mountains and the wrong words can still ruin lives.
Be careful, little children, what you say
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