This column originally ran on Feb. 5, 2010.
At the end of a wonderful fall quarter in Oxford, my Oxford tutor (i.e. my teacher and mentor for the quarter) recommended a biography to me by Ray Monk titled “Ludwig Wittgenstein: The Duty of Genius.”
Inspired by my time studying philosophy at such an ancient institution, I decided to read about the life of this Cambridge philosopher over the break. Now, everywhere I go and everything I do, Wittgenstein is on my mind.
As I was visiting some of the more beautiful sights on my return to campus, a quotation on a wall in MemChu caught my eye and, of course, made me think of Wittgenstein. The quote reads: “There is no narrowing so deadly as the narrowing of man’s horizon of spiritual things… No widening of science, no possession of abstract truth can indemnify for an enfeebled hold of the highest and central truths of humanity. ‘What shall a man give in exchange for his soul?’”
In reading those words, I experienced a halting feeling, as if I–and the student body more generally–were being accused. The lines were probably written with students in mind, designed to warn against the supposed dangerous forces within a university setting that might stamp out the “spiritual” and narrow us. Interestingly, I think Wittgenstein would have echoed this warning, and as I reflect anew on life at Stanford, I cannot help feeling he had something to fear.
Wittgenstein is generally not regarded as religious. A professor told me Wittgenstein once wrote a friend an exasperated letter when she sent him a Christmas card because neither of them was Christian. Yet Wittgenstein was very spiritual in the sense that he valued human affectivity, holding a deep appreciation for the arts, for moral contemplation, and for sensitive human natures. He believed the “darkness of this time” was directly attributable to the worship of the “false idol of science,” and he found these modern faults even in himself. In moments when he felt too theoretical or “wise”, he felt deadened, as if the spirit were being replaced by machine.
For this reason, Wittgenstein normally advised his students to leave the world of academia and become doctors or manual laborers. He would say there was “no oxygen” at Cambridge and they could not “breath” in that setting, as if such a life–in its intolerance for aspects of the human experience that cannot be encapsulated by theory–would smother the human being. It was in the arts and in moral reflection that Wittgenstein found oxygen and felt human.
Do such reflections have bearing on our own lives? Is the Stanford bubble oxygen-less? In many ways, Stanford is the reverse: it is a place that enlivens students, exposing us to an exciting environment of swarming thoughts and ideas. But there is also a deadening effect inherent in our education. For example, the undergraduate experience leaves many students feeling like they are on a conveyor belt in college, working because it is what they have always done and are expected to do. They see no point in it, yet they trudge along.
Furthermore, some students show a lack of value for the more “poetic” disciplines in the humanities, perhaps because these fields cannot be reduced to formulaic method. And the specialized mindsets we develop in our majors encourage this dismissal.
Consider, for example, Immanuel Kant’s famous reflection: “Two things fill my mind with awe: the starry skies above and the moral law within.” A little knowledge of neuroscience might tell us that feelings of awe are particular chemical reactions in the brain; evolutionary theory then reminds us that we’ve developed these feelings because they help advance the species; finally, philosophy informs us that such statements are meaningless in the first place. Pretty soon, Kant’s feeling of awe becomes foreign, a language we don’t even speak. Our Stanford experience risks distancing us from the affective, from ourselves.
It is useful to remember that a lot of the oxygen at Stanford comes from the outside. In large, part, it is our study abroad and public service experiences that infuse Stanford life with oxygen and student life with purpose. Students who study abroad or volunteer often return to campus with a value for the question of what is meaningful to them, and they bring these emotional stirrings to the table when they start to re-engage with the rigors of academia.
The University generally seems to get this, forcing humanities requirements on us early and encouraging public service and study abroad experiences. What it does not do is instill in students an understanding of how these things infuse oxygen into our education. Why is a “liberal” education important? Alas, we may need Wittgenstein for this one.
Aysha thought about writing an ode to sleep this week, but instead she decided to get some! As it’s her final column this volume, she wants to say thanks to her fantastic editor, Emily, and to everyone who sent her a note about a column. She appreciates hearing your thoughts. Email her at [email protected].