Saturday, October 20, 2012

Education vs. Indulgence

An interesting passage from Whewell (Of a Liberal Education in General, p. 7):

The term Education especially implies, by its etymology, that character in the studies of the rising generation which I have attempted to describe: namely, that these studies draw forth and unfold a portion of our common human nature. They educe the elements of the Humanity which we have within us. The studies and occupations of the young are not properly called Education, merely because they draw out something, without considering whether it is an attribute of the race, or an accident of the individual. Young persons may be so employed and so treated, that their caprice, their self-will, their individual tastes and propensities, are educed and developed; but this is not Education. It is not the Education of a Man; for what is educed is not that which belongs to man as man, and connects man with man. It is not the Education of a man's Humanity, but the Indulgence of his Individuality.

He notes in a footnote that the actual etymological history is somewhat obscure; but, of course, he is only using it as a way of building a vocabulary for making his point. One interesting thing about it is that there are a lot of educational philosophies which would not count as educational in Whewell's sense.

Okelo and Irwa

Today in many places is the memorial for Bl. Daudi Okelo and Bl. Jildo Irwa, an interesting pair of Ugandan saints from the beginning of the twentieth century. (Okelo and Irwa were their pre-confirmation names; Daudi and Jildo were the names they took at confirmation.) Shortly after he had been confirmed, Daudi enrolled to be a catechist. When the catechist of Paimol had died, Daudi volunteered to take his place. There was some reluctance to send the young man, since it was a long road through bad country, but a catechist was definitely needed and Daudi insisted that he could do it, so it was decided that they would go (although with an escort in case of raiders). Jildo, an intelligent young man with a merry temperament, went with him as his assistant.

Every morning Daudi would beat the drum to call people to prayer, and would teach them the Words of the Morning, the next part of the catechism they were to learn, often turning the question and answer into a sort of sing-song call and response. Jildo would gather together the children and play games with them. Later in the day, Daudi would visit villages in the area and Jildo would often serve as secretary the village chief.

Things took a turn for the worse; relations between the Ugandans and the British were sometimes quite tense, and as Christianity was seen as a British religion, when the British would handle things too heavily retaliation was often taken out on the more easily reached Ugandan Christians. So it happened, and after the British District Commissioner made an unpopular decision, a group of people got together and set out to kill Daudi. A village elder who got wind of it tried to stop them, insisting that they were guests, but Daudi, afraid that the elder might be hurt, begged him not to involve himself. The group pushed their way inside the place Daudi and Jildo were staying and demanded that they give up catechizing, and when they refused, they were seized and dragged outside, where they were killed with spears.

Daudi of Payira was seventeen or eighteen years old, and young Jildo was about fourteen. It is said that the place where they died was given the name Wi Polo, 'in heaven', because those were the words of the Lord's Prayer that Daudi had been teaching on at the time.

Friday, October 19, 2012

The Sunshine of Kind Looks

October
by William Cullen Bryant


Ay, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath,
When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief.
And the year smiles as it draws near its death.
Wind of the sunny south! oh still delay
In the gay woods and in the golden air,
Like to a good old age released from care,
Journeying, in long serenity, away.
In such a bright, late quiet, would that
Might wear out life like thee, mid bowers and brooks,
And, dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks,
And music of kind voices ever nigh;
And when my last sand twinkled in the glass,
Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass.

Bryant is best known for his poem, "Thanatopsis".

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Whales, Books, and Chapters

Apparently today is the anniversary of Herman Melville's Moby Dick. So I thought I'd put up a brief selection from my favorite chapter in the book, Chapter 32.

First: According to magnitude I divide the whales into three primary BOOKS (subdivisible into CHAPTERS), and these shall comprehend them all, both small and large.

I. THE FOLIO WHALE; II. the OCTAVO WHALE; III. the DUODECIMO WHALE.

As the type of the FOLIO I present the SPERM WHALE; of the OCTAVO, the GRAMPUS; of the DUODECIMO, the PORPOISE.

FOLIOS. Among these I here include the following chapters:—I. The SPERM WHALE; II. the RIGHT WHALE; III. the FIN-BACK WHALE; IV. the HUMP-BACKED WHALE; V. the RAZOR-BACK WHALE; VI. the SULPHUR-BOTTOM WHALE.

Yes, Chapter 32 really is my favorite chapter in the book.

Music on My Mind



Acquire A Capella, "Safe & Sound".

Enchantress of Numbers

It was recently Ada Lovelace Day. Ada Lovelace, who was the daughter of Lord Byron, is most famous for her collaboration with Charles Babbage and Luigi Menabrea, which in a sense makes her the author of the first English textbook on computers -- she translated Menebrea's account of Babbage's Analytical Engine and added in cooperation extensive notes of her own, including what are clearly things like computer programs. She thus sometimes gets the label 'the first computer programmer', which, like almost all such designations, is a bit questionable. However, there has recently arisen a sort of reaction to this which goes to an equally extreme length in the other direction, claiming that she was a mathematical incompetent. The arguments for this are somewhat varied. For instance, on one argument, Menebrea's text had a typo in which, instead of 'le cas' it had 'le cos', and the Countess Lovelace simply carried over the 'cos' despite the fact that it didn't make any mathematical sense in context. This is not a very strong argument, since the work seems to have been reviewed by Babbage, whom nobody thinks was a mathematical incompetent, and he didn't catch the error, either. And we get statements like this recent one from Julian Sanchez:

Dorothy Stein, the first of Lovelace’s biographers with sufficient training to seriously assess Ada’s frequent proclamations of her own extraordinary mathematical genius, concludes that Lovelace was scarcely the prodigy she imagined herself to be, and struggled to grasp concepts that would be standard fare in a modern high school course in AP calculus.

To which one is inclined to say, Well, obviously; a modern high school course in AP calculus presupposes lots and lots of ideas that were only just being developed by and diffused among the mathematical geniuses of Lovelace's day. Let's look at the dates of two extraordinarily important people in the development of the modern calculus and compare them with Ada Lovelace's dates:

Lovelace (1815-1852)
Cauchy (1789-1857)
Weierstrass (1815-1897)

Notice that there's just a bit of an overlap there; and it should be noted that Weierstrass only became known relatively late: the works that the mathematical community first started taking serious notice of were published after Lovelace's death. But it is Weierstrass who is usually credited with putting the calculus (including the limit concept, that bane of the high school AP student) on a rigorous basis. In Lovelace's day, people were still using a lot of guesswork; even well after her day you could still find competent British mathematicians (who, while often managing to do their own good work, were also often playing catch-up in using methods that had developed on the continent) trying to solve problems by methods that would be considered shockingly informal and wrongheaded today.

But behind Sanchez's hyperbole is Stein's argument that Lovelace, in her correspondence course with De Morgan, occasionally has difficulties with problems that would be fairly easy today. A serious examination of the matter, however, requires not looking at what we can do today, when notation has stabilized and there are lots of people are given extensive teaching in a formal setting, but at what could be done in Lovelace's day, in which notation for the calculus had not yet stabilized, many British mathematicians of undoubted competence were still uncomfortable with the continental ways of doing analysis, and someone like Lovelace was for all practical purposes studying the subject on her own with occasional help from people like DeMorgan (they met every few weeks and exchanged correspondence here and there between). We don't actually know why Lovelace had the difficulties she did; it could be that she was just not comfortable with the notation yet, or that she was making some silly mistake which she later corrected, or that it just hadn't clicked yet, or that De Morgan had explained something badly at some point, or that she wasn't really all that great at mathematics, or any number of other things. Even getting simple things wrong is not a sign of incompetence, especially when starting out; there isn't a mathematician in creation that would survive to remain in the competence box if the criterion were never making a mistake that someone else could easily avoid -- and this, it should be pointed out, is especially if the someone else lives a century and a half later. It is of a piece with people who claim that Lovelace's 'programs', as they are often called, are merely 'student exercises' without also pointing out that what we have of Babbage's 'programs' are often not any more sophisticated. I don't think the kind of study that is required for this sort of assessment has actually been done, and it's possible we simply lack the evidence to do so. It's entirely plausible to think that Babbage, who called her "the Enchantress of Numbers" was just excited to find someone so enthusiastic about his Analytical Engine and so willing to flatter him over it; and it is true that Lovelace liked to talk of her own intellectual abilities in overinflated rhetoric; but Babbage was not the only mathematician of note to comment on her high level of mathematical ability.

The debate, in short, is not yet played out, and it is premature to be dogmatic about the outcome.

But, of course, this is in some sense moot: people don't recognize Ada Lovelace day in order to celebrate the Countess of Lovelace; they recognize Ada Lovelace day in order to celebrate women in mathematics and science. Lovelace is the occasion.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Chesterton on Sincerity

What convinces mankind of a man's sincerity is this: that every now and then he should go with his principle and against his feelings. Sincerity can be shown in surrender, if it is self-surrender. For instance, a despotist is not necessarily honest because he praises the King; but he probably is honest if he blames the King--and obeys him. He shows that it is for his theory he cares, and not for himself. Or, again, a man is not necessarily democratic because he can call up the people to support him. But he is democratic if he calls up the people to oppose him. A man who gives votes to a class that will probably vote against him certainly believes in popular government. A vegetarian who hates meat is not so serious as a vegetarian who loves meat.

Illustrated London News, 12 October 1907.