Three Criticisms

It has been a while since I have blogged seriously. I have been a bit short on free time: I have been absorbed in learning separation of variables for my physics class, among other diversions. I think it may be one of the first times I have really had to stop and actually invest a bit of effort understanding something, if for no other reason than the fact that I have not taken a formal course in differential equations. Yet, I also somehow haven't been able to collect myself and form any sort of interesting opinions or ideas. Not that what I write here is typically either of these, but it tends to at least be compelling to me in a very transitory way. So, on the night of my complete rejection from MIT (I received the physical letter this afternoon), I put down my physics homework and decided to be dry and ponderous for a few minutes. Here are three thoughts whose only relation is that they consider criticism in some way:

1.) I was eating dinner with my mother at a small, italian restaurant in southeast yesterday, when I made a very slight criticism of the food we were eating. I forget exactly what I was criticizing, but it was something like, "This is pretty good, but it's a shade too salty." Or maybe it was more like, "I like it overall, but they were a tad unoriginal in the preparation." In any case, I'm positive that I prefaced the statement with a general complement and followed it up with a minor critique. My mother seemed annoyed by my statement and admonished me for being critical. I was a little shocked by her reaction, so I asked her in all seriousness, "Is it bad to be critical?" Well, as you might imagine, she clearly interpreted this as a retort instead of an earnest question, and she emphatically replied that yes, it is bad to be critical. Bad to be critical? Criticism is bad?

This is a somewhat strange idea. My experience in school has consistently led me to the conclusion that anything that is not criticism is typically pointless. I mean, it's far more useful to know what is wrong with something, than to know what is right with it. If one knows what is right with something, then one has no additional recourse for taking any action to improve the thing. Essentially, criticism is far more useful than complements--even if one disagrees with the criticism. Perhaps I'm being too extreme by saying that complements have no value, but I think that given a choice between the two, criticism is usually substantially better.

At this point, my mother launched into her catch-all "experience" argument that she attempts to use to disprove every point of contention between us. Being younger than her, I clearly have less knowledge and experience, and clearly therefore my arguments--whatever they may be--are less valid than hers. This time, this argumentative technique went something like: "School isn't the real world. Therefore you don't know what the real world is like. I do. In the real world criticism is bad. Therefore, criticism is bad. [QED]" At this point, I could tell that she was just about to launch into a tirade about the evil academic indoctrination in public schools that was threatening the social order, but we paid the bill and left just in the nick of time.

The more I think about it, maybe she is right. Maybe criticism is bad in the real world. But I maintain that this is nothing more than a concensus opinion based on the fact that people tend to be hostile to criticism because it threatens their belief that they are correct. People like to think that they are right. I like to think that I am right. Yet, I think (hehe, so ironic, so hypocritical) that criticism is intrinsically more useful and therefore more valuable than complements. I suppose I'm a bit utilitarian that way. So next time you talk with your friends, do them a favor: tear their ideas to bits. That's all Jon, Leeor, and I ever do when we talk to each other.

2.) This morning I made a comical allusion to Beowulf while talking to Carolyn. I just read all of the epic over the weekend, and I really liked it. It was a lot of fun, and Seamus Haney's best-selling translation is extremely readable. Anyway, Leeor overheard this, and started admonishing me for my reference to this "terrible" literature, leading into a small verbal scuffle. He essentially told me, in all seriousness, that it was impossible to justifiably like Beowulf. Yes, according to Leeor, anyone who likes Beowulf really is wrong. The basis of his argument was that the poem really has no literary merit outside of its Anglo-Saxon context, and therefore it is wrong to enjoy it. Now, I'm prepared to accept that Beowulf might not have literary merit. I seriously do believe that there is a lot of relevant investigation of the effects of isolation and belonging on the individual and the sources of violence in human society. The author probably didn't intend this, but we can be new critics and throw the author's "intent" in the garbage. It's a defensable perspective--unlike Leeor's, the extension of which is that literary merit is the only thing that makes literature enjoyable. Good stories can be enjoyable too, can't they? At any rate, I thought that Beowulf was, if nothing else, a good story with two great monsters, a dragon, and one very violent Geat.

3.) So there is this whole snafu about the Dubai Ports... I'm a bit sick of it all, and I have written enough for today, so I won't argue it. This may be the first time ever that I have been in absolute agreement with George W. Bush. Instead of wasting our time being paranoid xenophobes, why don't we put all of that directly inefficient effort into reforming the Coast Guard, the real entity that keeps track of what comes into the US? Ah, but this is politics, so that might be too rational.