So I really, truly do not want to dominate the discussion (take Philosophy as Conversation with me if you want that! T, Th, 8:15, spring semester. (note to self: you use too many parentheses.)) I'd be happy to carry out a conversation right here on this little ol' blog. I'd even give Collo hours for it. That said, here are some additional thoughts prompted by today's discussion.
(Resist the urge to put this whole paragraph in parentheses. Must resist. Ah, too weak...I think this kind of engagement is sort of the point, or at least a point, of this class. The class has prompted me to think about all kinds of things I would not have otherwise thought about. I've reflected on things, been challenged on things, and have had to confront things coming at me from different points of view. Those are all good things, and I know those are all things Pat hopes to accomplish with the course. Education should be about the free exchange of ideas. That means voicing opinions and exploring alternatives. We may turn out to be wrong, and that's important to know. We don't find that out if we don't play the game. Our knowledge doesn't advance in isolation. We have to engage in the sometimes messy arena of academic discourse. I think it's fun, too, but your mileage may vary. Anyway, that's the spirit of all of this. I want to engage the ideas, and I want to know if I'm wrong. I want to hear contrary views, and I want to try to defend my own. At the end of the day, I most want to believe things that are true, and I don't know any other way to go about that.)
Okay, with that out of the way...I was thinking about the discussion today in connection to my own vegetarianism. I think meat-eating is natural for humans. There is a lot of evolutionary evidence for this. Eating meat seems to have played a significant factor in the development of our brains, for example. People have eaten meat for a very, very long time. My choice to not eat meat is, in that sense, unnatural.
On top of the naturalness of eating meat, there are also a lot of cultural norms surrounding it. We eat turkey on Thanksgiving and lamb on Easter. Tailgating is for random assortments of beef and pork products, and bacon is apparently for everything. As a man, I'm supposed to love steak and softcore pornographic Hardee's commercials of women biting into greasy hamburgers. These things do not seem natural to me. They are clearly a product of our culture. They are cultural norms that are built on our natural inclination and evolutionary history of eating meat.
So I think the general predominance of meat-eating has both natural and cultural origins. I have seen many vegans and vegetarians get very animated and be very intent on denying the naturalness of eating meat. I take it that they believe they need to deny this in order to refute some argument that leads to the conclusion that eating meat is okay. I think this is mistaken. We don't need to be pushed into denying things that are true in order to argue for the wrongness of eating meat. The better place to cut off the argument is in the purported connection between something being natural and it being permissible. Violence may come naturally to us, but that doesn't make it permissible. Yes, eating meat may be natural, but so what? It is, and you shouldn't do it. That's perfectly consistent, and doesn't involve denying what seems to be true about our nature.
On culture, I can say from experience that it is hard to fight against the cultural traditions on this. They are powerful. I hear their call. I do think it's valuable to recognize them and, if you determine that they are promulgating immorality, to stop engaging in them. But I also recognize that that decision comes with a cost. The absolute best (and last) hot dog I ate was in 1998 outside of old Yankee Stadium (where, incidentally, I saw one of the best teams ever lose to the Anaheim Angels when they still sucked. (Damn it, Hedden, just stop with the parentheses, seriously.)) There was something unbelievably satisfying about that hot dog. Replacing that with a gelatinous hot dog shaped combination of chemicals, additives, and textured vegetable protein just doesn't do the same thing for me. I can't imagine having that same feeling of satisfaction gnawing on a carrot stick. I think that's largely cultural, maybe partly natural. I think those feelings have value and all of those traditions involving meat have value. That's all value that I miss out on because I've made a decision to not eat meat. I think it's the right decision, but I also think there are good things in the world that I miss out on because of it.
How does all or any of this relate to the discussion in class? Oh, hell, I don't really know. Maybe this. There is (it seems to me) a natural inclination for women to be more nurturing. There are also a lot of cultural norms that have been built around that. A lot of those are repressive and limit people's ability to live the life they want. Those norms are powerful, and they are often destructive. But we can work to change the norms without denying the underlying biological factors. Again, nature isn't normative. We can be natural born meat-eaters and natural-born nurturers and permissibly choose to do neither. Cultural traditions make both of those choices harder. That's a problem, and one we should try to change. But we should keep in mind that there is value in doing what comes naturally, and value in participating in some cultural traditions (that hot dog was damn good, I promise.) And, more importantly, whatever ends we seek and whatever kind of culture we want, we shouldn't elevate that above the truth. Truth matters, even when it is inconvenient for our particular ends.
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
Monday, October 24, 2016
Semi-random thoughts on the discussion of "A Doll('s) House"
(1) Maybe I'm the one taking crazy pills here, so feel free to set me straight. One thing that was discussed in class was whether women were "natural born nurturers." First, obviously #notallwomen. With that out of the way, it seems to me that there is a natural inclination for women to be more nurturing. Clearly some of this is a result of culture, but I don't think that's the whole story. Patriarchy isn't responsible for female chimpanzees taking care of their young is it? There's something biological there, no? Did the patriarchy alter evolution? Did those genes disappear in humans only to be replaced by a repressive culture? I'm skeptical, to say the least.
I don't think much hinges in terms of equality on the naturalness of nurturing, so I'm not sure why there is the desire to deny what seems (to me) to be plainly obvious. As a pure description of the actual world, I think there is a strong case to be made for the claim that women are more naturally inclined to nurturing. But nature isn't normative, or so says me. That something is natural doesn't mean you should do it, and unnaturalness doesn't equate with wrongness. Writing with my left hand is incredibly unnatural for me. So what? Surely that doesn't make it wrong. And having and nurturing children might be natural for women, but so what? That doesn't mean there's any obligation to do that.
Our equality as people doesn't depend on any descriptive equality. We are not, in fact, equal in that sense. Some are smarter, better looking, stronger, taller, etc. than others. If our principle of equality is based on actual equality, we're in trouble. The point of a principle of equality is to be prescriptive, not descriptive. We should treat people (and maybe animals) with dignity and respect, and their individual interests should be protected with rights. That's not because we all have the same qualities, natural or otherwise. It's because...well, I'll leave that as an exercise for the reader, except to say that I don't think it is because, absent culture, we are all really just alike.
(2) Another idea that was batted around was whether Nora's main responsibility, or ultimate responsibility, is to herself. I don't think the implication was that she has no responsibility to her children, but it sometimes veered towards that. That seems wrong to me. When you are responsible for bringing a big bundle of needs into the world, it seems to me you incur an obligation to meet those needs. So yes, she has obligations to her children. The question is whether those obligations are outweighed, or are rendered moot, by other circumstances. We do often obligate ourselves in ways that limit our freedom. That's what a promise is. I restrict my freedom to do whatever I want by promising that I will do what I promise to do. If my promises are really "I promise to do this, provided it is what I want to do at the time" then the promise isn't a promise. Of course, there are conditions that would make it permissible to not fulfill a promise. If I promise to have lunch with you and getting there requires navigating a minefield, surely it's permissible to fail to meet that obligation. So how close is Nora's situation to that? That seems to me the (or a) relevant question.
(3) Perhaps related to that, here's a wee thought experiment. What if Torvald "got woke" and realized the unequal, oppressive nature of his marriage. He now wants a genuinely equal partnership. And let's say Nora is quite happy being a doll. She wants the marriage to remain as it is. Is it okay for Torvald to just leave her and the children? Do we have the same reactions to that as to Nora leaving? Obviously the circumstances are different for them, but maybe thinking about the Bizarro World version of the play is a way to clarify exactly what the differences are that are supposed to make a difference.
(4) On marriage generally, it seems to me important to not discount more traditional marriages. My parents have been married for over 40 years. My mom got married five days after she graduated high school. She never went to college. She had and raised two children, and has only worked for brief periods of time. I don't think she's oppressed, or suffers from false consciousness, or is a victim of the patriarchy. She is living the life she chose, and I don't think she'd trade it. My dad is living the life he chose, and they are both living the life they chose and have continually chosen for 40+ years. It's not the life I chose, which is as it should be. We should be able to make our own choices, including choices about the kinds of relationships we're going to have. But advocating for more options and choices doesn't have to mean discounting one of those choices. If a woman wants most of all to be a mother and to stay at home and raise her children, why is that bad, exactly? It seems to infantilize such women to tell them that that is not what they really want, and that they should want something else.
(5) On a broader note, related to (4), it seems to me important to at least acknowledge the value of tradition. We shouldn't be bound by it, and we should fight injustices. But we also shouldn't avoid things just because they are traditional, or are the way things have always been. A lot of things look stupid and unjustified if you push on them. Is there any rational defense of Santa Claus? I don't know of one, but that doesn't mean participating in that particular tradition has no value. Of course, it doesn't mean you have to participate in it. But there is some value in it, and that value is largely, I think, tied to it being a cultural tradition. Similarly, I think we should at least acknowledge the importance of traditional institutions. Maybe some need to be changed, or overthrown entirely. But that should be done cautiously. We should recognize the limits of our own reasoning and our own fallibility. It can be dangerous to substitute the theory of the day for hundreds or thousands of years of tradition. Again, that doesn't mean we should never do that, or we should elevate tradition above anything else. We shouldn't. But it's not nothing, and it's not without value.
Okay, thus concludes my semi-random, gadfly-ish thoughts from the back of the room. Fire away.
I don't think much hinges in terms of equality on the naturalness of nurturing, so I'm not sure why there is the desire to deny what seems (to me) to be plainly obvious. As a pure description of the actual world, I think there is a strong case to be made for the claim that women are more naturally inclined to nurturing. But nature isn't normative, or so says me. That something is natural doesn't mean you should do it, and unnaturalness doesn't equate with wrongness. Writing with my left hand is incredibly unnatural for me. So what? Surely that doesn't make it wrong. And having and nurturing children might be natural for women, but so what? That doesn't mean there's any obligation to do that.
Our equality as people doesn't depend on any descriptive equality. We are not, in fact, equal in that sense. Some are smarter, better looking, stronger, taller, etc. than others. If our principle of equality is based on actual equality, we're in trouble. The point of a principle of equality is to be prescriptive, not descriptive. We should treat people (and maybe animals) with dignity and respect, and their individual interests should be protected with rights. That's not because we all have the same qualities, natural or otherwise. It's because...well, I'll leave that as an exercise for the reader, except to say that I don't think it is because, absent culture, we are all really just alike.
(2) Another idea that was batted around was whether Nora's main responsibility, or ultimate responsibility, is to herself. I don't think the implication was that she has no responsibility to her children, but it sometimes veered towards that. That seems wrong to me. When you are responsible for bringing a big bundle of needs into the world, it seems to me you incur an obligation to meet those needs. So yes, she has obligations to her children. The question is whether those obligations are outweighed, or are rendered moot, by other circumstances. We do often obligate ourselves in ways that limit our freedom. That's what a promise is. I restrict my freedom to do whatever I want by promising that I will do what I promise to do. If my promises are really "I promise to do this, provided it is what I want to do at the time" then the promise isn't a promise. Of course, there are conditions that would make it permissible to not fulfill a promise. If I promise to have lunch with you and getting there requires navigating a minefield, surely it's permissible to fail to meet that obligation. So how close is Nora's situation to that? That seems to me the (or a) relevant question.
(3) Perhaps related to that, here's a wee thought experiment. What if Torvald "got woke" and realized the unequal, oppressive nature of his marriage. He now wants a genuinely equal partnership. And let's say Nora is quite happy being a doll. She wants the marriage to remain as it is. Is it okay for Torvald to just leave her and the children? Do we have the same reactions to that as to Nora leaving? Obviously the circumstances are different for them, but maybe thinking about the Bizarro World version of the play is a way to clarify exactly what the differences are that are supposed to make a difference.
(4) On marriage generally, it seems to me important to not discount more traditional marriages. My parents have been married for over 40 years. My mom got married five days after she graduated high school. She never went to college. She had and raised two children, and has only worked for brief periods of time. I don't think she's oppressed, or suffers from false consciousness, or is a victim of the patriarchy. She is living the life she chose, and I don't think she'd trade it. My dad is living the life he chose, and they are both living the life they chose and have continually chosen for 40+ years. It's not the life I chose, which is as it should be. We should be able to make our own choices, including choices about the kinds of relationships we're going to have. But advocating for more options and choices doesn't have to mean discounting one of those choices. If a woman wants most of all to be a mother and to stay at home and raise her children, why is that bad, exactly? It seems to infantilize such women to tell them that that is not what they really want, and that they should want something else.
(5) On a broader note, related to (4), it seems to me important to at least acknowledge the value of tradition. We shouldn't be bound by it, and we should fight injustices. But we also shouldn't avoid things just because they are traditional, or are the way things have always been. A lot of things look stupid and unjustified if you push on them. Is there any rational defense of Santa Claus? I don't know of one, but that doesn't mean participating in that particular tradition has no value. Of course, it doesn't mean you have to participate in it. But there is some value in it, and that value is largely, I think, tied to it being a cultural tradition. Similarly, I think we should at least acknowledge the importance of traditional institutions. Maybe some need to be changed, or overthrown entirely. But that should be done cautiously. We should recognize the limits of our own reasoning and our own fallibility. It can be dangerous to substitute the theory of the day for hundreds or thousands of years of tradition. Again, that doesn't mean we should never do that, or we should elevate tradition above anything else. We shouldn't. But it's not nothing, and it's not without value.
Okay, thus concludes my semi-random, gadfly-ish thoughts from the back of the room. Fire away.
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
Faith, reason, religion
So I'm sitting in on Pat Cronin's "Artistic Experience" class (which, btw, is pretty awesome.) It's been really great to just sit in the back and experience the course--to hear the students, to see their reactions, and to just soak it all in. But I also feel a bit like a free-rider, since my contributions are minimal to non-existent. Rather than take up class time with my two cents, I'm going to post here.
The discussion on Tuesday centered on faith, reason, and religion. While I have a lot to say about such things (and do say a lot about them when I teach Philosophy as Conversation), I also feel like a bit of an outsider to the conversations. I'm not a religious person. This is not a matter of losing my faith at some point. I never had any faith to lose. My parents were nominally Christian, but we didn't even make it to church on Easter. So despite growing up in Alabama, I managed to have a childhood in which religion was almost entirely absent.
At some point, religion became a kind of fun intellectual exercise. I can argue with walls all day long, though I discovered in high school that arguing with Christians was more fun. In hindsight, it was all largely a game for me. I was interested in the arguments and the way they worked, and not so much in what possibly hung in the balance. I can't say I'm proud of that, though it was mildly satisfying to stump the Young Life leaders who always seemed to make their way to my lunch table. All good people, though, and I probably should've been more respectful.
In college, the intellectual game continued as I majored in philosophy. The department was full of pretty typical atheist philosophers. Religious belief wasn't scorned, necessarily, but atheism seemed to have an air of superiority. My more immature self latched onto this.
Then in graduate school I was in a less typical philosophy department in which a lot of the philosophers were Christian. It turns out there was a whole world of Christian philosophers that I had largely ignored. And they are good philosophers. They're smart, serious, rigorous, etc. That's when I realized this was all much more complicated than I had ever appreciated. That's where I am now. It's complicated. In good Socratic fashion, I embrace my ignorance. I know that I don't know (though I'm still inclined to think that in the absence of evidence, atheism is the more reasonable position, so despite the agnostic undertones, I'd likely identify as atheist, maybe a doubting atheist.)
With needless throat-clearing out of the way, I was interested in some of the discussion about faith in particular. Pat seems to be drawn to Kierkegaard's view of faith--that faith involves embracing the absurd. 3 is 1, 1 is 3. That's absurd. Believe it anyway. That's faith. Meh. Perhaps this is just my brain, but I'm not sure it's even possible to do that. And even if it's possible, I can't see how it's advisable. So if faith boils down to that, I'm probably never going to have it.
In part, I doubt that the seeming absurdities are as absurd as they seem. Trenton Merricks, for example, argues that split-brain cases give us a model of how to view two spheres of consciousness in one body. Maybe, as he suggests, we can extrapolate from that and make sense of the Godhead. I don't know, but he's not crazy (well, not in that particular way.) And so on for other religious beliefs. There are at least plausible sounding arguments for a lot of things that, on their face, look absurd.
So maybe we can beat down the absurdity some. Still I suspect that reason isn't going to get us all the way there (though I have moments where I think Plantinga's ontological argument might get us there.) If reason won't get us there, what then? I have a hard time believing things that I don't have good reason to believe. Actually, I probably do this all the time, but I have hard time thinking I should do this. When I find unsupported beliefs, I think I ought to find support or withhold assent. That's what reason seems to demand. And faith seems to suggest we do the opposite. Believe anyway, even if reason falls short of getting you to that conclusion. I'm not sure I like that.
But what if faith isn't a species of belief? What if you could have faith without believing in God? I kind of like the sound of that. This is what Howard-Snyder argues for here. I think about my attitude towards Auburn football, which is probably the closest thing to religion I have (I'm pretty sure it would take at least seven years of therapy for me to get past my indoctrination.) I am going to the LSU game this weekend. I don't believe Auburn will win. I don't have any good reason to believe that. They've looked terrible for the better part of two years, and for two-thirds of the games so far this season. So I don't believe they'll win. By the time the game rolls around, though, I'm pretty sure I'll have faith that they'll win. I'll be excited walking into the stadium. I'll cheer. I'll be hopeful. I'll act as if Auburn has a real chance to win, even though I don't believe they do. I think this might qualify as faith, and that's a faith I can get on board with. It's a faith that allows doubt, and allows us to withhold belief when reason doesn't get us there. I don't know if that works, and I haven't thought about the arguments in any great detail, but I like the idea. It seems to me an improvement over faith being tied to believing things you don't have reason to believe.
In an ideal world, I would somehow tie all of this to the plays we read. Alas, this world is not ideal. I do think these things are important and worth thinking about. I no longer feel (or I try not to feel) any smugness about my lack of belief. Religious belief and faith are clearly important aspects of the human experience, and they are ones I have largely missed out on. In my more humble moments, I regret that. I think doubt is also part of being human. And struggling with those two things are as well. At the moment, I think I have faith that we can somehow figure all of this out. I at least act as if that is true.
The discussion on Tuesday centered on faith, reason, and religion. While I have a lot to say about such things (and do say a lot about them when I teach Philosophy as Conversation), I also feel like a bit of an outsider to the conversations. I'm not a religious person. This is not a matter of losing my faith at some point. I never had any faith to lose. My parents were nominally Christian, but we didn't even make it to church on Easter. So despite growing up in Alabama, I managed to have a childhood in which religion was almost entirely absent.
At some point, religion became a kind of fun intellectual exercise. I can argue with walls all day long, though I discovered in high school that arguing with Christians was more fun. In hindsight, it was all largely a game for me. I was interested in the arguments and the way they worked, and not so much in what possibly hung in the balance. I can't say I'm proud of that, though it was mildly satisfying to stump the Young Life leaders who always seemed to make their way to my lunch table. All good people, though, and I probably should've been more respectful.
In college, the intellectual game continued as I majored in philosophy. The department was full of pretty typical atheist philosophers. Religious belief wasn't scorned, necessarily, but atheism seemed to have an air of superiority. My more immature self latched onto this.
Then in graduate school I was in a less typical philosophy department in which a lot of the philosophers were Christian. It turns out there was a whole world of Christian philosophers that I had largely ignored. And they are good philosophers. They're smart, serious, rigorous, etc. That's when I realized this was all much more complicated than I had ever appreciated. That's where I am now. It's complicated. In good Socratic fashion, I embrace my ignorance. I know that I don't know (though I'm still inclined to think that in the absence of evidence, atheism is the more reasonable position, so despite the agnostic undertones, I'd likely identify as atheist, maybe a doubting atheist.)
With needless throat-clearing out of the way, I was interested in some of the discussion about faith in particular. Pat seems to be drawn to Kierkegaard's view of faith--that faith involves embracing the absurd. 3 is 1, 1 is 3. That's absurd. Believe it anyway. That's faith. Meh. Perhaps this is just my brain, but I'm not sure it's even possible to do that. And even if it's possible, I can't see how it's advisable. So if faith boils down to that, I'm probably never going to have it.
In part, I doubt that the seeming absurdities are as absurd as they seem. Trenton Merricks, for example, argues that split-brain cases give us a model of how to view two spheres of consciousness in one body. Maybe, as he suggests, we can extrapolate from that and make sense of the Godhead. I don't know, but he's not crazy (well, not in that particular way.) And so on for other religious beliefs. There are at least plausible sounding arguments for a lot of things that, on their face, look absurd.
So maybe we can beat down the absurdity some. Still I suspect that reason isn't going to get us all the way there (though I have moments where I think Plantinga's ontological argument might get us there.) If reason won't get us there, what then? I have a hard time believing things that I don't have good reason to believe. Actually, I probably do this all the time, but I have hard time thinking I should do this. When I find unsupported beliefs, I think I ought to find support or withhold assent. That's what reason seems to demand. And faith seems to suggest we do the opposite. Believe anyway, even if reason falls short of getting you to that conclusion. I'm not sure I like that.
But what if faith isn't a species of belief? What if you could have faith without believing in God? I kind of like the sound of that. This is what Howard-Snyder argues for here. I think about my attitude towards Auburn football, which is probably the closest thing to religion I have (I'm pretty sure it would take at least seven years of therapy for me to get past my indoctrination.) I am going to the LSU game this weekend. I don't believe Auburn will win. I don't have any good reason to believe that. They've looked terrible for the better part of two years, and for two-thirds of the games so far this season. So I don't believe they'll win. By the time the game rolls around, though, I'm pretty sure I'll have faith that they'll win. I'll be excited walking into the stadium. I'll cheer. I'll be hopeful. I'll act as if Auburn has a real chance to win, even though I don't believe they do. I think this might qualify as faith, and that's a faith I can get on board with. It's a faith that allows doubt, and allows us to withhold belief when reason doesn't get us there. I don't know if that works, and I haven't thought about the arguments in any great detail, but I like the idea. It seems to me an improvement over faith being tied to believing things you don't have reason to believe.
In an ideal world, I would somehow tie all of this to the plays we read. Alas, this world is not ideal. I do think these things are important and worth thinking about. I no longer feel (or I try not to feel) any smugness about my lack of belief. Religious belief and faith are clearly important aspects of the human experience, and they are ones I have largely missed out on. In my more humble moments, I regret that. I think doubt is also part of being human. And struggling with those two things are as well. At the moment, I think I have faith that we can somehow figure all of this out. I at least act as if that is true.
Sunday, September 4, 2016
Podcasting for poor, impatient beginners
When I had the idea to do a podcast for Collo, it seemed like it would be simple enough to execute. It turns out that podcasting is more complicated than I thought, and the advice that is out there is not always helpful. I'm not sure if this will be any more helpful, but here is a rundown of how I produced the first Collo podcast.
***Disclaimer***
If you download soundboard shows of your favorite artists in lossless formats, or only listen to music on 180 gram vinyl, this information is not for you.
Equipment
I thought I had struck gold with the equipment. The Honors College has two nice Shure XLR mics and a FireStudio audio interface. By all accounts, this should be fairly decent equipment with which to start a podcast. This first take with this equipment was, um, bad. Because the interface required a firewire connection, I was limited in where I could record. I think this was the biggest problem. The room was far less than ideal. It was open, had hardwood floors, and an angled ceiling. The mics just didn't generate good quality on the voices.
On take two, I used a Logitech video conferencing webcam. Most advice out there says to stay away from USB mics. In my case, this mic produced a much better sound than the original setup, and I was able to record multiple people with one mic. So this gets high marks for simplicity. The sound is not particularly good, but it is serviceable. It really was just plug and record.
I also had access to a a Blue Snowball Mic. I would say this produced the best sound of the mics and setups I tried. It is also USB and really easy to use. If you're doing a one-person podcast, I'd recommend this. It's ambient setting does not do a good job of picking up multiple voices.
My takeaway is that recording a podcast with multiple hosts or guests makes things more complicated. The original setup with two mics and audio interface seems like it should be the best, but other factors made this more complicated and, at least right now, not viable. The Logitech mic ended up being the easiest way to get decent sound with multiple people.
Software
On take one, I used Adobe Audition. In theory this should be a step up from free software that is out there. In reality, it was not. I thought the interface was unintuitive and it has a lot more bells and whistles than I needed. On take two, I used the free recording software Audacity. I don't have any complaints. It was easy to use and had all the tools I needed. And it's free.
Post Production
The Logitech mic required more post-production tweaking. The main problem was the different volume of the two voices. I mainly used the compressor effect to even this out. The results were pretty good. I used the normalization effect to eliminate clipping. Again, the results were pretty good. I also used audacity to create the intro, which is a combination of effects and creative commons licensed music. Overall, Audacity was straightforward, intuitive, and did what I needed it to do.
Overall
For the cost of a decent USB mic, you can produce a non-terrible sounding (IYAM) podcast. This is not up to the standards of the professionals, but you also don't need a course in audio engineering to produce it, and you don't have to invest a small fortune to make it happen. The biggest challenge was figuring out how to record multiple voices into Audacity. My simple solution was the Logitech mic. In more ideal conditions, I think the Shure mics with the audio interface would be the way to go. In less ideal conditions, the Logitech produced better sound.
Here is the first episode, so you can judge for yourself on the overall sound quality.
***Disclaimer***
If you download soundboard shows of your favorite artists in lossless formats, or only listen to music on 180 gram vinyl, this information is not for you.
Equipment
I thought I had struck gold with the equipment. The Honors College has two nice Shure XLR mics and a FireStudio audio interface. By all accounts, this should be fairly decent equipment with which to start a podcast. This first take with this equipment was, um, bad. Because the interface required a firewire connection, I was limited in where I could record. I think this was the biggest problem. The room was far less than ideal. It was open, had hardwood floors, and an angled ceiling. The mics just didn't generate good quality on the voices.
On take two, I used a Logitech video conferencing webcam. Most advice out there says to stay away from USB mics. In my case, this mic produced a much better sound than the original setup, and I was able to record multiple people with one mic. So this gets high marks for simplicity. The sound is not particularly good, but it is serviceable. It really was just plug and record.
I also had access to a a Blue Snowball Mic. I would say this produced the best sound of the mics and setups I tried. It is also USB and really easy to use. If you're doing a one-person podcast, I'd recommend this. It's ambient setting does not do a good job of picking up multiple voices.
My takeaway is that recording a podcast with multiple hosts or guests makes things more complicated. The original setup with two mics and audio interface seems like it should be the best, but other factors made this more complicated and, at least right now, not viable. The Logitech mic ended up being the easiest way to get decent sound with multiple people.
Software
On take one, I used Adobe Audition. In theory this should be a step up from free software that is out there. In reality, it was not. I thought the interface was unintuitive and it has a lot more bells and whistles than I needed. On take two, I used the free recording software Audacity. I don't have any complaints. It was easy to use and had all the tools I needed. And it's free.
Post Production
The Logitech mic required more post-production tweaking. The main problem was the different volume of the two voices. I mainly used the compressor effect to even this out. The results were pretty good. I used the normalization effect to eliminate clipping. Again, the results were pretty good. I also used audacity to create the intro, which is a combination of effects and creative commons licensed music. Overall, Audacity was straightforward, intuitive, and did what I needed it to do.
Overall
For the cost of a decent USB mic, you can produce a non-terrible sounding (IYAM) podcast. This is not up to the standards of the professionals, but you also don't need a course in audio engineering to produce it, and you don't have to invest a small fortune to make it happen. The biggest challenge was figuring out how to record multiple voices into Audacity. My simple solution was the Logitech mic. In more ideal conditions, I think the Shure mics with the audio interface would be the way to go. In less ideal conditions, the Logitech produced better sound.
Here is the first episode, so you can judge for yourself on the overall sound quality.
Friday, August 5, 2016
Initial thoughts on Collo 4.0...
It's Collo time again, which means it's time meta-Collo posts.
As always, Collo is a work-in-progress (or occasionally a work-in-regress.) I have a couple of broad goals in mind for this years iteration of the course.
(1) Focus class time more on freshmen and incoming Midways. The class hours are always the hardest for people to meet, and my brilliant idea of holding multiple sections each week is a logistical nightmare that has, thus far, been largely unsuccessful. So two birds, one stone. Class time will be devoted to incoming students, with a few larger sessions for everyone. The requirements for class hours will be adjusted accordingly (details forthcoming.)
(2) Emphasize and encourage more individualized contracts for returning students. These have been an option for a while, but few people take advantage of this option. I think it has been a good experience for those who have. My hope is that by having you design your own plan for what you want to do for Collo credit will help unify what you're doing. As it is, the things you do for Collo are sometimes a disjointed hodgepodge of activities, and that starts to feel more like checking a box than meaningful engagement. But if you set goals for yourself and identify things you want to do, then it should hopefully feel less like that. People in the past have used this option to work on graduate school applications, service projects, and creative projects. It need not be one single project. I think the important thing is for you to set your own goals, and then propose some concrete ways you intend to show progress towards those goals.
(3) Provide more opportunities for making connections. As our programs grow, and as Collo grows, it gets harder to provide opportunities for you to get to know others outside of your cohort or program. I think making those kinds of connections is important, and knowing what others are doing is important. This was a suggestion on a number of course evals, and I think it was an excellent suggestion. You are all doing interesting things and are interesting people. I'd like to try to provide opportunities for you to get to know others and share your own interests, activities, and accomplishments. If only someone would invent a way to do this without having to be in the same place at the same time. Maybe through a computer or phone or something. Where is Al Gore when you need him? So I'll be trying to do more online to create opportunities for this kind of connection. A podcast is in the works. A new collo webpage is in the works so we can ditch d2l once and for all. I intend to step up the Honors College's social media. The goal of all of this is to help share with others both in and outside the Honors College who you are and what you're doing.
So them there's the goals that are guiding the development of Collo 4.0. Details to follow...
As always, Collo is a work-in-progress (or occasionally a work-in-regress.) I have a couple of broad goals in mind for this years iteration of the course.
(1) Focus class time more on freshmen and incoming Midways. The class hours are always the hardest for people to meet, and my brilliant idea of holding multiple sections each week is a logistical nightmare that has, thus far, been largely unsuccessful. So two birds, one stone. Class time will be devoted to incoming students, with a few larger sessions for everyone. The requirements for class hours will be adjusted accordingly (details forthcoming.)
(2) Emphasize and encourage more individualized contracts for returning students. These have been an option for a while, but few people take advantage of this option. I think it has been a good experience for those who have. My hope is that by having you design your own plan for what you want to do for Collo credit will help unify what you're doing. As it is, the things you do for Collo are sometimes a disjointed hodgepodge of activities, and that starts to feel more like checking a box than meaningful engagement. But if you set goals for yourself and identify things you want to do, then it should hopefully feel less like that. People in the past have used this option to work on graduate school applications, service projects, and creative projects. It need not be one single project. I think the important thing is for you to set your own goals, and then propose some concrete ways you intend to show progress towards those goals.
(3) Provide more opportunities for making connections. As our programs grow, and as Collo grows, it gets harder to provide opportunities for you to get to know others outside of your cohort or program. I think making those kinds of connections is important, and knowing what others are doing is important. This was a suggestion on a number of course evals, and I think it was an excellent suggestion. You are all doing interesting things and are interesting people. I'd like to try to provide opportunities for you to get to know others and share your own interests, activities, and accomplishments. If only someone would invent a way to do this without having to be in the same place at the same time. Maybe through a computer or phone or something. Where is Al Gore when you need him? So I'll be trying to do more online to create opportunities for this kind of connection. A podcast is in the works. A new collo webpage is in the works so we can ditch d2l once and for all. I intend to step up the Honors College's social media. The goal of all of this is to help share with others both in and outside the Honors College who you are and what you're doing.
So them there's the goals that are guiding the development of Collo 4.0. Details to follow...
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Research as pinball
A followup to this post. (Recap: this is an attempt to model and chronicle the research process, from half-baked idea to more polished proposal.)
So I started with some idea about how the proliferation of learning outcomes and rubrics was in the same ballpark as replacing social norms with statutory law. That's my quarter. I put it in and started playing.
So where did the ball go? Well, the rough trajectory is something like this. I started looking at learning outcomes for a variety of courses to better understand them. That was both fascinating and disheartening. Ultimately, it left me wondering whether we have any clear idea of what a learning outcome even is.
So, I thought, wouldn't it be great if there were some group of people who were more or less exclusively focused on conceptual analysis? We could call them, I don't know, philosophers. So that's where I turned. It turns out there was a moment for analytic philosophy of education (some details here.) I turned to my friend Mr. Google and he kindly gave me this edited volume--The Concept of Educaiton, R.S. Peters, ed. published in 1967. So I'm bouncing around in this particular cluster of bumpers. I don't know how many points I'm racking up, but the ball is still in play.
In particular, there is some helpful analysis on what it means to learn something. I don't know that I have anything interesting to say about these analyses, but they seem at least potentially helpful for better understanding what a learning outcome is, and what kind of learning those outcomes tend to measure. They also seem potentially helpful for better understanding the ordinary conception of learning that went unspoken in the dark, dark days of education when we didn't spell out in exquisite detail every student learning outcome for every assignment.
There's a good chance I'll lose this particular ball at some point, or get kicked over to some other area, but this is where I am now.
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
Rubrics, learning outcomes, and "hidden law," part 1.
I'm going to try to articulate a half-baked germ of an idea here. There are two goals. One is that I actually do think there is something to the idea, and I'd like to keep exploring it. The other is that in my Foundations of Research class, I try to demonstrate the elements of the research process that we discuss in class. I'm not sure how successful I am at this, and it struck me this semester that I should try to chronicle the actual development of a research project. This is the beginning of that. It may crash and burn--ideas often do--but hopefully the end result will be a glimpse into the evolution of a thought from half-baked to fully-baked (or at least slightly more than half-baked.) Here goes...
I think there's an opening for a conservative (think Burke and Oakeshott) critique of learning outcomes and rubrics. (Am I a terrible candidate to mount a conservative critique of anything? Probably. Should that stop me from trying? Maybe. Will it? Doubtful.) The proliferation of learning outcomes and the explosion of ever more detailed rubrics seem to me to be similar to what Jonathan Rauch describes as the replacement of "hidden law" with statutory law. I'm not that old, yet I don't recall ever having learning outcomes spelled out on a syllabus in college, and I don't recall any rubrics. Instead, there were unwritten rules that governed the classroom and grades. (Or at least I think there were. I haven't tried to spell these out, but surely they existed, right?) These rules were, no doubt, imperfect and imperfectly enforced, but they were there.
Then, somewhere along the way, these unwritten rules started to be replaced with explicit, written policies. Our syllabi got longer. Learning outcomes were spelled out in detail. Rubrics were developed for assessment. And now here we are. My hunch is that we are not in a better place than we were before, and are probably worse off as far as actual teaching and learning goes.
My issues with rubrics and learning outcomes are not new or particularly insightful. But there isn't, or at least I haven't found, anyone who is looking at this from a conservative (small 'c') perspective. There seems to me to be something there worth exploring.
So that's the idea. Half-baked.
I think there's an opening for a conservative (think Burke and Oakeshott) critique of learning outcomes and rubrics. (Am I a terrible candidate to mount a conservative critique of anything? Probably. Should that stop me from trying? Maybe. Will it? Doubtful.) The proliferation of learning outcomes and the explosion of ever more detailed rubrics seem to me to be similar to what Jonathan Rauch describes as the replacement of "hidden law" with statutory law. I'm not that old, yet I don't recall ever having learning outcomes spelled out on a syllabus in college, and I don't recall any rubrics. Instead, there were unwritten rules that governed the classroom and grades. (Or at least I think there were. I haven't tried to spell these out, but surely they existed, right?) These rules were, no doubt, imperfect and imperfectly enforced, but they were there.
Then, somewhere along the way, these unwritten rules started to be replaced with explicit, written policies. Our syllabi got longer. Learning outcomes were spelled out in detail. Rubrics were developed for assessment. And now here we are. My hunch is that we are not in a better place than we were before, and are probably worse off as far as actual teaching and learning goes.
My issues with rubrics and learning outcomes are not new or particularly insightful. But there isn't, or at least I haven't found, anyone who is looking at this from a conservative (small 'c') perspective. There seems to me to be something there worth exploring.
So that's the idea. Half-baked.
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