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Hippocrates on Education

April 19, 2019

Thanks to Alissa Simon, HMU Tutor, for today’s post.

After reading bits and pieces of Hippocrates’s writings, I am impressed by the amount of attention he pays to education. Though often called the “Father of Medicine,” Hippocrates also devoted a lot of time to understanding how people gain knowledge. In “The Book of Prognostics,” Hippocrates focuses on forming a patient prognosis, rather than a diagnosis or treatment of symptoms. Many diagnoses of his day included the idea that gods were involved in health. Instead, he sought to remove superstition from the field of medicine and turn it into a legitimate profession. In doing so, he not only revolutionized medicine, but the idea of how humans can learn from their environment. In other words, he revolutionized education itself.

In the “Book of Prognostics,” Hippocrates lists a number of maladies by symptom. Without naming any specific diseases, he dispels two important myths. First, he denies that any disease is sent by supernatural forces. Rather, he explains that diseases exist naturally and the physical human body participates in nature. This is part of his reason for avoiding common disease names, which often referenced deities or the supernatural. Second, he bases part of his evidence on other regions of the world. He writes, “One should likewise be well acquainted with the particular signs and the other symptoms, and not be ignorant how that, in every year, and at every season, bad symptoms prognosticate ill, and favorable symptoms good, since the aforesaid symptoms appear to have held true in Libya, in Delos, and in Scythia, from which it may be known that, in the same regions, there is no difficulty in attaining a knowledge of many more things than these; if having learned them, one knows also how to judge and reason correctly of them” (53). The corresponding footnote explains, “According to Galen, Hippocrates means here that good and bad symptoms tell the same in all places, in the hot regions of Libya, and the cold of Scythia, and the temperate of Delos” (53). He begins to widen the data set by including a more global view, which also gives him more information when offering a prognosis.

In “The Law,” Hippocrates expresses his disgust with the current state of medicine. While he claims that medicine is the most noble art, he laments the fact that it trails all of the other arts because it lacks accountability. Since no one had official training, anyone could call themselves a doctor and prescribe whatever they desired. He claims that “Such persons are like the figures which are introduced in tragedies, for as they have the shape, and dress, and personal appearance of an actor, but are not actors, so also physicians are many in title but very few in reality” (303). Hippocrates demands more accountability in his profession. He asks that more people treat it with academic rigor rather than mystical charms, powders, and gimmicks. He says that, much like medicine, instruction is also an art form. Hippocrates, as both student and teacher, then labels some advantages necessary for medical students. He writes that the student needs “a natural disposition; instruction; a favorable position for the study; early tuition; love of labor; leisure” (303). From these advantages, the student may develop the necessary skills of their chosen art. Furthermore, he believes that without leisure, or time spent in contemplation, the medical doctor cannot begin to piece together the the intricacies of the human body. Hippocrates demonstrates the fruit of contemplation and leisure throughout his books on medicine.

These lines sketch not only the study of medicine, but of the most fruitful education system as well. Any discipline requires love of labor, access to instruction, as well as contemplation. In “The Law,” Hippocrates continues, “First of all, a natural talent is required; for, when Nature opposes, everything else is in vain; but when Nature leads the way to what is most excellent, instruction in the art takes place, which the student must try to appropriate to himself by reflection, becoming an early pupil in a place well adapted for instruction. He must also bring to the task a love of labor and perseverance, so that the instruction taking root may bring forth proper and abundant fruits” (303). Hippocrates reminds us that any path towards excellence requires study and perseverance.

Hippocrates. Great Books of the Western World, Volume 9. Ed. Mortimer Adler. Trans. Francis Adams. Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica. 1990.

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Whiplash

April 5, 2019

Thanks to Alissa Simon, HMU Tutor, for today’s post.

Whiplash is a film from 2014 both written and directed by Damien Chazelle. It follows the life of Andrew (played by Miles Teller), a young, brilliant and ambitious drummer, through the trials and errors of college life. Fletcher (played by J.K. Simmons) is a strict, difficult music instructor who asks for as much as his students can give and more. Not only is Fletcher’s rehearsal routine physically demanding, but he often plays mental games with the students as well. Through these two characters, Whiplash deconstructs what it takes to achieve greatness and how ambition is portrayed socially.

This movie is unsettling because it is entirely without a hero. Both student and teacher vie for the heroic roles at times, but both are fantastically flawed, of course. The viewer may connect with Andrew, who wants to be a great musician, but his actions do not warrant our affection. He pushes himself to extremes both physically and mentally and sacrifices everything in order to achieve greatness. The pursuit of art for arts sake often appears noble or heroic, but this film demonstrates the ugly underbelly of ambition. Furthermore, I am not entirely sure that Andrew’s sacrifice was a necessary step in his education.

Early in the movie, Andrew is interested in a girl. After mustering the courage to ask her out, they go on a number of dates which seem successful. In the end, however, he tells her that his career is more important than she is, which upsets her and she stops seeing him. Later in the film, he calls her again only to find out that he has missed his chance. Andrew’s relationship with his own family is even more disturbing. When Andrew returns home for a family meal and tries to explain how well he is doing in school, they do not understand him, and he, likewise, does not understand them.

The dinner scene offers excellent analysis. During the meal, an aunt asks Andrew about school and when he tries to answer he is interrupted by the entrance of one of his cousins. His uncle loudly greets the newcomer by shouting, “Ahhh, Tom Brady!” which completely cuts off Andrew. Andrew tries again to voice his accomplishments, but the others at the table are clearly not familiar with the “best music school in the country” and have no common language with which to ask any questions. To me, this represents the way that art defies classification. Without understanding the history of the field, art can seem arbitrary and luck-driven. Sports, however, offer easy discussion. They are less intimidating and more casual, as demonstrated in this scene. The cousin notes, “Well, in the music competition, isn’t it subjective?” Andrew simply replies, “No,” because, of course, an art form (and therefore an artist) is not arbitrarily great. Rather, they have studied, practiced, performed and contemplated the history of their field. Andrew’s uncle then inquires about a job and Andrew must explain that currently his musical pursuit is unpaid which reinforces the family’s opinion of Andrew’s music.

The family then turns to celebrating his cousin’s football awards. At the end of this exchange, Andrew is clearly frustrated, so, he voices the irony of celebrating a football career which will not go beyond Division III college. While belittling everyone else at the table, Andrew proclaims that he would rather die as great musician at the age of thirty four rather than live a life like anyone else at the table. Throughout the movie, Andrew’s father walks the fine line of supporting him, but also trying to keep him from falling off the edge into madness. In this scene too, he begins by supporting Andrew, but when Andrew tells his cousin that he will “never hear from the NFL,” Andrew’s father replies, “Have you heard from Lincoln Center?” Of course, he has not, which pulls the wind from his sails, and, mid-dinner, Andrew gets up and leaves the table.


J.K. Simmons plays Fletcher and is the opposite of the nurturing father. Fletcher utilizes incredibly harsh techniques in order to inspire greatness from his musicians. The relationship that develops between Fletcher and Andrew is complicated. In this scene, Fletcher has just given Andrew a great compliment, only to belittle him, throw a chair at him, and humiliate him in front of the rest of the band. Andrew’s fall from grace is quick and extremely painful.

I struggle with this movie on so many levels, which is a great testament to the authenticity of emotions that the film presents. I wonder, why does Andrew really leave the dinner table, shame or disgust? Does a great artist always and necessarily feel superior to those around them, and therefore lonely? Does this superiority inform their work in a positive or negative way? What level of ambition strengthens achievement, and what amount spirals into misery or madness? On a side note, I wonder if the lack of women in the film reflects actual ratios of men to women in music schools. While I thoroughly enjoyed the minimalism of Whiplash and its adherence to only a handful of characters, but I would have also liked to see more women in the band or as additional characters.

Whiplash is compellingly carried by Fletcher and Andrew. It raises tough, uncomfortable questions that society has yet to answer.

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Inscription Trail

March 29, 2019

Thanks to Alissa Simon, HMU Tutor, for today’s post.

Enhance today’s blog by listening to three different musical interpretations of the land:

Zuni Rain Dance (30 seconds)

El Corrido de Norte” by Los Halcones De Salitrillo (4 min)

A’ts’ina: Place of Writings on Rock” by Michael Mauldin (1 min)

Inscription Trail may be off the beaten path according to today’s standards, but this was not always the case. As early as 1200 AD this place became a vital rest stop. Near the western border of New Mexico, Inscription Trail sits at the base of a sandstone bluff and presents one of the only watering holes for many miles in what can seem like a desolate place. Among the petroglyphs, foreigners began to inscribe their names into sandstone, hence the name Inscription Trail. This place maps history in a way seldom seen today. It is a literal palimpsest of names, cultures, events, and ecology.

To begin, the land itself is ever-changing. While El Morro (Spanish name for “the headland”) holds water, the bluff’s top is arid, dry, and windswept. Snow and rain run into El Morro’s twelve foot deep pool and is the only visible water for miles which is how it quickly became the watering hole for all peoples of the west. It also supports wildlife rarely seen in the desert such as mud swallows, tiger salamanders, and catfish. Juniper trees and shrubs at the bluff’s base contrast the windswept, sky-filled cliff. Crows nest in sandstone fissures as El Morro echoes with the fall of water.

As Europeans arrived and later as homesteaders moved west, El Morro became popular with scouts and explorers. Of course, Native Americans already knew of it. A Zuni town stands atop the great sandstone bluff at A’ts’ina (place of writing on rocks). Petroglyphs of bear and bighorn sheep date back to 1275 AD. (It would be another three hundred years before the first Spanish explorer arrived.) The pueblo atop the cliff contains almost 900 rooms and is thought to have housed about 1000 people.

In 1583, Don Antonio de Espejo traveled from Mexico (New Spain) along the Rio Grande into what is now the state of New Mexico. As part of a journey to rescue some abandoned friars, he met many native tribes. Some of their interactions were peaceful and some not, however he relied upon their information. Various indigenous communities told him of way to find metal ores and mines which immediately interested Espejo. He extended his travel without permission from the church of Spain. In his journeys around the Zuni pueblo, he discovered El Morro (though he called it “El Estanque de Penol” or “pool at the great rock”). Espejo did not find minerals or gold, however his journey did mark a defining point of New Mexican history which was to become an important site for missionaries.

A couple of years ago, I wrote about the ways in which land carries historical reminders. This is, of course, true for El Morro. A few hundred years after Espejo, many wagon trains rolled through this area, and the name changed once again to Inscription Trail. This single place which contains a vital watering hole lists hundreds of names etched in stone. All names and images on this wall offer a glimpse into history.

Few names have received more attention than Juan de Oñate. According to the Inscription Trail Guide provided by the National Park Service, Oñate’s inscription is “one of the oldest and more famous inscriptions at El Morro…inscribed in 1605, fifteen years before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock. In 1604, Oñate left the settlement of San Gabriel with thirty men in search of the ‘South Sea’ (the Pacific Ocean). During their trip, the group visited the Gulf of California as well as the South Sea. On his return, Oñate left this inscription:

Paso por aq[u]i el adelantado Don Ju[a]n de Oñate del descubrimyento de la mar del sur a 16 de Abril de 1605.

Governor Don Juan de Oñate passed through here, from the discovery of the Sea of the South on the 16th of April, 1605.”

It should be noted that this was Oñate’s second time through the area, having first passed through in 1598. Oñate has a fairly brutal history in New Mexico. He founded settlements for the Spanish and also became the first colonial governor of Santa Fe, as recognized by New Spain (Mexico). In doing so, however, he is best remembered for the Acoma massacre where he killed about 1000 people of the Acoma pueblo. Those who were not killed (500 or so) were forced into servitude. Of those, Oñate ordered the removal of one foot from all men above the age of twenty-five. He was eventually banished from New Mexico and exiled from Mexico City for such brutality. His name is etched in perpetuity along Inscription Trail. Don Juan de Oñate is not the only political figure to sign his name here either. General Don Diego de Vargas also passed through in 1692 and much like Oñate, his record is also problematic. After the Pueblo Revolt in 1680, he reestablished Spanish control over the Native Americans and then became governor.

General Don Diego de Vargas’s inscription roughly translates to: “General Don Diego de Vargas, who conquered for our Holy Faith and for the Royal Crown, all of New Mexico, at his own expense, was here, in the year of 1692.” (Photo credit: Alissa Simon)

General Don Diego de Vargas’s inscription roughly translates to: “General Don Diego de Vargas, who conquered for our Holy Faith and for the Royal Crown, all of New Mexico, at his own expense, was here, in the year of 1692.” (Photo credit: Alissa Simon)


Not all travelers at Inscription Rock were conquistadors, generals, or adventurers. Some were homesteaders and settlers looking for land. The Inscription Trail Guide explains:

“More than 150 years later, below Vargas’s inscription, three men added their own inscriptions. P. H. Williamson, Isaac Holland, and John Udell were members of the first emigrant train to try this route to California in 1858. The original caravan consisted of forty families and was led by L. J. Rose, who was born in Germany but made his fortune in dry-goods in Iowa. At El Morro, they left their inscriptions and then moved on to the Colorado River, where they were attacked by Mojave Indians.

“Thanks to journals kept by the immigrants, we know that survivors of the attack, including Rose, the Baley sisters, and Udell and his wife who were both in their sixties walked most of the way back to New Mexico to wait out the winter. Some of the party started again for California in 1859 in the company of Lt. Edward F. Beale.”

Beale himself is a fascinating figure. Following the Mexican-American War, Congress commissioned a number of expeditions into the deserts stretching between California and Texas. (They were, of course, eager to gain access to this uncharted wilderness and failed to recognize that much of this land was already inhabited by a wide variety of Native American tribes.) Beale’s Wagon Road stretched from Arkansas to Los Angeles. In addition to charting the road, Beale attempted to use camels. While the camels performed well, he notes, they eventually lost out to mule trains (and mule lobbyists). Beale’s signature is not on the wall, however some of his men did record their names.

Finally, it seems a fitting end to Women’s History Month to note that a handful of women also signed their names at El Morro, including the above-mentioned Baley sisters. There is also an inscription by the then twelve-year-old Sallie Fox.

Whatever name we choose to call this place: Inscription Trail, El Morro, or A’ts’ina, it reminds us of the complexity of human history.

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Female Cartographers

March 15, 2019

Thanks to Alissa Simon, HMU Tutor, for today’s post.

Last week’s blog took a look at Artemisia, an ancient female mariner. Despite the lack of discussion in print, women have spent time at sea, either in disguise or as themselves. Artemisia is only one historical example of a strong female capable of captaining her own ships. Unfortunately, many of the stories have been lost or buried in unread journal entries. As an example, a timeline of women at sea presented by the Mariners Museum begins in 1493 and notes how much more research is warranted in this area.

Mapmaking is another industry in which women have been all but elided. Ironically, according to Peter Barber, editor of The Map Book, “In the eighteenth century there were a surprisingly high number of female mapmakers” (212). In truth, it is difficult to find any map of history penned by a woman without digging deep. In much the same way that jobs of clerks and scribes were often denied to women, so too was cartography. Yet, there are pockets of history in which women combined skills of art and science in the form of maps. Barber continues, “In keeping with the eighteenth-century France’s enlightened attitude towards the position of women, this map predicting the eclipse of 1764 was produced by three women: Madame le Pauté Dagelet, Madame Lattré and Elisabeth Claire Tardieu” (220). This map emerged during the boom of the Enlightenment and clearly demonstrates a juncture between science and art. Barber continues, “The map has a more scientific appearance than earlier maps but the title cartouches are very decorative and impart a good balance of the artistic and scientific” (220). The map’s right-hand side incorporates background information regarding the eclipse. Embellishments draw attention to the subject (solar eclipse) and to Madame le Pauté Dagelet as author of the information. Barker also notes, however, that not much is known about her other than she was “an astronomer and member of the Académie Royale des Sciences (Béziers)” (220). Madame Lattré, the engraver, however, was part of a “well-established dynasty of map makers,” (220). No mention is made of how many maps Madame Lattré might have made, or if she officially contributed to the illustrious career of her husband’s map-making business.

Despite their involvement, little was known about the impact that women have had on cartography until recently. With the advance of technology, information can be parsed more quickly which greatly assists our ability to research topics previously thought obscure, such as female cartography. As an example, a current article from CityLab chronicles librarian Alice Hudson’s research in which she restricts herself to the last 300 years in North America alone because she had found thousands of maps by women. In the article, Hudson explains how tricky it is to discover the true identity of the mapmaker. For example, women often used initials rather than full names to hide their identity. As a further complication, indexes only mention male-owned businesses, and rarely the cartographers themselves.

During World War II, while men were sent off to war, women began to fill the gaps in some geography and engineering courses. In the first year alone, Chicago’s Geography Department witnessed more than two hundred women complete the course. After the war, many women went back to their domestic lives, but Marie Tharp continued on with graduate school in order to earn a PhD. She then became a research assistant at Columbia University working alongside Bruce Heezen. In her research, she discovered a large rift along the Atlantic, now known as the Mid-Atlantic Rift. After a year, she succeeded in convincing him about the existence of plate tectonics, however, she still needed his approval and name in order to distribute the information since it was Heezen’s name that legitimized the research.

Today, their map is considered to be one of the most influential maps of the 20th century. Though much of Tharp’s career was marked by limitations, she persevered. Though unable to be on job sites and out in the field, she learned how to parse data efficiently and intelligently. She also found a male colleague willing to listen to her ideas. She partnered with Bruce Heezen for almost thirty years, in part because he saw the brilliance of her work. According to Encyclopedia.com, Tharp was finally able to go to sea in 1965, not through her own institution (which still prohibited women from working at sea), but through a program offered by Duke University. Encyclopedia.com continues, “Largely invisible as a researcher early in her career, Tharp gained recognition for her geographic insights and cartographic skills later in life. She received awards from the Geography and Map Division of the Library of Congress and Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution, as well as the first annual Lamont-Doherty Earth Observatory Heritage Award in 2001. Four years later, Lamont created the Marie Tharp Visiting Fellowship program to aid promising women researchers.”

Along with female mariners, the field of cartography offers rich potential to those willing to do a little digging.

To view an image of the Heezen-Tharp map, click here.

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