Before I departed for Canada in August, I was dead set on joining a political club or youth organization once I’d settle there. Having looked at the options, however, some uncertainty has started to trickle in.
An antiquarian and an English student sitting on a couch, surrounded by books. Customers of the bookshop tiptoe around them, pretending not to notice the interview going on just two metres away.
I used to be somewhat cynical about The School of Life’s views on education. It’s easy to see them as a reflection of that oft-bemoaned “Peace, Love, and Understanding” mentality which has supposedly downgraded the millennial generation to a bunch of wimpy participation-trophy addicts.
On Term Papers and Intellectual Integrity
I have a confession to make: I’m a terrible philosopher. Putting aside the minor fact that prior to this semester break I hadn’t completed a single non-introductory philosophy module over two years of study, my recent classes have cast further doubt on whether I’m even cut out for the craft of philosophy — you know, critiquing an argument and all that jazz. It’s fair to say that I’m the type of person who is easily intrigued by thought experiments, paradoxes, and profound questions about the nature of humanity and everything that surrounds it (if there is such a thing). But the reality of the philosopher’s craft, which my minor has to some degree introduced me to, might prove my academic Achilles heel. (Not that being a slow reader is any drawback at all…)
A problem I often run into when reading literary fiction in my free time is that after finishing a book I often go, “I wish I had been taught this in class.” Contrary to what you might be thinking, this is not a masochistic impulse.
If you’ve ever received a basic introduction to the translator’s craft, it was probably accompanied by a cautionary finger pointed at the concept of word-for-word translation.
Here we are: another university term of feigned confidence is drawing to a close. I’m officially done with exams, and semester break is holding me in its warm embrace. You know what that means: time to celebrate my freedom from the clutches of education by giving an unsolicited account of my intellectual progress!