Columbia Spectator News

Surrender our self-importance

James Yoon — Wed, 31 Dec 1969 19:00:00 EST

Updated:

April 4, 2013 - 5:00am

Since the time of the sophists, rhetoric continues to carry considerable weight in a liberal arts education. Constructing an argument—using literary gimmicks, familiar imagery that appeals to the emotions, and commonly accepted principles—has been found to be invaluable not only for conveying ideas in a logical, effective manner, but the art of rhetoric also confers persuasive sway onto whoever is making the argument.

Sophists from Classical Greece soon recognized the thrill of arguing successfully in dialogues, discourses, and debates. Persuading others enabled them to assert dominance over the public sphere. Recognizing the perks of appearing to be right in an argument, sophists argued for the sake of winning an argument. Argumentation became solely a device to deceive listeners into granting them power, fame, and excellence. They had no intention of discovering truth from civil discourse, where multiple opinions converge together. No, only one could persist to rule over all the others.

In the present day, the stakes continue to be high in all our disputes. Politicians, radio talk show hosts, and other public figures resort to polemics first and foremost. As a knee-jerk reaction to contrasting opinions, they feel the urge to win aggressively and control the pulse of our nation’s debates. It doesn’t matter if two opinions differ ever so slightly in one minor detail. To maintain their livelihood, our public personalities intentionally project images of themselves blowing opposing arguments to smithereens all over the media.

For the sake of preserving the integrity of academic discourse, it is imperative to evaluate whether sophistry infiltrates institutions like Columbia. Here, argumentation also carries considerable currency, just as much as sophistry did in public squares, and can be exchanged for power and fame. Our ability to convince others buys us credibility, which can be manifested in grade evaluations, tenure, and reputation among peers. All these things certify that a person is an educated, credible individual for conveying truthful ideas.

Generally, the friends and acquaintances I met in this school genuinely want to be right. They say things that they mean and refrain from espousing popular opinions just to maintain a persuasive edge. In this regard, students here are nothing like the sophists. People here are very self-aware, because they repeatedly test their beliefs against the cacophony of opinions on this campus over four years. With this heightened sense of self-awareness, students vow to present their beliefs as truthfully as they can.

However, it is this heightened self-awareness among students that generates the shrill dialogue on our college campus. They desperately argue that their version of truth trumps all others. They feel as though their existence cannot be validated until their arguments persuade others.

At Columbia, where important thinkers are venerated all across the University, we feel the need to project ourselves as largely as possible. Peering over Low Plaza to look at Butler, some of us want to be the next scholar whose name is etched permanently into the façade. But with so many people and so few whose ideas will get recognized, there is stiff competition to be the best. In our small 36-acre campus, congested with 25,000 students, people wrestle with ideas and with each other.

And so the intellectual predation ensues. Protests and counter-protests happen almost every week. Our peers congest social media newsfeeds by posting their opinions every few hours. The same students (a.k.a. “gunners”) at the front row of the classroom argue all semester long with arguments that they have already made before. They still believe that on the last day of recitation, maybe, just maybe, this time they would persuade the opposing side. Arguing and debating on this campus becomes so habitual that the objective of bickering shifts from what is true to who is eventually deemed right.

After all the moments attempting to proselytize others, we lose our sense of wonder. We drown out our questions and lose our intellectual curiosity. Repeating our respective manifestos ad nauseam, we limit ourselves from being inspired, learning new information, and listening to the countless other testaments to truth.

The infinite unknown, the eternal silence of the universe may evoke in us an overwhelming existential emptiness. It is understandable that people fixate on their beliefs, for they are manageable, palpable, and comforting. But no person, institution, culture or nation can possibly stake a claim on our infinite world. Those who pretend to have grasped it all will only look foolish and small, in comparison to our perpetually immense universe.

But the moment we surrender our imagined self-importance, we will be filled with endless wonder. We will learn to treasure this rare vision of the universe: that such a splendid creation could be created without any help from our limited existence. Rulers, sophists, explorers and anyone “important” in history will come and go. Our achievements, no matter how celebrated they are at a time, will eventually be lost in obscurity. But our immense creation will always continue to captivate our world with its marvels forever.

James Yoon is a Columbia College senior majoring in environmental science. He is a resident adviser in John Jay Hall. Yooniversity runs alternate Thursdays.

To respond to this column, or to submit an op-ed, contact opinion@columbiaspectator.com.

Column:

Yooniversity

Against idealism

Lanbo Zhang — Wed, 31 Dec 1969 19:00:00 EST

Updated:

April 4, 2013 - 5:00am

In a March 28 op-ed, New York Times columnist turned Yale visiting scholar David Brooks quoted one of his students, Victoria Buhler, for insight into our generation—that is to say, the one currently in college. After an analysis of the cultural problems that face today’s college-going youth, she concluded that, due the the circumstances we have been born into, our epistemological framework has shifted from that of a generation ago. Labelling our generation “the Cynic Kids,” she wrote:

“We are deeply resistant to idealism. Rather, the Cynic Kids have embraced the policy revolution; they require hypotheses to be tested, substantiated, and then results replicated before they commit to any course of action.”

For the most part, I agree with her analysis, though I think she sometimes conflates two very different phenomena under the term “idealism.” On the one hand, there is epistemological idealism—the view that truth is ultimately a product of the mind. On the other is what I will call moral idealism, which yields the existence of good and evil or right and wrong. From Brooks’ op-ed, it seems that our generation distrusts both.

Certainly I agree that we have rejected epistemological idealism for empiricism. We like to think of people and society in terms more apt for the natural sciences. We like to observe patterns and understand them in order to project into the future and gain some kind of knowledge and certainty that can regulate our lives.

I don’t share the view, however, that our generation rejects moral idealism. This view states that with the dual burdens of an ailing economy and a failing foreign policy, this generation’s American college students have little room for the idealism that followed Cold War triumph. Waging war in Iraq and Afghanistan with nebulous purpose and to inconclusive results has tempered the feeling of occupying the moral high ground. I don’t see this as the case.

While epistemological idealism is indeed waning in popularity, we are ever more cognizant of the search for ideal ends, especially moral ones. For the most part, we are still engaged in what Isaiah Berlin calls “the pursuit of the ideal.” To be sure, we are no longer committed to the same moral idealism that was in vogue in the ’90s, nor do we maintain the same ideas. America no longer feels the same sense of invincibility or moral superiority that it once could. But falling out of favor with a certain idealism is not to say that we no longer look for ideals.

Rather, our generation has gained a renewed faith in empiricism precisely because we see empirical analysis as a means of reaching moral ideals. This generation still firmly believes in rights and wrongs. For a not insignificant portion of college students, voting Barack Obama back into office was their way of contributing to the right side of history. Issues of civil rights and social welfare are still spoken of in highly moralistic terms. At the very least, we still make our decisions with some desire to achieve moral ideals. We may have let go of idealism as an epistemological tool, but we have not let go of ideals.

I think we should let go of ideals.

The Cynic Kids might not believe that today’s society is headed in the right direction. But they believe they can redirect society back onto the right track toward some perfect end goal.

The Cynic Kids’ epistemological methodology of choice—idealism or empiricism—is almost irrelevant. What is relevant, however, is whether we cling to the view of society as progressive and headed toward some “earthly paradise,” as Berlin called the moral ideal.

While we can and should push for social change—in issues of civil rights, economic opportunity, and global responsibility—we should avoid the urge to frame these actions in terms of a pursuit toward some ideal. To do so not only sets a target that is impossible to reach, but frames our thinking into a narrow-minded mode that doggedly searches for the illusion of a single righteous path. In other words, we set ourselves up for a failure that was our own creation.

Buhler and Brooks seem to bemoan our rejection of idealism for empiricism in epistemology. Yet idealism and empiricism are simply different ways of trying to reach the same endpoint, the same moral teleology. However, rather than preoccupying ourselves with means, we should do away with teleology entirely.

If our generation manages to reshape the predominant view that America—or anyone else—will lead the world to an earthly paradise, I will think that we could say we did all right.

Lanbo Zhang is a Columbia College junior majoring in economics and history. He is a former Spectator editorial page editor. Second Impressions runs alternate Thursdays.

To respond to this column, or to submit an op-ed, contact opinion@columbiaspectator.com.

Column:

Second Impressions

Kayaking also begins with a 'K'

Nicolas Biekert — Wed, 31 Dec 1969 19:00:00 EST

Updated:

April 4, 2013 - 5:00am

Søren Kierkegaard once wrote, “I have never confided in anyone. By being an author I have in a sense made the public my confidant. But in respect of my relation to the public I must, once again, make posterity my confidant. The same people who are there to laugh at one cannot very well be made one’s confidant.” Or so his Wikipedia article would have me believe.

Probably, he is articulating a problem that anyone who has ever penned anything without the mildly helpful veil of anonymity faces. I wouldn’t know. Ironically, Kierkegaard himself published his magnum opus under a pseudonym. Wikipedia also tells me he was fond of irony.

Everyone would love to be that sought-after author of unique ideas—and many even aspire to be that paragon of snark who can make people laugh by dismantling arguments with biting satire while simultaneously disarming their opponents with charming wit. Often, though, in our attempts we end up accidentally beating people over the head with our meaning and people just laugh at us instead. Like Kierkegaard, I’m resigned to people laughing at me, but I think explaining jokes is kind of like a magician explaining a magic trick.

Chomsky would have us believe we can rage against cogs instead of raging against the machine—ultimately, it seems to me, a fruitless endeavor. David Simon’s work points out that institutions perpetuate themselves despite, and often at the expense of, the individuals within them. A friend of mine linked me to some Chomsky-critiquing blogger who said “might makes right,” and we—who agree with everything we read on the Internet—concluded that you can’t destroy the machine without becoming a part of one, … and ultimately you can only ever subvert once you’re inside. And even then you might end up riding the boat.

Satire, then, is a dish best served with subversive subtlety. Sometimes humor must be derived from places where anything but laughter would be too depressing. Ignorance, be it feigned or otherwise, of our own human futility never ceases to amuse me.

Unbeknownst to myself at the time, I realize now I was living another reference to “The Wire” (a TV show so good it all but ruined the rest of television for me—and certainly not a work of satire). Simon, the writer of the show and a former newspaper reporter himself, is quite critical of the way newspapers are complicit in institutional stasis, which his work portrays by often going after the story instead of the news. In the fifth season, the reporters of the Baltimore Sun spend months of their time covering an invented and irrelevant criminal instead of news of actual import. I’d like to thank the good folks at Bwog for re-enacting this last semester and commend the good folks at the Spect for failing to do so.

“Castigat Ridendo Mores,” Molière said, no doubt addressing Kierkegaard. Comedy criticizes, and hopefully corrects, customs by laughing at them.

Kierkegaard was, unfortunately, too busy struggling with God for self-improvement.

So where does that leave us? At the end of a badly written and exceedingly pretentious op-ed that probably no one will read and ultimately leaves us none the wiser.

The author is a School of Engineering and Applied Science senior majoring in applied physics. He is a writer for SpecSucks.

Let's get physical

Ben Rashkovich — Wed, 31 Dec 1969 19:00:00 EST

As students, our lives are very stationary. We sit in classes taking notes, sit in Butler writing papers or finishing problem sets, and sit in 1020 on the weekends pretending the rest doesn’t matter. For many, our only consistent form of exercise comes from rushing to and fro campus buildings. Those who are regularly active are viewed either with envy or awe. And yet, though Columbia’s constantly closed lawns aren’t encouraging, we are required to exercise our bodies as well as our minds. Whether by learning a new sport in P.E., mentally destressing on the treadmill, or fraternizing with teammates, physical activity is undoubtedly one of the factors that shapes our Columbia education.

Grace Bickers and Yasmin Gagne
Editorial Page Editors

The means to happiness by Marilyn He
Cursory conditioning by Ben Rashkovich
Body and mind, together? by Fred DiMenna
Do you even? by Esfandyar Batmanghelidj

Do you even?

Esfandyar Batmanghelidj — Wed, 31 Dec 1969 19:00:00 EST

Too often when we think of “exercise,” we immediately conjure up the image of the tyrannical gym with neat rows of treadmills, ellipticals, stair masters and other devices of torture. The fascistic spaces of a gym terrify the uninitiated—weight machines with their Goldbergian complexity of plates and wires. Levers and hinges sit like dormant iron beasts waiting for the unsuspecting to perch in their waiting jaws. Hellish contraptions bear down upon the feeble body, challenging the user to tear fibers of muscles and to drench himself or herself in sadistic sweat. Those who attempt to seek refuge in the simple geometry of the freeweights—bars and plates and dumbbells of various sizes—are quickly disappointed, as the knowledge of proper technique remains as elusive as the Golden Fleece. You try to hoist the heavy load above your head and pray that you have judged your strength correctly. The drab colors, fluorescent lighting, and acidic culture of Lululemon zealots and whey protein addicts give the gym, especially Dodge Fitness Center, the overall attractiveness of the purgatory into which you fittingly descend. The warmth of the sun disappears behind walls of dreary concrete. This demonic vision of the gym has a monopoly on our conception of physical activity, especially in a city and on a campus where spaces for gleeful frolicking are tragically limited.

With this prevailing image, it is understandable that many people exhibit a reluctance to prioritize “physical activity” as part of their Columbia experience. The importance for exercise can be a nagging thing, imposing its ugly truth in bouts of breathlessness when ascending the stairs of Hamilton, in the strain of buttoning a once trusty pair of jeans, in the lethargy injected by the snooze button and the self-assessment spurred by the gleaming gods and goddesses on the covers of our favorite magazines. The equation of physical activity seems to demand that one subject himself to the devil’s devices if he or she wishes to attain any semblance of a “sound body.” And yet, it could be said that physical activity simply has an “image problem.” Maybe with a bit of re-programming on the basis of a good public relations campaign, we could all seek to incorporate more physical activity into our lives.

The problem with the gym-centric image of physical activity is that it misses out on so much of what physical activity really entails. The subjection of the self to the tortures of the lat pulldown is almost certainly the exception to physical exercise and not the rule. What we ought to focus on is that physical activity often entails participation in some sort of social project or event. As human beings, we very rarely put our bodies to work in the solitary manner of the gym. More likely, we are exerting ourselves alongside fellow men and women. We play team sports that approximate the way we used to hunt. Event setup mimics how we used to prepare campsites in the Ice Age. We migrate like nomadic tribes across campus and the city. We have sex the way we have always had sex. None of these modes of activity are anything like what happens in the gym. And yet, they all serve the same function of putting the body in action.

This kind of physical activity—the kind we too often overlook—is the real sort that strengthens the mind. Teamwork and social interaction, as mediated by some shared physical exertion, is going to do more for the mind than any session in the seventh circle of Dodge.

Perhaps then, the whole “sound body, sound mind” mantra can be enacted if we think about physical activity in a different way. We ought to seek not just the activity itself. That’s a depressing end to pursue. Rather the whole participatory aspect that goes along with it. Teamwork! Intercourse! What wonderful ends to which physical activity is just the means. Go volunteer at a thrift store and help unload deliveries, play soccer with your friends and get some sun, join a band of roving minstrels and walk the length of Manhattan bringing good cheer. And perhaps, once you have done these things and are in slightly better shape or in a better place of mind, you can venture into Dodge and run a few laps and lift a few weights, squeezing in some extra activity in your schedule. At least this way, you’ll be able to confidently answer the most important question of our time: “Do you even lift, bro?”

Esfandyar Batmanghelidj is a Columbia College junior majoring in Middle Eastern, South Asian and African Studies. He contributes regularly to The Canon.

To respond to this piece, or to submit an op-ed, contact opinion@columbiaspectator.com

Cursory conditioning

Ben Rashkovich — Wed, 31 Dec 1969 19:00:00 EST

My first Lit Hum class began with a discussion of literature. Why is it important? Why do we study the humanities? How can we represent the human condition, and can we learn more about it through art?

Frontiers of Science started with a look at the scientific method, a few basic but vital lessons relating the uses and shortcomings of statistics, and a heavy emphasis on the logical and analytic crafting of estimations.

In The Rise of Civilization, my first Global Core class, we examined biases and assumptions that I had not even realized I held. We spent weeks trying to define “civilization” to no avail. But that was the whole point. The path we have taken through history splintered. It became irreversibly nebulous and subject to academic guesswork and philosophizing. Biting questions regarding that path in the future were raised.

When I took karate, we stretched, ran laps, did push-ups, and received our uniforms.

What I am aiming to point out in these comparisons is the rather defining divide between most Core Curriculum classes—whether a specific course or a fulfillment of a distribution requirement—and the physical education classes, which are also included in the Core. You might say that this parallelism does not highlight what I mean it to. The first three are academic but the fourth is physical. Why should it have to be cerebral, too? Would that not be missing the point of physical activity’s presence in our curriculum? Sound mind, sound body. We need a healthy, growing body to balance our likewise changing minds.

Now, I’m no opponent of exercise. I understand and appreciate the positive impact physical activity has beyond just calorie burning. I’ve read the articles and I took health in high school. I go to the gym to run, relax, get happy, and empty my head. The power of movement—of harnessing the body and using it as more than a vehicle for our brains—is one of liberation. To me, though, the argument behind Columbia physical education classes that it prioritizes a space for meditation in our lives simply does not match the reality.

This institution—both Columbia and the institution of college on a broader scale—is a cerebral one. We self-identify as students here before anything else. Studying, learning, and ultimately getting an academic degree are our means and ends. We find Columbia appealing for its capacity to strengthen both our minds and the opportunities that the worldwide recognition of that capacity affords us. Yes, there is a great deal else to do here. It is certainly a necessary and formative part of the learning experience to involve ourselves in a variety of cultural, athletic, creative, and social pursuits that are challenging. Through these extracurriculars, we pick up skills and interests and forge relationships that might fundamentally change us. At the end of the day, though, we return to our roles of intellectual apprenticeship and settle back comfortably with labels like pre-med or poli-sci/econ that dictate our primary paths.

That does not mean that I think physical education unimportant. In fact, I consider physical education to be an essential element of the Core’s philosophy. Only, here, I think we must recognize the distinction between physical education and physical activity. I took karate for a semester and greatly enjoyed it. The difference lays in why I enjoyed it. It required little effort—no deep or critical exertion. I found it fun, but it did not challenge me. And so I asked myself: Why do I have to take a class like this?

I believe the weakness of our physical education classes is due to the fact that we privilege intellectuality, which both the school and its student body indulge in. We also do not understand how physical education should really act in the Core. I am not interested in being forced to lightly participate in some cardio exercise twice a week for fifty minutes. If Columbia took physical education more seriously, it might consider offering a course concerned with why the body, exercise, sports, and so on are so important. Some sort of Body Hum would prove infinitely more useful in imparting an awareness to the benefits of physical activity than mandated exercise that many of us do not take very seriously.

This would mean, of course, more reform in the availability and transparency of Columbia’s athletic faculties. It is not hard to learn—indeed, Columbia’s bureaucracy encourages the study of—our university’s intricate rules regarding academics. For a variety of reasons, though, I find it infinitely more difficult to navigate the athletic facilities. Less care is given to advertising this side of our education to the majority of us, and so we do not take advantage of the things we have (or should have) at our disposal.

Columbia’s physical education, as an extension of the Core, fails. It assumes we follow the logic of sound mind, sound body. But even worse, it does not critically examine that tenet as it asks us to do of everything else. The inclusion of physical activity feels like it is tacked on. This is a shame. There is space for so much to be done for such an interesting and central topic of life.

Ben Rashkovich is a Columbia College sophomore majoring in creative writing. He contributes regularly to The Canon.

To respond to this piece, or to submit an op-ed, contact opinion@columbiaspectator.com.

The means to happiness

Marilyn He — Wed, 31 Dec 1969 19:00:00 EST

According to Wikipedia, the god of all knowledge, “mens sana in corpore sano” is part of a poem called “The Vanity of Human Wishes,” written by Juvenal. I don’t mention this to bore you. On the contrary, it is actually relevant to what I’m saying. You should read the whole poem. It’ll be the shortest reading you have all year.

Juvenal tells us that a healthy mind and body “can endure any kind of toil.” We, as Columbia students, are uniquely cushioned from certain harsh realities of life. Yet we are simultaneously exposed to never-before-seen challenges. Forget drone wars and global warming. Forget even the supposedly simple concept of dating has turned into a debate of “hooking up” vs. “hanging out” vs. “dating” vs. “in a relationship” vs. “I’m your girlfriend ... right?” And this doesn’t even consider more complexities like sexual identities, orientations, and preferences.

Though it’s not cleaning stables or stealing fleeces, all this crazy emotional uncertainty is running through our heads. Meanwhile, we’re trying to write a 10-page paper, do readings and problem sets, learn a foreign language for no reason other than someone else says so, juggle lab research, and interview for internships, play a sport, and manage three clubs. At some point, all of these words and responsibilities start to whirl together faster and faster and faster as we realize we’re only 20 years old and—oh god!—we’re going to explode in 3... 2...1.

Boom.

The point is, a lot of people would settle for just being able to endure Columbia’s toils right now. Forget “any kind of toil.” And even though Juvenal stresses us out by talking about toiling and woes, he gives us the answer, too: “What I commend to you, you can give to yourself.” And that’s where physical activity comes in.

If, as Juvenal ends his poem, the goal is “a life of peace,” let me tell you about mine. I have my stressed days, of course. But all in all, I think I’m doing pretty chill. For me, that path started with a very special high school teacher who prioritized her students’ mental health above how much European history she could shove in our heads. She was the first to tell me it was OK to take a personal day, the first to say I should put my own well-being above pure accomplishment. Her advice followed me to Columbia.

I never used to be into exercise. I was always the kid trying to ditch gym class. But now, I’m on the varsity archery team and I moonlight in the Brazilian jiu-jitsu club during our off-season. I go running in Riverside Park because, even though it hurts and burns and sucks, every worry disappears. When I’m in a fight for martial arts, it’s a moment of clarity. I don’t have the luxury of thinking about 18 different things at once. There are clear and obvious priorities. I can forget about the responsibilities of life and focus on plotting the demise of my opponent or the freedom of flying along the river while running. And when that moment’s over, when I’m ready to pick that load back up, it feels a little lighter.

This is not a new discovery. Every gym junkie ever has felt that same high. The administration’s figured it out, too: Physical education is a requirement in the Core. But even though Columbia can try and force you to lift to its heart’s content, Ke$ho’s not going to chase you down after graduation and make you get off the couch.

Exercise shouldn’t be like learning a language. Doing it because someone else tells us to is not going to get us very far. Juvenal says that a peaceful life is within our reach, and that happiness comes from within. Learning to put our own well-being above studying in a library for 18 hours straight is part of an education, too, one beyond the Core Curriculum. It’s for the sake of learning that some things are worth staying up until 3 a.m. for, and some things aren’t. It’s about knowing your limits and accepting them. It’s about learning enough that, hopefully, at the end of the day, you can endure any kind of toil with a sound mind and a sound body.

The author is a Columbia College junior majoring in economics psychology and is co-captain of the varsity archery team. She is an editor for The Lion.

To respond to this piece, or to submit an op-ed, contact opinion@columbiaspectator.com

Body and mind, together

Fred DiMenna — Wed, 31 Dec 1969 19:00:00 EST

It grows taller each day. Whenever I glance to the right side of my desk, it reminds me that my agenda today is very different than it was eight years ago—when I was preparing for my Ph.D. studies. I had a four-year hiatus in England. I worked with the foremost research group in my field (oxygen uptake kinetics, a discipline under the umbrella of “exercise physiology”). Prior to that, I made it a point to devote time each day to reading articles that would prepare me for the challenge ahead. However, I began publishing this research myself and returned home to teach. I no longer had time to keep up with this practice. Consequently, the stack of articles that I’d love to read keeps growing as I prepare lectures, grade papers, and occasionally do some writing.

I yearn for an opportunity to make a dent in that stack. I sometimes fantasize about a day where I might lie in bed for all my waking hours and simply read. Of course, this is unlikely. But a funny thing happened a few weeks back. I woke up and felt under the weather. My wife had been ill with a 24-hour virus the preceding week, and I had a feeling I was following suit. A few hours later, my fears were confirmed. My temperature soared. I recognized that I wouldn’t be able to go to work today. In all likelihood, I wouldn’t even be getting out of bed. I slept for a while but eventually awoke and wound up staring at the ceiling for an hour. It was the perfect opportunity to start tackling those articles, but I had no interest.

Eventually, I got my iPod. I could have listened to the weekly science show that I download. I rarely have time to listen to the six months’ worth of these recordings, which reflects an electronic version of the article stack on my desk. But instead, I played “Vortex” for five hours. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t waste five minutes playing that game. But with compromised physical function, it was the only thing that appealed to me in that mental state. It was as if my body was saying, “We’re in this together, mind. If I’m going down, you’re coming along for the ride!”

The aforementioned is consistent with “mens sana in corpore sano,” a Latin quotation that implies that a sound mind depends on a healthy body. But one man’s experience pales in comparison to a growing body of research that lends credence to this theory. For example, Timothy Buchman et al. studied older individuals without dementia and found that total daily physical activity positively affected level of cognition, annual rate of cognitive decline and, ultimately, the risk of developing Alzheimer’s Disease. On the other end of the spectrum, Terence Dwyer et al. found associations between scholastic performance and both physical activity and fitness in children ages 7-15. Although correlation does not confirm causation, this is consistent with the notion that children who are more active on the playground helps them function in the classroom. Finally, a recent Gallup poll that assessed exercise habits in Americans found that least-educated respondents comprised the most sedentary demographic segment. This is generally forwarded as evidence that the health curriculum in school teaches healthy exercise habits. But a chicken/egg provocateur might argue that those who have been physically active throughout their lives are likely to become more educated as their years pass.

“Mens sana in corpore sano” suggests that the body “wears the pants.” But rest assured, the mind can take charge when it puts its “mind” to it. For example, it is well established that highly-trained athletes can fall victim to overtraining syndrome due to insufficient recovery; repercussions include both physical and psychological detriments. However, while excessive physical stress has long been considered the cause of this condition, Esther Nederhof et al. explains recent findings implicating the additive effect of physical and psychological elements. For example, a sudden increase in anxiety can amplify the risk of becoming overtrained even though the endurance of physical load remains the same (i.e., at a level that had been manageable). “Corpore sano in mens sana,” therefore, appears every bit as appropriate.

A mind cannot be productive without adequate quarters where it can function. And a body is but a hollow shell if it is devoid of viable intellect. Anyone who attempts to optimize performance of either of these aspects of our being should appreciate this synergistic relationship between mind and body. Consequently, regardless of whether you aspire for an Olympic goal medal or to be class valedictorian, you should dedicate part of each day to physical betterment and part to intellectual challenge. This doesn’t mean you must run a marathon and write an opus before your day is complete. But if you take a small step toward satisfying each criterion before you retire each evening, the cumulative effect will be substantial. And to practice what I preach, I will read just one page of one of those articles tomorrow... after I go to the gym.

The author is a professor of movement science and education at Teachers College.

To respond to this piece, or to submit an op-ed, contact opinion@columbiaspectator.com

Celebrating Dorothy Denburg

Grace Bickers — Wed, 31 Dec 1969 19:00:00 EST

Barnard President Debora Spar announced last week that Vice President for College Relations Dorothy Denburg would be stepping down at the end of the academic year. As dean of Barnard College for 17 years, Denburg, BC ’70, has been a model administrator. Accessible, receptive, and kind, Denburg has been a source of stability within the changing Barnard administration, and, before that, she served for 23 years as a faculty member and associate director of admissions. Denburg’s resignation from her administrative position provides an opportunity not only to thank her for her work over the past 40 years but also to reflect upon the ideal qualities of campus administrators as Barnard looks to fill many of the positions vacated last spring due to the early retirement program.

Denburg assumed the role of vice president of college relations in 2010, a position that took advantage of her unique qualifications as a Barnard alumna by working with Career Development, alumnae affairs, and global initiatives. During her tenure as vice president, Barnard Career Development was ranked fifth in the nation, in part because of two of Denburg’s initiatives: the Alumnae-to-Student Mentorship Program and the annual Take a Barnard Student to Work Day.

As an administrator, Denburg prioritized relationships with students. She will continue to do so by leading the Centennial Scholars Program and teaching first-year seminars. In 2010, Barnard Chief Operating Officer Gregory Brown described Denburg as an “advocate for students and student life.” Alumnae Affairs Director Erin Frederick, BC ’01 and a student during Denburg’s tenure as dean, called her the epitome of “what it means to be a Barnard woman.” Both served on the search committee for her replacement as dean in 2010 and said that Denburg embodies qualities all administrators should possess. Her example should not be forgotten during the next round of administrative appointments at Barnard.

Working closely with former President Judith Shapiro, Denburg was active in both long-term and short-term planning for Barnard. She worked to meet immediate needs on campus, most recently in her role as vice president by bridging problematic gaps between students and alumnae and overseeing the plans for the building of the Diana Center.

In the words of Spar, Dorothy Denburg has truly been a “legendary” member of the Barnard and Columbia communities for the past 40 years. We will miss her and thank her for her many contributions.

Jennifer Fearon is a Barnard College senior majoring in political science and human rights and is a member of Spectator’s editorial board. Grace Bickers is a Columbia College junior majoring in human rights and is the editorial page editor.

To respond to this staff editorial, or to submit an op-ed, contact opinion@spectator.com.

Do you need a hug?

Daniela Quintanilla — Wed, 31 Dec 1969 19:00:00 EST

Studying abroad this semester has limited my access to life at Columbia. I can only keep in touch via what I see on the Internet, such as social or campus media or the things my friends on campus can tell me about particular issues. Although this scope may be limited, it has still been quite a shock from afar to see how we treat one another. It’s become increasingly apparent to me that we focus on how we take care of each other and how we’re trying to change our community.

We’ve had problems with how we treat each other in the past. Most notable was the egregious commentary that garnered national attention when the President presented at Barnard’s Commencement last spring. Nearly a year later, we haven’t changed our campus culture to be more positive or proactive. Instead, we granted a higher value to anonymous declarations by giving them more visibility on Facebook.

Columbia Compliments and Columbia Admirers might be positive additions to how we interact, but we still have a long way to go. This veil of anonymity allows for people to scrutinize their own lives instead of act in them. Instead of asking your crush for his or her number, we can submit an Admirer post saying how hot he or she is. Instead of emailing an author some critiques about his or her article, we can comment that the author is just an idiot. Anonymous commenters are still viciously attacking authors because they disagree with the content.

In a column last month, Rega Jha thanked “Anonymous” for leaving comments that have helped her improve as a writer and a person. I wholeheartedly believe in constructive criticism and analytical challenges. Debates like these are important.

But how does Anonymous defend the utility of comments that say nothing but “ugh, boring,” or worse, a general “fuck you”? We have freedom of speech. But should we have to exercise our freedom to be superciliously unpleasant at best and malicious at worst? If you don’t have anything nice—or at least constructively critical—to say, why say it?

I was particularly moved by Rebeka Cohan’s column on Monday. She responded to The Eye story “The Dodge Divide,”, focusing on the fact that our campus lacks a sense of respect for one another. Athletes and pretty much all non-Columbia College members of the undergraduate community have faced judgment and scrutiny from their peers for supposedly being neither good at sports nor school. I refuse to believe that we are so over-intellectualized at Columbia that we forget people have feelings. Whether or not we like everyone, we should always respect them.

We can be anonymously loving and sweet on Columbia Admirers and simultaneously be so spiteful and obnoxious on other media like Bwog or Spectator. Support doesn’t have to come anonymously, though. Last semester, I experienced the kindness of a stranger when I was walking across College Walk one night, crying. A girl who had been on the phone saw me, hung up, and approached me to ask if I was OK. I said I was, but she offered me a hug anyway. I gladly accepted it. I have no idea who she was, but I was so touched by her grace that I have tried to pay it forward, especially with regard to mental health and awareness.

The talent, intelligence, and capacity of my peers at Columbia always impresses me. It doesn’t matter whether I am in class, in the audience of a campus performance, or in a meeting. But I am also disappointed by our nonchalance. It seems that we are so caught up in our own lives that we ignore those around us, online or in person. I am equally guilty of such nonchalance. We’re too busy with midterms and clubs and internships to take the time to respond to negative comments on Bwog and Spec. We’re too busy to defend our peers or compliment someone in person. We need to care about more people than just our immediate groups of friends. We need to care about the random people we come across in classes and in the halls. Creating a stronger campus community means that we need to stand up for each other both in person and online.

The author is a Columbia College junior majoring in history and political science. She is currently studying abroad at University College London. She is the managing editor of Helvidius and a former director of finance and strategy for Spectator.

To respond to this op-ed, or to submit an op-ed, contact opinion@columbiaspectator.com