Joys of a Liberal Arts Education

Dr. Freud 

Professor Carlin

 The Phantom's older son graduated from New York University.  The Phantom never did learn what his major was--he was in a hippy college within NYU, called Gallatin, where the students created their own majors, like "Chemistry and Dance."  At graduation weekend,  the Phantom asked a Gallatin professor if he knew what the son had majored in and the professor said he had no idea, but he did remember the son's thesis defense:  "His thesis was called, 'The Harmony of Opposites.' I remember that one."

This son did not have much good to say about NYU, other than it was in New York City, which is the coolest city in the world.  But, in terms of education, he thought it might not have been worth the expense. 

The Phantom reached a different conclusion while walking down a  Greenwich Village street with his son.  He was telling the son about a George Carlin riff. Carlin was talking about Catholicism, and  when he was an adolescent having to go to confession and having to admit to carnal sins, like masturbation,  and the priests would assign various penances  and Carlin said, "They were always pushing for pain, and we were always pulling for pleasure." 

The Phantom thought that was very funny and clever. 

"Oh," his son shrugged, "That's just Freud."
"What?"
"You know, 'Civilization and It's Discontents':  The individual seeks pleasure and dominance and civilization restrains him. So there's always a conflict between what civilizing institutions demand and what the individual wants."

From this, the Phantom concluded his son's 4 years at NYU were not ill spent. The son was dismissive, but he had learned something.  Later, the Phantom asked what he had learned in a course called, simply, "Anger." What had they read? The Iliad. "What did the Iliad have to do with anger?" the Phantom asked innocently. His son laughed, "There isn't much in the Iliad other than anger."  A new perspective for the Phantom. His son may not have got much out of NYU, but the Phantom was learning more every day.

During the last episode of Doc Martin, "The Tameness of the Wolf" there was a quick exchange which was worth having suffered through the previous two episodes, just to get to this.  Doc Martin's aunt--an erudite woman, who does not suffer fools gladly, and who finds herself beset by simple village folk, most especially a radio talk show host who sees only the most banal possibilities in a complex world--the aunt is confronted by a former patient, a psychopath, who, in the midst of his rantings declaims, 
"A grief without a pang, void, dark and drear

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

A drowsy, stifled, unimpassioned grief,
Which finds no natural outlet or relief,
In word or sigh or tear."

It went by quickly, and the Phantom may be misquoting, but the wonderful thing was:  It meant nothing to Doc Martin, and most certainly not to the village constable, but aunt Ruth recognized it, "It's Coleridge," she said, dredging that up from some dim recess. "I'm pretty sure, yes, Coleridge."

And in that, you realize this lunatic has some greater depth to him and he sees meanings we may miss. But the best thing is the aunt's erudition allows her to recognize all this.

Of course, the educated Brit might know Coleridge, and certainly Shakespeare, while the educated American may not, may know only Freud, "The Wire," Hemingway. 
But a good, liberal arts education does put you in touch with some "canon," some touchstone of shared experience, and that creates a bond between you and prior generations; it allows you to stand on the shoulders of giants. 

Going to Jazz Fest with his son, the Phantom listened to Joshua Redman playing the saxophone and noted his son was smiling at various passages. 
"What was so funny?" the Phantom asked afterwards.
"Not, funny, just fun. He was quoting Coltrane," the son said.
"He was what?"
"Quoting, playing little snatches from Coltrane. He wove them in nicely." Apparently, musicians do this a lot. It enriches their riffs, and it connects them.

Connections were made, but how many in that audience caught them, the Phantom has no idea.

You find "quotes"  or borrowed phrases or riffs  in unexpected places.  An obscure novel from the early 1980's begins:

"Mrs. Tilly died Monday. Or perhaps, Tuesday. Ryan wasn't sure. His watch had stopped at 11:00 P.M., when the nurse called. It might have been past midnight when Mrs. Tilly belched up a liter of blood over Ryan's shoes. Not that the time mattered to Ryan. It mattered for the death certificate."

For anyone who ever read the unforgettable opening of "The Stranger" a smile comes.  It's just another way one generation reassures another we have been listening. We are still connected. 

Albert Camus

For the Phantom, that is worth the every penny.