Mack Hall, HSG
Book Burn Theory
In a recent Orwellian telescreen episode of Big Bang Theory one of the lead
characters arrives at a crisis of scientific faith. Having long worked at an obscure theory of
something-ness, the character concludes that all his years of research have
been for naught. In a sort of intellectual
purge the young scientist decides to give away all the books he has accumulated
on the failed theory.
When someone asks him why he doesn’t simply throw away
the books, the young man replies with (the quotation is from memory, and might
not be exact) “I don’t like the smell of burning books; they remind me of
church picnics in East Texas.”
Yes, how sad to live in intellectual darkness in East
Texas when we could all emigrate to enlightened New Jersey where Snooky and Governor
Christie play bridge tag among the abandoned casinos.
This is not to say that the telescreen character might
not have a small point, despite his bigotry.
Visits to several colleges in East Texas suggest to the observer that
the amount of tax revenue flung at rock-climbing walls, swimming pools,
foosball parlors, handball courts, and indoor jogging tracks might be higher
than the investment in the science program.
How curious that on election day this November there
might be people sweating on fake rocks who (the people, not the rocks) later won’t
have the energy to vote. Energetic play
might be (one doesn’t want to stereotype) easier for some than voting for the
legislators who through appointed boards are the controlling authority for
public colleges and universities.
In The Sand Pebbles
Petty Officer Holman has difficulty explaining the theory of steam power to a
young Chinese sailor. Holman develops as
an instructional aid the imagery of little dragons running up and down the
steam pipes in the engine room, and that works fine. In our time a petty officer in the Chinese
navy might have to explain nuclear power to an American non-voter as little
rock stars, fashion designers, and cooking show hosts colliding against each
other in the reactor.
In East Texas we have all attended church picnics and
other after-the-liturgy social occasions hosted by many religious groups, and
there are no reports of either books or heretics being burned as part of the
merriment. Truth, however, is no
obstacle to a cheap and easy laugh on the Orwellian telescreen.
Recently I read a fifty-year-old book of essays by a
Christian writer. The stamps inside the cover reveal that the book had been owned,
in turn, by the library of a Catholic seminary, the library of a Catholic
church, and the library of a Protestant grade school, all in East Texas, before
being remaindered via Goodwill (my book store of choice).
The book was written by a Catholic writer, and so the
librarian of the Protestant grade school had affixed to the title page a memo
to the students that while there was much in the book not in agreement with
that denomination’s teachings and usages, there was much good in it, and that
in a spirit of intellectual inquiry and the freedom to disagree the book was
available to all.
In sum, three religious institutions in East Texas offered
to their faithful the free circulation of this sometimes controversial (and
often tiresome) volume for fifty years. Underlinings,
penciled markings, and much wear indicate that many people read this book, both
in agreement and disagreement. St.
Vincent’s Seminary did not burn it. St.
Leo’s Church did not burn it. Cathedral
Christian School did not burn it.
Further, one can validly assume that the three
institutions taught that stereotyping of others is wrong. The producers and writers of Big Bang Theory might want to think –
think, not feel – about that. That a
current stereotype is fashionable doesn’t make it any less a stereotype.
Still, no one should ever feel obligated to think well of
New Jersey.
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