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The Unstealable Education: Why the University Will Bury Its Undertakers

The undertakers are circulating again, and this time they have given the university five years to live. The argument runs like this: when a machine can answer any question in any field at any hour, why would anyone pay tuition, or sit four years for a credential a chatbot renders quaint? Close the campuses, the prophets say. Sell the quads for condominiums. The library is now a login. I have been hearing this prophecy, in one costume or another, for my entire working life, and the prophecy is older than the university itself. In the Phaedrus, written around 370 BC, Socrates warns that the new technology of writing will plant forgetfulness in the soul, because men who trust marks on papyrus will stop exercising memory and will carry the appearance of wisdom rather than the thing itself. He was describing the alphabet. He might as well have been describing a data center.

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The Mirror at the Bottom of the Telescope

We have spent a century waiting for a signal from the stars while the harder evidence accumulated quietly, under our own instruments. The belief that human beings are the first and last word in living things is a habit we inherited from a smaller universe, and every measurement of the last thirty years has been quietly taking it apart. The question most people ask about other life rests on a misunderstanding of what the evidence would look like. They are waiting for an arrival: a radio transmission decoded at a desert array, a craft on a runway, a face on a screen. That image of contact comes from a century of film and pulp fiction, and it has trained the public to assume that until the ship lands, the rational position is that we are alone. The opposite is closer to the truth. The case that life is not a one-time accident confined to a single damp rock has been arriving for thirty years, in increments, written in the language of chemistry and statistics rather than the language of greeting. We failed to notice because it never knocked.

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Make the Decision Right: A 1987 Aphorism Against the Age of the Open Tab

An old professor of mine, holding forth in 1987, handed his students one sentence to carry out the door: don’t make the right decision; make the decision right. He attached a coda that landed harder than the maxim itself. Regret, he told us, is mindless. I have been turning that sentence over for nearly four decades, and the turning has become its own education, because the sentence makes a metaphysical bet most listeners never notice they are taking. It claims that rightness arrives after the choosing, manufactured through labor and revision, and that no quantity of advance analysis can locate it beforehand, since the future refuses to sit still long enough to be computed. With one stroke the professor moved the entire moral weight of decision-making off the moment of selection and onto the years of execution. Pick a door, any door, then build a house behind it.

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The Senator Who Used to Be Cory Booker

We taught at Rutgers-Newark in the same years, before he was mayor, before the Senate, before the rebranding. We shared a building lobby on University Avenue. I never shook his hand. I did not need to. Everyone on that campus knew Cory. He pulled the air toward him when he walked through a door, a Rhodes Scholar, a Yale-trained lawyer who had chosen Newark when he could have chosen Manhattan or Washington, a young man who spoke about education the way ministers speak about scripture. Students mattered to him. He believed a city scarred by Sharpe James and three decades of municipal corruption could be reformed from inside its worst housing project, into which he had moved on purpose. I watched that man hold a room without effort. He had a builder’s mind. He had, in the older sense of the word, character.

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The Box You Cannot Check

The clinic intake form on the clipboard at the front desk has two boxes next to the word “sex.” A patient who is neither of the two options has been given three choices: pick one box and lie, write something in the margin, or refuse the form. The receptionist will not read the margin. Data entry clerks will not transcribe it. EHR systems will not store anything outside the two values the form lists. The patient walks out of the clinic with a treatment plan based on a box that does not correspond to their body, their history, or their current endocrine state. The form has done its job, which is not the job it claimed to do.

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The Avant-Garde Never Left: Robert Hughes Described the Revolution and Then Declared It Over

Robert Hughes wanted it both ways. In the final moments of “The Shock of the New,” his landmark 1980 BBC series on modern art, he declared the avant-garde dead and then, in the same breath, described its beating heart. He told us that the radical project of art was finished, that the market had swallowed it whole, that the institutions had filed its teeth down to nothing. And then he said this: the task of art is “done by individuals, each person mediating in some way between a sense of history and an experience of the world.” That sentence is the avant-garde. Hughes described the thing he claimed to be burying.

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The Genius of Getting It Wrong: What Hawking Teaches Us About Knowing

In 2004, at a physics conference in Dublin, Stephen Hawking stood before his peers and announced he had been wrong for nearly thirty years. The specific error concerned whether black holes permanently destroy the information they consume, a claim Hawking had championed since 1976 against some of the sharpest minds in theoretical physics. He paid off a bet with Caltech physicist John Preskill, handing over a baseball encyclopedia, a gift selected because, unlike a black hole (or so Hawking had argued), an encyclopedia allows its information to be recovered. The audience laughed. The moment was graceful and self-aware. It was also one of the most important intellectual acts of the twenty-first century, though most people missed the real lesson.

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