A Special Kind of Consciousness
Come on, what have you got to lose? The first stick is free. Here, take it… Trust me, it is going to change your life. You are going to love it. One day you will thank me. Go on, go on…
A short conversation (that I happened to overhear) between a sketchy University Professor and a young, naïve mathematics graduate student.
I went to a 7th rate school when I was an undergrad. I used to tell people that it was a 5th rate university until I started giving it some thought. Right now, I am still inclined to provide the school with the benefit of the doubt. Deep down, though, I know it is a 9th rate institution…at best.
One of the hallmarks of a 9th rate university is the faculty. Schools like mine didn’t go out of their way to recruit recent Ivy League PhDs. If my recollection is correct, if you had a pulse, they gave you a job. And you didn’t necessarily have to be sober; sobriety, even during class, was nowhere to be found in the job description. People think I am exaggerating, but I can assure you I am not.
I don’t understand why the university still exists. There is nothing extraordinary about it; the entire campus could easily be folded into other large state schools in the surrounding area. The students wouldn’t miss a beat. Why such a strong attitude toward one of my alma maters? Lots of reasons. I choose the following story as an exemplar.
I had a philosophy professor explain consciousness to me back in the early 1980s. I will never forget when he held up a piece of chalk and asked me what type of consciousness it had. I didn’t think he had any evidence that chalk was self-aware, so I replied that the piece of chalk wasn’t capable of consciousness; therefore, it had none. He immediately corrected me. “No, no. Chalk has chalk consciousness. And you, by virtue of being human, have human consciousness.” I thanked him, paid my tuition bill, and immediately registered for any classes he was offering the next session. After all, where else was I going to get such insight?
Little did I know that one day in the far distant future, I would be writing an essay about chalk. Thankfully, this post is not about chalk consciousness. I haven’t gone that far off the rails yet. Keep coming back, though; I might get there.
The type of chalk I am writing about is mathematical chalk. Did you have any idea that there exists a brand of chalk that mathematicians claim is incapable of producing a false proof? Did you know that the mathematical community was in crisis a few years ago when the manufacturer of this magic chalk went out of business? And finally, would it surprise you to know that a handful of mathematicians went gangster and tried to buy up all available product so that they could sell at inflated street-level prices?
Those things did happen (sure, mathematicians are not prone to go full gangster, but you get my drift). The chalk is Hagoromo, made by a Japanese company that, apparently, sold its soul to the mathematical gods. If you happen to know a mathematician, ask them about Hagoromo chalk. They might be willing to admit that they were a few sticks away from a Fields Medal when the vagaries of the Japanese economy conspired against them.
What an unusual and interesting topic. There really was a thing called Hagoromo chalk, and top-flight mathematicians loved it. There was a bit of a crisis when the company that made it went out of business. And yes, if you search for that special brand of chalk, you will find it. A Korean company came to the rescue of the mathematical community. They bought the formula and are now producing a faithful re-creation of the greatest chalk in mathematical history. Mathematicians have stopped hoarding and have returned to their daily responsibilities unhindered. Between you and me, those people have an unnatural affinity for that chalk. But then again…
Epilogue
I am not surprised that mathematicians have a favorite brand of chalk. Back in my archaeology days, I used a Marshalltown trowel. Why Marshalltown? Because every archaeologist in the western hemisphere used Marshalltown. It would not occur to anyone to use another brand. It often came up that every archaeology student must purchase a Marshalltown trowel or go without. Other brands were never considered. Archaeologists loved their trowels so much, became so attached to them, that they would keep them until they were nothing more than a nub. I knew many people who holstered their favorite Marahalltown long after it stopped resembling a useful digging implement. It was a sort of badge of honor to have a trowel that wasn’t a trowel anymore.
I sat through a short lecture on the merits of the Marshalltown trowel. My advisor at Harvard made it abundantly clear to me that trowels to an archaeologist were like bows to a violinist. Mine, the one I used my entire career, is hanging up in my living room, next to my pith helmet and my obligatory Indiana Jones fedora.
Since I started this post, I have been thinking. I wonder if there exists a magical fiction keyboard that only produces great stories. I’ll make sure to let everyone know what I find.
