My afternoon with Hayden White
Hi everyone. I hung with Hayden White in Utrecht.
I realize that only like 3 of you know who Hayden White is. So really, I have no idea why I am sending this to so many people. But OK: Comparative literature/critical theory person. 80 years old. Professor emeritus of UC Santa Cruz and current professor at Stanford. Trained in history, but is more well-known in literary theory circles. He was the first person to apply narratology and critical theory to history. History, he claims, has lately focused too much on truth and facts, but not on meaning. And it hasn’t been critical of or aware of its own literary tendencies. Also, an anarchist, atheist, and “indifferent to the metaphysical.”
So Mr. White gave this talk in Utrecht. My class took a train to go see him. There were only like 30 people because the room was small. When it was over, an intense academic type who probably had a crush on my professor because she is the cutest female professor ever asked her, and therefore us, to come to the faculty lounge to have a cup of tea and hang out.
Our professor is kind of nervous, and tells us to be on our best behavior. She is reverent. And probably remembering that when we were having a cup of coffee before the lecture, I said, in reference to something: “You’ve never hugged a famous person? I have. Not that often though. Normally with me, I treat famous people less well than non-famous people.” “And do you have a problem with that,” she asks. “I figure it kind of balances out the world, since there are so many people kissing famous people’s asses every day.”
It’s true. I am not friendly to famous people. Or even regular people who are liked and admired by everyone. Or even and especially really good looking people. Or rich people.
My group folds itself into corner and stays there, leaving only to take slice of cake and salmon finger sandwiches and cups of tea. I am tired of that timid shit though, so I sit down in one of the poofy chairs next to Hayden. I pour some wine and drink it. My group follows me into the other poofy chairs and we talk amongst ourselves.
Then Hayden starts doing some urban handshakes with one of the professors (the entire room is professors except us and a few advanced PhD students) from Holland. He has no idea what the hell he is doing, knocking elbows together and snapping his fingers. I mean, he’s 80 and has an earring. He’s cool and healthy for being 80, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have some physical limitations: urban handshakes are one of them.
I pounce on this shortcoming, because otherwise he is dominating the entire room. I say, “I’m American. From Oxnard, in Southern California. I know how to do that.” And I do it, just like me and my dawg Ruben Garcia do it in the ‘Nard: slide, grip, knock knock, punch. Smooth. Hayden is impressed, so he turns around to face us and asks me -
First though, keep in mind: during his chat, he talked about how he had no use for the metaphysical, and that he strived for writing and speech that didn’t use the metaphysical. He also talked about how we don’t need the metaphysical for self-realization. In fact, he talked a lot about self-realization, and how we can achieve it, and make ourselves have a satisfying, complete life. It made me think: this is the Santa Cruz in him, and this is the 80 year old man who is an atheist in him trying to deal. And I wished him good luck with that. But anyway, what do you talk about without the metaphysical?!
So he asks me: “So, what are you doing? Are you an academic? An intellectual? A scholar? Are you serious? Or are you just hanging out?”
I’m like, “Uh.” And I’m thinking, “What exactly is the difference between an intellectual and just hanging out?” But I tell him, “Well, I’m in a humanities MA program with a completely useless-sounding name that give me no career options. So I guess that makes me an intellectual, although I would never admit that.”
He doesn’t seem quite satisfied with that. “So you’re not just in Europe hanging out, trying to figure things out?”
And to this: “I hate it when Americans come to Europe to try to figure things out, like the meaning of life, like themselves. Americans coming to Europe to find themselves is just totally like dumb.”
And he says, yeah, well, you can figure it all out anywhere, even in the dumbest little town.
Then he turns to the rest of the group and starts asking them questions. When our professor comes back from using the bathroom or being attractive or whatever she was doing, he asks her to explain the program and points to me and says, “I just can’t seem to get a straight answer out of this guy.” She reminds him that he knows her, that they met before, and he says he remembers and she seems really happy that he does. She really likes being a professor and having academic people remember her. He says that he saw her in the crowd and remembered meeting her and thought that she was “emanating goodness.” Which is totally not anything metaphysical.
He tells us all that we should get MBAs. Then he changes his mind and tells us we should get law degrees. I don’t mention that I have a MA in Comparative Literature from Dartmouth. Law, he says, is where it’s at because law is getting so messed up in the US, so perverted.
I think about it, and I say, “But wouldn’t it be frustrating to be a lawyer because you just have to learn about a bunch of laws you disagree with and can’t change. You just maneuver but don’t actually change anything. And there are so many stupid laws-“
“ALL laws are STUPID!” he says.
So, he talks to the other professors about how the US is neo-fascist, and totalitarian, and stuff like that. Which is funny, considering we’re in a country that has never even had Habeas Corpus, a country that has proposed banning immigrants from speaking languages besides Dutch in their own homes, a country that has banned Mein Kampf from being sold, and that seriously proposed banning the Koran.
But whatever. He’s 80, and he’s rad. He tells some stories about Condoleeza Rice, about her working as the head of Stanford and being a fucktard.
Anyway, I eat a muffin. We watch the professors talk shit about other professors. I am momentarily fascinated by a German PhD student’s pants, which are like shiny denim overalls with no buckles or buttons. I mean, actually, like high-waisted pants with built-in suspenders made out of the same fabric as the pants themselves. Not overalls, which cover the chest. And they are puffy on the bottom, like MC Hammer pants, with an elastic band around the ankles. And despite all this careful tailoring: kind of a camel toe. It’s pretty incredible. I'm still not really over it.
I convince the Mexican girl in our group to NOT take a picture of Hayden White and us. She says why? I say because that's like treating him like he's a giraffe or some other cool animal.
Hayden talks about how to get rid of metaphysical presuppositions: “See, when I’m talking to you, I don’t know you. I just see these colors: your plaid shirt. It has pink, red and blue, and green. But I know that I don’t know anything else about you.”
And I wonder how the fact that he distinguishes between pink and red isn’t metaphysical.
We leave, and everyone wishes us off. Hayden says, “Remember: law!” And I think I say something that comes out patronizing. Like, “Yeah. Law. Well, we’ll see won’t we! Yessiree.” Like that. In January, I’ll have five degrees. I would never call myself an intellectual. But whatever. He said, “making love” during his talk. I would never say that, either. It’s so tacky, you know?
I realize that only like 3 of you know who Hayden White is. So really, I have no idea why I am sending this to so many people. But OK: Comparative literature/critical theory person. 80 years old. Professor emeritus of UC Santa Cruz and current professor at Stanford. Trained in history, but is more well-known in literary theory circles. He was the first person to apply narratology and critical theory to history. History, he claims, has lately focused too much on truth and facts, but not on meaning. And it hasn’t been critical of or aware of its own literary tendencies. Also, an anarchist, atheist, and “indifferent to the metaphysical.”
So Mr. White gave this talk in Utrecht. My class took a train to go see him. There were only like 30 people because the room was small. When it was over, an intense academic type who probably had a crush on my professor because she is the cutest female professor ever asked her, and therefore us, to come to the faculty lounge to have a cup of tea and hang out.
Our professor is kind of nervous, and tells us to be on our best behavior. She is reverent. And probably remembering that when we were having a cup of coffee before the lecture, I said, in reference to something: “You’ve never hugged a famous person? I have. Not that often though. Normally with me, I treat famous people less well than non-famous people.” “And do you have a problem with that,” she asks. “I figure it kind of balances out the world, since there are so many people kissing famous people’s asses every day.”
It’s true. I am not friendly to famous people. Or even regular people who are liked and admired by everyone. Or even and especially really good looking people. Or rich people.
My group folds itself into corner and stays there, leaving only to take slice of cake and salmon finger sandwiches and cups of tea. I am tired of that timid shit though, so I sit down in one of the poofy chairs next to Hayden. I pour some wine and drink it. My group follows me into the other poofy chairs and we talk amongst ourselves.
Then Hayden starts doing some urban handshakes with one of the professors (the entire room is professors except us and a few advanced PhD students) from Holland. He has no idea what the hell he is doing, knocking elbows together and snapping his fingers. I mean, he’s 80 and has an earring. He’s cool and healthy for being 80, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have some physical limitations: urban handshakes are one of them.
I pounce on this shortcoming, because otherwise he is dominating the entire room. I say, “I’m American. From Oxnard, in Southern California. I know how to do that.” And I do it, just like me and my dawg Ruben Garcia do it in the ‘Nard: slide, grip, knock knock, punch. Smooth. Hayden is impressed, so he turns around to face us and asks me -
First though, keep in mind: during his chat, he talked about how he had no use for the metaphysical, and that he strived for writing and speech that didn’t use the metaphysical. He also talked about how we don’t need the metaphysical for self-realization. In fact, he talked a lot about self-realization, and how we can achieve it, and make ourselves have a satisfying, complete life. It made me think: this is the Santa Cruz in him, and this is the 80 year old man who is an atheist in him trying to deal. And I wished him good luck with that. But anyway, what do you talk about without the metaphysical?!
So he asks me: “So, what are you doing? Are you an academic? An intellectual? A scholar? Are you serious? Or are you just hanging out?”
I’m like, “Uh.” And I’m thinking, “What exactly is the difference between an intellectual and just hanging out?” But I tell him, “Well, I’m in a humanities MA program with a completely useless-sounding name that give me no career options. So I guess that makes me an intellectual, although I would never admit that.”
He doesn’t seem quite satisfied with that. “So you’re not just in Europe hanging out, trying to figure things out?”
And to this: “I hate it when Americans come to Europe to try to figure things out, like the meaning of life, like themselves. Americans coming to Europe to find themselves is just totally like dumb.”
And he says, yeah, well, you can figure it all out anywhere, even in the dumbest little town.
Then he turns to the rest of the group and starts asking them questions. When our professor comes back from using the bathroom or being attractive or whatever she was doing, he asks her to explain the program and points to me and says, “I just can’t seem to get a straight answer out of this guy.” She reminds him that he knows her, that they met before, and he says he remembers and she seems really happy that he does. She really likes being a professor and having academic people remember her. He says that he saw her in the crowd and remembered meeting her and thought that she was “emanating goodness.” Which is totally not anything metaphysical.
He tells us all that we should get MBAs. Then he changes his mind and tells us we should get law degrees. I don’t mention that I have a MA in Comparative Literature from Dartmouth. Law, he says, is where it’s at because law is getting so messed up in the US, so perverted.
I think about it, and I say, “But wouldn’t it be frustrating to be a lawyer because you just have to learn about a bunch of laws you disagree with and can’t change. You just maneuver but don’t actually change anything. And there are so many stupid laws-“
“ALL laws are STUPID!” he says.
So, he talks to the other professors about how the US is neo-fascist, and totalitarian, and stuff like that. Which is funny, considering we’re in a country that has never even had Habeas Corpus, a country that has proposed banning immigrants from speaking languages besides Dutch in their own homes, a country that has banned Mein Kampf from being sold, and that seriously proposed banning the Koran.
But whatever. He’s 80, and he’s rad. He tells some stories about Condoleeza Rice, about her working as the head of Stanford and being a fucktard.
Anyway, I eat a muffin. We watch the professors talk shit about other professors. I am momentarily fascinated by a German PhD student’s pants, which are like shiny denim overalls with no buckles or buttons. I mean, actually, like high-waisted pants with built-in suspenders made out of the same fabric as the pants themselves. Not overalls, which cover the chest. And they are puffy on the bottom, like MC Hammer pants, with an elastic band around the ankles. And despite all this careful tailoring: kind of a camel toe. It’s pretty incredible. I'm still not really over it.
I convince the Mexican girl in our group to NOT take a picture of Hayden White and us. She says why? I say because that's like treating him like he's a giraffe or some other cool animal.
Hayden talks about how to get rid of metaphysical presuppositions: “See, when I’m talking to you, I don’t know you. I just see these colors: your plaid shirt. It has pink, red and blue, and green. But I know that I don’t know anything else about you.”
And I wonder how the fact that he distinguishes between pink and red isn’t metaphysical.
We leave, and everyone wishes us off. Hayden says, “Remember: law!” And I think I say something that comes out patronizing. Like, “Yeah. Law. Well, we’ll see won’t we! Yessiree.” Like that. In January, I’ll have five degrees. I would never call myself an intellectual. But whatever. He said, “making love” during his talk. I would never say that, either. It’s so tacky, you know?