OuLiPo Transcriptions

I believe I mentioned it before, but this year I'm participating in a large transcription project for a new OuLiPo research group. They are digitizing the early OuLiPo documents (meeting minutes, early texts, etc.), a project for which they are outsourcing free labor from young researchers like me. My group is the "jeunes chercheurs anglophones" or the "young anglophone researchers" group and I've already completed one of the transcriptions since I've been here in Berlin. Basically, my job is this: 

1) I am given scanned documents in a shared file system, which I then download. 

2) I type up everything into a Microsoft Word document

3) I assign different "styles" to various aspects of the text. For instance, if they mention a specific constraint, I use the style field "notions" (which has been predetermined by the organizers of the project) to make it whatever color they have designated for oulipian notions. 

4) I upload my finished Word document back to the shared doc page. 

What is the purpose of this, you might ask? This will make the OuLiPo's early documents available to anyone who needs them, whether or not they are near the archives (which seem to be dispersed among several libraries in Paris and also partly in the OuLiPo's definitively provisional/provisionally definitive secretary's attic—he is, by the way, the same person, Marcel Benabou). It will also make these documents searchable in the database, not just by word, but by notion, oulipian, author, title, etc. Basically, rather than sift through a bunch of typewritten pages from the 1960's, those studying the OuLiPo will be able to say: I'm interested in the lipogram...where was it mentioned in the meeting minutes? 

Why am I doing this slave labor? Well, first off it will benefit me in the long run to have the archives digitized. Second, I am being sent scanned versions of Oulipian meetings, so it's rather exciting for me! Third, I get to participate in a project with many other academics—OuLiPo specialists, graduate students, etc.—which will make me feel like I'm participating in a larger conversation about my field. All in all, I'd say it's an excellent way to spend a few hours a week!

And in case anyone wants a sample of what I've been transcribing, here is the definition of "philosophy" according to Latis (an Oulipian with many, many pseudonyms): 

— Si je t’explique quelque chose que j’ai compris et que tu comprends, ce n’est pas de la philosophie ; 
— Si je t’explique quelque chose que j’ai compris et que tu ne comprends pas, ce n’est pas de la philosophie ; 
— Si je t’explique quelque chose que je n’ai pas compris et que tu comprends, ce n’est pas de la philosophie ; 
— Si je t’explique quelque chose que je n’ai pas compris et que tu ne comprends pas, c’est de la philosophie.

Translation (mine): 

— If I explain something to you that I understand and that you understand, that's not philosophy. 

— If I explain something to you that I understand and that you don't understand, that's not philosophy. 

— If I explain something to you that I don't understand and that you understand, that's not philosophy. 

— If I explain something to you that I don't understand and that you don't understand, that's philosophy.

Many Subtle Channels (Daniel Levin Becker)

My German course has been great in that I am being forced to practice German for a certain amount of time every day. It has also succeeded in regularizing my schedule here: now I have somewhere to be from noon to 3, and it takes about 30 minutes to get there. So, I wake up at the same time every day and don't dillydally. Rather than reading until I feel like eating breakfast, I eat, get dressed, and sometimes have to finish my homework before doing anything else. I get home about an hour before Eileen gets out of work, so I have time to do dishes or practice my flute or read on my own before we get dinner or do something else.

The downside is, I have far less time. Suddenly, four hours a day are just for the class and commute, then an additional hour for homework. My blog writing has suffered, and I haven't been doing as much writing in general. But I have been reading (in the subway, in breaks from class, etc.) but haven't been writing about it here. So, one of the books I finished was called Many Subtle Channels by a young, American member of the OuLiPo named Daniel Levin Becker.

It is a charming book that serves mostly as a general introduction to the group, its history, and the way it operates. Rather than write a "review" (like I seem to have done for the other books), I'm going to put in a few quotes I found interesting for my own work and elaborate on them. I've been reading predominately on my Kindle, so one of the perks is that it keeps all of my notes in one place for me without forcing me to write in the pages of one of my actual, physical books.

1) "Potential literature is both the things that literature could be and the things that could be literature. Potential literature is language; potential literature is life. Nobody's ever been entirely, definitively clear on what potential literature is, and this is to everyone's advantage. When you don't know what you're looking for, as they say, your chances of finding it are excellent." (9)

I've been toying with a metaphor for potential literature lately, and I think I've found one with a bit of potential (pun definitely intended): fractals. A fractal, in case you don't know, is a mathematical set/natural phenomenon of a repeated pattern at every scale. A good example is a cauliflower: look at the whole thing and there is clearly a pattern; look at just a part and it is the same pattern as the whole, but smaller. I feel that potential literature can be understood like that. A constraint has the potential to produce an unlimited body of texts, all of which will continue to speak about the constraint on every level. The self-reflexivity could conceivably extend in all directions forever. For instance, writing a book without a letter (like Perec does with La disparition, foregoing the letter E) is called a lipogram. That specific constraint, however, could produce tons of different books. Then, one could choose another letter. And another, and another. The potential for the lipogram is a subsection of the potential of language itself, and each text written without use of a letter will share certain properties. The language of the lipogram—or the potential language of a lipogram—is like a fractal.

2) "Bens's minutes frame this as an exciting time, not least due to the more or less concurrent development of big efficient calculating machines called computers. Certain tasks with conceivable if outlandish literary merit were becoming possible, as means or as ends unto themselves: compiling concordances, isolating the borders of poems, scanning for metrical qualities, writing poems in programming languages. At one point Braffort mentions a research center in Bensançon that has all the tragedies of Racine and Corneille on perforated cards; in Queneau's subsequent questions about whether a computer could classify sonnets by end-rhymes or scan a piece of prose for twelve-syllable units—i.e., involuntary alexandrines—the possibility for mischief nearly jumps off the page." (135)

Look out for more on computers, as I'm currently working on writing an article about algorithmic literature. I'm also considering putting an entire chapter on computers and algorithms into my dissertation. A new academic trend seems to be "Digital Humanities," which isn't very well-defined yet. Hopefully I can work it into my own work and also help to contribute to figuring out what exactly it is. From what I can tell so far, Digital Humanities is an experimental subsection of the humanities that seems to want to serve the role that the OuLiPo defines within literature. They seek to examine the potential of new technology in humanistic studies. We'll see what's there.

3) "'If 'pataphysics is the science of imaginary solutions,' Paul Braffort wrote in 2002, 'the Oulipo could be the search for real solutions to imaginary problems.'" (150)

'Pataphysics is a strange organization that still exists to day. It is of interest to me (and to anyone who studies the OuLiPo) because the OuLiPo began as a subsection of the group. This quote, for me, is a very apt description of the fundamental difference between the two projects, and why they are no longer truly affiliated. Look out for more later, as I'll be writing on a book I'm currently reading on 'Pataphysics.

4) "Roubaud also proposes an analogous relationship between the groups' [OuLiPo and Bourbaki] methods—'a structure in Bourbaki's conception of mathematics is capable of producing an infinity of theorems, by deductions from its axioms. A constraint is the oulipian equivalent of a bourbakist structure'—and between the goals behind them, namely a fastening of the practice of mathematics and literature, respectively, to 'a sound and rigorous basis' that could be derived over and over again from first principles. This ultimately comes across as a little too neat a comparison, but that's fifty years' hindsight talking. For Queneau and Le Lionnais, both of whom were supremely interested in the work Bourbaki was doing, this model was more than just a constructive counterpoint to that of the Surrealists." (152)

This is essentially a summary of part of the presentation I gave for my dissertation prospectus defense. I'm hoping to begin my dissertation with a close examination of the oulipian appropriation of Bourbaki's axiomatic set theory and how they propose to apply it to literature.

5) "'The meaning of the Oulipo is to give empty structures, to propose empty structures,'" [Queneau] said. 'Well then, I'll ask this,' said Charbonnier: 'Is that possible?' 'Probably,' Queneau murmured, after a pause." (288)

I think this quote speaks for itself!

6) "The Oulipo's generosity, then, is something like a conceptual generosity: it lies more in suggesting that literature might have a cookbook than in furnishing any actual recipes, more in framing an idea as the center of a labyrinth, and the finished work as the outside, than in offering any tips on how to navigate out." (290)

Like mathematics itself, this sort of idea implies that what the OuLiPo does exists in the fabric of literature itself and it is actually for everyone to find.

7) "...creative reading is no less noble, no less rewarding, no less potentially spectacular, than creative writing. To do either one well is simply to leave things more interesting than you found them." (300)

This quote is fundamental to understanding what the addition of mathematics to literature does to reading.

8) "Language is just as artificial as literature, probably more so—a diffuse and shape-shifting and ideally unstable system we invented a long time ago—but then the same can be said of most of the means we routinely and unthinkingly use to describe and deal with our surroundings...Potential literature is what we might call language in the hands of a crafty reader, the way potential music is sound to a crafty listener. Reading, no matter what you're reading, presupposes a belief in the potential of the text—to speak to you, enlighten you, stir your imagination or temporarily distract you—just as living, if it is to have any sense, presupposes a belief in the potential of your life." (316-7)

An important point, which I will undoubtedly return to later.

Taking German in Germany—My B2 course at the DeutschAkademie

Well, it turns out I am indeed a B2, or at least, the level of the course isn't necessarily beyond my capabilities in German. I'm about to begin my third (and last) week of the course, and so here I think I'll just list some of my reflections on the course and its pros and cons.

My course is a B,2,1 course at the DeutschAkademie at Wittenbergplatz. The other students are international as well, though for most of them, learning German isn't a hobby, but rather a necessity. There is a Bulgarian engineer who has moved here to live with his German girlfriend but cannot find work without having a better level of German (generally one would have to finish the B2, 1-2 courses in order to be qualified to work for a German company, from what I can tell). He speaks English fluently after having lived for a long time in England and South Africa. There are also four Chinese students, all of whom are either working or living here and need to pass the test at the end of the subsequent course in order to work or study here. Then, there are two Filipino sisters who seem to have picked up some German in Switzerland, but now want to learn German German (yes, they are so different that most Germans can't actually understand Swiss Germans...). Finally, there is a Mexican man who has just moved here with his German wife and another American girl who wants to do her MA here. I'm really the oddball out—when asked why I wanted to learn German, my only response was: "I like learning languages, and German is different from the other ones I know, so it's more of a challenge."

My strengths and weaknesses in the course: I'm very good with grammar, especially when I have time to think about it (so reading and writing aren't too difficult); I'm not very good with vocabulary (I have only been learning this language since last September, so I haven't had time to learn tons of less common words); my accent seems to be okay compared to the other students in the class (it's not recognizably American like the other American girl, and I seem to be able to speak somewhat fluidly now in a standard conversation about a not-too-philosophical or complicated topic); my comprehension is just okay—it's improved a lot since I've been here, but I still get frustrated and give up if I listen to a sentence that has more than two words I don't know.

Now for the actual course. Being a graduate student in French, I have to teach French myself and had to take a course in second language acquisition pedagogy. So, I can't really help but be a bit critical of the way others teach languages:

•The textbook is very well-organized. Each chapter introduces vocabulary very organically and has a Wortschatz or word list at the end of the book where you can write down meanings of words included in each theme/chapter. The activities are all multiple parts and each one builds on the previous one. It also does a very good job of alternating between the four main linguistic competencies: listening, writing, reading, and speaking.

•The textbook is also kind of oriented towards people who have immigrated here and are looking for jobs. We spent several days on writing résumés in German and about specific vocabulary for job interviews/employment contracts/etc. The first chapter was about homesickness and immigration and we're currently discussing poverty, and varying roles of men and women. In the end, while I'd probably prefer reading literary texts, fairy tales, or other narratives in order to acquire the vocabulary, I can understand and appreciate the thematic outline of the book and how it is more useful for their average student.

•The course is conducted entirely in German, which is very good. But we use very few authentic documents. Everything is in the textbook and the professor seems totally dependent on it. I find that kind of a shame, considering we are in Germany and there are actual people using actual résumés every day. Ostensibly we all know at least one German person. Why are our assignments always redundant grammar exercises rather than going out into the streets, finding an advertisement we can understand, and explaining the product and the advertising method to the class? Or writing our own cover letters for a real job application we find and then critiquing each other? Or being prepped about a movie that is in theaters and then going to see it without any subtitles? There are so many possibilities to incorporate the city and German culture into the class without using the textbook, but we never do.

•I also feel that we spend a lot of time on the homework in class. It would be more productive if the teacher were to give us the homework answers via email and then we could address specific questions in the first ten minutes of class or so. We have three hours a day and spend about the first half hour going down the line reading out our answers. I feel that that time could be much better spent.

•The levels of the students are quite varied. While I know that intermediate language courses are often like that, I do feel they might have been better with their placement tests for one or two students whose inability to understand at all moments is hindering the other students' progress in the course.

•Finally, our teacher is very nice, but isn't able to be here for the final week of the course. In order to avoid getting a substitute, this past week we had four hours of class on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, and we are also having an additional morning class every Friday (even though the course is supposed to be just Monday-Thursday). While I don't mind the extra hours or classes, I do think the four hour sessions were really strenuous in terms of our cognitive thresholds. It was quite clear after the three hour mark that people were tired and not as engaged, but the type of work we were doing didn't change to reflect that. It's always very important as a language teacher to gauge how your students feel and when their brains just can't take the language any more. At that point, we could switch to a vocabulary game rather than strict grammar rule definition, or open conversations.

All in all, I'm happy I spent the 205 euros on the course. It is at the very least 3 hours of speaking German in a controlled setting and I am learning new vocabulary. The question will be: how will I keep it up in France?

Addendum to the many ways to see Berlin

There is one more way to see Berlin that I failed to mention the last time, mostly because I hadn't done it yet. Berlin is the home of the world's largest tethered hot air balloon (or "captured" as they say here). The world is called "Die Welt" which just means "The World" (die being the definite article for feminine nouns in German—don't confuse it with the English word "die," though Eileen and I sure punned on it the entire time!), and the balloon looks like the world. It's as simple as that. Since I wasn't able to take an untethered hot air balloon ride in Vilnius, I decided to see another European capital by balloon, and what a sight it was! Since a picture's worth a thousand words, here are several thousand words that you can peruse at your leisure. As far as 15 minute rides go, this was pretty fun—it was the hour and a half waiting in line that wasn't that interesting.

What the balloon looks like up in the air. Once again, I can't emphasize this enough—it is not telling everyone to "die"! 

The technical information about how big it is, and how it works. 

Eileen waiting in the safe area for our turn. She wasn't scared at all...

I feel that this is a very clever picture somehow...

We got on just in time for the sunset!

The TV Tower

Antarctica? 

The Holocaust memorial from above. Amazing, no? 

The Reichstag 

An International City

Berlin is an international city. How could it not be? And nothing demonstrates it more than by living with Eileen and meeting her friends. Though, all of that also impedes my German language learning a bit, since they're all totally and thoroughly bilingual, bicultural, and extremely perceptive when people (like me) are not.

Eileen and her friends went to an international school where everything was bilingual. For instance, some years they were taught math in English and some in German, their history focus was both German and American, etc. And they all can switch between the two easily and unconsciously. With such a background (Eileen's father is American and her mother is German, she has two passports and can even vote in US elections, though can never be president because she was born here), Eileen is basically the perfect tour guide. She can do simultaneous translations (she swears she can't, but I've seen her do it before), but it's more than that. She "translates" the entire culture, points out the things that she knows I don't know (since she's American too), explains why things are funny, why things are there, and can be critical of both sides. When I admire all the new architecture in Berlin, she says: "Well, we had a lot of room to build after the Americans bombed everything." When I marvel at being assigned a seat in the movie theater, she says: "Yes, and we never get shot." (cf. the batman shooting) She can mimic a German accent in English a little too well, and tends to make plenty of great Nazi jokes. Well-rounded might be the proper term for her. In any case, going out to dinner with her friends is confirmation of how international a city Berlin is, and so are all the other activities I've been doing.

But first let me describe Monday night's dinner. We went to an Italian restaurant where the service is slow and there is apparently always a loud, crying baby (though I didn't hear it make a peep all night). Eileen told me not to make any indication that I speak or understand Italian, since she wanted me to inform her what they were saying behind their backs. The waiter was an adorable old Sicilian who took the orders in a fun mixture of German and Italian. Basically everyone ordered in German and he would respond in basic Italian that everyone could understand, and ask for clarifications in German (complete with Italian accent). After a while, it became clear that he wasn't saying anything rude about them, and so Eileen had another task for me: to speak to the guy in Italian so we would get served faster. Well, that didn't quite work, but he did give us free dessert wines at the end of the meal and begged me to come back as we were leaving. It's true, Italians prefer when you speak to them in their language. Then again, I think everyone does. In any case, I don't think I'll go back there—I make better pasta than they do! Look out for a blog post about me making pasta, FYI!

Did I mention there are a lot of Italians here? The economy isn't too good in Italy right now (it is one of the PIGS countries—Portugal, Italy, Greece, Spain), so a lot of Italians have been leaving to find work elsewhere, and Berlin is apparently a popular destination. My friend Nunzio is from a little town called Matera which looks like the most beautiful place on earth from the pictures he showed me (it's near Bari). I've been spending quite a bit of time with Nunzio, who is one of these Italians who moved to Berlin to work, and he has other Italian friends. On the one hand, I'm not forgetting my Italian! On the other, I guess I'm not speaking German as often as possible.

But it's okay, because I met Nunzio at a language exchange filled with American expats, students from every country imaginable, honest to goodness Berliners, and more. I love these sorts of gatherings, because you not only get to practice whatever language you want (I tend to speak more German there than anything else, but I'm more on track at those places), but you also get to meet people who are equally passionate about learning languages as I am. In America, I suppose speaking four languages makes me kind of special. In Europe, I'm average. There is one guy I met named Roberto who just puts me to shame.

Roberto is a student at the ENS (where I will be come September) and I believe I mentioned him in a previous blog post. He speaks at least 10 languages, easy—I mean, he was raised bilingual, which gives him an unfair advantage! But, he told me a story about someone who puts him to shame! At a yearly language gathering he attended, you get a name tag and write the languages you can converse in on it. This person Roberto met just wrote: "Try me." A bit pompous, but still very impressive. And the best part about Roberto (and other people you meet at these things) is that there is a very good chance they have heard of the OuLiPo and think they're amazing! When I introduce my research, I mostly start with saying "math in literature" and so far in Berlin, four out of five times, the response has been: "Do you study the OuLiPo?" It's really great.

So, Berlin may not be pretty, and the German language might be a bit rough around the edges, but at least it is an international city in the best sense of the word, and it is a delight to be here!

The many ways to see Berlin

Last Saturday, I realized just how different the city can seem based on how you are visiting it. So, I'd like to share some of my impressions of my whirlwind day in Berlin.

Berlin by foot: In the morning, Eileen and I spent a long time painting our nails with straws. Yes, that's right. It's very strange, but exciting. Actually, she used a sponge. In any case, when we were done, we decided to go shopping. There is a huge shopping center called Alexa at Alexanderplatz (one of the major Berlin landmarks, most notably the location of the TV Tower, the second highest structure in the EU), which is two stops away on the metro. But, we didn't take the metro (called the U-Bahn, by the way). Instead, we just walked, and what a lovely walk it is (this wasn't the first time I've walked to Alexanderplatz, by the way, but for the sake of this blog, I'm putting it all into one day)! First, you pass over the Spree (the river that runs through Berlin), then continue heading north. Now, it's not a conventionally pretty walk. Much like the German language, finding the beauty in Berlin is less about appearances and more about the atmosphere, I think. There is graffiti everywhere, lots of hipsters (especially in Kreutzberg, another neighborhood nearby that I just read is one of the most hipster neighborhoods on earth), and nothing old. Now, the lack of old things is because the city was decimated after the war, divided into two, controlled by conflicting forces, and then forced to rebuild itself up after that whole fiasco was over. So, you can't really blame them for having a new city. In a way, I find it refreshing, especially after Italy where everything is an open air museum, carefully preserved for hoards of obnoxious tourists. The tourists here are coming for something different, and there is a truly international atmosphere. In any case, the walk to Alexa was lovely. After Alexa, we walked farther north and got the best burritos I have ever had (along with some pretty phenomenal mint lemonade)!

Berlin by U-Bahn: There are two types of subways here in Berlin: the U-Bahn and the S-Bahn. U stands for "untergrund" or "under ground" and the S stands for "schnell" or "fast." I prefer the S-Bahn, because they're generally above ground and you get a nice view of the city. But, the one I take most often is the U8, which is pretty convenient. They go by an honor system, in that you buy a ticket but don't ever need to scan it. They come by every now and then to check, but from what I can tell, not often enough to ensure the system is working. In my three weeks here, I've been checked exactly once (yesterday, in fact). But, it is nice not to have to fumble through your bag for a ticket every time you enter the subway. In Paris, it was slightly more convenient to have a Navigo card that could be scanned through your bag, but without it, it really slows things down to rummage through your bag every time. It's also probably not that safe given how many pickpockets there are in European cities. In any case, we took the U-Bahn back, which is nice, clean, fast, and efficient. Basically the opposite of NYC's subway system...

Berlin by bike: Eileen has a friend who is a professional skateboarder, Mack. When we were back at the apartment, Mack and his wife, Ricarda, stopped by and asked if we wanted to go to an American/German festival. Basically a huge amusement park. He said that as German-Americans, he and Eileen absolutely had to go! But she didn't want to, so they brought me along instead. I rode on Eileen's lovely blue bike, and it's amazing how different Berlin is by bike. I've biked in a few European cities—Paris and Vilnius, most recently—and it's always fun. Vilnius was a bit low key, but biking in Berlin was a lot like biking in Paris. Suddenly, instead of worrying that a bike is going to run you over while you walk (the cars are much more careful of pedestrians), you get to worry about not running other people over on your bike! You also get to use all of the carefully designated bike lanes (sometimes on the sidewalk, sometimes in the street). It is fast-paced, cooler (temperature-wise—it's been quite hot here, and when you bike, you get a nice breeze!), and more practical. We got halfway across the city in twenty minutes. Then, coming home, I went partway with them, then drove the rest by myself. I got a lovely ride by the Sony Center, Brandenburg Gate, circled around Kreutzberg (went a bit out of my way since I made a wrong turn), and was back to Eileen's in time to head out again to see a movie. The fair was horrible, by the way. Apparently it used to be much more elaborate when all the American soldiers and their wives were there. In any case, I got a Waldmeister slushie, so it wasn't a total loss.

Berlin by car: In Berlin, there is a car sharing system called "DriveNow." While I can't do it with my American license, Eileen can and did on Saturday night when we were worried about not getting to the Sony Center in time to see a movie with her friend Annett. DriveNow seems very practical, as they don't have specific parking spaces. Instead, you look up where the nearest one is, drive it wherever you want, and park it in any free space where the next person can find it. We drove from Mitte to Potsdamer Platz (where the Sony Center is) and had plenty of time to park before the movie started. The fun part of seeing Berlin by car was to see all the driving skills you need to be a European city-driver, none of which I think I possess. Eileen had to drive a stick (though she says she does prefer automatic, which are becoming more and more prevalent, but also are much more expensive), watch out for the hoards of bikes and pedestrians, and parallel park. Very different from driving around in Clarence, where there aren't that many cars to begin with, and also barely any pedestrians to deal with.

So yes, those are some of the various ways to enjoy Berlin! Soon, I'll take pictures of all the graffiti here and write a post about that with more pictures.

Keith Devlin

One of my favorite things about being in Europe is the different sense of productivity and laziness. In America—especially at Princeton—I am totally and completely productive. And by that, I don't mean that I'm working every second, but rather that I get a lot done. My breaks, when I take them, are either to eat or to go to an academic talk or to have an academic conversation with someone. When I eat in Princeton, it's either with another PhD student friend, or at a language table where I'm practicing another language and having cultural discussions over dining hall food. When I eat alone, I'll generally cap off the meal at 23 minutes. Why 23 minutes? Because that's the exact length of one episode of How I Met Your Mother, which is basically the only TV show I watch. I like the show for a variety of reasons, but especially for its length, which I find the perfect break from work. 23 minutes, now you can't feel very guilty about that, can you?

Well, in Europe, there is no Netflix (except in the UK), no Hulu, and even many YouTube videos are not available. Without my productivity saving 23 minute episodes of HIMYM, what am I supposed to watch? Well, I've moved on to podcasts and online courses. Yes, I know that it's just more school, but so far, I've been enjoying what I'm watching. The one I'm watching now is available on both YouTube and iTunes U, totally free, and a very good survey on mathematics. Now, much of it overlaps with Alex Bellos' first book, but this professor, Keith Devlin, attacks the material in a different way for a different audience. Part of spending all this time looking at what other people say about math is to see how they are saying it, how they sell it, how well their strategies work. We live in a world where people are afraid of math, hate math, whether or not they use it unwittingly every day. And I'll have to sell that sort of positive attitude towards mathematics eventually. In any case, if you're interested, you can find Keith Devlin's lectures here:

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLpGHT1n4-mAvzAtg6Qo8aTld6goSPxo4o

In the first lecture, which I'm watching now, Devlin begins with a history of the number. What I find very interesting after this and reading Alex Bellos' book is that numbers coincide so much with money. Mathematical abstraction is a direct result of banks! Sometime in ancient Mesopotamia, banks would seal tokens into clay pots in order to keep a record of how much a person owned. But in order to verify, they would have to break the pot open to collect the tokens. Eventually, they came up with a written language (a mathematical language—mathematical writing precedes the literary in this sense) and would write on the pots how many tokens were inside to avoid breaking them open every time one wanted to demonstrate his wealth. Finally, the most important step was realizing that they no longer needed the tokens—that the writing was enough. And the first credit cards were born!

This abstraction of numbers was extremely important because, as we all know, with the written language, we can determine properties of these numbers that weren't immediately obvious. We're all born with a number sense, but numbers and manipulating those numbers change that. They turn what is just an intuitive understanding into something exact, which is perhaps one of the few ways humans are really distinct from other animals (that also have a basic mathematical sense about them).

Once one has the mathematical language, one can manipulate it in any way, as long as the manipulation adheres to certain formal rules (of logic). In this sense, the rules governing mathematics—and even the mathematics itself—seems to precede the invention of the language. Discovering new math is like discovering something that was already there waiting to be found, something that explains in its own way how the world works. In this sense, Devlin explains the two ways of using mathematics: first, as a spectacle lens through which to filter the world and make sense of it in a useful way; second, to take your ideas from your mind and bring them into the world.

To contrast with language, written language follows the oral language, which has rules which are more like conventions. For anyone whose grammar has ever been corrected, don't worry! Grammar is a constantly evolving set of rules—as is orthography—that attempt to govern a language that is alive and already working. The invention of the rules of language follows the creation of the language itself. In this way, written language and mathematical language seem very different, but I do think there are several similarities. For one, it is true that we filter the world through the language we speak. Try thinking without words. It's pretty difficult. And the language we speak isn't just a tool to employ how we choose—it is heavily determined and shaped by the culture in which we use it. So in that sense, mathematical language helps us perceive the world and understand it, but so does our actual language. Reversing that, we can see that language does help us bring ideas from our mind into the world, helps us create and communicate.

So my question now is this: how does bringing mathematical language and theorization into literature (as the OuLiPo does) change the way we understand the written word?