Zimmerman talks sex education at the American Enterprise Institute

Zimmerman jacket

Too Hot to Handle by Jonathan Zimmerman

Too Hot to Handle: A Global History of Sex Education is shaping up to be one hot book for spring. A long format conversation with author Jonathan Zimmerman recently appeared in Globe and Mail, and he was interviewed (live and available to stream) for WNYC’s Brian Lehrer Show. Zimmerman published “Can Sex Ed be Universal?” in Foreign Affairs, the book was excerpted on PopMatters.com, and was the subject of a feature on Vox.com as well.

This past Thursday, the American Enterprise Institute hosted a conversation with Zimmerman. Taking a look at the differences in sex education between countries and throughout history, he explains how, as countries become more democratic, sex education has become more contentious.

Check out Zimmerman’s American Enterprise Institute talk here.

 

Spotlight on…the Renaissance

“In Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder, bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love. They had five hundred years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.”

– Orson Welles, as Harry Lime, in The Third Man

Niccolo Machiavelli, by Conrad Vivanti

Niccolò Machiavelli
by Conrad Vivanti

Welles’s famous speech atop the Ferris wheel is a brilliantly concise picture of the Italy of Niccolò Machiavelli, simultaneously a patchwork of warring city-states and the stage for a rebirth of western culture. Niccolò Machiavelli: An Intellectual Biography, by Conrad Vivanti, analyses the life and work of the man whose name has become a watchword for unscrupulous power politics. As a young man in Florence Machiavelli witnessed the expulsion of the ruling Medici family and the establishment of the short-lived republic which he was to serve as diplomat and organizer of the citizen militia. He traveled on missions to the royal courts of Spain and France, and to the papal court of the Borgia Pope Alexander VI. Machiavelli’s first-hand knowledge of the attempts of Alexander’s illegitimate son and general Cesare Borgia to assert power over central Italy provided the basis for his best-known work, The Prince. Still controversial today, The Prince argues that rulers must be prepared to use deceit and brute force to preserve their power and build a stable state. Unpublished until five years after Machiavelli’s death, The Prince was placed on the Index of banned books by Pope Paul IV in 1559, but survived to become one of the founding works of modern political science.

The works of Desiderius Erasmus also enjoyed the back-handed honor of Paul’s ban, but this was, perhaps, a case of closing the stable door after the horse had bolted. In the 1530s his books accounted for more than 10% of all books sold in Europe; in addition his edition of the New Testament was the basis for Luther’s German translation and the King James Version in English. Lisa Jardine’s Erasmus, Man of Letters is a portrait of a man who was the center of the intellectual life of his age, corresponding with as many as five hundred of his fellow scholars. Keen to maintain his independence, he moved between a dozen European cities, from Paris to Turin, from Cambridge to Basel. He even worked briefly as a proofreader for the Venetian pioneer of print Aldus Manutius. Equally independent in mind, Erasmus mocked superstition in The Praise of Folly, while challenging the established theology of the church and leading the return to the original texts of the New Testament and the early fathers. Like Machiavelli, Erasmus sought to offer advice to the prospective rulers of his day but his Education of a Christian Prince recommended that the Prince gain the love of his people through just and benevolent rule. Fittingly, it was written in Switzerland.

Spotlight on…Public Intellectuals

Worldly Philosopher, by Jeremy Adelman

Worldly Philosopher
by Jeremy Adelman

The title of Jeremy Adelman’s biography of Albert O. Hirschman, Worldly Philosopher, concisely sums up the character of many public intellectuals of the twentieth century. In battles that overflowed the geopolitical arena to encompass culture, the arts, and political theory, intellectuals frequently found themselves where history was being made.

Born in Berlin in 1915, Hirschman left Germany in 1933 when the Nazis announced the expulsion of Jews from the universities. He fought in the Spanish Civil War, and later guided escapees across the Pyrenean mountain passes between Vichy France and Spain. He worked in Algiers as a translator for the OSS (precursor to the CIA), in Europe for the Federal Reserve Board on the Marshall Plan, and in Colombia for the World Bank. His experiences in Europe and Colombia influenced his thinking on economics and development: Hirschman realized that the grand plans and idealized markets of his fellow economists were unworkable in the real world. Instead he proposed a strategy of improvisation and experimentation, responsive to local conditions and opportunities. Later works, including Exit, Voice and Loyalty and The Passions and the Interests, continued against the grain of conventional economic thinking and established Hirschman as one of the foremost intellectuals of his time.

Isaiah Berlin too was an emigrant: born in Riga in 1908 (now in Latvia, then part of Russia), he lived through the 1917 revolutions in St. Petersburg before his family moved to England in 1921. He found a home at Oxford University and, despite his Russian Jewish, roots rapidly found himself at the heart of the British establishment, working for the British Diplomatic service in the embassies at Washington and Moscow during the Second World War. His position, and his legendary brilliance as a conversationalist, gave him access to a veritable Who’s Who of politicians, intellectuals, writers and academics. He played a part (recently dissected by Frances Stonor Saunders) in the smuggling of the manuscript of Dr. Zhivago out of Russia. Personal Impressions, Berlin’s collection of biographical essays, draws on first-hand acquaintance with Boris Pasternak, alongside Winston Churchill, Albert Einstein, John Maynard Keynes, Virginia Woolf and many others.

Afghanistan President Ashraf Ghani mentions LOST ENLIGHTENMENT before Congress

Last night, Afghan President Ashraf Ghani and Afghan Chief Executive Abdullah were honored at a dinner held in the Ben Franklin Room. President Ashraf Ghani addressed the attendants of the dinner and stated, “[I]f there’s one book that you want to read please do read LOST ENLIGHTENMENT. [T]he story that Fred tells is not the story of the past. Its good news is that it’s the story of the future.” Read the transcript of the event, here.

LOST ENLIGHTENMENT is available in hardcover and will be released in paperback this June. Read the first chapter of this must-read for free, here.


 

bookjacket

Lost Enlightenment:
Central Asia’s Golden Age from the Arab Conquest to Tamerlane

S. Frederick Starr

Spotlight on…Philosophers and Mystics

A Short Life of Kierkegaard, by Walter Lowrie

A Short Life of Kierkegaard
by Walter Lowrie

The nineteenth century was a period of extraordinary advances in science and engineering that seemed to bring the dream of a comprehensive understanding of the physical world within reach. Yet it was also the century that gave us Kierkegaard, Nietzsche and Kafka, three writers whose work expressed the subjective dimension of life, analyzed the role of human choice and will, and rejected a purely rationalist vision of existence.

To residents of Copenhagen in the first half of the nineteenth century, Søren Kierkegaard was a familiar sight, his striking figure daily walking the streets of the town. But few, if any, would have known that he was the author of several volumes of philosophy and theology – his early works were published under a series of unlikely pseudonyms, including Johannes de Silentio and Hilarius Bookbinder. Despite the oddness of his pen-names, Kierkegaard was deeply in earnest, and occupied his last years with an extended critique of the Church of Denmark in a series of pamphlets. His arguments that faith is rooted in an act of individual choice, not church ritual, and that state involvement corrupted the church, were highly influential, and his reputation grew rapidly after his early death in 1855. W. Lowrie’s A Short Life of Soren Kierkegaard is a perfect introduction to Kierkegaard’s life and work by one of his first English translators. For those willing to make a leap of faith and tackle Kierkegaard’s life in greater detail, Joakim Garff’s magisterial Søren Kierkegaard: A Biography is the definitive work.

As the subtitle of Walter Kaufman’s Nietzsche: Philosopher, Psychologist, Antichrist suggests, Friedrich Nietzsche’s thoughts on religion were far removed from those of Kierkegaard. He derided Christian ethics as “slave morality” and proclaimed the need for the individual to overcome their social, cultural and moral context through the force of will. His radical ideas and poetic, allusive style were unsuccessful in his lifetime – he printed a mere forty copies of the fourth part of Thus Spake Zarathustra – but his influence has grown enormously in the century following his death, as much among writers and artists as philosophers.

Nietzsche eventually succumbed to insanity and lived the last years of his life in the care of his sister, Elizabeth Förster-Nietzsche, who edited his remaining manuscripts for publication after his death. It is often argued that she introduced an anti-semitic and nationalist slant that later made Nietzsche’s thought more appealing to the Nazis. However, were it not for similar efforts by Max Brod, none of Franz Kafka’s novels would have survived. On his deathbed, Kafka asked Brod to destroy his manuscripts and diaries, but convinced of Kafka’s genius, Brod instead chose to preserve them and edit them for publication. A perfectionist, Kafka could not bring himself to finish any of the novels, but even in their incomplete forms, the Trial and the Castle stand as undisputed classics. Reiner Stach’s monumental biography (Kafka: The Decisive Years, and Kafka: The Years of Insight) paints an astonishingly detailed picture of a deeply introspective writer and his life in Prague at the turn of the century.

Interview with n+1 co-founder and PUP author Mark Greif

As Adam Kirsch writes in Tablet Magazine’s review of n+1 co-founder Mark Greif’s widely-reviewed new book, The Age of the Crisis of Man, “[t]he word “crisis” itself seems to capture something essential about our relationship to history, which we now experience as a constant procession of unexpected, suddenly emerging threats.” From cold war to climate change, from economic recession, to war in Iraq, recent decades have seen their share of anxiety-provoking episodes. And yet, it’s safe to say the “crisis of man” has become something of a throwback expression. The notion that human nature itself is under threat is an intellectual artifact of mid-century American culture. Why so?

The question, and Greif’s new book, appear to have struck nerves in today’s intellectual community, inspiring, among an explosion of coverage, Kristin Iversen’s “Man-Splaining” in Brooklyn Magazine, and a widely discussed New York Times Book Review essay by Leon Wieseltier. Recently, Greif took the time to chat with Princeton University Press about his book:

You’re best known for your work as a founder of n+1 and your essays in that magazine. What connects that New York literary world to this book?

MG: To me, they’re tightly connected. When we founded n+1, I wanted to understand how the intellectual and literary worlds worked now. The opening section (of the book?) many of which I wrote in the early issues, was “The Intellectual Situation.” I wanted to know how conventional wisdom got settled; how certain questions became “important” and “serious,” but not others; and especially why new novels and essays sometimes had influence on other debates, and sometimes seemed irrelevant or old-fashioned, past tense. In the same ten years of n+1 attempts to intervene in literary culture, though, my “day job” in effect was as a scholar, I had been digging in the library to see, objectively, how we got where we are. I was reading through complete runs of old journals, Partisan Review, Commentary, to see how to make a twenty-first century journal. But also to see, archeologically, what had been obscured in our picture of the twentieth century. This book is the analytic and philosophical complement to n+1 for me. It’s my best effort to tell a new story of how the twentieth century determined what counts.

Can you say succinctly what the “Age of the Crisis of Man” is?

MG: Sure. It was a period in the center of the twentieth century, from the rise of Nazism to the end of the Sixties, in which we put a universal human character at the center of all “serious” discussion in public.Not incidentally, this period saw the shift of international philosophizing from continental Europe to the United States and England for a little while. And it saw a brief crest of the American novel to its high-water mark of reputation (though maybe not of literary production). And it saw dreams of utopian international order. All those strains come together around the figure of “Man.” But then the same concentration of energy helped create the civil rights and liberation movements that seemed to blow it apart.

So this is an era that we ought to remember and learn from?

MG: Not entirely. It’s not an era I want to champion. I don’t want to reify the Man debates as just one more rival aspect of the twentieth century, as if we need to add it to PBS documentaries alongside the Cold War, suburbanization, existentialism, all the ingredients of the canned version of midcentury. Many of the explicit “crisis of man” books feel empty, frankly. I want to have read them so others don’t have to! But I think the emptiness is important. My basic model of history tries to locate the empty spaces, or blank or negative spaces, in public philosophy and rhetoric and criticism. Those spaces that demand answers that are simply impossible to decide. They (the spaces?) set what matters, what is acceptable, what one should think or say. But as coercive as they are, they may be themselves quite weak, loose, or devoid of reason.

Does your history mean there wasn’t a “crisis of women” or crises in different communities in America, or political crises? How important is a universal “Man” to your story?

MG: Crises of women’s rights and equality exist in this period, and crises of African-American rights, and racism, segregation, white supremacy, you name it. The important thing to see is how “what counts,” as public discourse has it, makes women’s and African Americans’ claims harder to articulate in some registers—in contrast, say, to the earlier (does earlier modify 1930s, i.e. 1931 vs. 1937, or are you using it to mean the entire decade was earlier than the post-WWII starting point of your book?)1930s—and articulable in others. Yet later the same discourse will become a source of explosive power, as feminist and civil rights and black power speakers plant their flag on Man. Sex and race provided the most fundamental contradictions to a universal, unmarked man. But that line of difference, and how tortuously it rose to salience, is a big part of my story.

What have we lost, in the transition from the age whose portrait you give here, to the twenty-first century?

MG: That’s the toughest question. It’s very hard to look at these moments when “ideas mattered,” and novels answered “the big questions,” so to speak, and not be nostalgic. Clearly these ideas did have consequences, too in geopolitics, in the lasting revival of human rights, in the standing of literature, as well as in the creation of a whole atmosphere of life and thought. At the same time, it’s clear that lots of thoughtful and sensitive people found the “discourse of the crisis of man” gaseous and stifling, especially as it got older. Whenever you live, you live among the mediocrities and coercions of the ideas of your own time. History usually tends either to wash them out or take them at their own valuation, while condescending to them, of course, since we always know better now.

I guess what interested me most in my own research was that I came to see it as a mistake to declare we had gone “from universalism to difference” in ideas, or in our picture of the basic human subject. As if there once was unity (even if only among an elite population), which split into groups. Universalism, difference: each of these is an intellectual project, an effort. Neither is more original or more basic than the other, at least not in the twentieth century. You can’t decline from one to the other. That was one thing I tried to point out in the book.

You say in the conclusion that you want to figure out where we start for twenty-first century thought. Do you really think you can give a starting point?

MG: The starting points are already given. The question is: How much do we understand how history has determined our presuppositions—say, what counts for us as “serious” thought, or what role literature and art play in ethical and political thinking? And then: With fuller knowledge, can we choose among our starting points? Can we say that some are stupid, and likely to lead nowhere?

Personally, I am divided about this. The historian in me thinks it’s silly to ask anyone to produce a better discourse of public debate and art from the recognition of past follies. Looking back from the future, “stupidities” are all we have; by which I mean, contingencies, symptoms, actings-out, with no way to step outside of your own time to see how eternity (or the archive, or the leisure of future historians) will regard you. Would knowing the past really help restrain or channel our impulses, now? The “intellectual” in me, on the other hand, or say the participant in culture and literature, the writer, thinks it’s obligatory to try to figure out where your opinions and discoveries come from. Then to see where they’re tending, whether you like to admit those tendencies or not, and then to throw some overboard, while telling people the terrifying prophecy of others. Like a Jeremiah. Whether other people like to hear it or not.

Spotlight on…Scientists

Nikola Tesla, by W. Bernard Carlson

Nikola Tesla
by W. Bernard Carlson

Genius is no guarantee of public recognition. In this post we look at the changing fortunes and reputations of three very different scientists: Alan Turing, Nikola Tesla, and Albert Einstein.

With the success of the recent movie, the Imitation Game (based on Andrew Hodges’ acclaimed biography Alan Turing: The Enigma), it’s easy to forget that for decades after his death, Turing’s name was known only to computer scientists. His conviction for homosexual activity in 1950s Britain, his presumed suicide in 1954, and the veil of secrecy drawn over his code-breaking work at Bletchley Park during the Second World War combined to obscure his importance as one of the founders of computer science and artificial intelligence. The gradual change in public attitudes towards homosexuality and the increasing centrality of computers to our daily lives have done much to restore his reputation posthumously. Turing received an official apology in 2009, followed by a royal pardon in 2013.

Despite enjoying celebrity in his own lifetime, Nikola Tesla’s reputation declined rapidly after his death, until he became regarded as an eccentric figure on the fringes of science. His legendary showmanship and the outlandish claims he made late in life of inventing high-tech weaponry have made it easy for critics to dismiss him as little more than a charlatan. Yet he was one of the pioneers of electricity, working first with Edison, then Westinghouse to develop the technology that established electrification in America. W. Bernard Carlson’s Nikola Tesla tells the story of a life that seems drawn from the pages of a novel by Jules Verne or H. G. Wells, of legal battles with Marconi over the development of radio, of fortunes sunk into the construction of grandiose laboratories for high voltage experiments.

By contrast, the reputation of Albert Einstein seems only to have grown in the century since the publication of his General Theory of Relativity. He is perhaps the only scientist to have achieved iconic status in the public mind, his face recognized as the face of genius. Children know the equation e=mc2 even though most adults would struggle to explain its implications. From the publication of the four 1905 papers onwards, Einstein’s place in scientific history has been secure, and his work remains the cornerstone of modern understanding of the nature of the universe. We are proud to announce the publication of a special 100th anniversary edition of Relativity: The Special and the General Theory, and the recent global launch of our open access online archive from the Collected Papers of Albert Einstein, the Digital Einstein Papers.

Q&A with Ian Morris, author of Foragers, Farmers, and Fossil Fuels: How Human Values Evolve

Princeton University Press recently had the opportunity to talk with Ian Morris about his new book, Foragers, Farmers, and Fossil Fuels: How Human Values Evolve.

Foragers, Farmers, and Fossil Fuels

In your book you look at the evolution of human values over tens of thousands of years. Can you briefly say why and how values change? Isn’t morality universal and unchanging?

The answer to the last part of this question is easy: yes and no. I say yes because in one sense, morality certainly is universal and unchanging. Our human values are the outcome of millions of years of evolution. Animals that were born with genes that predisposed them to value fairness, love, honor, decency, and a host of related virtues tended to flourish, while animals that did not value fairness, etc., tended not to flourish. As a result, a disposition toward these prosocial attitudes spread through the gene pool, and almost all humans share these same core values. The reason I also say no, though, is because the ways people have interpreted fairness, etc., have varied wildly through time. Few historians dispute this; but fewer still have seen that what causes values to change is not the deep thoughts of philosophers but the most basic force of all–energy. As humanity has moved from foraging through farming to fossil-fuel use, we have found that different levels of energy capture call for different kinds of social organization, and that these different kinds of organization favor very different interpretations of human values. To foragers, fairness often means that everyone should receive equal shares of food, respect, and other good things, but to people in farming society, fairness often means that people should receive very different shares, because they are felt to deserve different shares. Men deserve more than women, the rich deserve more than the poor, the free deserve more than the enslaved, and so on through too many categories to count. Foragers and farmers feel the ways they do not because the former are all saints and the latter all sinners, but because it would be almost impossible to run a foraging society like a feudal monarchy and almost impossible to run a farming society as a band of equals. Foragers who lean toward equality and farmers who lean toward hierarchy itend to outperform and replace foragers and farmers who do not. In our own age of fossil fuels, values have continued to mutate. We tend to believe that fairness means that everyone should receive somewhat equal–but not too equal–shares of food, respect, and other good things. Anthropologists who spend time in foraging or farming societies often feel as if they have stepped into alien worlds, where values are upside-down; and people from most periods in the past would have felt exactly the same way about us.

In our current Fossil Fuel age of values, you argue that violence and inequality have diminished greatly from past periods. That seems very counter-intuitive. Can you elaborate?

A lot of people today are nostalgic for a simpler, vanished, preindustrial world, and there are ways in which they are right to be so; but not if they value peace, prosperity, or (on the whole) equality. Across the last fifty years, social scientists have accumulated data that allow us to measure wealth, inequality, and rates of violence in the past. The results are surprising–so much so that they can seem, as you suggest, counterintuitive. Foraging societies tended to be quite equal in wealth, if only because almost everyone was desperately poor (by one calculation, the average income was the equivalent of about $1.10 per day). They also tended to be very violent (by many calculations, more than 10 percent of foragers died violently). Farming societies tended to be less violent than foraging societies (5 percent rates of violent death were probably not uncommon) and not quite so poor (average incomes above $2.00 per day were common); but they were also massively unequal, regularly having tiny elites that owned thousands of times more than the ordinary peasant Fossil fuel societies, by contrast, are the safest and richest the world has ever seen, and are also more equal than all but the simplest foraging groups. Globally, the average person earns $25 per day and stands a 0.7 percent chance of dying violently, and in some countries progressive taxation has pushed income inequality down close to levels not seen since the simplest foraging societies (even if it is now again on the rise). In every era before AD 1800, life expectancy at birth averaged less than 25 years; now it is 63 years. Despite all the things we might not like about our own age, it would have seemed like a magical kingdom to people in the past.

What are some of the ways our values might change as we move away from a reliance on fossil fuels?

No one knows what the future will bring, but there are plenty of signs that we are rapidly moving beyond fossil fuels. I argue in this book that changes in the amount of energy humans harvest from the world pushes them into new kinds of organizations which in turn favor different interpretations of core human values; if this is right, we might expect the 21st century to see the biggest and profoundest transformation in values in history. The industrial revolution released a flood of energy in the 19th and 20th centuries, which favored societies that evolved toward democracy, rule of law, peace, freedom, and gender equality; the big question is whether the 21st century will see these trends going even further, or whether it will see them going into reverse. The answer, I suggest, is that it all depends. There are signs that in the short term–roughly the next generation–we will see increasing inequality and increasing acceptance that such inequality is right, along with increasing instability and violence. In the medium term–the next two or three generations–we may see the values of the fossil-fuel age go into overdrive; but in the longer term–say the next century or so–the transformations may become so massive that it no longer makes much sense to speak of human values at all, because what it means to be a human being might change more in the next 100 years than it has done in the previous 100,000.


bookjacket Foragers, Farmers, and Fossil Fuels:
How Human Values Evolve

Updated edition
Ian Morris

 

Spotlight on…Ancient Times

The Poison King, by Adrienne Mayor

The Poison King
by Adrienne Mayor

The ancient world presents formidable challenges for any biographer. In contrast to the wealth of documentation surrounding the careers of modern statesmen and thinkers, we often have only the most fragmentary information about their counterparts in the ancient world. The main sources are often writers who put pen to parchment decades or even centuries later. Our only knowledge of the words of Pericles come from three speeches recorded by Thucydides in his history of the Peloponnesian War, but Thucydides was working from memory, and it is often suggested that he sought to present Pericles’ oratory in a suitably heroic register rather than give a verbatim account. Despite the obstacles, an enduring fascination with ancient Greece and Rome has led many biographers to take up the challenge of putting a convincing picture together from the handful of pieces available.

Vincent Azoulay’s Pericles of Athens is a comprehensive reassessment of the life and influence of perhaps the greatest leader of the city-state that was the birthplace of democracy. Despite his success in steering the Athenians through two wars with Sparta, their rival for domination of the Greek world, even in his own time Pericles was a controversial figure. As leader of the Democratic faction in the Athenian assembly, Pericles pursued a policy of limiting the power of the elites and opening up public office to poorer sections of the citizenry. He has been accused of sowing the seed of the decline of Athenian democracy into populist demagogy and corruption, while others praise him for giving the state the broad base which allowed it to survive for another century after his death.

Aristotle. the leading philosopher of his age, left a substantial written legacy extending to nearly fifty volumes. Yet what survives is only a fraction of his work (perhaps as much as a third) and may largely derive from the notes of Aristotle’s students on his lectures. In Aristotle: His Life and School, Carlo Natali weighs up the often contradictory sources to give an account of a remarkable life that took Aristotle from his studies under Plato at the Academy to the court of Philip of Macedon where he was tutor to the young Alexander the Great.

Born in 120BC, two centuries after the death of Aristotle, Mithradates VI of Pontus was one of the most dangerous military opponents that the Roman Republic faced. In the course of three wars against Rome he expanded his Black Sea kingdom across modern Turkey to the Greek archipelago, before a Rome riven by faction and civil war ultimately defeated him through the brilliant generalship of Pompey. Adrienne Mayor’s gripping biography of Mithradates, The Poison King, takes its name from a practice that has become legendary. Having attained the throne of Pontus on the murder of his father through poisoning, Mithradates later built an immunity by consuming small doses of every known poison, and survived his own attempted assassination because of it.

Pi Day Recipe: Apple Pie from Jim Henle’s The Proof and the Pudding

Tomorrow (March 14, 2015) is a very important Pi Day. This year’s local Princeton Pi Day Party and other global celebrations of Albert Einstein’s birthday look to be truly stellar, which is apt given this is arguably the closest we will get to 3.1415 in our lifetimes.

Leading up to the publication of the forthcoming The Proof and the Pudding: What Mathematicians, Cooks, and You Have in Common by Jim Henle, we’re celebrating the holiday with a recipe for a classic Apple Pie (an integral part of any Pi Day spread). Publicist Casey LaVela recreates and photographs the recipe below. Full text of the recipe follows. Happy Pi Day everyone!


Notes on Jim Henle’s Apple Pie recipe from Publicist Casey LaVela

The Proof and the Pudding includes several recipes for pies or tarts that would fit the bill for Pi Day, but the story behind Henle’s Apple Pie recipe is especially charming, the recipe itself is straightforward, and the results are delicious. At the author’s suggestion, I used a mixture of baking apples (and delightfully indulgent amounts of butter and sugar).

Crust:

All of the crust ingredients (flour, butter, salt) ready to go:

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After a few minutes of blending everything together with a pastry cutter, the crust begins to come together. A glorious marriage of flour and butter.

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Once the butter and flour were better incorporated, I dribbled in the ice water and then turned the whole wonderful mess out between two sheets of plastic wrap in preparation for folding. The crust will look like it won’t come together, but somehow it always does in the end. Magical.

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Now you need to roll out and fold over the dough a few times. This is an important step and makes for a light and flaky crust. (You use a similar process to make croissants or other viennoiserie from scratch.)

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I cut the crust into two (for the top crust and bottom crust) using my handy bench scraper:

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Apples:

The apples cored, peeled, and ready to be cut into slices. I broke out my mandolin slicer (not pictured) to make more even slices, but if you don’t own a slicer or prefer to practice your knife skills you can just as easily use your favorite sharp knife.

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Beautiful (even) apple slices:

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Action shot of me mixing the apple slices, sugar, and cinnamon together. I prefer to prepare my apple pie filling in a bowl rather than sprinkling the dry ingredients over the apple slices once they have been arranged in the bottom crust. I’m not sure if it has much impact on the flavor and it is much, much messier, but I find it more fun.

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Assembly:

The bottom crust in the pie plate:

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Arrange the apple slices in the bottom crust:

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Top with the second crust, seal the top crust to the bottom with your fingers, and (using your sharp knife) make incisions in the top crust to allow steam to escape:

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The apple pie before going into the oven (don’t forget to put a little extra sugar on top):

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The finished product:

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There was a little crust left over after cutting, so I shaped it into another pi symbol, covered it in cinnamon and sugar, and baked it until golden brown. I ate the baked pi symbol as soon as it had cooled (before thinking to take a picture), but it was delicious!

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Apple Pie

The story of why I started cooking is not inspiring. My motives weren’t pure. Indeed, they involved several important sins.

I really am a glutton. I love to eat. As a child, I ate well; my mother was a wonderful cook. But I always wanted more than I got, especially dessert. And of all desserts, it was apple pie I craved most. Not diner pies, not restaurant pies, and not bakery pies, but real, homemade apple pies.

When I was six, I had my first homemade apple pie. It was at my grandmother’s house. I don’t remember how it tasted, but I can still recall the gleam in my mother’s eye when she explained the secret of the pie. “I watched her make it. Before she put on the top crust, she dotted the whole thing with big pats of butter!”

Several times as I was growing up, my mother made apple pie. Each one was a gem. But they were too few—only three or four before I went off to college. They were amazing pies. The apples were tart and sweet. Fresh fall apples, so flavorful no cinnamon was needed. The crust was golden, light and crisp, dry when it first hit the tongue, then dissolving into butter.

I grew up. I got married. I started a family. All the while, I longed for that pie. Eventually I set out to make one.

Success came pretty quickly, and it’s not hard to see why. The fact is, despite apple pie’s storied place in American culture, most apple pies sold in this country are abysmal. A pie of fresh, tart apples and a crust homemade with butter or lard, no matter how badly it’s made, is guaranteed to surpass a commercial product.

That means that even if you’ve never made a pie before, you can’t go seriously wrong. The chief difficulty is the crust, but I’ve developed a reliable method. Except for this method, the recipe below is standard.

For the filling:
5 cooking apples (yielding about 5 cups of pieces)
1/4 to 1/3 cup sugar
2 Tb butter
1/2 to 1 tsp cinnamon
lemon juice, if necessary
1 tsp flour, maybe

For the crust:
2 cups flour
1 tsp salt
2/3 cup lard or unsalted butter (1 1/3 sticks)
water

The crust is crucial. I’ll discuss its preparation last. Assume for now that you’ve rolled out the bottom crust and placed it in the pie pan.

Core, peel, and slice the apples. Place them in the crust. Sprinkle with sugar and cinnamon. Dot with butter. Roll out the top crust and place it on top. Seal the edge however you like. In about six places, jab a knife into the crust and twist to leave a hole for steam to escape. Sprinkle the crust with the teaspoon of sugar.

Bake in a preheated oven for 15 minutes at 450° and then another 35 minutes at 350°. Allow to cool. Serve, if you like, with vanilla ice cream or a good aged cheddar.

Now, the crust:

Mix the flour and salt in a large bowl. Place the lard or butter or lard/butter in the bowl. Cut it in with a pastry cutter.

Next, the water. Turn the cold water on in the kitchen sink so that it dribbles out in a tiny trickle. Hold the bowl with the flour mixture in one hand and a knife in the other. Let the water dribble into the bowl while you stir with the knife. The object is to add just enough water so that the dough is transformed into small dusty lumps. Don’t be vigorous with the knife, but don’t allow the water to pool. If the water is dribbling too fast, take the bowl away from the faucet from time to time. When you’re done, the dough will still look pretty dry.

Recipes usually call for about 5 tablespoons of water. This method probably uses about that much.

Actually, the dough will look so dry that you’ll think it won’t stick together when it’s rolled out. In fact, it probably won’t stick together, but trust me. This is going to work.

Tear off a sheet of plastic wrap and lay it on the counter. Place a bit more than half the dough on the sheet and cover it with a second sheet of plastic.

With a rolling pin, roll the dough out between the two sheets. Roll it roughly in the shape of a rectangle.

It won’t look great and it probably would fall apart if you picked it up.

Don’t pick it up. Remove the top sheet of plastic wrap and fold the bottom third up, and fold the top third down, then do the same horizontally, right and left.

Now replace the top sheet of plastic wrap and roll the dough out gently into a disk.

This time it should look pretty decent. This time the dough will stick together.

You should be able to remove the top sheet of plastic and, using the bottom sheet, turn it over into the pie pan. The crust should settle in nicely without breaking.

Form the top crust the same way.

This method rolls each crust twice—usually not a good idea because working the dough makes it tough. But remarkably, crusts produced this way are tender and light. I’m not sure why but I suspect it’s because the dough is fairly dry.

Notes:
• Cooking apples are tart apples. The best I know is the Rhode Island Greening, but they’re hard to find. Baldwins and Jonathans are decent, but they’re hard to find too. The British Bramleys are terrific. I’ve made good pies from the French Calville Blanc d’Hiver. But we’re not living in good apple times. Most stores don’t sell apples for cooking. When in doubt, use a mixture.
• The lemon juice and the larger quantity of cinnamon are for when you have tired apples with no oomph. The cheese also serves this purpose. It should be a respectable old cheddar and it should be at room temperature.
• Consumption of too many commercial pies makes me loath to add flour or cornstarch to pie filling. The flour is here in case you fear your apples will be too juicy. I don’t mind juice in a pie, in moderation. If adding flour, mix the apples, sugar, cinnamon, and flour in a bowl before pouring into the crust.
• Lard is best. Its melting point is higher than butter’s. It successfully separates the flour into layers for a light, crispy crust. Butter is more likely to saturate the flour and produce a heavy crust. Some like half butter/half lard, preferring butter for its flavor. But the flavor of lard is nice too, and its porkiness is wonderful with apple.


This recipe is taken from:

Henle_TheProof_S15

The Proof and the Pudding

What Mathematicians, Cooks, and You Have in Common

Jim Henle

“If you’re a fan of Julia Child or Martin Gardner—who respectively proved that anyone can have fun preparing fancy food and doing real mathematics—you’ll enjoy this playful yet passionate romp from Jim Henle. It’s stuffed with tasty treats and ingenious ideas for further explorations, both in the kitchen and with pencil and paper, and draws many thought-providing parallels between two fields not often considered in the same mouthful.”—Colm Mulcahy, author of Mathematical Card Magic: Fifty-Two New Effects

Spotlight on…Mathematicians

John Napier, by Julian Havil

John Napier
by Julian Havil

Mathematics has long been a specialty of the Press, and mathematicians have been the subjects of many of our biographies. Julian Havil’s John Napier: Life, Logarithms and Legacy describes the life and thought of the inventor of logarithms. Napier’s work on logarithms, first published in 1614, established the efficient method of calculation that remained in widespread use until the development of computers over three hundred years later. Napier lived in an age when the boundaries between mathematics, science, religion and the occult were less clearly drawn: he attempted to predict the Apocalypse on the basis of the Book of Revelations and the Sibylline oracles, and was even alleged to be an alchemist and a necromancer.

A century later Leonhard Euler continued development of logarithms, but for Euler this was only one among dozens of mathematical innovations over the course of a brilliant and prolific career. Ronald Calinger’s Leonhard Euler: Mathematical Genius in the Enlightenment is the first full-scale biography of one of the great figures in mathematics. His tireless devotion to his work while at the court of Frederick the Great earned him the mockery of Voltaire, but his collected writings on topics ranging from calculus, number theory, and geometry to astronomy and optics are an extraordinary treasure trove of ideas. Despite near total blindness in the last two decades of his life, Euler’s prodigious memory and skill at mental calculation allowed him to continue working to his death, dictating to a team of scribes. He remains the only mathematician to have given his name to two numbers: the transcendental number (and base of natural logarithms) e, known as Euler’s number, and the Euler-Mascheroni constant.

Theoretical ability doesn’t always translate into practical applications, and Frederick the Great was unimpressed with Euler as an engineer. By contrast, Henri Poincaré worked in the French Corps des Mines throughout his life, eventually attaining the rank of Inspector General, while continuing to pursue his work in multiple fields in mathematics, physics and philosophy. Jeremy Gray’s Henri Poincaré: A Scientific Biography analyzes the lasting influence of a man that some argue was the true discoverer of relativity. Poincaré did not shy away from involvement in public affairs, acting as an expert witness to counter spurious claims by the prosecution in the Dreyfus trials that convulsed France.

Unusually for brilliant theoreticians, Euler and Poincaré also wrote for a popular audience – Letters of Euler on Different Subjects in Natural Philosophy Addressed to a German Princess was a bestseller in its time. In Undiluted Hocus-Pocus one of the great popularizers of our time, Martin Gardner, writes with characteristic wit about his own life. Gardner’s column in Scientific American, Mathematical Games, ran for 25 years – Cambridge University Press are currently working on a new edition of the fifteen volumes of the collected columns. No stranger to controversy, Gardner devoted much energy to combating pseudo-science, but is perhaps best known for the Annotated Alice, in which he explained in detail the mathematical trickery and literary wordplay of Lewis Carroll’s classic Alice books.

Anthony Carelli – Carnations: Poems, Winner of a 2015 Whiting Award

Anthony Carelli, author of Carnations: Poems, is a winner of a 2015 Whiting Award. “Since 1985, the Whiting Foundation has supported creative writing through the Whiting Awards, which remain one of the most prestigious and largest monetary gifts to writers (each winner receives $50,000), and are based on early accomplishment and the promise of great work to come.”

Comments from the Whiting Award judges: “These are poems that manage to strike a balance between the expansive impulse and meticulous precision, between the meditative mode and ecstatic proclamation. And in straddling those divides, they enact, in line after line, small miracles.”

To learn more about the awards click, here.

Congratulations to Anthony Carelli!


 

bookjacket

Carnations:
Poems
Anthony Carelli