The Dartmouth Mirror 04/06/16

MIR ROR 4.6.2016

SAM'S LITTLE LARKS p. 3

PHOTO ESSAY: TIME AND CHANGE p. 4-5

TTLG: SELFIDENTIFICATION p. 6

PHILOSOPHY OF TIME p. 8 NORA MASLER/THE DARTMOUTH

2// MIRROR

Joe Kind: A Guy

Editors’ Note

Happy Wednesday, Mirror readers. We hope you are handling the abrupt change in weather better than your Mirror editors are. “It will stop snowing eventually, right?” Hayley asks Caroline in a defeated voice, thinking longingly of sunny days in Hanover.

This week, in an unintentionally ironic twist of fate, Caroline and Hayley decided to theme the Mirror around the very thing that this snowy weather seems to defy: time. The idea was inspired

by Caroline — who turned 20 this past Sunday — bemoaning the inevitability of aging as she sat on the Robo couch next to Hayley (who, for her part, had had enough of Caroline’s tangential musings).

“I’m getting so OLD!” Caroline cried, carefully inspecting her face for wrinkles using the frontfacing camera on her phone (because, ironically, Robo lacks actual mirrors) as Hayley rolled her eyes beside her. Caroline soon realized that she had distinct laugh lines around the corners of her mouth, causing her to gasp in panic and interrogate poor Hayley as to whether or not she saw them too. “It just means you laugh a lot!” Hayley unsuccessfully reassured her, as the taller coeditor subsequently began researching retirement plans.

Luckily, the Mirror writers maintained a much higher degree of sanity this week than their editors and explored their own conceptions of time.

Enjoy the issue and stay warm!

Best,

follow @thedmirror

04.06.16 VOL. CLXXIII NO. 54 MIRROR EDITORS HAYLEY HOVERTER & CAROLINE BERENS EDITOR-IN-CHIEF REBECCA ASOULIN PUBLISHER RACHEL DECHIARA EXECUTIVE EDITORS MAYA PODDAR

COLUMN

By Joe Kind

This first week of the spring term featured discussions of spring break activities in all their predictable forms. Across campus, sun-kissed faces exchange tales of adventures and extravagances. What was less discussed though, were the moments in between: the tranquilities and the comforts of rest, at home or elsewhere.

People ask me how my break was, and I tell them it was nice. I didn’t do much, I say simply, but I enjoyed myself nonetheless. I travelled a bit, but some of my favorite moments of the break resulted from my staycation. Yes, my “staycation” in Hanover.

This was the first break of my Dartmouth career that I was away from home.

Not because I did not want to be with my family and friends, but because I actually preferred the alternatives available to me on campus.

Why would I choose to stay in Hanover for what may be my last spring break? I can only say that warm weather was only part of my reasoning.

Why would I sacrifice my last chance to visit home before my graduation? My post-graduation plans are still up in the air, after all. Thus, the choice to go home really depended on what I wanted to do for my break. And what I wanted to do this break happened to be on campus.

I would form my days around my job and my nights around my job search. Any progress towards defogging my postgraduation plans would be a worthwhile spring break for me. Pepper in some nearby excursions and lots of Netflix, and I suddenly had myself a break that I truly looked forward to. Of course, I didn’t always fully enforce time for job hunting, but such is spring break. I can say that I made

’18 on the free Yerba drinks outside of the Hop: “That’s the problem with vague words when wielded by hippies... This is some bullshit in a bottle.”

progress towards my next chapter.

I also met hundreds of fiddly high school juniors and their families over my spring break. I have led several admissions tours since my freshman spring, but never during the classic “college trip” season in my job as a tour guide. Because of the time of year and the lack of available guides over interim, I had groups of 30 to 40 families on any given hour-long tour.

In our mild winter weather, gloved hands held notepads and cell phones, and bags were filled to the brim with pamphlets and anxieties. I was filmed as I was talking and walking backwards. I was asked all kinds of questions, including what it was like to be openly gay at Dartmouth — which I am not. That question made me shift my feet on the Robo lawn. I was asked about the kinds of test scores needed to get in to Dartmouth, including my own. That question, though, I have gotten before.

I was asked about my plans upon graduation more than once, both in front of the entire tour group and in one-on-one conversations after the conclusion of my tours.

At the end of one particularly successful tour, one parent towards the back of the group came up to me with his business card and then walked away. The other parents and students smiled as I stood incredulously, absorbing what had happened before answering personal questions.

I did manage to escape Hanover twice in my 10 days of break. The first time I visited my close family friend at Boston University, coincidentally for the city’s Saint Patrick’s Day parade. The second time I visited friends at Duke University and Elon University, both in North Carolina. Three new sets of college tours at schools I had

’19 to T.J. Maxx employee: “Do you have a crop top section?”

’17 girl: “My dad lurks on my LinkedIn page, and it makes me really creeped out.”

never visited. Lots of good and wholesome hanging out in stimulating environments.

“Maybe it’s just the weather, but the start of spring term leaves me feeling particularly refreshed,” I wrote in an early draft of this column. That was, of course, before it SNOWED two days ago. Starting the second week of spring — the first full week of April, better yet — with plummeting temperatures is less than ideal, as I think most would agree. But, unlike the previous terms of this year, the weather has yet to impact my present well-being. Most likely because it is still week two of the term, and the workloads are still relatively light.

No matter the weather, this final term obviously brings a lot of lasts. My friend and I joked about all the sentimental social media posts at the start of the first week.

“Last first goodbye,” I captioned one of my first snapchats of the term, sent to my friend when we parted ways for our rooms.

My optimistic self, however, chooses instead to focus on all of the firsts. I have not taken classes on campus during a spring term since my first year here. So much since has changed. What I know now about myself and my school is incomparable to what I thought I had figured out that first spring term, when the weather then was slushy and unfortunate through most of April, not just the month’s first full week. My comments on the weather are beginning to exhaust me, but I cannot help but employ one last comparison — this term is bound to be as unpredictable as the clouds, in all ways possible. I truly have no idea what to really expect. Hopefully, by the end of the term, my sun-kissed face will tell all kinds of adventurous and extravagant tales.

Person at the gym when asked how long he would be using the leg press machine: “Not sure. I just do this until I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

Pe r s o n l e a d i n g i n fo s e s s i o n : “My high school mascot was actually Satan.”

MIRROR //3

Sam’s Little Larks

TRENDING @ Dartmouth

LAYERING

COLUMN

How are you to brave lightspeed winds and SNOW IN APRIL with only the jean jacket you brought back from spring break? #regret

By Sam Van Wetter

BEEN SAM and BEEN DIFFERENT are talking at the Collis front desk. A tour of eager high schoolers has just exited.

BEEN SAM: It just trips me out how things can change here and then within, like, three years there are hardly any students around who remember how it used to be.

BEEN DIFFERENT: Like what, before they let women in?

SAM: Yeah, obviously, but other things, too. Smaller things. Like new buildings. Being the last one to walk in the Hood before they tear it up. Remembering, like a dream, an entire term when the Collis Café occupied 101, that weird conference room in the corner of the first floor? That was when mozz sticks and chicken fingers were serve-yourself. People were so careless and would spill so much marinara on the carpet that they started laying garbage bags out on the floor before late night opened.

DIFFERENT: I don’t remember that.

SAM: Yes you do. Freshman winter, Common Ground was — DIFFERENT: No, I just don’t think they put plastic down.

SAM: They definitely did.

DIFFERENT: Maybe it’s just that they should have done that.

SAM: I’m pretty sure they did.

DIFFERENT: Who knows.

SAM: Right? That’s the point.

Who knows? Administrators, probably. Long-time staff. Like, Collis Dave told me you used to be able to use DBA in town, and it’s true! In the ’90s they had this thing, the Dartmouth Green Card that was like a debit card you could use at a bunch of places in town. It was like DA$H but you could buy beer at Stinson’s with it. You could withdraw cash with it! You could go to Bagel Basement! Remember Bagel Basement!

It hardly functioned, ran out of bagels by 9 a.m. on a Sunday but at least it was trying to give us

something we needed! Not just another Thai restaurant! Oh, ’20s are never gonna know how good it was when — DIFFERENT: Okay, we don’t need that.

SAM: I’m just saying that things used to be different!

DIFFERENT: And it used to be a colonizing institution! And it used to — still does — promote and perpetuate racist, sexist, homophobic and classist traditions! But things are getting better! We’re making progress!

(In a whiny voice, to sound like SAM but worse.)

“But we used to drink hard alcohol!” Yeah, and students have died from alcohol abuse. We’re trying to get better. And we lose some DA$H-to-cash system? So what.

People don’t remember. So quit bemoaning.

SAM: I know. I used to hate it when crusty ’13s would try to tell me all about how much better Old Foco was.

CRUSTY ’13 #1: Home Plate was the bomb.

CRUSTY ’13 #2: And the Blend? The smoothie bar?

CRUSTY ’13 #3: The smoothie and cereal bar?

CRUSTY ’13 #2: And the runway. Remember the runway?

SAM: No… CRUSTY ’13 #2: Oh right, of course you don’t. The whole entrance way was like — CRUSTY ’13 #1: — was like a runway! So, like, when people would walk in and they’d be — CRUSTY ’13 #3: — they’d be drunk, right, and everyone eating — CRUSTY ’13 #1: — literally everyone eating — CRUSTY ’13 #3: — would be able to see the drunkest, sloppiest, runway show of all these people trying to get food.

(A pause. It’s less funny out loud

than they thought.)

CRUSTY ’13 #2: You probably had to be there.

SAM: I guess so...

CRUSTY ’13 #1: Foco used to be awesome.

DIFFERENT: Yeah, but it didn’t have Marilyn.

CRUSTY ’13 #1: Marilyn?

DIFFERENT: Ever notice that plaque on the south wall of the dark side? It says it’s the future home to some Warhol lithographs of Marilyn Monroe. Apparently some alum, class of ’53 you see, he had them all his life and he died and so now it’s Dartmouth’s turn. They might take a little while to get installed. I imagine they probably will want to put some plexiglass or something over it, I know people love to make off with DDS’s art and so I hope they think a little harder about how they attach these but like, I don’t know, maybe you don’t want priceless original work out open in the air where, like, people eat soup, but yeah. Marilyn. Warhol! In Foco!

That’s something the ’20s have on you.

SAM: That is so rude. I’ve read that sign since freshman year and just assumed it was a long-con from the administration.

DIFFERENT: Still miss old Collis?

SAM: No. Of course not. It’s hard to miss things when they keep getting better. But there will be people, characters, individuals who I wish could stay on forever in Hanover. The staples. The people you see everyday, or only once or twice a term, who you’ll think you might keep on seeing forever. Or at least until you graduate. People you don’t think you’ll miss and then you can’t help but do.

(COLLIS SAM walking up to the desk.)

COLLIS SAM: Hi, Sam, how are you?

SAM: I’m fine. How are you?

COLLIS SAM: Can I borrow the phone, Sam? SAM: You got it.

(SAM maneuvers cords and puts the phone on the counter. COLLIS SAM begins a conversation about a car ride to Quechee.)

COLLIS SAM: Darling, and did you call Wells Fargo? What did they have to say about my portfolio?

DIFFERENT: Who’s that?

SAM: Collis Sam. DIFFERENT: I thought you were Collis Sam. SAM: We both are. Or maybe not. He can have it.

He was here first.

DIFFERENT: Who is he?

SAM: One of our eccentrics. He worked in the library in the ’50s or ’60s, I think. He was paid ¢10 an hour, or that’s what he tells people. We have the same conversation over and over.

His mother was a Kappa and his father was an SAE. He tells everyone he’s 102.

DIFFERENT: Is it true?

SAM: I don’t know. I don’t care. He loves Collis and Collis loves him.

(COLLIS SAM hangs up.

SAM pulls the phone back.)

COLLIS SAM: Thank you, Sam. Where are you from?

SAM: I’m from Denver, Colorado.

COLLIS SAM: Ah, Denver! I’ve been to the Brown Palace Hotel in Estes Park.

My mother was a Kappa.

Thanks for the phone.

SAM: Have a nice day, Sam. See you soon?

COLLIS SAM: I hope so.

SAM: I hope so too.

In memory of Sam Tefft, 1940-2016.

FRAT PETS

Gamma Delta Chi shows off its new puppy Bear.

Phi Delta Alpha welcomes the return of its house pig Winston. Whether or not Winston will be sacrificed at Pigstick remains to be seen.

Admittance

The Class of 2020 has the rest of us thinking about Social Security and Life Alert (Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!).

ADD/DROP

When Orgo tries to get at ya, drop it likes it’s hot, drop it like it’s hot, drop it like it’s hot.

4// MIRROR

Perspectives on Dartmouth: A jour

All things change with time, including ca how locales can change with the seasons

MIRROR //5

rney through time and campus

ampus. The Mirror explores in this photo essay s — or simply some snowfall.

PHOTO ESSAY

By Patrick Iradukunda

6// MIRROR

Through the Looking Glass: Self-Identification Sorority president Aniksha Balamurugan reflects on her relationship with the Greek system TTLG

By Aniksha Balamurugan

As an Indian-American woman with times I touch my hair and whether I’ll immigrant parents, I was both shocked have any nail left to gnaw on before class and yet not at all surprised to have found ends. The point is, I hated standing out. I greater diversity at Dartmouth. Granted, yearned to fit in, and more so to blend in. the Long Island I saw college town from which as a fresh start, a “The fall of 2013 was an I hail served as a chance to figure exciting term for me; I was skewed baseline myself out but also and left me deeply learn from my high ready to finally feel like I had confused about school experience an identity I could sink my my identity (or as and fit in from the teeth into. I was ready for my my grandmother get go. I actively likes to call me an tried to fit in from house to fill a void. But it ABCD — Amerithe beginning, never did. The feeling never can Born Conand went along fused Desi). I ate with the strange came. Sophomore fall, my idly and samculture that sophomore spring (after I was cultish bar out of tupperour campus both abroad in the winter), even ware amongst the scorns and adores PB&Js, and I could sophomore summer — all at once. I realnever really emized that particinothing.” pathize with girls pating in traditions in the summer was a means to an complaining about end for me to find their peeling sunthings in common burns. Physically with my peers, to and culturally, I become a regular stood out. The problem was, I never had Dartmouth student. One of these “tradia penchant for the limelight. I still don’t. I tions,” whether we like to think of it as one don’t sit in the back of class because I hate or not, was rush. I longed to shed my freshengaging in the classroom: I do it because man status simply to drape myself in one of sitting in the front makes me feel as though those velvety Greek letter crewnecks. After all my classmates are watching my every all, what better way to fit in than to be one move — what I write down, how many of the 60 percent of the student population

COURTESY OF ANIKSHA BALAMURUGAN

Aniksha Balamurugan ’16 is the president of Alpha Xi Delta sorority.

that is affiliated, right? ately wanted to shed it. The Greek system Rush came and went, and I found mymade me want to be different, to break self lucky to have had a positive experience. out of this lumped identity to which we’re I hadn’t ended up with my first choice, but all susceptible. I began to understand that I was among a class of women whom I being affiliated could never fill a void that would come to admire and love, who would was meant to be filled by a multitude of challenge me in all the best ways. The fall identities. of 2013 was an exciting term for me; I was When I had struggled with possibly leavready to finally feel like I had an identity I ing my house, I looked to other outlets to could sink my teeth into. I was ready for my keep me happy; I spent time with my dance house to fill a void. group, cooked dinners off campus with But it never did. The feeling never friends, immersed myself in new activities came. Sophomore fall, sophomore spring and rekindled old ones. I was reminded (after I was abroad in the winter), even of all the other aspects of my life that are sophomore summer — nothing. I lived important to me, that are key components off campus over my sophomore summer of who I am. Once I became president, and could see the house from my bedroom ironically, it became even easier to identify window, but I had never felt emotionally with those parts of myself; I had already farther from the sisterhood in my time at done the deed and brought myself out into Dartmouth than I did during 14X. The the open in my eyes. I became prouder of most frustrating aspect of the situation who I was, and as my sisters continued to was that I had no concrete reason to be so accept me for me, in turn I truly learned to upset — the women in my house were a love me for myself. wonderful support system. I had my own This positive feedback loop has brought social space, it wasn’t distracting me from me here in this moment, working daily to my academics lest I made poor decisions of become a better version of the person I my own accord, and I was getting exposure now see myself becoming. I am no longer to nooks and crannies of campus I never confused, and if anything I am so grateful would have otherwise. to be a conglomeration of so many wonderMy junior fall, I was seriously considerful, diverse experiences. I now sit in the ing depledging. I hadn’t reached clarity kitchen, feeling perfectly content, eating in understanding why I was so upset; all out of the tupperware that my mother has I knew was that I wanted the sadness and brought up because I miss her food. I don’t frustration to stop. My friends, both affilifeel embarrassed; I don’t feel the need to ated and not, were all extremely supportive; blend in. I also don’t feel like I’m being after all, the Greek system may be more thrown into a limelight, as I’ve come to uncasual here than it is elsewhere, but it’s still derstand everyone stands out in his or her not for everyone. And honestly, I was ready own way — everyone has a story to share. to accept that.

I am happy to contribute to the diversity at I wish I could articulate here how I Dartmouth because without it, this cultural went from being so close to depledging to exchange that has richened my life would applying to be president, but I can’t. I can’t come to a halt. In a strange sense that I’m remember what I was feeling in those coustill not sure I’m articulating clearly, being ple of weeks during which I did a complete given the chance to blend in and forget 180, how my brain jumped from one pole where I came from made me realize what I to the opposite one. It’s pretty clear that no truly desired was the exact opposite. logic was involved, and when I asked my This isn’t meant to be an opinion on friend if maybe she could explain why I did whether the Greek system is good or bad, this to myself, she said something along the because I honestly don’t know what my lines of, “Sometimes when you’re handed opinion on that issue is. This also isn’t to an opportunity to fix your sadness, you take say that being affiliated is the only way to it.” I realized she was achieve personal growth. right, and I realized then All I can say is person“The irony of becoming ally, if it wasn’t for the and there that I really wanted this. And I was a Greek president was opportunity to rush, I’m lucky enough to get it. not sure I would have that by giving myself Still, there was a lot been propelled into this a master status of I didn’t anticipate. As a journey of personal Greek president, a lot growth. Regardless, resorts, I immediately of eyes are on you — flecting as a senior in her wanted to shed it. whether you like it or last term here, I think it not. I got introduced as is paramount to stand The Greek system “our president” during strong, tall and firm made me want to be rush, at tails and pretty in who we are and to different, to break out accept nothing short of much wherever. I struggled to sit in the front of of this lumped identity everything we are. How the room at Wednesday we get there, who we get to which we’re all meetings, to be in the there with and how long spotlight like that. it takes to get there are susceptible.”

However, what I all parts of a really messy came to realize was that but beautiful process that being president was a lead us to understanding turning point for me. The irony of becomwhat our better selves may look like. Until ing a Greek president was that by giving then, all we really can do is lend each other myself a master status of sorts, I immedia hand as we figure it all out together.

Time Capsule STORY

MIRROR

//7

By Mary Liza Hartong and Andrew Kingsley

Paul and Emily Brigham return to Dartmouth for their 50th reunion. They met their senior spring at a mutual friend’s “chill wine/16Soberwhat? party” and have been nagging each other ever since. After a few bottles of champagne at the reunion dinner and awkward conversation with former trippees and hook-ups and trippee hook-ups, the Class of 2016 walks to the BEMA to unearth their senior time capsule.

“I don’t even remember what I put in there!”

Emily admits.

“I think I put my fraternity shirt in there!”

Paul squeals.

“What’s a fraternity?” a volunteering freshman, Class of 2069, asks.

“Oh, how do I explain?” Paul wonders aloud.

“A beer cult!” a fellow ’16 cries.

“A sin den!” another shouts, beating a youth with a cross.

“They’re those haunted houses on campus, you know, the ones on Webster Avenue. Some say you can still hear the faint, repressed cries of disenfranchisement.”

“Quiet, they’re about to open it!” Emily shushes.

The class historian struggles to open the enormous metal vault. The smell of rotten Collis pasta oozes from the vessel. The beergutted ’16 pulls out the first item. A gasp ripples through the crowd.

“It can’t be!”

“My eyes! My leg!”

The historian extends a lanyard before the

horrified crowd. The ’16s, all retired bankers and consultants, flashback to their freshman selves, when the world was pure and full of promise. As the lanyard dangles, dancing in the soft breeze like a jubilant spirit, Paul remembers writing poetry on the green, “An Ode to the Foco Cookie,” before an economics professor ripped up his poem and handed him a spreadsheet. “There’s poetry in portfolios,” the professor had growled. The young Paul couldn’t resist the notion. Only later did Paul realize there is absolutely no poetry in portfolios. The moans and cries of the elderly bankers shake Paul out of the painful reverie.

“Where did we go wrong?” a ’16 laments.

“Every month is the cruelest month!” another cries.

As the bankers mourn the death of their spirits, the class historian reaches blindly into the capsule and pulls out the next object, hoping to rejuvenate the reunion.

“What is that?”

“The horror!”

“Get it out of here. You know that’s punishable by death.”

The class historian drops the Canada Goose jacket in terror. SNS—(NESFHBBFWHNJ) Safety and Security (and Emotional Security Free Hugs Bring Back the Frats We Have No Job) quickly lights it on fire. After the rise of the white supremacists who embraced the jacket as their symbol in 2017, the country outlawed their production and exterminated all wearers.

“I remember wearing one of those junior winter!” Emily admits.

“Shhhhhh, don’t say that aloud. Emily, just look at your skin. What did you expect?” Paul points out.

Emily, dejected, ashamed of her pallor, nods in agreement.

The shaken historian returns to the capsule and pulls out another item. The audience once again gasps in abject horror at what they see.

“Stop this madness!” an aged ’16 cries.

“I ca—” another ’16 blurts, before heart attack takes her.

The SNS-(NESFHBBFWHNJ) officers return, dousing a South House t-shirt in carbonic acid.

“That was the beginning of the end!”

“So many casualties. So many young lives lost.”

Who could have known that after all the money Dartmouth spent on the new housing system, they would spend so little on those violently flammable shirts. Yes, ‘twas just after the 18X Water Balloon War between the houses, when the sophomores hung their shirts on the radiators to dry. Within seconds, all of campus was ablaze. Those who survived took one solemn, ceremonious lap around the conflagration. The hill winds were filled with smoke and wasted bureaucracy that day.

“There’s just one more item,” the bereaved historian declares.

“NO!” the browbeaten crowd protests.

“This one’s not so bad. It will make you remember why we called this place home in the first place. Remember, guys? Late Night Collis and the river and the Green and the BEMA

and stargazing? Your awkward first kiss when the world spun around your axis? Remember how you felt bursting out of your last class on a Friday afternoon? Remember who we used to be? Take a moment and remember.”

The ’16s, inspired by the rousing speech, begin singing the alma mater as their cherished memories flash before their eyes. They lean into their classmates, crying the sweet tears of nostalgia. Their leader raises the final object into view.

“It’s a copy of The Dartmouth Review!” the historian cheers.

“What in God’s name?” Emily shouts.

The SNS-(NESFHBBFWHNJ) officers fire their crossbows at the historian who, as it turns out, is a Canada Goose wearing, South House loving, Class of 2019 phony. The officers then promptly recycle Dartmouth’s favorite doormat, despite the fact that recycling stopped working years ago and they all live in a giant landfill.

8// MIRROR

Philosophy of Time and Time Travel SPOTLIGHT

By Abbey Cahill

LAYA INDUKURI/THE DARTMOUTH

Philosophy professor James Binkoski looks like he should be on a college brochure. He’s welldressed, his face is a little ruddy from the cold, and he sports a rugged New Hampshirite beard. He’s the kind of professor who looks like he would be against maintaining a Canvas page, but he’s not.

Binkoski teaches “Philosophy of Time and Time Travel,” which he taught for the first time last spring. It was so popular that this year the philosophy department decided to add a second section.

The class compares our everyday notion of time with the notion of time that we get from modern physics. It draws students from all areas of campus — everyone from engineers to film buffs, from computer science majors to creative writers.

“It’s a class that attracts a wide range of people,” Binkoski said.

I attended his 11 section of the class last Wednesday. The night before, the class had read an article by the idealist metaphysician J.M.E McTaggart, their job was to identify the author’s main claim.

A girl in the back of the class raised her hand. “Time is unreal,” she said.

“It’s a staggering claim,” Binkoski agreed. “Either it’s true, or it’s not. And our job is to figure it out.”

Binkoski knows that the topic of time is abstract and elusive, but he emphasized that it is crucial to focus on tangible work and rigorous analysis, as opposed to solely ruminating on the big what-if questions.

“It’s easy to just spout out quasi-mind blowing things, to say things like, ‘What if time is unreal?’ and then drop the microphone,” Binkoski said, laughing.

“In a class like this, we want to get beyond that as quickly as possible.”

Most of the students enrolled haven’t taken a philosophy class before, so Binkoski starts with the basics. I sat next to Moises Silva ’16 , an engineering major with a love for physics. The students were paired off to determine the validity of a few arguments. Silva read the first argument: Premise one: If the moon is made of cheese, then the moon is edible.

Premise two: The moon is made of cheese.

Conclusion: Therefore, the moon is edible.

It’s valid because if the two premises are true, the conclusion must be true. Binkoski agrees that in terms of logic, the argument is impeccable. But it’s obviously unsound, because the second premise is false.

Initially, a little bit of the magic faded away for me. Can we really discuss time and time travel in such a logical way? What about the delightful scariness of space, the vastness of time, the confusion of the unknown? How can we talk about it in such objective terms? Maybe I’d rather not unpack it in standard form, break it into premises and demystify it.

Maybe I just like being dramatic.

Or I’m simply uninformed.

I asked Binkoski, what’s the

point? The goal, he said, is to get at the truth. The physical world that we inhabit is structured in some way or the other, and the ultimate objective is to illuminate that structure, through physics and philosophy.

“So as a philosopher, if you want to study the fundamental structure of reality, then physics is the place to look,” Binkoski said. “And that, for me, is why the philosophy of physics is such an exciting area.”

Binkoski had never heard of the field until graduate school.

As an undergraduate at Boston College, Binkoski studied math.

But through the college’s four-year honors program, he gained a lot of exposure to philosophy. He still remembers reading Descartes as a sophomore and pausing over every single sentence.

“I didn’t want to read on until I understood how the sentence that I was reading followed from everything that had come before,” Binkoski recalled. “It was like working through a mathematical proof.”

When he went to graduate school, he started working in the philosophy of physics — and the rest is history.

The class represents the quintessential liberal arts experience. In lieu of a final paper, Binkoski gives students the option of doing a final project. I talked to David Bain ’17 , who went for the alternative option, choosing to build a computerized model of Minkowski spacetime.

Both Bain and Binkoski had to

explain to me what spacetime is, in the simplest terms possible.

In spacetime, I learned, time is “just another dimension.”

Spacetime is static, four-dimensional and continuous.

“In spacetime, you have the entire history of the world laid out in front of you; everything from the Big Bang to the final crunch,” Binkoski explained.

“Dinosaurs, iPhones, Martian outposts — they’re all located in spacetime, all equally real, all on an equal footing.”

This raises questions for both philosophers and physicists. Some of our best physics theories are spacetime theories, but the notion that the past, present and future are equally real is in tension with our everyday notion of time. It makes us question our sense of the passage of time and the seemingly absolute distinction between the past, present and future.

Megan Mishra ’17 was impressed by how the class made her question her own deep-seated beliefs about time. When the course began, she doubted that time travel was even remotely feasible. Yet she was surprised to find herself referencing experiments and doing calculations that showed time travel to the future was theoretically possible.

“The class taught me to question widely-accepted beliefs,” Mishra recalled. “Especially those related to time and time travel.”

Bain was interested in questioning traditional ideas

about movement and its relationship to time. Under the theory of relativity, he explained, relative speeds can affect time. So, if I see an object move very fast past me, time is faster for me and slower for the object. This phenomenon is called time dilation. So, if you somehow flew around the earth at the speed of light for a year, you’d come back and everyone you know would be older. Time moves slower when you move faster.

I found this interesting from a physics perspective, but also interesting from a philosophical perspective. If all motion in the universe is relative, how can you detect what is truly at rest and what is actually moving? It reminds me of that disconcerting feeling when you’re sitting in a bus or car and the vehicle next to you moves forward, making you feel like you’re moving backward.

Binkoski loves the class because he believes that there is an intrinsic human interest in time.

You can find references to time everywhere, in short stories, movies, poems or art.

“Time is so elemental and so central to our experience of the world,” Binkoski said.

But we often don’t bother to think about it, to ask those questions and to seek answers. The philosophy of time is a problemsolving class focused on reading, experimenting, calculating and arguing in a structured manner.

The class combines the everyday with the extraordinary, the fundamental with the cutting-edge — and therein lies the magic.