The enduring necessity of bullshit

Bullshit has become so immersed in our jargon that it is essential, if we are to acquire a greater understanding of its place at Princeton, to define what I consider to be bullshit. Bullshit is what we do when we try to talk about things we don't know. It is a misrepresentation of knowledge, a cheap imitation.

In his essay "On Bullshit," philosophy professor emeritus Harry Frankfurt considers why bullshit is so common. He explains that "Bullshit is unavoidable whenever circumstances require someone to talk without knowing what he is talking about." The circumstances that cultivate bullshit - students encountering concepts they fail to grasp combined with expectations of active participation - arise time and again during precepts.

While we should be honest about the things we don't understand and ask our peers and preceptors for help, our precepts are often too daunting for us to be forthright about our ignorance. It isn't easy for students to confess that they haven't finished required readings or that a certain concept that everyone else seems to grasp is in fact difficult for them. Ignorance and confusion are almost deemed too private, too shameful for the forum of precepts. So we approach our ignorance by nobly staying silent or pretentiously hiding beneath the guise of bullshit.

Bullshit may be an inferior substitute for substantiated opinions, but it is far from useless. By making effective use of our creative abilities, bullshitting extrapolates minor points in question and molds them in pursuit of a larger point. It skips around the holes in our knowledge, relying only on what we do know. It allows us to make something out of very little. For a student whose knowledge or time is limited, bullshitting can serve as a valuable utility for learning.

In fact, in our precepts, I strongly believe that bullshitting intelligently is always more productive than holding one's tongue. Indeed, a bullshitting Princeton is far more constructive than a quiet one. Our precepts should be explorations in learning and are devoid of purpose if we don't speak. When learning becomes a spectator sport, it just doesn't happen. Bullshit is an exercise in thinking, a sink-or-swim test for our thoughts. It makes us dig deep and exercise our brain to keep our ideas afloat. Even when we fail, we have learned a lesson.

While bullshit might aid the bullshitter, it usually provokes nausea and rolled eyes for everyone who has to listen. Too often, our peers and preceptors turn a deaf ear to what they deem bullshit to spare a student the embarrassment of being outed as a bullshitter. We stigmatize bullshit, so out of politeness for the bullshitter or apathy to his words, we don't regard his ideas as worthy of discussion. We might not gain anything from the bullshit of others, but that is likely our own fault.

We need to reconsider how we perceive and respond to bullshit. Whether we are bullshitters, the peers of bullshitters or even preceptors, we all play a part in the game. Instead of ignoring bullshit, we need to question the bullshitters and try to understand the source of their product. If the bullshit is on to something, as it sometimes is, we need to investigate it. If the bullshit does not push a conversation forward, there is merit to refuting it and demonstrating why it is wrong. We need to confront bullshit and recognize that it can be a positive force. But until our precepts actively cultivate an environment in which we are free to bullshit and deconstruct, our precepts will seem more an arena of soap boxes than a facilitator of constructive conversation.

Peter Zakin is a freshman from New York, N.Y., and can be reached at pzakin@princeton.edu.