From the Editor

The poet Marianne Moore once observed, "Any writer overwhelmingly honest about pleasing himself is almost sure to please others." Unlike Moore's "any writer," the object of what we do has many cross purposes that blow here and there and vie for some sort of direction and strength. Lacking any social or organized effort, we are left to our own purposes, which, of course, are influenced by personal tastes or desires. Yet we often have difficulty pleasing ourselves because our honest intentions have been compromised by too many demands to be here and there, to be this and that. There are just too many hats to wear in one day. This is especially true for university teachers trying to fit in, trying to gain tenure, trying to fill the bill as the bill has been perceived. 

Although this state of affairs appears confused, and it often is, what remains is the thing that brought us here in the first place -- our own interests, our favorite books, ideas, the research agenda we'd love to fulfill one day-- the making of our own beautiful minds. The example of the genius/schizophrenic John Nash as it is portrayed on the popular screen, although extreme, in many ways shows us our dilemma -- how do we let our individual voice be heard above all the others? How do we let our own creativity, our own imagination become real rather than a mutable product of someone else's hypothesis? Moreover, how do we balance our individual efforts with those of our colleagues and the mission of the academy for our mutual benefit? I think it's no accident that the film A Beautiful Mind tells of how Nash's brilliance proved a subtle but significant distinction of how the game (any game) should be played. Adam Smith assumed, in his gaming principle, that the player who played the game exclusively for himself would inevitably benefit the group; however, Nash proved that the benefit of the group is most realized when the player not only plays exclusively for himself but also for the group to which the player belongs.