CES Blog

A few Sundays ago, I went to a “barbecue” at the home of a Parisian family.  It was given by Elsa’s best friend from high school, and her younger brother.  (Elsa Paparemborde ‘10 is graciously hosting me this summer in her Paris residence.)  Elsa asked her friend if she could bring me and Becky Cooper ‘10 along, and so we were invited.

After two years studying at Harvard, I think Elsa may very well have adopted the American model of the summer BBQ – or at least she was picturing it when she thought about including us, the visiting Americans.  As it turned out, what this family had referred to as a barbecue was in fact just a French dinner party, moved outside into the garden.  It’s important to point out that in Paris, having a garden is a rare luxury.  Statistically, only 3000 of the over 1 million apartments in Paris boasts a private garden.  So, if you’re fortunate enough to be among the privileged 3000, I suppose you can’t just have any ordinary barbecue.

This particular luncheon, as it should be called, involved a select group of invitees, all very close friends of the brother and sister who hosted it.  It was clear right away that Becky and I were new to the group, but the family welcomed us warmly nonetheless.  As this party had been carefully planned in advance, it lacked much of the casual-ness of its would-be American equivalent.  In place of beer and soda, they had champagne apéritifs.  Where one might have found pretzels, there were mini-quiches.  Instead of lawn chairs, the family had moved an indoor table and chairs out into the garden for the afternoon.  Real glasses replaced solo cups, and the table was laid with a clean white cloth.  Most of all, there were no hamburgers or hot dogs in sight.  The grilling fell to the brother, who had just graduated from high school.  We all gathered around eagerly and watched – for over an hour – as he placed sausage, then lamb, then full-size steaks onto the ironically miniature (but appropriately small, as all European appliances are in comparison to our own gargantuan counterparts) old-fashioned charcoal grill.

Once the grilling ceremony was complete, the mother and father guided us to the fancy, pre-set table, and ad-libbed a wedding-esque seating arrangement: alternating boys and girls, and separating those who knew each other well.  I must say that the conversation was very interesting, as this was a very accomplished group of French high-school students.  Like Elsa, they had all attended the competitive Lycée Bilingue, and therefore not only spoke French and English fluently, but had a wide and informed sense of the world.  I was especially impressed with the maturity of these “mere” eighteen-year-olds and the level of conversation they could carry.  Perhaps it was the experience of a series of such sit-down meals that had taught them these skills; all in all, they seemed far more advanced – culturally, intellectually, and socially – than Americans their age (of whom I know many, thanks to my nineteen-year-old sister).

Over the “course” (no pun intended) of the requisite four courses of the [normally indoor] French meal – meat, salad, dessert, coffee, and wine all throughout – I got into a fairly serious discussion, or debate rather, with the young host himself.  Well-traveled and well-spoken, Pablo (who also speaks Spanish fluently because of his Mexican mother) confidently pontificated on the finer points of French culture, the legacy of the colonial world, and, most memorably, why he would never live in the United States.

His main point was that in the U.S., everything centers on production (he came very close to describing Weber’s Protestant ethic, but I didn’t think I had the ability to explain that properly to him).  Whereas Americans place value only on the products of work, the French appreciate leisure and the value of not working, on simply “existing.”  (Again, I was not brave enough to try to go into existentialism – with a French education, Pablo could have probably bested me in “philo,” anyway.)  The examples of capitalist industry are obvious, but the example we dwelt on most was that of academics.  I say “academics,” and not university professors, or researchers, because in France, there are men and women who simply think.  That is, the socialist state supports them, as members of the Académie Française for instance, to just ponder.

I insisted that there were, at least, some ridiculous elements to this system, because these academics were under no expectation or obligation to write books, or publish research data.  In effect, their thinking benefited no one, while they consumed state funding.  Pablo jumped on this comment with a victorious reminder to me of just how American my confusion was.  When I added that intellectuals should, in my opinion, be part of university communities, he argued that universities would put too much pressure on these thinkers to “produce” books or attract students.  Private universities, he claimed, made a product out of learning.  In France, on the other hand, most higher education is public (I went to the Sorbonne for a semester in the fall for less than $400).

There were several points of irony in Pablo’s argument, though he was right about my mentality being distinctly American.  First, and most simply, Pablo attended an elite private high school, thereby rejecting what the state offered in terms of education.  Second, the French higher education system does not use a liberal-arts curriculum.  Rather, one pursues a college-equivalent degree in the professional field one wishes to enter.  Law, for example, is an undergraduate field.  Therefore, all opportunity to “learn for the sake of learning” is more or less unavailable to the majority of French youth.  If you were to take up a subject in the humanities, you would be expected to teach in that subject, plain and simple.  The lucky few who make it to the higher ranks of the French intelligentsia have succeeded on test after test to finally be accepted to the most prestigious of academic institutions, the École Normale Supérieure (ENS).  What continues to baffle me is what is expected of ENS graduates once they receive their diplomas.  That the people and the government expect nothing (even if they do welcome a good book), is, according to Pablo, the beauty of French cultural-intellectual life.

This conversation, mutually futile as it was, confirmed to me how important it is to understand the differences in educational philosophy around the world, and how much education informs culture (and vice versa).  At Harvard, it is easy to consider that we have the best of the best in education, and efficiency, and diversity, and a public-private balance.  At the end of the day – at the end of my semester abroad – I still prefer the American system.  And now, I am willing to admit that the United States and an American education have inculcated in me a value for production, for proving one’s ability to the world, for working for one’s own benefit and hopefully also for that of others.

There are surely many downsides to this culture of production, many of which I’m sure my classmates are realizing in their summer banking and consulting internships.  The leisure-work balance is delicate in the U.S., and perhaps our society could appreciate a little more free time: for contemplation, for vacation, for long conversations, and for sit-down “barbecues.”  After all, had we been in the States, we would have finished our buffet-served hot dogs hours ago.

In a recent column in the New York Times (link below), Paul Krugman suggested that it may be ‘Old Europe’ rather than India or China that we should look to in order to see at least one part of the future. His point was that Europe shows how wealthy, advanced industrial countries can have high standards of living even with very high energy prices. He contrasts the design of European cities (dense) with American (spread-out) and auto usage (smaller cars and more public transport versus larger vehicles and middle class disregard for mass transit.) What are you noticing about these kinds of patterns this summer? How does your life in Europe differ, if it does, from life in the US? Is there anything else you’ve been struck by about the way Europeans use energy or feel towards environmental issues? We’d love to hear your comments.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/19/opinion/19krugman.html?scp=1&sq=krugman+old+europe+berlin&st=nyt