This article concludes to summing up that Mr Sokal was not justified and winner side in his hoax.
I am not much familiar with Sokal affairs. People can find it on the Internet and do their judgement. But I have a colleague, Professor Showal who I am more familiar and he is doing similar hoaxes that I investigate hereafter.
My friend, professor Showal, and from this point onwards I omit the title professor, due to being lazy, and he knows me for this laziness is also a teacher of mathematics physics.
This friend has written a book, Spaces of hyper-parabolic elliptic with curvatures of super string categories or something like that. In the introduction we read that "The book is readable and useful for post graduates and advanced graduate years of students of mathematics, physics, engineering and do not forget computer science and those who love to play with mathematical curiosity. This book is self explanatory and needs a little pre-requisite in higher mathematics."
When taking courses in cafeteria fashion used to be in the sports hall and on-line enrolling had not been emerged yet, my friend had his desk there with similar course requirement had been typed for students to behold and join his course. Then he put that description on-line for prospective students.
Studying his book and taking his course, as he claims, does not need much; only first year calculus and a bit of linear algebra with an eagerness to tackle few obstacles.
This never has caused any problem for my friend as never any curious mind has joined his magnificent course. At any semester that he offers the course, some eight students could enrol. It is not surprising. One should have abstained from many of adolescence engagements such as football or girls, watching TV, and video games, or have reduced them to a minimum from age of fourteen and eagerly joined to another league of activities: playing with geometry, number theory, algebra and so on. Then should enter a curriculum of mathematics to graduate eagerly and to start a post graduate and at the end of Master programme or at the beginning of doctorate he might be able to understand what is the title of the book and the mentioned course about.
Out of eight students, all boys, there are two from India, two from China and four from that place. He can remember when the registration was not on-line, next to his desk in the sports hall was a desk of some fucking shit modern something where students were standing in queue from ten in the morning and enrolment would continue after a lunch break. He had heard the painful announcement, "no more room for this semester." He had to sit embarrassed looking if any customer (suddenly changing it in his mind to "I mean, any student") would come. He never had any female students. Occasionally girls had approached him when he was resting his knees standing around but they had confused him with a janitor complaining about the toilet flush, or asked him where was the water cooler. He frequently wanted to ask the admission office to put his desk somewhere far from the fucking next desk, but it could create more embarrassment. Class room is a five meters times four meters room with a lecturer desk and chairs that belong to 1960's. Floor is covered with plastic flooring squares.
His next bad luck is his class room. It is next door to the fucking shit modern something. That classroom is a fully renovated amphitheatre with all the state of the art audio visual and recording devices. Stepped floor is covered with a majestic colour, thick carpet and chairs of high quality fabric and design. Each evening technicians check for any blown light or mal-functioning equipment. There are some three hundred students and perhaps more, mostly populated by female students. One could notice most females sport belly jackets of this type or the other type.
He also had a good student this Semester. A very tall and thin young man whose family name showing his northern European ancestors, with big bones and long neck and exposing Adam apple, pink and glasses. This son of a bitch had done the bachelor and master in four years and had won students Olympiad and competitions and looked very promising, although his acne were not comparable with next door belly jackets. My friend used to give one of his exercises every semester to students to find a solution for that. It could prepare some material for him for a new paper. That was from an old untranslated Russian book with a deceased author. During the summer, previous to this semester, he sat for days and weeks and tolerated all the nagging of wifey and kids along the holidays and long nights until he could find a long solution covering many pages of his notebook.
When the new semester started he was impatient getting to the related chapter. Then the day came. He asked if anybody had solved the exercise and without attention to any response eagerly began to scrawl his magnificent solution from his notes on the boards; mopping each board and eagerly continuing on the next. Session was towards the end and he wanted to beg the students to stay a bit longer. At last he noticed that the son of a bitch student frequently and shyly interrupted him. He enquired what was the matter with the son of a bitch. "Sir, you didn't notice. One assumption you used needed a proof and a counter example, disproves it. Let me write my solution in the remaining ten minutes. At the beginning I told you I have solved it; you didn't pay attention." And added innocently, "I solved it in the bus this morning when I was coming to campus." Then he came to the board. He had no note. He solved it using only one board. It was short and cogent and clearly convincing. Now students who already were copying from the teacher in a half sleep mood, were wide awake and with full attention to their classmate.
During the years Mr Showal knew how to keep his face in such situations and cheered the young mathematician. But in heart he was devastated. When he was going to his office, he passed from the midst of the crowd pouring out of th next door amphitheatre. Three, four circles of students, mostly young females were pushing themselves to the trapped fucking shit lecturer asking by all innocence questions from the beloved teacher. "Sir, what was the confrontation of Dadaism with virtue of women to end the Victorian morality?" Mr Showal became red. Dr next door calmly enquired, "it depends what you mean by virtue." Another retorted, "for example, virginity of girls before marriage." A third one added, "things such as premarital and extramarital relations." Mr Showal did not like to listen more and walked away almost as to start to run. But he could hear among luring giggles, "... married men ..." In the afternoon meeting of the department, when others left, he stayed and discussed, diplomatically, with the chair and enquired who would be going possibly to teach math 101 in the next autumn, tried showing his own eagerness in a way. He continued to argue that it was in line with the chancellor decision to improve quality of mathematics learning among literature, arts and humanity students. Chair, as if he knew what was the idea of Mr Showal smiled and said that already chancellor has forced him to do that job and it is belittling for prestige of Mr Showal to teach first year students of non mathematical courses and he himself had to volunteer for that sacrifice.
It was evening and Mr Showal reached home a bit late, expecting everybody at the dinner table, ready to dine. But wife and kids had arranged a TV dinner. He joined to them. It was one of the stupid shows. He just having his beer watching with no interest. He had enough today. Now he noticed seven attractive women as finalists walking around the stage and standing next to each other. The presenter, a young woman with decollete, began to say some nonsense and added, "now our special guest art expert selects three of these competitors and explains in terms of different curves of their bodies why he received to his judgement." Camera zooms in on the judge face. The attractive presenter goes and kisses face of the judge. Mr Showal screams bitterly in his heart, "this fucking shit modern something." He hears, his daughter who is in the last year of high school says, "Ah, this cool professor is colleague of daddy. Now we are friend with celebrities." Wife says, "Yes I have seen him when I was with daddy in a university dinner. He is very polite." Showal becomes crimson. He sees himself like Steve Seagull entering the next door classroom and with one blow of karate defeats the fucking shit and all the students clap for him.
But Mr Showal calms himself with hopes he has got in the tall "son of a bitch" student. He is going to start his doctorate thesis next year on curves with three handles on the spaces of seventy dimensional string which are embedded in seventy one dimensions It is just the future work of the latest Mr Showal paper. With the funds it might attract Mr Showal can rest his ass for a month in a five star Caribbean resort.
Semester had passed its middle. One day Mr Showal came to class and could not see the tall gentleman there. He did not come and next session and the next session and the next session. Showal, trying to look indifferent asked the classmates if their friend is all right and if they know his whereabout. Students started to tell the story, " Kieriøjiksen," they meant the absent boy, decided to drop out the university and went to help students in university of Timbuktu †. He cancelled his scholarship given to him by Sayf Kiel Missile Incorporation. Mr Showal, now by a little shaky broken voice enquired, "How did he get to this decision? Wouldn't he recognise that he is spoiling his future?" Students looked eager to unfold the exciting story. One day Kieriøjiksen was having his lunch in students canteen. Then Dr ... . From this point Showal would not like to hear any more but he had to. Yes, Dr fucking shit asked Kieriøjiksen if he can share the table with him. Dr never used teachers' restaurant. (Showal could recognise why he never had seen him at lunch time; believed he goes to a posh restaurant out of the campus). They gradually started to talk and became lunch mate of each other from that day. The teacher used to talk about philosophy, art, post modern, poetry and was eager to hear from Kieriøjiksen about quantum mechanics, geometry (having a hand himself in painting and familiarity with Escher), relativity, their ideas and their philosophical implications; exchanging books, too.
They had become friends and frequently had been seen to have couple of beers and French fries in high street bar. Gradually Kieriøjiksen horizons became vast and instead of visualising galaxies on manifolds, he could visualise manifolds on galaxies. His event horizon expanded in space-time until it reached to Timbuktu. Then he came out of his worm hole and found himself again in the open space. And voila Showal is the fucking shit and the other is a teacher, Dr Shonun.
Students told the story as told. Showal couldn't bear it any more. He should do something. He started to plan. "I make the man a ladies towel. No, not only this one, but all of them."
† Foot note : At the time of writing this page the mentioned place was known as a very far remote strange exotic place impossible for people to travel. Now perhaps things have been changed.
When his manuscript reached to the journal, immediately it went under proof editing, nicely typed and sent to first editor, who did read it carefully. "What is this supposed to be?" pondered the editor. He read again and enquired about the background of Showal. He is a respectable Professor with publications and well-established position. He is middle aged, mature, sane and known to behave predictably. "Well, let me contact him if he likes to amend the work to incorporate a larger audience." thought the editor. Months passed but Showal nervously was hiding himself, only replying nervous, terse, evading answers without clarifying his article. At last editor decided, "Let's take it to print." So he arranged a final consultation with few other editors who had read the paper in a meeting with the editor-in-chief, Dr Shonun. Dr, Shonun addressed the meeting, after three hours of discussion, and said, "By a good luck Professor Showal is my colleague and we always meet each other in corridors as his classroom is next to mine. He is well known, and I also can recognise him, for being as a bright faculty member of maths and physics department. One of my best friends Mr Kieriøjiksen has been his students and has told me that he is unique in teaching of some spaces of three and four handles." All the round table became impressed by this descriptions, wondering if those are what Einstein, Feynamn and Hawkings were talking about. He continued, "I believe, he has every right to be a bit terse and nervous for his first philosophical work. We should award this opportunity to such people to create bridges among different subjects of human intellect. We should prevent alienating people who are engaged in hard science in seclusion of their monasteries that frequently slides them into cooperation with cruelty. We have seen that many novel ideas have not received immediate public ovation. Or we have seen works similar to physicist A. Compton regarding philosophy that does not look much sensible. Let him feels comfortable and gets enough momentum and confidence. I assure you that in near future he would be a regular of our monthly dinners." Dr Shonun left the meeting allowed the number of voting individual remains odd. To his despair the article returned unanimously to the first editor for his single decision making. He reluctantly endorsed it to be printed.
Kieriøjiksen before leaving for Timbuktu met Shonun at their regular. Shonun was startled of his decision. Kieriøjiksen using Shonun's first name, argued, "look, Leon, during the last hundred years, especially after the second world war in North America, European continent and Japan people have created thousands and thousands of such things that I am supposed to create, spaces of three handles or four handles and they are going to extend it to five handles and perhaps six handles and more. Consider that in the recent decades such an endeavour has been extended to China and India whose population exceeds twice of the formers. I can say now that a new wave of nations is rising to same level of activity, Brazil, Argentine, Nigeria, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, Egypt, Malaysia, Algeria, South Africa. All these, cover more than 75 percent of population of the world. What is the motivation behind such a vehement engagement of human minds? Let us be honest. This is not what science was about, discovery of nature for prosperity of man. This is not like painting a cave, finishing a sculpture, building a machine as it was hundred years ago. It is not about training students. It is like mass production of cars to cram more vehicles in already polluted , congested streets. Let us sit for a minute and rest and breath and have a look around ourselves and decide what is really good for us. And we know what good means. Who cares if this world remains short of my thesis if I can substitute it by a greater task."
A year or two later Kieriøjiksen, accidentally, heard about the crazy act of Showal. He was teaching maths in teachers college and some high quality calculus and engineering maths in Timbuktu. He could n't believe. He taught, "Showal seemed kind, polite and bright with a lovely family. Perhaps this was a middle age crisis. Perhaps he has experienced a break down. Perhaps he has been a really fucking shit." He was discussing that story with an Arab colleague who was teacher of literature and history. That Arab colleague said, "some fifteen hundred years ago there was a wealthy man among Arabs called Hatam Taei (Hatim Al-Taeei, i.e. Hatim of the Tayy tribe, formally Hatem ibn Abdellah ibn Sa'ad at-Ta'iy) . He was very famous for being magnanimous towards any man entering his house or asking him some help. He became three times completely poor out of giving and made himself wealthy again and when died he died in wealth and fame for his kind heart. At his time, he also had a brother, but nobody knew him. One day at the time that all Arabs used to gather in the holy Mecca, the said brother went and peed in front of astonished eyes of crowd in the holy well of Zamzam. People took him and zealot mobs asked to kill him. One man from Taeei tribe could recognise that he was related to famous Hatim. Crowd became calm and silent hearing that relation. As they loved Hatam they forgave insult of the said brother, but became curious if he had been insane or what was his motive; they enquired. He said that his brother was famous out of the magnanimity but he could n't find a way for fame except by peeing in the holly well. As you see he became famous. People believed he was sick."
Showal became famous. Next autumn, he was passing from the corridor. There was the crowd of the next door circling around Dr Shonun. Three female students were talking in a corner. Showal heard one of them said to others, "have you heard abut the affairs of this man?" Showal slowed and felt euphoria. He was famous and cool now; he believed. Second said, "You mean that dishevelled dork?" Third one said, "I do not care for affairs of college janitors. Let's see what is out of class discussion of others." First one thought, "He is sad."
Showal fame did not remain without benefit. He received an overseas invitation to teach for two years in a hot Oilistan college. The salary, housing, free tickets, and free booked holidays in five star Caribbean resorts was beyond his wildest dream. He also could enhance his book for a new edition. Most interestingly was a maths 101 that he would teach there. To the reader's disappointment, his female students sport long veils with burqa instead of belly jackets. Who cares? In Caribbean you can see topless.
I wrote this because some one some where wrote that he laughed lot to such an affair. This is another funny story for him to laugh.
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