More comments for JHP

JHP:

I am sorry you consider these exchanges as “tedious”, as they represent an element of democracy of which I am fond. Moreover, given how prolific you are in your responses, I doubt the sincerity of such claims. That said, I will try to respond to some of your most recent points.

When speaking of the Catholic Church you claim that I ought to “make the distinction between it as an institution, and it as its members”. However, this runs contrary to your previous comment: “The whole tradition of the Church has been the reconciliation and mutual development of faith and reason. The Catholic dedication to reason is the cause of its doctrinal development.” Thus, you cannot choose to consider the church as an institution when it suits you, and then turn toward the broader congregation when it does not. I responded to your first posting about it as an institution, now, however, you ask me to consider its members.

Along similar lines, your response to my question about the Crusades is “that the political landscape at the time was very little like ours today. The separation of Church and State was not so clear. Therefore, many secular duties and responsibilities (e.g., war, the Inquisition, which, if you look at it broadly, is not much different from what our wonderful democratic government is doing today) fell into the hands of the clerics.” How can this be squared with your above comment, “The whole tradition of the Church has been the reconciliation and mutual development of faith and reason”? Here again you want it both ways: You steadfastly refuse to critique the history of the Catholic Church because times have changed, yet draw support for your positions from literature centuries, if not millennia, old, as if the ideas were unproblematically transcendent. In noting this inconsistency I am gesturing toward Michel Foucault’s idea of the episteme, but also I want to know how some elements are perceived to be temporally bound, while others do not suffer the same fate? Moreover, what decides which bits of historical knowledge are able to transcend the ages? Stating that the reason particular items are transcendent is because they are inherently transcendent begs the question.

You are welcome to correct me on the Church’s relationship to Germany and Italy during the Second World War, but Papal apologies may make this more difficult. Moreover, while this institution’s silence may not be an admission of guilt, it does not speak in the Church’s favor. My point in bringing this up is to note that any human undertaking, regardless of its theological underpinnings, is apt to demonstrate mistakes—why not claim them and move on? My point in the original posting was never the shortcomings of the Church. Had you looked over my other entries you might note a particular curiosity on my part.

Taking your comments about the Church’s treatment Galileo as another example, how is this a shining example of what you call “the reconciliation and mutual development of faith and reason?”

Problematically, you claim that “after something is concluded, there is no room for dissent.” If matters were indeed “concluded” (to play upon the finality of the word) you may have a point, as well as a platitude. But this does not seem to be what is meant by your posting. Rather, you seem to mean that the passage of law settles matters. Why then, I ask, does abortion crop up again and again? Was this not “concluded” legally speaking some decades ago? If not then you seem to agree with my point.

Yet, what is most crucial in this exchange is indicated by your later comment, “You've successfully deflected the point. Now I no longer know what the disagreement is besides a very long list of particulars. Disagreements about particulars are rarely fruitful.” If you look back to my original post then you will note that the particulars are what you have repeatedly chosen to take up, while the central thesis is what receives only partial consideration. I had no intention of deflecting anything. Rather I have and will continue to push you on my original concern about democracy and intractable ideologies.

Toward this end you claim that you “suspect that it is impossible for large groups of people who believe fundamentally different things about the reality of the world to coexist because that seems to be the trend in history. America has succeeded laudably. I doubt, however, that America will continue on forever. I'll be sad to see it go, but I don't know of any institution save one that looks to be indestructible.” While I can ignore the problematic appeal to history, I would hope that you would endeavor to do more than laud democracy. In fact, unless you are simply querulous, your posts here might indicate a particular commitment to democratic debate. However, I think still more is required of us. In particular I feel we must defend and champion the rights of others to hold divergent opinions, while simultaneously not allowing them or our own to be taken up as unchanging law. Is this not the tension in defending the freedom of speech for hate groups: we defend the utterances of a particularly heinous group in order to secure the privilege which allows our own tolerance and expressive capacity to flourish?

If your primary commitment is to the Church and those who support your view, then you are asking others to take up the difficult work of democracy so that you can practice your beliefs and ignore the possibility that your group was once, and may be again, intellectually marginalized and seen as unworthy of support. This is not something I care to see happen, as I feel you have something to contribute. But if your response is idle cynicism and faith in faith, not the labor of democracy, then I call that self-serving and selfish. For me, your opinion needs to coexist alongside mine, and we must perform the work of democratic living sincerely and endeavor to find ways to honor both in spite of and with a reliance on contradictions.

Furthermore, why can’t you peaceably coexist alongside those who terminate their pregnancies, club feet or otherwise? I assume you coexist alongside supporters of the death penalty, or am I wrong? As you know, the Catholic Church has a consistent policy regarding the sanctity of life. More to the point, I would like to know why Western European Catholics are able to peaceably coexist when members of their societies can obtain abortions; why is America somehow different in this respect?

And no, I don’t think that “Ideally everyone would agree.” In fact, to believe so would mean that, at least in terms of my opinions, I assume that they are superior to others. I would not have dedicated myself to higher education had I believed that. Nor, for that matter, would I stay up late composing long responses to you; I could have just as easily deleted your comments and sat smugly in the knowledge that you were misguided.

As for debating a reading list, I simply mean we can throw our respective literatures and favorite theorists at one another in hopes of what—impressing other readers? I have had to take up Aristotle and I must say that he did little for me. But then again, I am not a confessed classicist. Furthermore, “the pleasure of discovering truth” does not describe what I do. Rather, I enjoy finding and reading literature that provides compelling questions, explanations, and metaphors, not truth, which is not a concept in which I am sure I believe. This may be because I agree with Richard Rorty’s notion of truth as he explains it in Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature.

Lastly, I think that assuming minds will be changed is not the point here. Rather, I think we might clarify our own positions, and if lucky, gain insight into alternative perspectives that may one day help us to expand our own thinking.

An open letter to JHP

Dear John:

I am pleased to hear that you enjoy reading our blog. The compliments, backhanded or otherwise, are a mixed blessing (to extend the religious metaphor that animates our exchange), so I feel a need to acknowledge them. As you like to dissect matters, I will provide the same courtesy to your response regarding my last posting.

First, taking my opening salvo as a serious comment was a bit off the mark. Moreover, I would assume that you understand most phrases are “loaded”, hence the importance of knowing connotation and denotation. The purpose of my introduction accomplished its goals—you began a dialogue and here we are.

Next, I don’t think you can say that my posting ever posited “God” as a guilty party in these exchanges. Rather, I had questions regarding a particularly zealous sort of individual who takes the bible literally and his/her ability to reside comfortable in a democracy. I will let Definer take up the issue of fundamentalism, as this seems to be your beef regarding her/his last posting.

While I grant you that the Catholic Church has provided inspiration to many, and has been responsible for some truly selfless and humanitarian accomplishments, not all of the Church’s history is so laudable. In short, you provide a sanitized version of the institution’s past. We can discuss, for instance, the Church’s relationship to Germany and Italy during the Second World War. One can reach farther back still to the Crusades; and what of the Church’s treatment of particular astronomers?

Indeed, there may be fewer people interested in open debate and conversation than one might like, but why would you make such a ridiculous statement regarding the incompatibility of fundamentally different opinions under democracy. Clearly, your own knowledge of American history is problematic. Are you even aware of the public sentiment regarding Catholics in this country during the 19^th century? Were American democracy antithetical to different opinions then the conspiracy theories present at that time regarding Catholics would have meant exodus for many.

Really, how can you write, “the point of democracy isn't to allow diverse opinions to coexist, but for one opinion to be established as the law of the land. One is free to act according to one's own opinion until the matter is decided. Then one must act according to the law.” This is asinine to the point of being comedic. If there was no point in allowing different points to coexist then why protect free speech and assembly—to allow people to voice the same thing and congregate to celebrate that one idea? If we were to take you at your word and follow all laws blindly then we would still have slavery, women’s inability to vote, segregation, and discrimination of all sorts.

Democracy offers its citizens the rights to peaceably (or not so peaceably if you read Jefferson) to debate, contest, and change various laws. Blind allegiance to laws is problematic (see history for further details).

How can you, as an American who benefits from the protections of your individual, idiosyncratic, and assumedly divergent (at times) views, “suspect it is impossible for large groups of people who believe fundamentally different things about the reality of the world to coexist.” Isn’t this one of the better accomplishments of America as an experiment—being able to develop a flexible framework where different individuals, or groups, can advocate alternative positions in hopes of reaching a livable compromise?

And yes, I do feel that “coexistence [is] an ultimate good. . . . it [is] something worth striving for above all else.” Are you suggesting you prefer enmity, divisiveness, and genocide? Granted, I am being hyperbolic, but what is the alternative? As you are another American, I consider you a fellow citizen and worthy of particular guarantees, life amongst them. What do you offer the rest of us?

My reasons for putting the words “natural law” in quotation marks should be clear enough. Your ad populum rationale—“ that the vast majority of peoples have believed in God, and that the same is true in the history of philosophy”—does nothing for those of us who hold either difference concepts of god or a general disbelief/uncertainty in a creator. Moreover, if natural law does not derive from a notion of a higher power then from where does it derive? Biblical scripture is not the only possible foundation here—try the Greek and Roman pantheon.

I do not care to debate reading lists with you. In the very least, this is a rather shallow appeal to authority, one I did not care to make. Why, then, do you? I would hope that I am not to conclude that your opinions are incapable of logical support?

JHP, my post was an invitation and I welcome your exchanges here. However, I am not as welcoming of your overt hostility. In the very least, if you care to spar here, please learn to be clever. You appear to be a musician, or a least a student of this art. Well, then, give us the sound of learned debate free from such boring barbs.

Fundamentalism Antithetical to Democracy

Fundamentalism and Democracy are antithetical. That’s right, antithetical; meaning ‘cannot exist in harmony because at cross-purposes.’ A Fundamentalist knows the truth and thus knows that all who do not hold the same beliefs do not know the truth. Why is this antithetical to democracy? Because democracy requires respect for dissent, a willingness to engage in a debate the outcome of which is uncertain, and compromise.

When I was educated at a Baptist Sunday School, I learned that all Catholics go to Hell and that their leader, the Pope, is the Anti-Christ. Why engage in a debate with someone who is going to Hell, or with someone who is being misled by the Devil? Why talk to them at all, unless to proselytize them into the Baptist faith, the one true Truth? If Fundamentalists truly believe then they must truly believe that non-Fundamentalists, like me, are wrong and that we are destined for a life of damnation. In short we are only non-believers waiting to be converted to the truth.

Democracy is a process and having seen the sausage made as a staffer on Capitol Hill, it is often an ugly process. But process it is, and process it requires. Truth gets in the way of process because it is not a process. Fundamentalists have the Truth, there is no need to get to it, to compromise on its behalf or even to discuss it. It exists in the Bible, and that is the end of the process. Thus the ends—personal and universal, are known, and all that needs to be done is to accept the ends. If you believe in democracy, there is no end, no final destination. Lao Tze, the ancient Chinese philosopher, believed that the point of the journey was not to arrive (translation by Neil Peart). This is democracy. By contrast, the point of the Fundamentalist’s journey is that they have already arrived. Indeed, they arrived 2,000 years ago.

This is not to say that all Christians stand against democracy. Most Christians are not Fundamentalists and many helped to guide the United States through 200 years of religious tolerance, and the maintenance of the separation between church and state. The founders of this country recognized in 1787 that universal religious Truths must be compromised lest democracy be made impossible. Rather than sanctify one Truth, they chose to leave Truth to personal discretion. But lately the United States has taken a new and frightening tack. President Bush’s attempts to provide federal funding to religious organizations, to appeal to Americans on the basis of religious intolerance, and to let religious conservatives dictate the progress and process of science are a frightening wake up call for those of us who stand for democracy. What is next? The idea that one party knows the truth and that members of the other party are going to Hell?

Cacoethes Scribendi

Term: Cacoethes Scribendi
Method: Onomatopoeia

Cacoethes Scribendi, a term used in the late eighteenth century to attack female authorship, has an interesting provenance and suggests a contemporary parallel. In 1793, the Latin term was used to diagnose women who write as sufferers of a mental (scribendi) disease (cacoethes).

But more interestingly, the term appears to be an instance of onomatopoeia. Cacoethes resembles the sound that chickens make, itself an onomatopoeic sound — cackling; a sound that can be equally applied to the “babbling” (another onomatopoeic word) of so-called idiots. This was a particularly prevalent trope in the eighteenth-century and can be heard in Francisco de Goya’s 1794 painting titled “The Yard of a Madhouse” (also known as “The Madhouse at Saragosa”). Scribendi suggests another onomatopoeic word — scribbling (from the Latin scribere), the sound that a pen makes as it scratches ink into paper.

Thus writing, whether women’s or men’s, is a cackling of scribbles and thus a symptom of madness. Perhaps blogging should be termed taptapclick beependi?

Here Is a List of Things that Troubled Me as of Late

The bumper sticker that read, “Life, liberty, and the pursuit of anyone who threatens it.” Really, doesn’t being bellicose threaten life and liberty more than anything else?

Realizing that I may want to visit my family more than they want to see me—oh the reversals of teen angst.

Finally being comfortable with my recent desire to see vapid movies like X-Men 3 because “I am tired.” Really, how tired can I be if I am willing to submit myself as more commercial fodder for over budgeted studio fare? Answer: maybe more than my pride will admit.

Entertaining the idea that I should interview the head of the campus Catholic Church about various topics because I am curious to know how the institution functions; I used to be so hostile to organized religion, or at least pretended I was.

Not being able to swim outside this summer at the campus pool—so much for exercising and tanning for the price of my student fees.

Worrying about finances to the point that I have not bought two great books from Amazon. This sucks!

Feeling giddy at the thought of some unpleasant individuals leaving the graduate program when I had hoped I would rise above these petty pleasures.

Entertaining frequent thoughts about driving an expensive sports car around for no other reason than the sheer pleasure of doing it, even when gas is horribly expensive and nothing good for the environment will come of it. For total authenticity, should I purchase a thick gold chain, big 70s era sunglasses, and a Hawaiian shirt too?

Related to the car idea, hearing the words “midlife crisis” falling from my mouth a bit too often.

Openly arguing with a faculty member from another department, at a crowded bar no less. The impolitic nature of this faux pas is just too great.

Just learning that the Senate passed an English only bill (I am really out of touch). Speaking of which, will the indignities heaped upon the indigenous population ever cease?

Becoming too comfortable in my lethargy; this list being a clear example.

How to Inhabit/Inhibit Democracy?

Tonight’s installment of “We Don’t Debate the Word of God” is brought to you by your friends at the Institute of Eternal Salvation (read religious folk) and the Mass Marketing of America (read our two party system that is beholden to crass capitalism, an insatiable appetite for campaign financing schemes, and religious posturing). For the sake of clarity, Sarah H. and all you others, this is addressed to you.

Given that the only posting that has generated any comment from outside readers (those besides friends, ex’s, and variously affiliated others) has been because the word “God” appeared in a posting (or so I assume), and because Auditus has a lovely piece about the issues of religion in America, I want to advance some contentious questions.

Why, I ask, is the subject of spirituality, God, and religion the opposite of conversation? Have a listen to the constant sermons on television, on our not-so-public airwaves, and on the floors of Congress: Invoking God is the inverse of creating a dialogue. Maybe part of the reason is because the idea of sharing one’s experience of conversion is called “bearing witness” instead of something more discursively inclusive; maybe because the word “God” is supposed to be followed by the word “amen” and all manner of nodding instead of questioning, or maybe because the literalist interpretation of God is based on acceptance and not interpretation, but whatever the cause, I recall a comment made by a friend: “Maybe religion and democracy are not compatible.”

There is apt to be disagreement to this thought from a number of quarters, and this is not unwanted. In fact, I would like to see how people with a particularly literal interpretation of the bible as the word of God feel that they can coexist with masses of “others” who may support the idea of a clear separation of church and state (no mention of a creator on our legal tender, in the classroom, or in the courthouse please). These same others may prefer not to be governed by a “natural law” that derives its ultimate ideas of truth and justice from scriptural precepts, and expect citizens to debate and adapt their laws based on nothing more than their own flawed judgments and the process of deliberation without recourse to religion. Worse yet, these same others may be willing to support the idea of abortion, classroom sexual education, and the teaching of creation. Can you explain to me how they are to share the same geography, place their children in the same schools, and adjudicate their differences if they cannot agree on how to govern any of these practices because they employ different, and sometimes competing, arguments and texts? Of course I have my own opinions, but I want to know what yours are.

What I hope to achieve from this is an open dialogue on the compatibility of religion and democracy without appealing to notions of separation through spatialization. By this I mean the idea that we can all get along if each one of us is given our own little territories to inhabit that are governed by broad, vague laws about personal freedom and tolerance. In short, what if we are all forced to inhabit the same compressed environment and shared resources, like an urban area? I am putting my faith in restless dialogue, which is an unruly land. If your own “rests” in the word, a realm claimed to be orderly and well-governed, can we inhabit the same space?

To close, I offer you a selection of quotations about religion that may help to encourage responses. Incidentally, if the word “religion” is not to your liking because you see religions as restrictive and the term “spirituality” as more accurately reflecting the personal connection between you and your deity, please make the appropriate substitutions.

Cuius regio eius religio [He who controls the area controls the religion] – Anonymous Latin proverb

“The Puritans nobly fled from a land of despotism to a land of freedim, where they could not only enjoy their own religion, but could prevent everybody else from enjoyin his.” –Charles Farrar Browne [Artemus Ward]

“If one wishes to form a true estimate of the full grandeur of religion, one must keep in mind what it undertakes to do for men. It gives them information about the source and origin of the universe, it assures them of protection and final happiness amid the changing vicissitudes of life, and it guides their thoughts and motions by means of precepts which are backed by the whole force of its authority.” –Sigmund Freud

“Religion is the vision of something which stands beyond, behind and within the passing flux of immediate things; something which is real, and yet waiting to be realized; something which is a remote possibility, and yet the greatest of present facts; something that gives meaning to all that passes, and yet eludes apprehension; something whose possession is the final good, and yet is beyond all reach; something which is the ultimate ideal, and the hopeless quest.” –Alfred North Whitehead

“We know too much, and are convinced of too little. Our literature is a substitute for religion, and so is our religion.” – T. S. Eliot

brand new shine

Returning home from a doggie swim Sunday afternoon, I drove past the church I attended in my youth, and the sign out front stated: “Prayer is the best wireless connection.” This oiled the gears in my head for the last few days as I thought back upon my moment as a semi-regular church attendee.

I was thirteen when this church fired Pastor Joel. The board, or whoever makes the decisions, announced a search for a new priest to “better meet the needs of the congregation.” My interpretation of these words was that the church did not like how Pastor Joel was working with the youth. I asked a lot of questions, like many of my fellow teenagers, and Joel some times had answers, but other times said “I don’t know” while encouraging us to continue our own search. No fire and brimstone, no commandments, but rather conversation. He actually listened to what you had to say, he would argue his point without discrediting yours with the promise of eternal damnation. Plus, he was 6’6” with an Abe Lincoln beard and a sweat hook shot. Yeah, he listened to rock music, but he didn’t tell you about it. His last Sunday was my last Sunday.

I have attended several churches since, mostly to watch nieces and nephews sing or be baptized, once to appease a born-again relative (this gathering was held in a sprawling suburban Chicago multiplex movie theater). These churches had huge screens, “rock” bands, and new, hip approaches that brought religion to the Nineteenth Century. Despite these cool changes or the clever catch phrase, religion is stuck in the branding we see across the world. “Are you a Bud Man?” “Do you believe?”

Religion has reduced itself to meaningless slogans and images; we profess our belief because our neighbor has a garden sculpture of Mary. This is not belief but rather compulsory window-dressing. Now our current political party in power proclaims ownership of this thing while the other choreographs photo-ops to prove their righteousness.

The only spiritual journey I trust is organic. Despite it’s brand new shine, it’s the same old thing.

Shame

I live in a poor, crime-ridden neighborhood. And I think I have it bad. I respect my neighbors as hard working people who have been screwed by bad families, bad schools, bad government policies and bad corporations. And I am not surprised when my neighbors make bad decisions.

Take for instance the neighbor who is bankrupt. He is sometimes unable to pay his bills, and even as he misses the electricity bill every month, he manages to pay his cable bill—what on Earth would he do without the machine that tells him to buy more stuff he doesn’t need? (I’ll save how he gets the energy to run his satellite dish and big-screen tv for another post.) Recently, as the President of the neighborhood association, he made a decision to rent a giant garbage bin for spring-cleaning but somehow managed to forget to tell the garbage company to pick up their filled bin. The garbage is now stacked very high (methinks I understand how the Egyptians built their pyramids) and stinks to high heaven.

But the intention of this post is not to lament the Association President’s bad decisions—hey I voted for him—, rather it is to make a comment on the disheveled old man who drives up to the garbage bin every morning at about 5:30. When I hear the screak of his ungreased door open, I sneak to a window to watch. At first I thought he was illegally adding to the pile, but instead he subtracts from it. Here an old chair, there a laundry hamper. Does he pillage the pile before most in the neighborhood are awake because he is ashamed? Perhaps, but he carries himself with unexpected dignity. And what does he do after he hauls the shattered pieces into the bed of his truck? Does he repair things? Does he sell them? Does he give them away to those less fortunate than himself? And though he picks over discarded consumer goods passed down by the almost-lowest on the totem pole, it is I who find myself ashamed. Instead of complaining about my lot, shouldn’t I be the one saving old chairs and laundry hampers?

Commencement Address

My father will soon deliver a commencement address as he accepts an honorary Doctor of Arts. He's given more than a few commencement addresses in his life. As for me, I've written one for a university here in the Flatland. But I did not present it. That address was uplifting, positive and optimistic because it's speaker was that way and because most such addresses are bright passages. The commencement address is a genre.

I wonder what I would say if I were given the opportunity to speak? Given that I like to break with genre, I think I would begin:

At universities across the country this afternoon, hundreds of thousands of graduates are being told "this is a special day." Those who speak these lines cannot know with any certainty if this is indeed a special day, but it is easy for them to say because it has been done so many times before in front of millions or possibly hundreds of millions of other graduates. The fact that so many people have heard these words is a warning to us that this is not a special day.

Sure, once upon a time it must have been so, when there were few colleges and only the very wealthy and very smart were permitted an education. But after World War II, the academy opened its doors to all students: the poor, the average. That, frankly, is a good thing. By opening the university to all young people, the university created new paths to upward mobility, opportunity and, what is more important, the very possibility of making something special happen.

So today May be a special day. But that distinction is not mine to call. It is yours. As you sit there listening, you must ask yourselves: "Is this a special day?" Is this a special day not because I close one phase of my life and open another and not because millions have already done this, but rather because I will take this degree and make something of myself. "Will I do something special with my degree," is the question you should be asking yourself. Will you use your knowledge and your new position in society to improve your communities, help the less fortunate, or save the planet? Or will you use this degree to get a job working in a windowless cubby hole selling widget insurance? If you choose the latter than today is merely an average day. If you choose the latter, than you have chosen to make of this a special day.

An Open Letter To Ms. T:

Dearest Readers:

The following item is a letter that I composed for a friend with whom I used to debate the idea of God. The subject of religion is a subject with which I have been flirting with and railing against for years. And having come across a line I wrote for an unfinished piece of fiction—“Having reached the farthest point from God, I decided that it was here that I might make my confrontation. I needed only look on the sprawling complications of my past to solidify my resolve and begin”—I thought it might make for an interesting posting.

Dear T:

Often when we speak of religion and life, I leave feeling like there is much more to say. Therefore, in an effort to move our last next conversation beyond what has been said, or said but only in portion, I would like to give you a few more of my thoughts. The form of this message is likely to be muddled, abstract, and incomplete. Nonetheless, I wanted to give you more of my feelings than the little bits we are always throwing each other’s way.

When I speak of religion, I am often speaking of a subject on which, admittedly, I could stand to be better educated. God, religion, and Truth are terms that hold some appeal for me, as I have started in their direction, only to get as far as the door with my bags packed and never pass the threshold. This does make for a substantial amount of luggage left in my way, but cases have other purposes besides bearing possessions.

You may be correct in that we have more in common than I give credit. Thus, for the benefit of shared understanding, I will tell you of those few things in this world to which I put great faith or hold as proof of a grace you might call a creator:

Feeling awed in a the presence of great art

Forgetting myself for a moment in the act of living completely

The comfort of a favorite sweater in the chill of autumn

The taste of fresh French bread

Moving with great ease through a pool filled with warm water

Looking at the hills surrounding Perugia in the spring

That space on a woman’s body between her hipbone and the last low arch of rib

The sight of a happy dog running at speed

Creating and saying an apt phrase at the right moment

Drinking cool water on a hot afternoon

The smell of pine trees in the mountains

A rich voice reading a good line of verse

Listening to the Cowboy Junkies on a cool, late evening in Los Angeles

Watching certain film stars demonstrate what the word “radiant” means

Wrestling with wonder until it becomes interpretation

Believing in the idea of belief even when there is no good evidence

Holding onto the idea of truth even when I don’t think I believe in it

Sending you these lines as a form of communion

Kids These Days

Recently a series of things have caused me to think of the perennial problem known as "kids these days." To wit, 1) First Read's comments about flip flops, 2) Inga's comments at Snarky Girls about a new high school and 3) Senator Clinton's Chamber of Commerce Speech in which she attacked the nation's youth, saying most memorably that "young people today think work is a 4 letter word." To this I reply that their attitude may be better than kids those days (i.e. my generation) who think that work is a 24 hour word.

Complaints about what kids wear these days, the language they use, their general attitude towards life, their grooming habits, and their interests (or lack thereof) are age old. And as Larry Levine (see below) was fond of instructing (to paraphrase), 'students today may not know Latin, but they know how to navigate issues concerning race and gender, and how to deal with addiction, sexuality and domestic abuse in ways that kids those days did not. Given everything they are expected to know (technology, culture, health . . .) it's amazing that they are still able to fit things into their minds by the time they reach college.'

I think what struck me hardest recently, was a June 18 New York Times article about how kids these days cheat. University students have been caught, for example, emailing answers to themselves and checking their blackberry during the exam, and recording themselves speaking the answers and then listening on a wireless headset and Ipod. In fact, 2/3rds of college students admitted that they cheat. To this I say, "What did we expect?" The university cheats kids just as badly, if not moreso. Students these days are more likely to face the prospect that their university will toss them into classes of 750 students in massive amphitheatres thus creating ideal conditions that make it impossible to fully monitor students during exams. Students these days are more likely to experience their universities substituting largely untrained teaching assistants for real professors in the classroom. And those teaching assistants are often scared to death by the consequences of confronting cheating students for fear that their department or university will not back them up. Students these days should feel as if they will be remembered as a number before they are remembered as an individual. And if they are made to feel inhuman, why should they care about the institution that makes them feel so?

I admit it - I'm surprised 100% of students don't cheat. Why? Because kids these days are being cheated.

Flatville

I live near Flatville. No, seriously. The weight (in pounds) of the average resident of this slice of red America is obese. I’ve wondered why the townsfolk of near-Flatville don’t exercise. Could it be that there is no point in walking? It’s either miles of corn of miles of “little boxes, ticky tacky little boxes” to borrow an old Pete Seeger line about subdivisions. And a stroll through corn and little boxes is hardly a purpose for strolling at all. Walk to downtown? Ha! Walmart killed that years ago.

When Madeline l’Engle wrote A Wrinkle in Time, she depicted a place where every home looked the same and every person acted identically. She was writing about near-Flatville: “Below them the town was laid out in harsh patterns. The houses all looked exactly alike, small square boxes painted gray. Each had a small rectangular plot of lawn in front, with a straight line of dull-looking flowers edging the path to the door…. In front of all the houses children were playing.” But each child played exactly alike. “As the skipping rope hit the pavement, so did the ball. As the rope curved over the head of the jumping child, the child with the ball caught the ball. Down came the ropes. Down came the balls. Over and over again. Up. Down. All in rhythm. All identical. Like the houses. Like the paths. Like the flowers.” This is where I live.

When I arrived here I was an avid bicyclist. I’m still a bicyclist mind you, but avid? . . . no. You see, at first I thought that I could ride hundreds of miles a day through such perfectly flat lands with endless stretches of paved road and little traffic. But alas, the wind here is impassible except for those brief stretches when it is blowing with you. Why the wind? As my father said when he came out here to bike, "because there is nothing to stop it." It is so flat here that I am certain God forgot it for a day at least. It may have taken him six days to create the world, but only four or five to create near-Flatville. There are no mountains here, no hills, no plateaus, no mounds. There are no seas here, no lakes, no rivers, no streams. There are no trees here, no shrubs, no bushes, no plants (except for the identical flowers). It’s simply Flatville.

Eliot as a Teen

Dearests:

At nearly eight-thirty I sit, slumped and smiling, to the sound of Neko Case. Her voice pours pure and strong, like a fifth of good bourbon over new ice. Something in that song transports me to the place where I am twelve and gangly. It must be winter because the rain lashes the roofs in my neighborhood and I am standing outside. There are lights on in my father’s house, but the door is locked and I wait under the eaves for a figure that never comes.

Here, deep in the metaphor of my adolescence, a time when all that was supposed to be wasn’t, and the specter of fatherhood haunted someone else’s attic, the obviousness of it hits me: We all need a siren of sorts, a voice that drags us from the creaking decks and sagging rigging of our consciousness into the frigid waters. There, beneath foam flecked waves we can release our last breaths, and settle amidst the kelp, webbed fingers stroking thick locks.

Isn’t that what lust is—a hunger for our own undoing? Aren’t these heedless passions a selfish wish to be reduced to the struggle for breath and uncontrollable shuddering? When I hear of this sort of love, I can only think of the losses I have endured, those moments of falling in and being dragged down.

Prufrock had it backwards, but then he was the singer of a different ballad. Let us go then, where the voice carries us no further.

Name

Term: Name
Method: Stream of Conscious

Name: Both verb and noun, name may be the most powerful word in the English language. Without a name, a thing does not exist. For example, I cannot exist in society without a name. Because I exist in a matrix of relationships created by human discourse, I must have a name, otherwise I cannot be considered. The same applies for all objects. Imagine that which you cannot imagine! I once asked a question of a leading astro-physicist: "What is the universe expanding into?" His response: "Not nothing." Even the inexpressible has a name, if an odd one.

The value of name (n.) comes from to name (v.). Homo Sapiens, the wise man, might better be re-named the naming creature. This is what gives us power—real, imagined, virtual—over all things. So what you might ask? Are naming practices exercises in control? When Americans owned slaves, the slaveowner often named his “property” with animal-like names, with child-like names or with fanciful names. As African Americans freed themselves or found themselves with the power to name their children, they often chose noble names (Charles), strong names (Caesar), or revolutionary names (Moses, i.e. the guy who lead his people to freedom). Even so, Whites continued to reduce Black names—to Chas. instead of Charles for example. Similarly, women have historically had to give up their names upon marriage, a symbolic bowing to the power of the husband to re-name. This makes it difficult for historians to track authors who wrote as single women before disappearing into near-namelessness. And what of children? When we name children do we grab power? Names like Jr. or the IIIrd are obvious examples, but even naming a child after a favorite television star or because neighbors gave their children the same name (Oh God, how many 18 year old Ashley’s can there be in this world!) suggests the exercise of power at some level even if only the power to conform to society’s naming practices.

Thus the beauty of the blog. Those of us who get to blog get to name ourselves, whether it be by employing our real names or by taking on a persona or character. Thus definer.

Grad Anecdotes: Lawrence Levine

Now an anecdote about one of my former professors.

When I first became a graduate student, I was petrified of my professors and hated visiting them in their offices. I figured I was wasting their time among other things, particularly so with Larry Levine. But half way through a semester I was forced to see Levine. I stepped into his office and announced why I was bothering him while staring at a picture of New York Yankee great Lou Gherig that happened to be conveniently placed over one of Larry's shoulders. Larry, being a pretty smart guy, noticed that my preference was to look at Gherig, promptly began a conversation about the New York Yankees in the 1930s and about how Gherig reflected Larry's father, a hard working guy who never missed a day of work. As he started talking about New York and baseball, I discovered that I was looking at Levine rather than Gherig. After that I never shied from visiting professors.

Graduate Anecdotes - Joseph Schumpeter

This is an anecdote told by John Hemmingway of the great Harvard Economist Joseph Schumpeter.

Though a genius by any definition of the word, Schumpeter was unable to teach. He would lecture for a few minutes then stop, run his hand across his bald head for a few minutes, then state "no that's wrong." Then proceed to lecture again for a few minutes, only to come to a full stop after which he would spend a few minutes pondering until he came out of his reverie to announce again that he had been wrong. Once again he would begin lecturing, stop himself, think for awhile, inform the class that he had been wrong. And this would last for hours. Hemmingway said of this that he may not have learned much about economics from Schumpeter, but he sure learned what it was like to be a genius.

Graduate Anecdotes

Khouray provides the following anecdote about her very excellent advisor,

Getting a Ph.D. is kind of like getting jumped into a gang. It isn't the smartest or even the toughest who make it. It is those who can take the beating without giving up or swinging back.

An anonymous person, (quite possibly my advisor) commented: "[This] is almost right, except for time: it takes so. much. time. to do this."

One can build up excellent restraint stamina in preparation for a long 'healthy' career.

For the record, I love my advisor.

Graduate Anecdotes

Jazz provides this anecdote about her excellent advisor:

The Advisor and I went over to the library together towards the beginning of the semester so that he could make me a proxy on his library card, and on the way I mentioned that I needed to get a carrel at the library. His advice was to get one on the fifth floor, where the exit to the stacks is located, because...it’s annoying to have to haul books up and down the stairs? I’m easily confused and may forget where I came in? The fifth floor is the only one that isn’t infested with bats? No, his reasoning was because there aren't sprinklers in the book stacks. He informed me quite earnestly that "books don't burn easily: people more so." The parental combined with the paranoid is too funny; I do love that man.

j

Cit

Term: Cit
Method: Expansion

"Cit: A Citizen of London" (from Francis Grose, The Vulgar Tongue (1785)).

The term citizen was once closely tied to townsman, i.e. the inhabitant of a "city" (Furetiere (1696), Johnson (1755)). As I am an inhabitant of a "village" does this mean I have no city-zenship? Am I a lost soul? It certainly feels that way sometimes. I certainly don't feel like a member of my village's community, if indeed such a thing exists. And in this I am not alone - few people have the experience of geographic community anymore. Instead we find academic community or virtual community or activist community or professional community. And as local community has collapsed, national community has soared, thus it is impossible to remove one's self from American-ness - its symbols from massive flags to red, white and blue ribbons on every car to patriotic country music - are inescapable.

Or, perhaps, not. At the other end of citizenship are the citizens of the world, a term made famous by Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. Can one be a citizen of the world? Does that status detach her/him from national citizenship? While some may be rejected if they try to return, it seems hard to believe that one can truly stop being American. Look at Lee Harvey Oswald. Or Cassius Clay/Muhammad Ali. Or Hanoi Jane.

And how do we choose citizenship? Yes, we are born into certain kinds of citizenship. Others we move into by geography, by profession, or by accident. Can we deny citizenship? Legally, we are permitted to renounce citizenship but does this really detach us from our past? In short, how much citizenship can I have and how much can I leave behind?

Why Not Cry

For those not reading Snarky Girls (and I suggest you do), I received an answer to my previous posting entitled “Teaching the Snarks”. Thus, feeling my challenge returned, I am going to extract a few comments and highlight them to see if my point is being demonstrated in the details.*

As the posting begins, notice how the default response is the pejorative. Mocking the dull is not difficult work. Worse yet, it misses my point. So, let’s skip to the assumptions she makes about college: “why wouldn't you want to take the time to learn the words and ideas you don't already know? isn't that what college is about?” I think I must state the obvious here: Our assumptions of why people should seek higher education are often not those of our students; the sad truth is that most people in school are here to find jobs, graduate students included. Inga and I might find agreement in our mutual disaffection for the all too absent idea of education for education’s sake, but let me draw your attention to a really incredible passage.

Scrolling down I find something that was well worth the wait—her honest amazement at the efforts of others: “who won't i diss? the student who graduated as validictorian of her high school and couldn't spell to save her life - but who came to visit stella or me every day of every week for the four years she was in school. who else won't i diss? the mother of two whose husband has treated her like shit for the twenty years they've been married, whose self-esteem is non-existent, but who persists through two degrees and takes classes just because they might help her learn something she's not good at yet. i won't diss the grad student in counseling from China, who puts in so many hours each week going to class, stuyding, and working his internship that he rarely sees his wife, who i won't diss either, as she, forbidden from taking classes because she is merely in the states as her husband's wife, but is a published author and former teacher in both china and south korean, sits in on classes, unoffically auditing, just to practice her english.”

There! These are the examples I can point to when I explain to those less-than-enlightened relatives who think that being a business executive is the best use of one’s education and time. Well, I have been employed in an office where the bottom line was the goal, or at least the owners’ caprice and the bottom line, and it was not a wonderful way for me to use my time. Instead of their ridiculous demands, I prefer to work with human beings in the constant effort of self-improvement. Even if I don’t believe in Truth, I can believe in trying to correct the mess I call “me.”

Yet what was really missing from most of Inga’s response was that sense of self-reflexivity I asked for at the end of my previous posting: “If failure is to be the subject of the day, might not some of this disappointment reflect on our own failings?” The closest we come is when she asks “what sort of snarky girl cries?” Well, I assume you would cry because you care, because you don’t want others to repeat the mistakes you tried so hard to avoid, and because you want to like your students, but sometimes they make that almost impossible. So, what is wrong with crying over that? Would that the tears run like dust before the approaching storm for sadness such as this.

*For the record, I enjoy the humor of the Snarky Girls and respect them for their continued commitment to teaching in a society where this activity is not accorded the respect it deserves.

And this is my color.

finally here

Pertaining to, or of the nature of, a labyrinth; having or consisting of many intricate turnings or windings. Intricate, complicated, involved, inextricable (OED, 2006).

Graduate Anecdotes – A Call

Anecdote: Unpublished items; a short narrative of an interesting, amusing or biographical incident.

I’m calling on you, dear reader, for graduate anecdotes: brief stories about graduate life, advisors, work and etc. Use the comment box to send me tales that are heartwarming, sad, instructional, exciting and etc. I’ll even take angry stories, but remember, most of these are only interesting in the immediate term and boring in the long run. One example will suffice: My first PhD advisor could not be bothered to spend more than five minutes a semester talking with me. This anecdote is 1) not interesting, and 2) trivial in comparison to the historian Peter Stearns’ story of his advisor at Harvard. Stearns’ advisor had to keep a list of names and dissertation topics because he couldn’t remember all of them. Thus the Harvard don would sneak a look at his list, taped surreptitiously to a pull out arm of his desk, in an effort to prove that he had remembered Stearns' name.

To get you started thinking of stories, I pass along one that the historian Laurence Levine tells of his advisor, Richard Hofstadter. Larry was in Hofstadter's office when another, more advanced advisee came in. The advisee had two fat binders with him and triumphantly dropped them on Hofstadter’s desk, proclaiming “I’m done with my dissertation!” To this Hofstadter raised one eyebrow at the two binders and asked, “which one do you want me to read?”

Teaching the Snarks

As long as we are talking about students, I want to add my .5 cents (price adjusted for inflation) to this discussion. Namely, why is the default interpretation of our students exasperation and disappointment? Indeed there are bastards, but I don’t find I teach well when I highlight that particular group. Moreover, there is some danger to such facile and less-than-nuanced interpretations of individuals and our reasons for teaching them.

Here, then, is a challenge to the generationally challenged: What do you enjoy about these individuals; how do they help you to learn about yourselves; how is being in their presence one of the better ways to spend your time; how do they demonstrate that the future is not as bleak as the nihilists would like us to believe?

Definer hints at this notion when he ends his posting entitled “Teacherly”, but isn’t there more? Has not anyone read the article “Teaching as a Mode of Friendship”? Why must there be a hundred entries on the stupidity of students, and fewer that remind us why we chose this vocation?

Even if their numbers are few and their voices are soft, I am thankful to be in the presence of engaged individuals who share my desire to wrestle with the complexity of the world, take the brave step of advancing uncertain arguments, and try to make sense of the sense-making process. This is an environment where I am challenged to work harder, think more clearly, and be engaged with the world.

I do not mean to call out Auditus or Definer, as not all of this argument is with them. Rather, too often during my time on campus I hear the naïve and insecure instructor positing such cynical platitudes (snarks beware). I will grant you that your comments can be humorous, but I don’t know if I am learning anything here, except that being withering can become stale without an alternative. Thus, be teachers and teach us, your fellow teachers. Is not that the more difficult lesson—the sort you ask of your own students? If failure is to be the subject of the day, might not some of this disappointment reflect on our own failings?

Generation X-cuse Me

The definer (not the Decider) and I have had an on-going conversation, lo these many weeks, regarding the state of confrontation.

“This [blank] is really good …” “I don’t want to criticize …” “I hear what you’re saying …”

Too much debate, dialogue, and argumentation are regularly begun by some similar manifestation; ideas and opinions buried by the couched and deferential. Human communication left stalled at the courtesy window.

I regularly hear these statements from Generation Y during the execution of my “professional” duties, and regrettably, I am responsible. I first noticed in my teen years that the word “sorry” was spoken in my daily life as frequently as awesome, cool, dude, lame, motor, stoked, sweet, and tool combined. I looked and listened around me and most of my friends were similarly afflicted (albeit some cases worse than others, I was diagnosed chronic, but not lethal, on the Sicherung Scale).

How did we get here? It would be comforting, and politically expedient, if there were some easy answer (maybe Twisted Sister was responsible), but as is always the case the recipe is long, complex, and interwoven. Vietnam and the 1960s gave way to the free-for-all of the late 1970s and insularity of the 1980s. Generations of children watching family feuds annihilate their homes. The growing disconnects and protective shield produced in suburbia. The guillotine of the politically correct culture. The forces of production teaching us to love their shit sandwich. The propaganda campaign that invaded our daily lives and dare-d us to just say yes to patriotism.

Alas, we have left behind the duels of our Wild West (unless Zell Miller becomes President) and the vacant lot rumbles for timidity and sterility. Either way, we are stuck with the old adage: the loudest voice (or the strongest fist) prevails. I do not want to return to six-shooters and brass knuckles, but this other extreme leaves a belly full of angst and more importantly an archaeology of missed opportunities.

Confrontation frightens most people (myself included), the powerful fear of rejection and exclusion carried from childhood to adulthood. But our fear of the Furies deadens our lives, communities, societies, and world. Generation X did not birth this epidemic, but we are responsible for not stopping its continued spawn.

Part One in a Series With No End

Teacherly

OK, I can't resist a fourth post and here I borrow from Inga's neologism "teacherly."

In response to recent comments about end-of-semester blues from Inga and Stella (at Snarky Girls) and Gukira, I have a different story to tell.

My story is about the students who began the semester as lousy speakers. Indeed, not only were they lousy, they hated speaking even though, I suspect, they do it every day (and for you English folks - Stella, Inga, Gukira - you may not have the advantage of students who practice your discipline every day). By the end of the semester I had students who performed at an unbelievable level of competence and confidence. They had learned two things: 1) how to make an argument on their feet and without notecards (the key ingredient being preparation), and 2) how to believe in themselves (the key ingredient being patience).

It is easy for all teachers to get bogged down in the bad students (and I've had my share) who waste our time, who frustrate us, and who take without giving back. But we should remember to celebrate the students who give back more than they take - the students who put so much time, energy and effort into proving that they have learned from us. As I told one group of debaters who had all performed far beyond any reasonable expectation, "this is why I teach."

Cutting Edge in 1957

Given that my co-authors and I have recently pulled down four posts, I'll make up for the shortfall with a third post this morning by way of a response to the pretty essay about sound by Thesaurus. So in that vein, I present to you the cutting edge of 1957.

History is, of course, about the winners and so now when we think about the cutting edge of music in the 1950s, we are most likely to "remember" Elvis Presley or Roy Orbison or Buddy Holley. But this was a corner of a corner of music in the incredibly vibrant 1950s. Looking back through the lens of Presley-Orbison-Holley it is easy enough to mis-remember the period as one of consensus and conformity, but hidden beneath this false memory was an incredible angst driven at least in part by those duck and cover films that every kid in every school in America had to watch in every grade during public school.

In 1957, Miles Davis was on the road to putting his life back together. After having spent a decade trying to keep up with Dizzy Gillespie and Louis Armstrong, and failing for Davis never had the power or quickness of either trumpeter, he kicked his drug habit and discovered his own soul. Blessed with a musical context that included haunting tunes by Billie Holiday (Lady Sings the Blues - 1956), Chet Baker (How Long has this Been Going On - 1957 and 1958) and Frank Sinatra (One for my Baby, and One More for the Road - 1958), Davis produced his most soulful tune. Cleaning up in Paris, Davis recorded "Generique," a song with a depth beyond anything ever recorded. The soul is invisible, but as Davis sonically illustrates, not inaudible.

The question is: Was this indeed cutting edge? Or had the soul been heard before 1957?

Example

Term: Honest
Method: Example

"Those who reviewed your submission were unanimous on two points: 1) There is a good essay to be written about this subject, and 2) This essay is not it."


Term: Compliment/Backhanded Compliment
Method: Example

"He likes you. He doesn't like many people."

Living in America, Pt. 4

I have erased Living in America Pt. 2 and have foregone Pt. 3 after having been reminded that my neighborhood suits me well.

For all my learnin', for all my books, and for all my ethical and intellectual engagements, I sometimes forget that I am no better than my neighbors and my townsfolk. These people are (mostly) hard workers, barely getting by in a country that cares not for them. They make our autoparts, they work the cash registers at our Walmarts, they clean our offices. They come home after a long and unfulfilling day of work, turn their televisions on and thus make the pain of living go away. They detest intellectual snobs, pretensions, and anyone who illustrates the possibility of first and second class citizenship or of upper and lower classes. They claim that they are middle class. They vote Republican not because they want to but because they have to. They were taught in school to believe in America and find in the Democrats a party without any beliefs, and in this they are absolutely correct.

My immediate neighbor, a man with many faults, also gives generously of his time to his neighborhood association, his factory softball team, and though bankrupt, manages to give food and other necessities to a local shelter for abused animals (and God knows, there are plenty of those in my hometown). So I put my complaints aside, maintain my concern for the maintenance of home, and trust to the basic goodness of humanity.

The taste of absence

I must admit to moments when I am fascinated by particular absences. For instance, I think of those sounds we can only imagine and never experience: an aria by Farinelli, Benjamin Franklin in heated debate, or the creak and ruffle of an original clipper under full sail? So many authors write of the sound of the voice through the effort of the pen, but what is it that we crave? Is it the low sound of conspiracy whispered in our ears, the lilt of suggestion made by an attractive stranger, or the guttural threat from the shadows of a back alley? Can you hear the author panting out these lines as s/he types them, savoring the sound of each curled letter?

When you think of history, can you imagine what Egypt sounded like under the Pharaohs? When the plains where still great and undivided, what was the sound of those endless herds of bison moving on the horizon? How many of us are asked only to see history instead of imaging the sound of it?

Maybe the real travesty of our not-so-modern media is that we separate the various senses of experience into particular fetishes, leaving our imaginations bereft of the stimuli we require for the fabrication of “truth.” And the real pity is that I have only considered sound; what of the tactile, the gustatory, and the olfactory? Can we write narratives of these sorts? How would we organize them, and would time be our measure?

That time of the semester

Recipe for Graduate Student Soufflé

(From the Cookbook of the Neurotic)

One part inspiration

Two parts anxiety

A dash of boldness

Beat until completely enervated

Garnish with insecurity

Serve numb and muddled