Controvers scriptores.

Attention Brendan:

"Some controverters in divinity are like swaggerers in a tavern, that catch that which stands next to them, the candlestick, or pots; turn everything into a weapon: ofttimes they fight blindfold; and both beat the air. The one milks a he-goat, the other holds under a sieve. Their arguments are as fluxive as liquor spilt upon a table; which with your fingers you may drain as you will. Such controversies, or disputations, (carried with more labour, than profit) are odious: where most times the truth is lost in the midst, or left untouched. And the fruit of their fight is that they spit on one another, and are both defiled. These fencers in religion, I like them not."

-Ben Jonson

I recently found out what Twitter is for.

I was on Twitter for a long time before I had any idea what it was for. I don't think it's quite this...

Freddie deBoer:

"I am angry, because Avent didn't just dismiss my essay without argument. He instead decided to attack my field. [...] This is what Twitter is for, and this is indicative of the entire operation of prominent bloggers: socially and professionally connected people who defend each other no matter what, excluding and marginalizing dissent, ignoring unpalatable arguments that they can't answer, and in every way undermining as illegitimate criticisms that don't operate from a position of privilege and social authority."

To blame this all on Twitter is a little much. It's less "what Twitter is for" and more "what prominent bloggers and media personalities use Twitter for."

What I'm using Twitter for:

1. Sharing links, punning, and brief inspirational quotes can all be done comfortably within the space of a tweet. I could put these things on the blog, but I think it saves time for everyone if I just drop them in the
2. Short, troll-free conversations with bloggers. Easy questions and further links are easy to get, and unwanted, uninteresting, or unhelpful responses are easy to cut out of the conversation, and even blocked if need be. This is as opposed to comment sections on blog posts, which get flooded to the point of uselessness on websites of any size. It's also nice to have all these conversations in one place, rather than distributed across a bunch of websites you have to hold open in tabs.
3. As for the troll filter: yeah, this cuts both ways, and can be used to exclude unpopular perspectives, especially if you've got a ton of followers. But, oh my goodness, the spatial metaphor is so much nicer. I've really grown to hate the entitlement complexes of trollish commenters on unmoderated blogs. Would you come into my house and say these things?

In summary, I use Twitter to cover functions of the RSS reader and the comment box, and I do my best to stay positive. It works all right.

From a James Wood review.

James Wood writing about the protagonist of Adam Gordon's Leaving the Atocha Station:

Adam--at once ideological and post-ideological, vaguely engaged and profoundly spectatorial, charming and loathsome--is a charming representative of twenty-first-century American Homo literatus. He is a creature of privilege and lassitude, living through a time of inflamed political certainty, yet certain only of his own uncertainty and thus more easily defined by negation than by affirmation, clearly dedicated to poetry but unable to define or defend it (except to intone that poetry isn't about anything), and implicitly nostalgic for earlier, mythical eras of greater strength and certainty.

If the book is sufficiently savvy about this guy, it's probably worth reading. I sometimes think that if not for the Holy Spirit, I'd turn into a character like this.

(Though maybe Christianity just keeps me from being either too charming or too loathsome?)

Why are shows about bad people so popular?

The Sopranos, Mad Men, and Breaking Bad are popular television shows about people who do terrible things. I haven't seen Deadwood or The Shield, but perhaps those also fit in this genre. If you read the websites I read, you'd think that these are the most popular television shows; in fact, they're niche entertainments compared to NCIS or the various CSI franchises. They're shows for young Bobos, more or less. Two hypotheses:

1. Deep down, we see ourselves as morally compromised. We know that we have and use more than we deserve, and we don't want to give it up. We tell ourselves that we're avoiding our just deserts for the sake of our families.
2. We like badassery, but we also need an excuse for our interest. The psychological angle gives us the illusion of moral distance. So we can tell ourselves that we're not interested in evil, but rather in the analysis of evil's effects.

There are two motions here: there's a larger structure of judgment, within which the characters' bad choices are shown to be harmful, but scene-by-scene the viewer's enticed by the allure of the anti-hero. I suspect that this is not moral seriousness, but rather the sense of it.

UPDATE: Should have given credit where credit's due. I started on this line of thinking after reading something Freddie wrote on G+.

Three generations.

In the last few months I've read both Wallace Stegner's Angle of Repose and Jeffrey Eugenides's Middlesex. The juxtaposition of these novels was accidental, but it's given me a lot to think about. Each novel is narrated by an abnormal man digging for courage and wisdom in the story of his pioneering grandparents. In Middlesex, the grandparents move from Greece and find their home in Detroit; Angle of Repose describes an East Coast woman's struggle to adjust to life in the Rockies.

Of course, the comparisons break down quickly. Stegner's protagonist's physical problems only emerged late in life, leaving him crippled and isolated from the outside world; Middlesex's Cal has an unusual genetic feature that's invisible to casual observers. And Cal strives resolutely to bridge past and future, while Angle's Lyman Ward sees the West he loves as having largely disappeared, replaced by the noxious culture of the Sixties.

It's impossible to read Angle of Repose without wanting to learn more about Mary Hallock Foote, the real-life basis for the character of Susan Beecher Ward. The book uses sections of her letters and memoirs, and these provide some really lovely passages. But Stegner brings his A game too, and I'm a sucker for the sorts of landscapes he spends plenty of time describing. It helps that a good chunk of the book takes place in Leadville, Colorado, which I visited this summer.

As for Middlesex, it's hard to imagine how a book could do more to inspire empathy for a character with a condition that many readers will find very icky at the outset. I held off on Middlesex for years because I thought of it was a "novel about a hermaphrodite" -- but it's not that; it's a novel about a person and a family. Eugenides, unfortunately, is less likely than Stegner to draw the curtain of propriety. Still, it's a large-hearted book and a good read.

I'm suddenly curious about the genre of three-generations-of-a-family novels. It's a subheading, I suppose, of family saga novels. On a first thought, Dickens and Austen didn't write them. When did they start appearing?

Reading Iris Murdoch.

From The Idea of Perfection:

"Do we really have to choose between an image of total freedom and an image of total determinism? Can we not give a more balanced and illuminating account of the matter? I suggest we can if we simply introduce into the picture the idea of attention, or looking, of which I was speaking above. I can only choose within the world I can see, in the moral sense of 'see' which implies that clear vision is a result of moral imagination and moral effort. ... One is often compelled almost automatically by what one can see. If we ignore the prior work of attention and notice only the emptiness of the moment of choice we are likely to identify freedom with the outward movement since there is nothing else to identify it with. But if we consider what the work of attention is like, how continuously it goes on, and how imperceptibly it builds up structures of value round about us, we shall not be surprised that at crucial moments of choice most of the business of choosing is already over. This does not imply that we are not free, certainly not. But it implies that the exercise of our freedom is a small piecemeal business which goes on all the time and not a grandiose leaping about unimpeded at important moments. The moral life, on this view, is something that goes on continually, not something that is switched off in between the occurrence of explicit moral choices."

-Iris Murdoch. "The Idea of Perfection" in The Sovereignty of Good. New York: Schocken Books, 1971. (36-7)

I find this view very appealing. I don't know if it's true.

Crossover.

Last night I heard Christopher O'Riley and Matt Haimovitz perform pieces from their new album Shuffle.Play.Listen. I'll have more to say about the album once I listen to it, but the concert was an evening well spent. The program was a mix of twentieth-century composed ("classical") music and O'Riley's piano/cello arrangements of rock songs.



This sort of mixed program -- Webern to Radiohead to Stravinsky -- is great for someone coming from indie rock to classical because it draws connections from things I understand fairly well to things I don't really get yet. The way Haimovitz absolutely shreds on that John McLaughlin solo, you suddenly start to wonder if "shredding" is a good way of understanding the Stravinsky tarantella. Or when he somehow captures Regine Chassagne's phrasing and intonation on the melody of Arcade Fire's "In the Backseat," you start figuring out how to follow the phrases in Martinu's "Variations on a Slovak Folksong." Even if I'm not the best person to judge the quality of the musicianship, which, to me, seemed incredibly high, I can tell when musicians are revealing new layers in songs I know well and introducing me to songs and compositions that I ought to know well.

Churches and tax exemptions.

Yglesias argues that non-profits shouldn't get property tax exemptions. He says that you'd think conservatives would love the pro-business implications of this argument, except for one thing:

Unfortunately, the main beneficiary of nonprofit tax bias is churches, and conservatives love churches. The church case is, however, a particularly pernicious one since one-day-a-week religious services are an exceptionally poor use of scarce land and it’s simply not the case that building more lavish church structures attracts God’s favor.

So, yes, the main sanctuaries of large churches generally don't get used throughout the week (though many chapels have daily services). But off the top of my head, I know of many churches that run day-care centers or schools during the week. They're often willing to make space available in the evenings for AA or NA meetings. Now I'm curious about what proportion of churches do this, and marking it down under TO RESEARCH.

Also, I know he's kidding around, but just in case any of you are thinking about doing this: trying to "attract God's favor" is a bad reason for building a Christian church.

Front porches and front stoops.

One further thought after last weekend's conference...

As I see it, the tension between Front Porch Republic's agrarianism and urbanism has something to do with what Caleb Stegall describes as "standing on your own two feet." People who take inspiration from Wendell Berry emphasize doing things for oneself, or knowing the people who do the things you can't do. "Self-reliance" is the wrong phrase for this virtue, because that's too individualistic. Perhaps we should say: flourishing in a community requires attention to place.

Now, an urbanist can certainly pay attention to her city. But the problem I'd expect Front Porchers to split on is how community itself can flourish in urban settings. Because I'll admit it's hard to know your neighbors. Do you locate the problem in post-war urban design's capitulation to automobile culture? Is it the organizational necessity of impersonal institutions? Is there something in the nature of cities that undermines attention to community and place? Do the distributivists think that there's an inherent problem in city dwellers' renting of abodes? I'd love to see some of the Porchers tackle these questions.

The Crunchy Con Conference.

I blame the weather. Now that the worst part of summer has passed, I've spent more time walking around Baltimore and less time with the computer. And so it's taken me almost a week to get out a quick blog post on the conference I went to last weekend in beautiful Emmitsburg, Maryland. The event's title was "Human Scale and the Human Good: Building Healthy Communities in a Global Age," but everyone knew that it was really the Front Porch Republic conference.

I should admit now that I haven't been a regular reader of Front Porch Republic in a while. It's a general thing about writers or groups of writers: once you get the main themes, sometimes you need to move on. But I wanted to see these guys in the flesh, so I paid my registration fee and reserved a rental car for my trip to Western Maryland. I'll talk about some of the speakers below, but I won't say much about some of the other talks I enjoyed: Christine Rosen on geolocation technology, David Cloutier on luxury and choice, Darryl Hart on the dangers of Protestant ecumenism, and Caleb Stegall on Jayhawk Federalism.

This being a Front Porch Republic gathering, the brand of localism on offer was decidedly agrarian. I'm a city dweller, so my mind kept moving to the problem of urbanism. Patrick Deneen spoke about Wendell Berry's two American tendencies: the strong tendency to displace ourselves and the weaker tendency to put down roots. I wondered what it looks like to put down roots in a city. Mark Mitchell talked about local currencies in western Massachusetts, but he didn't mention the BNote, Baltimore's fledgling currency. And Phillip Bess's excellent presentation on small-town urban design certainly held lessons for larger cities, but he seemed to despair of getting past municipal bureaucracies.

Perhaps the most obvious opportunity to raise the question of urbanism came during Allan Carlson's lecture. Carlson described vividly the agrarian civilization of pre-WWII Iowa: the civic associations, the regional artists and poets, the local farms. But he also pointed out that fecund farming cultures produce too many children for them all to remain in the community: the non-inheriting children move to cities or try to find another place to buy farms of their own. (Apparently, the small-farm owners in France have managed to keep themselves reproducing more or less at the replacement rate, but this will be more difficult for the kind of devout Catholic agrarians that read Front Porch Republic.) So if an agrarian civilization produces spillover, it seems that we ought to talk about cities.

Another, less obvious opportunity to bring up urbanism came with the keynote speaker, Bill Kauffman. Kauffman gave a hilarious, feisty speech lecture on the beauties and banalities of life in Batavia, NY. It was full of love -- not abstract nostalgiac love, but angry and hard-earned love -- for the people of the town and scorn for the highway-building technocrats who would tell his people that they live in an insignificant backwater. You know who Kauffman reminded me of more than anyone? He brought to mind David Simon (creator of The Wire) talking about Baltimore: about how the city he made his life in continually screws itself up, how it's looked down on by New Yorkers, how abstract technocratic institutions screw up the lives of ordinary people. Despite the gulf in political opinions, there's something there.

So how does agrarian localism approach localist urbanism? I imagine that this question would show some real fault lines in the FPR crowd. But maybe it's just my myopia.

(A big thanks to John Schwenkler for helping organize the conference and inviting me to make the trip!)

Facebook offers to write your own personal "Look Homeward, Angel."

Well, it looks like Facebook is making another decisive move in the direction of being a site that "help[s] tell the story of your life," in Mark Zuckerberg's words, and then analyzes "the story of your life" with reference to the stories of your friends' lives and offers you stuff you might like to buy. I wrote about earlier movements in this direction back at the League over a year ago.

The problem with a service that offers a comprehensive "story of my life" is that it gives me two options:

1. I have to manage that story carefully and make all sorts of constant little decisions about what I'm telling people.
2. I let Facebook manage most of that stuff for me, algorithmically.

Option 2 is out of the question. Option 1 isn't natural for me, since I'm used to a public-private distinction that Facebook wants to discard, and it looks like it's going to take up more and more time to adjust to changes. For a while now, Facebook has been a service I wouldn't sign up for if it were pitched to me fresh.

Of course, I'm not mad about anything, and I don't think I'll particularly miss "the old Facebook." But this stuff is going to come up again and again for the rest of our lives, and it's worth thinking about our choices in this new networked world.

Practically, I think I'm going to deactivate my account. There's no great reason to delete it permanently; I might rather be able to get back into the system to adjust settings the next time the site makes a huge perverse data-sharing move.

William Deresiewicz's list of influential postwar criticism.

From a TNR review of Harold Bloom's new book. For my own future reference.

When I think of the most important works of postwar criticism, I think of Frye’s Anatomy [of Criticism], Kermode’s The Sense of an Ending, Stanley Fish’s Surprised by Sin, Paul de Man’s Blindness and Insight, Said’s Orientalism, Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar’s The Madwoman in the Attic, Stephen Greenblatt’s Renaissance Self-Fashioning, Fredric Jameson’s The Political Unconscious, and Eve Sedgwick’s Between Men—books that launched or largely defined, respectively, myth criticism, narratology, reader-response criticism, deconstruction, postcolonial criticism, feminist criticism, New Historicism, contemporary Marxist criticism, and queer studies. The Anxiety of Influence—idiosyncratic, impacted, hermetic—launched nothing, except more books by Bloom.

I don't know which of these I'll ever get around to reading, but I hope to make my way through a few of them. Deresiewicz also recommends Frank Kermode as a model critic.

Note-taking, and planning a work.

"Keep notes made after thinking, and with moderation. In order to avoid first-minute surprises, the effect of some passing preoccupation, or the enthusiasm sometimes aroused by a brilliant form of words, do not definitely include the passage in your notes wihtout letting some time elapse. Quietly, at the right distance, you will judge of the value of your harvest and store up only the good grain in your barns." (188-9)

"We must beware of a certain craze for collecting which sometimes takes possession of those who make notes. They want to have a full notebook or filing cabinet; they are in a hurry to put something in the empty spaces, and they accumulate passages as other people fill stamp and postcard albums. That is a deplorable practice; it is a sort of childishness, and risks becoming a mania. Order is a necessity, but it must serve us, not we it." (194)

-A. G. Sertillanges, The Intellectual Life. Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 1987.

I've had what seems to me to be a workable idea for a series of essays on Christianity and literature, and I'm going to be starting on a little research plan I've drawn up for myself. I'm hoping to keep up the variety on this site, but William Writes may take on the aspect of a niche blog for a few months. If this gets annoying to any readers, or seems like something that deserves its own blog, please speak up.

Anyway, I've been thinking about how I'm going to keep track of my notes, and I'm settling on that old favorite: notecards. But I've also wondered what the tech-savvy people do when they need to take notes. Is there software for this? Or do people still use their old notebooks?

Attracted and repulsed.

J.M. Coetzee on Australian poet Les Murray:

In the eyes of most people, higher education offers students a chance to improve themselves and perhaps move up the social ladder. This is what, back in 1957, Sydney University offered Les Murray, son of a struggling tenant farmer. The young man’s response was confused. He missed classes, failed examinations, dropped out to lead a vagrant life, yet finally returned to complete his degree. In Murray’s own account of that period of his life, he took only what he wanted from the university—the resources of its library—while resisting its more insidious sociopolitical project. But the very vehemence of Murray’s polemic against higher education—a vehemence in which there is more than a touch of hysteria—suggests a supplementary reading: that the young man was as much attracted as repulsed by the promise that submission to the rituals and mysteries of the academy would allow him to shed his origins and be reborn declassed.

[via Alan Jacobs]

A Feast for Creeps.

There was a big discussion over the weekend at the League of Ordinary Gentlemen about sexism in George R.R. Martin's popular A Song of Ice and Fire books, inspired by Sady Doyle's review, in which she justifiably concludes that "George R.R. Martin is creepy." I'm posting a version of what I said in that conversation because I had to think pretty hard about why I continue to read these books despite reservations about the content.

These books contain some really disturbing stuff, and it's important not to play that down. If Martin doesn’t win you over somewhere in the early part of A Game of Thrones, the rest of the series is going to be quite a slog. It’s really important in these discussions to distinguish between “if you’re disturbed, you’re reading it wrong” and “this stuff is disturbing, though I think there’s a point to it.”

The way I read these books, there are two reasons Martin writes creepy scenes. First, he’s trying to undermine (or maybe even “critique”) the conservative impulse to revisit feudal societies. He’s constructing an outsized version of medieval Europe with a deromanticized and Machiavellian patriarchal feudalism, and it should be clear to the reader that this is a bad system. In A Feast for Crows, Martin lets a character speak at length about the horrors that war inflicts on common soldiers; at this point in the book, we've seen that war is no picnic for the nobility, but it's hell for the troops. So a major project of the books is to flip the common tropes of fantasy literature. (As a side note: it shouldn't be taken for granted that these books give any kind of window into actual history, but that's a post for another time.) This take on Martin is, of course, nothing new. And I think this explains why he’s set up the large architecture of the novel in the way he has.

But it doesn't explain why he writes specific sections the way he does. Specifically, there's a ton of stuff that's way more intense than it needs to be: why the incest? Why the sexual abuse? Why the cannibalism? And why in such detail? I think the answer to all these questions is that Martin, as a storyteller, likes to try to get away with really dark stuff, and that's the second source of creepiness in the books. So in one instance there's a subtle implication that a man secretly kills and cooks one group of his enemies, and then proceeds to serve human meat pies to another group of enemies. If there's some kind of political-philosophical statement being made in this passage, I'm missing it. More obviously, Martin uses one subplot to give his readers an inside view of the Viking-like rape-and-pillage culture of the Iron Isles. Even if the point is to show that a culture based on rape and slaughter is not the best society to live in, I find these chapters to be incredibly unpleasant!

So, for those of us who like the books, I think it’s good to talk about what Martin is really aiming at, and to figure out where his critique falls short. But even if there’s some plausible liberal-humanist explanation of every single creepy incident in each one of the books, (a) people who find these incidents off-putting would not necessarily find them any less off-putting if they understood the purpose behind them, and (b) the very fact that bloggers are dispassionately parsing out the dynamics of consent and abuse in some of these hideous fictional situations might be off-putting in itself. Not everyone will agree or assume that these books are worth reading. That might actually be a good thing. There may yet be some decency left in this world.

On what grounds would I actually defend Martin’s writing, given how uncomfortable it makes me at times? Primarily, I enjoy the density and complexity of the narrative. In the best sections of the book, the drama comes from a clash of plausible competing interests. Clues to various mysteries are planted thousands of pages before the reveals. (Think LOST, but less ad hoc.) In short, I find the story compelling in all the ways a big novel should be compelling. Which makes me think that if I want more of that sort of thing I should finally get around to War and Peace.

Gray areas.

In Salon:

Many react to the idea of someone having zero interest in sex as offensive. It goes against everything we understand about what makes the world go 'round, so it's an inherently confrontational concept. With this disbelief often come attempts to write asexuality off as a result of repression or sexual trauma (as of now there's no evidence of that). It becomes even more complicated for people to understand when they discover all the variation within the asexual community.

Is this discussion of "asexuality" where the notion of "sexual identity" really starts losing its usefulness?

What I'm seeing is that some people are finding that they don't fit any of the sexual identities on offer -- homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual, and so on. They're are positing yet another sort of identity. And I'm sure this solution is helpful on some level, but I take the existence of the problem as an indication that there's something wrong with how we're using these ideas in the first place. So my reaction to this article is think that the framework of sexual identity is just not the best way to approach questions about "what intimacy is, what human connection is, and how you build that."

On the other hand, maybe modern people just don't have another framework available.

[Via The Dish]

The Influence of American Sea Power.

Pascal-Emmanuel Gobry argues against Ron Paul's foreign policy at The American Scene and Business Insider. In short (from BI):

From bases in Europe, the Middle East and Asia, the US military protects the world's shipping lanes, making sure the clockwork of the global economy runs smoothly and goods and oil can be shipped to and back. This is the part of the global American military footprint that actually matters, not the wars. These wars may be very bad ideas, but Ron Paul and his ilk don't just want to end those wars. They want to end America's global military hegemony.

So here are some questions for Gobry: is the structure of the United States military really suited to this end? What's the relationship between shipping-lane protection and the Global War on Terror? And, most importantly, why don't Paul's opponents make this response in debates? (Forgive me if they do. I am not keeping track of the GOP primaries.)

This position isn't the usual one for the defenders of the status quo, because mere protection of global trade doesn't justify the US Military's current goal of "full spectrum dominance," that is, the ability to defeat any conceivable threat from any other power. If the United States only needs to be hegemonic enough to protect the global economy, there's still a lot of room to slash military spending.

And then there's this:

We're all for blasting illegal, unwinnable, endless foreign wars of choice. We're all for smashing the national security state that treats grandma like a terrorist if she wants to board a flight. We're all for howling at the insidious and wasteful military-industrial complex, and cutting the unsustainable Pentagon budget.

At the risk of being flippant, no we're not. What Gobry describes here is a minority position in US politics. I know of pundits who take this line: Ross Douthat comes to mind. But can anyone show me a politician who votes against wars of choice, the security state, and the military-industrial complex, but publicly articulates the importance of a pax Americana for world trade? I have a hunch that such a figure won't appear unless Ron Paul's brand of anti-imperialism gains enough momentum to frighten Washington.

Doctors of the Church.

I enjoyed this post on the Doctors of the Church, both for the content and for the creative use of text tools to convey information. It's hard not to mark a "dark age" between John Damascene and Peter Damian. Also interesting:

Some notable and influential theologians who very likely meet all the criteria but haven't yet received the designation: Gregory of Nyssa (whose absence is very noticeable), Epiphanius of Salamis, Jeanne de Chantal, Jean Eudes, Louis de Montfort, Bernardino of Siena, Veronica Giuliani, Birgitta of Sweden, Gertrude of Helfta, John Bosco, Lorenzo Giustiniani, Antonino of Florence, Thomas of Villanova, Ignatius of Loyola, Vincent de Paul.

Prescriptivism.

From David Bentley Hart at First Things, writing about English usage rules:

Everyone who cares about such matters engages in both prescription and description, often confusing the two. So does every dictionary. Everyone, moreover, knows words shift in meaning over time. The real question, at the end of the day, is whether any distinction can be recognized, or should be maintained, between creative and destructive mutations.

[...]

The analytic, lexically antinomian line is that, in themselves, words mean nothing; persons use them as instruments to mean this or that. But, conversely, persons can mean only what they have the words to say, and so the finer our distinctions and more precise our definitions, the more we are able to mean.

While this is about "usage" in the sense of language, there's also a lesson here for a certain breed of technology enthusiasts.

Two things from our newspapers of record.

1. John Wilson, editor of Books and Culture, has an editorial in the Wall Street Journal on faith and science:

   What is at stake in these disputes is not a choice between following biblical authority on the one hand or science on the other, as the matter is often misleadingly framed. Rather, we see rival theological commitments, rival understandings of how to read Genesis.

   I think this puts it nicely, though Wilson goes on to understate the consequences of adhering to reading Genesis as a literal description of the origins of the world. Young Earth Creationists have to explain how the scientific community gets things so wrong, and so it seems rather common to consider the scientific establishment as mendacious, incompetent, or ideologically biased to a terrifying degree. If the scientists are so bad at geology, how could they do any better on climatology? So while Young Earth Creationism is not essentially a "disdain for science," such disdain tends to follow.
2. In the New York Times, an essay on David Foster Wallace's prose style, and those on the internet who learned all the wrong lessons from it:

   I suppose it made sense, when blogging was new, that there was some confusion about voice. Was a blog more like writing or more like speech? Soon it became a contrived and shambling hybrid of the two. The “sort ofs” and “reallys” and “ums” and “you knows” that we use in conversation were codified as the central connectors in the blogger lexicon. We weren’t just mad, we were sort of enraged; no one was merely confused, but kind of totally mystified.
   
   [...]
   
   How we arrived at the notion that the postmodern era is the first ever to confront the tension between sincerity and irony despite millennia of evidence to the contrary is no mystery: every generation believes its insights are unprecedented, its struggles uniquely formidable, its solutions the balm for all that ails the world. Why so many of our critics are still, after all these years, making their arguments in this inherently self-undermining voice — still trying to ward off every possible rejoinder and pre-emptively rebut every possible criticism by mixing a weird rhetorical stew of equivocation, pessimism and Elysian prophecy — is another question entirely.

   That's a stew I like making more than eating. This is worth thinking about.