Two summer projects.

1. I'm trying to read Ulysses again. I made it 70 pages last time I tried, back in 2005; this time I think I can do it. Joyce and I have some history: Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man has the place in my history of reading that Catcher in the Rye has for many others. Portrait was the book that both alerted me to the possibilities of the written word and fixed in my mind certain ideas about artistry and authenticity. Of course, this is mainly because I misread it. When I re-read Portrait last year, I caught much more of Joyce's humor. I was somewhat disconcerted to realize that Stephen Dedalus is not quite the artist that he thinks he is. I'm glad to say that Ulysses is actually pretty funny. For example, the verbs in the library scene: “Monsieur de la Palisse, Stephen sneered…”, “Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton censured…”, “All these questions are purely academic, Russell oracled.” And a page later: “John Eglinton, frowning, said, waxing wroth: —Upon my word it makes my blood boil to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato.” This stuff makes me chuckle.
2. I'm also trying to learn to follow sports. It's not that I don't like sports. I get a big kick out of going to see games live. It's just that I have trouble keeping track of games I don't watch. This is a little bit weird, since I can spout out esoterica about actors in movies I don't even plan to see, but I can't keep track who plays for the teams that I claim to like. So, warming up with Wimbledon and the World Cup, I'm going to try to figure out how to follow sports so that when NFL season starts up, I'm not the odd man out at the office.

If I can follow through on both of these projects, I'll probably be able to keep my level of pretension exactly where it is right now.

Poisons.

“Was I an apostle of health, and if so what was health? If it was bodily well-being, that was a reasonable if not a simple answer. But if it included mental well-being, or spiritual well-being, the whole thing became greatly complicated. There are people who must have their poisons, or they are not themselves.”

-The Cunning Man by Robertson Davies, III.2

Busy week.

I had a pretty busy week, but all I really want to say is that Prokofiev's Sonata in A Major, No. 6 is unbelievably impressive when you're sitting ten feet away from the piano.

Tonight.

I'm going to go see Megafaun tonight in Arlington, VA. Haven't seen these guys in a while, so I'm pretty eager to get down there. Their new "mini-album" drops in September.

Megafaun - Volunteers | A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

From “Jesu, meine Freude.”

Gute Nacht, o Wesen,
Das die Welt erlesen!
Mir gefällst du nicht.
Gute Nacht, ihr Sünden,
Bleibet weit dahinten,
Kommt nicht mehr ans Licht!
Gute Nacht, du Stolz und Pracht!
Dir sei ganz, du Lasterleben,
Gute Nacht gegeben!

Good night, existence
that cherishes the world!
You do not please me.
Good night, sins,
stay far away,
never again come to light!
Good night, pride and glory!
To you utterly, life of corruption,
be good night given!

Two on Hypatia.

There's a new movie that's supposed to be about the life of Hypatia, an Alexandrian Neoplatonist philosopher and her murder at the hands of a Christian mob. But the details are off:

• David Bentley Hart is supremely irritated, and he hasn't even seen the film. Working from a New York Times article, he goes over some of the territory he covered in his last book.
• But in case you don't trust a movie that's being reviewed at such a level of remove, Nathan Schneider's posted a review at Religion Dispatches. Though he comes to substantially the same conclusion about the accuracy of the history, he's got some kind words for the film's larger perspective.

Either way, not the sort of movie I'm planning to see.

Two from the League.

I've no idea if there is anyone who reads this blog and doesn't read the League of Ordinary Gentlemen, a group blog that is kind enough to let me post. But just in case there is such a person, I want to link to two of today's posts at the League:

• David Schaengold wrote a delightful little post about the Clinton marriage. He conjures up a not-entirely-impossible scenario in which the Clintons are “the secret representatives of genuine romance in our age.” It's a grand idea.
• Second, I dropped a link to this article in The Nation about the Templeton Foundation, which funds faith-and-science research. As a result of this article, I'm now deeply interested in how the Templeton Foundation engages with academia, and I hope to find out more.
  

Hardcover books.

Alan Jacobs highlights the closing paragraphs of Ruth Franklin's report on her visit to the BookExpo America:

“At one panel I attended, titled ‘The Next Decade in Book Culture,’ Nicholas Latimore, a publicist for Knopf, waxed lyrical about the material qualities of a hardbound book. His house has always gloried in its beautiful design: the colophon page at the end that identifies and gives the history of the font the book was set in; the deckled edges on the most prized books, which encourage the reader to turn pages slowly rather than flipping through; even the attention that book designers put into choosing paper with ‘the right tooth’—that perfectly calibrated roughness of texture. In response, someone commented that the hardcover book might be going the way of the vinyl LP: largely obsolete, replaced by a cheaper and more convenient product, but still prized by connoisseurs for the superior quality of the aesthetic experience it offers. A collective gasp was stifled at this idea. But perhaps it’s not so crazy.

“Of course, the book has been around a lot longer and is far more deeply entrenched in our vision of culture—both what it is and what we want it to be—than the LP, which turned out to be a disposable format, a means to an end. Yet what the digital revolution in the music industry shows us, I think, is that what people want is music: the format doesn’t matter nearly as much as the product. As we moved from 45s to LPs to eight-tracks to cassette tapes to CDs to MP3s, the music itself remained the constant. What we wanted, it turned out, was to have as much music as possible at our fingertips at any given moment, easily accessible. This hasn’t been an unmitigated boom for the music industry, but it’s also been far from an unmitigated disaster. And I have faith that people—who have been telling stories just as long as we’ve been singing songs—will continue to want novels, too, no matter the format. I like deckled edges and toothsome paper as much as the next person, but if they turn out to be extravagances we can no longer afford, well, I still plan to keep reading.”

While the codex's current advantages over digital formats—durability, open format, “flippability,” etc.—aren't simply extravagances, I'm also not very worried about the future of reading. Furthermore: though I have to admit that from time to time I have the desire for “as much music as possible at [my] fingertips,” that's not exactly what I'm after with books. That is to say: I'm a big re-listener but generally not a huge re-reader.

That hideous Rorty.

From George Scialabba's essay “C. S. Lewis: Beloved Tormentor”:

“Lewis’s phenomenology of evil attained its apotheosis in Wither, archfiend of That Hideous Strength, the conclusion of his theological science-fiction trilogy. Wither was a philosopher-bureaucrat, whose mode of operation – almost a mode of being – was to blur distinctions. Now, a short definition of modern intellectual history might be: the progressive undermining of all firm distinctions, metaphysical, epistemological, and ethical. In recent years, no one has carried on this dissolution more subtly or rigorously than Richard Rorty, perhaps the most respected living Anglo-American philosopher. I revere Rorty, but thanks to Lewis, I have never been able to leave off mentally comparing him to Wither. And when I heard Rorty lecture for the first time, the physical resemblance I saw – or fancied – between him and Wither made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. That’s how it feels when mentor and tormentor meet inside one’s head.”

On the strength of this paragraph, I may re-read the Space Trilogy soon.

Souvenirs.

Mushrooms/microchips.

A commenter at the League pointed towards a consideration of the word “technophile” from Ran Pieur, who has a much darker view of highly organized human societies than I do. Nevertheless, I think the point about technophilia is a fine one:

“I love technology! A fungophobe is someone who fears all mushrooms, who assumes they're all deadly poisonous and isn't interested in learning about them. A fungophile is someone who is intensely interested in mushrooms, who reads about them, samples them, and learns which ones are poisonous, which ones taste good, which ones are medicinal and for what, which ones are allied to which trees or plants or animals. This is precisely my attitude toward technology. I am a technophile!

“Now, what would you call someone who runs through the woods indiscriminately eating every mushroom, because they believe ‘mushrooms are neutral,’ so there are no bad ones and it's OK to use any of them as long as it's for good uses like eating and not bad uses like conking someone over the head? You would call this person dangerously stupid. But this is almost the modern attitude toward ‘technology.’ Actually it's even worse. Because of the core values of civilization, that conquest and control and forceful transformation are good, because civilization ‘grows’ by dominating and exploiting and killing, and by numbing its members to the perspectives of their victims, it has been choosing and developing the most poisonous technologies, and ignoring or excluding tools allied to awareness, aliveness, and equal participation in power. It's as if we're in a world where the very definition of ‘mushroom’ has been twisted to include little other than death caps and destroying angels and deadly galerinas, and we wonder why health care is so expensive.”

I don't look at human social organization as just another natural phenomenon, so I'm not on board with trying to consider civilization from the perspective of nature. But the point about real something-philia being attuned to both blessings and dangers? It's worth keeping in mind.

Miniature conversions.

Eve Tushnet, in the context of encouraging cradle Catholics to stay Catholic:

“A broader point is that conversion-in-general is often a response to a two-part movement of the soul. First, you realize that you are painfully inadequate, that your knowledge is incomplete and your beliefs are flimsy. Second, you find something better than what you have -- better than what you are, at this point in your life -- and fall in love.

“This is a movement that can take place entirely within the Church. It's the experience of St. Francis. It's what we experience constantly, as we are abruptly made aware of our own sins and our own longing for God. I know it can be depressing to feel stuck in an endless cycle of confessing the same sins to the same priest, lather-rinse-repent, but if we are attempting to truly and fully acknowledge and turn away from our sin, each confession is a miniature conversion. (This is why I love the priest who often asks me to read a psalm as my penance -- the psalms capture every mood of David's conflicted, needy, bone-deep love of God.)”

Probably a good working distinction.

I'm glad that Dara Lind tweeted about Theory Talks. The interviews are fascinating. For example, here's Robert Cox's useful description of the difference between critical theory and problem-solving theory:

“What I meant is that there is no theory for itself; theory is always for someone, for some purpose. There is no neutral theory concerning human affairs, no theory of universal validity. Theory derives from practice and experience, and experience is related to time and place. Theory is a part of history. It addresses the problematic of the world of its time and place. An inquirer has to aim to place himself above the historical circumstances in which a theory is propounded. One has to ask about the aims and purposes of those who construct theories in specific historical situations. Broadly speaking, for any theory, there are two possible purposes to serve. One is for guiding the solving of problems posed within the particular context, the existing structure. This leads to a problem-solving form of theory, which takes the existing context as given and seeks to make it work better. The other which I call critical theory is more reflective on the processes of change of historical structures, upon the transformation or challenges arising within the complex of forces constituting the existing historical structure, the existing ‘common sense’ of reality. Critical thinking then contemplates the possibility of an alternative.

“The strength of problem-solving theory relies in its ability to fix limits or parameters to a problem area, and to reduce the statement of a particular problem to a limited number of variables which are amenable to rather close and clear examination. The ceteris paribus assumption, the assumption that other things can be ignored, upon which problem-solving theorizing relies, makes it possible to derive a statement of laws and regularities which appear of general applicability.

“Critical theory, as I understand it, is critical in the sense that it stands apart from the prevailing order, and asks how that world came about. It does not just accept it: a world that exists has been made, and in the context of a weakening historical structure it can be made anew. Critical theory, unlike problem-solving theory, does not take institutions and social power relations for granted, but calls them into question by concerning itself with their origins, and whether and how they might be in process of changing. It is directed towards an appraisal of the very framework for action, the historical structure, which the problem-solving theory accepts as its parameters. Critical theory is a theory of history, in the sense that it is not just concerned about the politics of the past, but the continuing process of historical change. Problem-solving theory is not historical, it is a-historical, in the sense that it in effect posits a continuing present, It posits the continuity of the institutions of power relations which constitute the rules of the game which are assumed to be stable. The strength of the one is the weakness of the other: problem-solving theory can achieve great precision, when narrowing the scope of inquiry and presuming stability of the rules of the game, but in so doing, it can become an ideology supportive of the status quo. Critical theory sacrifices the precision that is possible with a circumscribed set of variables in order to comprehend a wider range of factors in comprehensive historical change.”

A thought after watching the LOST series finale.

At the end of the series, I was tired of the Island. I started watching LOST in the middle of the third season, after the ending had been announced and the plot started rolling. For the last several years I have spent a far too much time on pop-culture escapes*, holing up in my apartment for a week, watching an entire seasons of some TV show and trying desperately not to think about the future. Hours and hours, trying to stare through the screen of my laptop into someone else's world. LOST and its layers of mystery…

It's no real spoiler to say that "letting go" is a theme of LOST. Which is weird for a show that spends so much time trying to hook you, to make you keep on watching, to get you invested in theories, characters, and mythology. But with a new job and a new city — and an apparently bright future — it's clearly time to put these little vices behind me to whatever degree I can. To get off the Island, so to speak.

And though the creators surely didn't have this interpretation in mind, I am taking that beautiful final scene as a valediction for adolescent obsessions.

*I mean, not exclusively: I did serious things during this time. I'm talking about one theme among many.

Merge-ing.

I love that Superchunk and The Mountain Goats — two of my Favorite Bands Of All Time — are continuing to cross over. (John Wurster is the drummer for both bands: for Superchunk since forever, and for TMG since the last album.) Collaboration EP, plz?

To-read.

Based on Andy Crouch's review in Books and Culture, I'm putting James Davison Hunter's To Change the World on my to-read list. (Also, Books and Culture is on my to-subscribe list.) Hunter, apparently, is calling for Evangelical Christians to aim at “faithful presence” — which is to say, “fully participating in every structure of culture as deeply formed Christians who also participate in the alternative community of the church.” — rather than actively political culture-capturing.

And I'll be curious to re-read Chuck Colson's quite reasonable defense of his work with Prison Fellowship after I've read Hunter's book, to see how close Hunter really is to what Colson calls “quietism.”

Undercover.

Wye Oak covers The Kinks

The AV Club's midway through a feature where they invite bands to their office to play cover songs. I'm getting more into this than I should, and it's clear that the quality varies widely. You could even say that the songs fall into three categories. The best of the bunch obviously have had some work put into the arrangement and the performance. The second tier consists mostly of stripped-down versions, performed well, but without much transformation. The bad entries are the ones that seem thrown together with lousy harmonies and improvised instrumentation.

First-rate:

• Wye Oak - Strangers (by The Kinks): The most recent entry is by far my favorite. Wye Oak have done right by the original, but added some ripping solos. Jonathan Meiburg from Shearwater sings the harmonies wonderfully.
  
• Ted Leo and the Pharmacists - Everybody Wants to Rule the World (by Tears for Fears): The series led off with Ted Leo, who set the bar so high that the next seven entries seemed pretty disappointing.
  
• The Fruit Bats - One on One (by Hall and Oates): I'm really glad that the Fruit Bats grabbed this one, because the lead singer knows how to sing, and I doubt that most of the other singers could have pulled off the song's range and key change at the chorus. The Fruit Bats also chose to take the song seriously, which was good. Compare with Cursive's annoying deconstructive approach (below), and you'll get some insight into what makes an effective pop cover.
  
• The Clientele - Paper Planes (by M.I.A.): It's hard to do this song without the gunshots and cash register, but the cool violins make up for it. Again, playing the song without winking at the camera is the right move.
  

Pretty Solid:

• Ben Folds - Say Yes (by Elliott Smith): Ben Folds does a good job with this one, and it's tempting to put it in the top category. But I don't think you can get within striking distance of the lovely original without a larger band; Elliott Smith completely owned the stripped-down performance. Still, it's definitely a worthy tribute.
  
• Justin Townes Earle - Atlantic City (by Bruce Springsteen): I like the picking pattern and the desperation in Earle's voice, but he can't touch the Boss.
  
• Alkaline Trio - Web in Front (by Archers of Loaf): I was disappointed in this one. There's nothing wrong with Alkaline Trio's performance, but the original is a quick, melodic, musical version of a punch in the gut, and I didn't get the same urgency here. More guitar work might have helped, or a harmonica, or something.
  

Poor effort:

• Maritime - Enjoy The Silence (by Depeche Mode): I feel bad about putting this one so low, but it just didn't grab me. I don't know the original, and while I like a bunch of songs by the Promise Ring, that affection doesn't carry me through to Maritime.
  
• Retribution Gospel Choir - Kokomo (by The Beach Boys): They tried to have fun with it, but letting the drummer sing lead was probably a bad idea. It's nice that they like the song, though.
  
• Cursive - We Built This City on Rock and Roll (by Starship): Tim Kasher is singing terribly here. Maybe they like the original in a so-bad-it's-good way, but their approach exaggerates what's annoying in the song and ignores anything that might have been good about the original performance. This is exactly the opposite of what the Fruit Bats did, and you can see where it puts Cursive on the list.

There are fifteen songs to go, and of these I'm most excited to see who plays Superchunk's “Detroit Has A Skyline” or The Replacements’ “I Will Dare.”

Politics and LOST.

I've been wondering if there's a good way to tie LOST to politics. I'd wanted to chase the leadership angle that Noel Murray at the AV Club often writes about, but Brett McCracken at The Search has beaten me to it by a mile. I really like his explication of the show's geopolitical themes:

“As I reflect on the show having seen all six seasons, I think the central thematic tension of Lost has always been that of the global vs. the local, the big view vs. the narrow view, “for the greater good” vs. ‘my own private island.’

[…]

“The show presents a way forward for our chaotic, treacherous, ‘WTF?! Where are we??’ world. And the way forward is sacrificial love for our neighbor– ‘neighbor’ meaning our children and love interests, but also our broader global family… those who are very different from us and yet nevertheless struggling to make sense of ‘the island’ we all inhabit.”

The whole post is much longer, and all of it is worth reading. My attempts to come up with something similar kept foundering on the difficulty of pinning characters to the leadership styles of actual leaders — I thought I might have had something with a comparison between George W. Bush and Locke at the height of his man-of-faith phase, but I couldn't really make it fit. But where my allegorical readings stumbled, McCracken's analysis of themes really succeeds.

Barth in Korea.

So did you ever wonder how Barthian theology has been received in South Korea? Wonder no more: this post from Faith & Theology will put you on the path to discovery. This in particular is really interesting:

“…even today a huge number of Korean pastors and theologians view Barth’s theology as a dangerous ‘liberal’ deviation from Calvinist orthodoxy. Young-Gwan Kim’s study doesn’t go into much detail about this Calvinist context of Korean theology; but I think it’s one of the most fascinating aspects of Korean Barth-reception. Protestant liberalism has never taken root in Korea, and this fact alone has a decisive influence on the way Barth’s work is read and received. It helps to explain why Barth’s avowedly anti-liberal theology could be condemned as a ‘liberal’ threat by so many Korean theologians and institutions.”

“Can a Scientist Pray?”

If there were any easy way for me to get to New York City on a Thursday evening, I'd go see John Polkinghorne give a lecture called “Can a Scientist Pray?” at St. Thomas Church on Fifth Avenue, this Thursday at 6:30 pm. Hopefully the event will be well-attended despite my absence.

Information here.