Two quick things:
First, Michael Drout has a post over at his blog that uses H.P. Lovecraft as its central reference. Medievalists who like Lovecraft -- cool. [How's THAT for scholarly critique?]
Second, I (obviously) still haven't overcome my techno-rube issues enough to get the trackbacks working. Since one of the kiddies is home sick today, however, I won't be able to head into work, so perhaps I can get the thrice-cursed things working.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Trackbacks, please!
This is probably a violation of some blogger trackback netiquette I don't know about, but I'm really trying to figure out how to do this whole trackback thingy. I've successfully posted trackbacks to others sites (though I keep getting error messages, the tracks seem to go through), but I would like to beg my readers to submit trackbacks to this post, so I can see how it works from the receiving end.
If it is bad netiquette to beg for links and trackbacks, my apologies.
If it is bad netiquette to beg for links and trackbacks, my apologies.
Technical problems today
In response to Steven Taylor's post on the Seven Deadly Sins of Blogging, along with chiding from both Erik Marshall and Paladin, I tried to set up trackbacks on my blog. The truth is, I still have no idea what they do, nor why they would be useful.
So far, so bad. All they've done is muck up my fonts ... and as a textual scholar, my fonts are VERY important to me! Anyway, I'll be dealing with those technical troubles today, so my apologies if the page seems more user-hostile than friendly.
So far, so bad. All they've done is muck up my fonts ... and as a textual scholar, my fonts are VERY important to me! Anyway, I'll be dealing with those technical troubles today, so my apologies if the page seems more user-hostile than friendly.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
The Problem with Cutting...
One problem with cutting down texts is this -- when I go home tonight and the wife asks if I got a lot of work done today, all I'm going to be able to say is "I cut about 20 pages from an article," which doesn't sound nearly as good as "I wrote 20 pages today" -- even though the former is more difficult and painful.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Intelligent Design and Rhetoric
Given the sudden explosion of attention on Intelligent Design (even before Bush’s response to a question on the issue), and given the number of times it has come up in conversation of late, I thought I’d better mention the issue.
First of all, let me say that if there is a debate about Intelligent Design, I haven’t seen it. A lot of heat and noise and people shouting doth not a debate make. In fact, I would argue that a debate on Intelligent Design is nearly impossible in the current atmosphere, because no one knows what the three primary terms, “evolution,” “creation,” and “intelligent design” means when other people use them. The terms have become shibboleths, used as passwords by particular subcultures. If one uses the correct password, he is allowed to enter the city gates. If another uses the wrong word, he is stoned by an angry mob.
“Evolution” seems to have shed all of its original meaning. Proponents of evolution use the term as if it explains all that is true about life, the universe, and everything, when it actually tells us little beyond the inter-relatedness of all life. One does not even have to believe in natural selection as the primary cause of evolution to believe in evolution [I have a friend who is an evolutionary biologist who argues that there are other more convincing ways to explain such phenomena as punctuated equilibrium than natural selection. According to him, the ID debate has caused many scientists to foolishly dig in their heels around the issue of natural selection at a time when evidence against it is mounting, in the long run doing more damage to the idea of evolution than if they admitted Darwin’s version needs some work. I don’t pretend to have the expertise to critique his view … I simply present it as an example.]. Even more foolish are claims that evolution proves that nothing exists beyond the material universe.
Let us assume for the sake of argument that nothing does exist beyond the material universe. As evolutionary law draws all of its principles from the material world, it is incapable of proving (or commenting on) anything beyond that material world. It is rather like arguing that since all the thermometer measures is temperature, humidity does not exist – or, on the other side, must exist.
“Creation” also acts as a shibboleth. Proponents and opponents of creation use the term as if we all know what it means, and some of the shiftier ones rely on that slipperiness. The term means everything from a six-day beginning of everything 8,000 years ago, to several periods or ages of creation an indeterminate time ago, to a general principle that the material world has a non-material cause. Just as material humanists use the term “creation” as the justification to stone someone at the gates, Christians use the term as a password into the golden city … ignoring the fact that the concept of creation is not necessarily a Christian idea. That the universe is a created object is an idea that stretches back at least as far as Zoroastrianism, and probably farther. Unless my understanding is flawed, I believe all of the major world religions today have at least a creation myth. So, when someone says “creation” like I’m supposed to know what it means, I sure don’t.
“Intelligent Design” is the newcomer here. I have heard it mean everything from a refutation of evolution to an accommodation of evolution. Only very recently has the culture emphatically decided that ID is a weapon against material humanism, rather than conciliatory gesture. But even if, for the sake of argument, we assume that the material universe shows all the signs of design – that’s still a far cry from saying much of anything regarding evolution, or even about faith. In the case of the theistic religions, the obvious intelligence behind the design is God or the gods. ID is just as compatible with deism, and seems to me to be entirely in line with, for example, Jefferson’s brand of deism and the clockwork universe.
But the idea that the universe shows signs of intelligent design is even compatible with atheist views. Though we don’t use the term “Intelligent Design” to describe it, the atheist version of ID is called the Anthrophic Principle, which runs something like this: The universe seems designed for us because if it were not, we would not be here to observe it. There are millions of potential universes in which humanity did NOT evolve, but we do not consider them because we do not live in that reality to consider them. In this case, the intelligence is perceiving a random design, not designing out of randomness – in other words, the intelligent designer in the Anthropic Principle is Man himself, as observer.
Perhaps all this is moot, because as far as I can tell, no one cares. All the rhetoric I have seen on the issue thus far is destructive. Both sides suffer from terminal hubris. “Evolution”-partisans have dug in their heels so that they now insist that the material world is all that there is, and that anyone who denies this is a fool. “Creation”-partisans have dug in their heels so that they now insist that extra-Biblical traditions (you can see my Restoration Movement bias here) trump both our observations of the material world and the Scriptures themselves, and anyone who denies this is damned. Neither, so far as I can tell, is actually talking about either evolution or creation, and both are using Intelligent Design as the no-man’s-land upon which to do battle.
In the end, there is no debate about biology or faith – just some angry mobs demanding people choose sides, and ignoring epistemology.
First of all, let me say that if there is a debate about Intelligent Design, I haven’t seen it. A lot of heat and noise and people shouting doth not a debate make. In fact, I would argue that a debate on Intelligent Design is nearly impossible in the current atmosphere, because no one knows what the three primary terms, “evolution,” “creation,” and “intelligent design” means when other people use them. The terms have become shibboleths, used as passwords by particular subcultures. If one uses the correct password, he is allowed to enter the city gates. If another uses the wrong word, he is stoned by an angry mob.
“Evolution” seems to have shed all of its original meaning. Proponents of evolution use the term as if it explains all that is true about life, the universe, and everything, when it actually tells us little beyond the inter-relatedness of all life. One does not even have to believe in natural selection as the primary cause of evolution to believe in evolution [I have a friend who is an evolutionary biologist who argues that there are other more convincing ways to explain such phenomena as punctuated equilibrium than natural selection. According to him, the ID debate has caused many scientists to foolishly dig in their heels around the issue of natural selection at a time when evidence against it is mounting, in the long run doing more damage to the idea of evolution than if they admitted Darwin’s version needs some work. I don’t pretend to have the expertise to critique his view … I simply present it as an example.]. Even more foolish are claims that evolution proves that nothing exists beyond the material universe.
Let us assume for the sake of argument that nothing does exist beyond the material universe. As evolutionary law draws all of its principles from the material world, it is incapable of proving (or commenting on) anything beyond that material world. It is rather like arguing that since all the thermometer measures is temperature, humidity does not exist – or, on the other side, must exist.
“Creation” also acts as a shibboleth. Proponents and opponents of creation use the term as if we all know what it means, and some of the shiftier ones rely on that slipperiness. The term means everything from a six-day beginning of everything 8,000 years ago, to several periods or ages of creation an indeterminate time ago, to a general principle that the material world has a non-material cause. Just as material humanists use the term “creation” as the justification to stone someone at the gates, Christians use the term as a password into the golden city … ignoring the fact that the concept of creation is not necessarily a Christian idea. That the universe is a created object is an idea that stretches back at least as far as Zoroastrianism, and probably farther. Unless my understanding is flawed, I believe all of the major world religions today have at least a creation myth. So, when someone says “creation” like I’m supposed to know what it means, I sure don’t.
“Intelligent Design” is the newcomer here. I have heard it mean everything from a refutation of evolution to an accommodation of evolution. Only very recently has the culture emphatically decided that ID is a weapon against material humanism, rather than conciliatory gesture. But even if, for the sake of argument, we assume that the material universe shows all the signs of design – that’s still a far cry from saying much of anything regarding evolution, or even about faith. In the case of the theistic religions, the obvious intelligence behind the design is God or the gods. ID is just as compatible with deism, and seems to me to be entirely in line with, for example, Jefferson’s brand of deism and the clockwork universe.
But the idea that the universe shows signs of intelligent design is even compatible with atheist views. Though we don’t use the term “Intelligent Design” to describe it, the atheist version of ID is called the Anthrophic Principle, which runs something like this: The universe seems designed for us because if it were not, we would not be here to observe it. There are millions of potential universes in which humanity did NOT evolve, but we do not consider them because we do not live in that reality to consider them. In this case, the intelligence is perceiving a random design, not designing out of randomness – in other words, the intelligent designer in the Anthropic Principle is Man himself, as observer.
Perhaps all this is moot, because as far as I can tell, no one cares. All the rhetoric I have seen on the issue thus far is destructive. Both sides suffer from terminal hubris. “Evolution”-partisans have dug in their heels so that they now insist that the material world is all that there is, and that anyone who denies this is a fool. “Creation”-partisans have dug in their heels so that they now insist that extra-Biblical traditions (you can see my Restoration Movement bias here) trump both our observations of the material world and the Scriptures themselves, and anyone who denies this is damned. Neither, so far as I can tell, is actually talking about either evolution or creation, and both are using Intelligent Design as the no-man’s-land upon which to do battle.
In the end, there is no debate about biology or faith – just some angry mobs demanding people choose sides, and ignoring epistemology.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Added Links
Just wanted to point out that I added two links to the blogroll today. One is A Memorable Fancy from Erik Marshall, a colleague from grad school who seems to be blogging on new media and film stuff.
The other is Gypsy Scholar by Horace Jeffery Hodges, whom I don't know but I primarily included because I suspect he is the only other non-Korean medievalist who speaks Korean. Perhaps we should start a very, very small club.
The other is Gypsy Scholar by Horace Jeffery Hodges, whom I don't know but I primarily included because I suspect he is the only other non-Korean medievalist who speaks Korean. Perhaps we should start a very, very small club.
Subscription service up and running
Unlocked Wordhoard's e-mail subscription service should be up and running, but this announcement is also functioning as the first test of the service. If you are interested in getting Wordhoard updates in your e-mail, the subscription link is in the sidebar to the right.
More Nokesian Ignorance
Given how user-friendly Blogger is, it's scandalous that I'm still trying to master the medium. Scouting around this morning I noticed that the Blogroll on Poliblog's roll has the Wordhoard last being unlocked on June 21st. Obviously, I've updated the blog many times since then. Perhaps I have to ping Blogroll? If so ... I'm far to lazy to go in and ping every time I post something.
So, let me see ... trackbacks, blogrolling ... at least I've still got proper use of the subjunctive on my side.
So, let me see ... trackbacks, blogrolling ... at least I've still got proper use of the subjunctive on my side.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Pre-computer blogging
Public Brewery has a post entitled "Mark Twain: Blogger," in praise of some of Twain's work on a common-yet-unmentionable practice.
He also asks,
I wonder what other people from the pre-blogging era might have made good bloggers. I'll throw out H. L. Mencken, Dorothy Parker, and Oscar Wilde for starters...
Whenever I teach The Pillowbook of Sei Shonagon, I always make the point to my students that the post-modern practice of the blog is descended from the earlier practice of miscellanies. Perhaps for that reason I find that Sei Shonagon teaches very, very well. In any case, the list of "people from the pre-blogging era [who] might have made good bloggers" has to include all writers of miscellanies. Of these, my favorites (of the top of my head) are probably Sei Shonagon and Francis Bacon, though if I really thought about it I could probably come up with a dozens more -- a whole flock of Transcendentalists, certain essayists, and even some late twentieth-century writers like Lewis Thomas.
Of course, some blogs are more like miscellanies than others; some emphasize links, while others tend to be short off-the-cuff essays (like mine). I also think the way that CD mixing and burning is practiced is much like the old practice of swapping journals or miscellanies. Whenever I ask my students if they have ever given to a friend or lover a collection of poetry they have copied, they laugh at the quaint anachronism of the idea, but whenever I ask if they have ever mixed and burnt a CD for the purpose of giving it to a friend or lover as self-expression (as opposed to burning whole albums for the purpose of copyright infringement), most of them have done it.
Same old practices, transformed by different technology in new media.
He also asks,
I wonder what other people from the pre-blogging era might have made good bloggers. I'll throw out H. L. Mencken, Dorothy Parker, and Oscar Wilde for starters...
Whenever I teach The Pillowbook of Sei Shonagon, I always make the point to my students that the post-modern practice of the blog is descended from the earlier practice of miscellanies. Perhaps for that reason I find that Sei Shonagon teaches very, very well. In any case, the list of "people from the pre-blogging era [who] might have made good bloggers" has to include all writers of miscellanies. Of these, my favorites (of the top of my head) are probably Sei Shonagon and Francis Bacon, though if I really thought about it I could probably come up with a dozens more -- a whole flock of Transcendentalists, certain essayists, and even some late twentieth-century writers like Lewis Thomas.
Of course, some blogs are more like miscellanies than others; some emphasize links, while others tend to be short off-the-cuff essays (like mine). I also think the way that CD mixing and burning is practiced is much like the old practice of swapping journals or miscellanies. Whenever I ask my students if they have ever given to a friend or lover a collection of poetry they have copied, they laugh at the quaint anachronism of the idea, but whenever I ask if they have ever mixed and burnt a CD for the purpose of giving it to a friend or lover as self-expression (as opposed to burning whole albums for the purpose of copyright infringement), most of them have done it.
Same old practices, transformed by different technology in new media.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Afterlife and object permanence
In a conversation with Dr. Gill the other day, I made a passing reference to the Neanderthals having religion (because of burials in the fetal position). He correctly fine-tuned that to mean that the Neanderthals had a belief in the afterlife. He was right, of course, since some religions don't have a belief in the afterlife.
I began thinking about what other kinds of things we can intuit from this information, and started thinking about the idea of object permanence. Most of you who have children will know what the concept of object permanence is, but for those who don't, I'll give a very simplified explanation.
Object permanence is the concept that when we do not perceive an object, it continues to exist. Babies are apparently born without the concept of object permanence, believing that if they don't see/hear/feel/smell/taste something, it ceases to exist. Every mother knows that pathetic cry of a young baby when it wakes and she is not there; the baby thinks his mother is no more. Every mother also knows how annoying it can be when the baby learns that it can cry, and "summon" his mother back into existence. You can tell a child is developing a concept of object permanence when he finds the game of peek-a-boo immensely entertaining -- he is learning that when you cover your face and "disappear," you will reappear shortly.
The idea of an afterlife, i.e. a non-material world that is a continuation of the material world, seems to me to be a version of object permanence. The subconscious reasoning goes something like this:
I see John. John leaves the room. I no longer see John, but he continues to exist. Later, if I go into the room he is in, I will see him again. John dies. I no longer see him, but he continues to exist. If I go into the place he is in, I will see him again.
In Bede's account of the conversion of King Edwin, the pagan high priest Coefi is convinced of the right of Christianity, and describes the image of a bird flying through a meadhall through two windows on a winter's day. The bird, a soul, passes quickly through the meadhall (the material world, life), yet we know that the time flying through the meadhall is only a brief moment in its flight. Though there are obviously some other things going on here as well, it seems to me that part of the idea he is expressing is object permanence. Just as we know that the bird continues to fly once it exits the window and is no longer visible, so also do we know the soul continues to exist after it flits out the window of life. The allegory of the Bird and the Meadhall is rather like Plato's Allegory of the Cave, with the idea of object permanence overlaid on top of it.
I wonder if any of this is suggestive of the psychology of material atheists, believers that all that exists is the material world (this is not to be expanded to all atheism, since Buddhism is an atheist religion, yet still has ideas that might be considered a type of object permanence). It may very well be that material atheists, believers in reincarnation, and believers in an other-worldly afterlife are in some small way nudged toward their beliefs by experiences as infants.
I began thinking about what other kinds of things we can intuit from this information, and started thinking about the idea of object permanence. Most of you who have children will know what the concept of object permanence is, but for those who don't, I'll give a very simplified explanation.
Object permanence is the concept that when we do not perceive an object, it continues to exist. Babies are apparently born without the concept of object permanence, believing that if they don't see/hear/feel/smell/taste something, it ceases to exist. Every mother knows that pathetic cry of a young baby when it wakes and she is not there; the baby thinks his mother is no more. Every mother also knows how annoying it can be when the baby learns that it can cry, and "summon" his mother back into existence. You can tell a child is developing a concept of object permanence when he finds the game of peek-a-boo immensely entertaining -- he is learning that when you cover your face and "disappear," you will reappear shortly.
The idea of an afterlife, i.e. a non-material world that is a continuation of the material world, seems to me to be a version of object permanence. The subconscious reasoning goes something like this:
I see John. John leaves the room. I no longer see John, but he continues to exist. Later, if I go into the room he is in, I will see him again. John dies. I no longer see him, but he continues to exist. If I go into the place he is in, I will see him again.
In Bede's account of the conversion of King Edwin, the pagan high priest Coefi is convinced of the right of Christianity, and describes the image of a bird flying through a meadhall through two windows on a winter's day. The bird, a soul, passes quickly through the meadhall (the material world, life), yet we know that the time flying through the meadhall is only a brief moment in its flight. Though there are obviously some other things going on here as well, it seems to me that part of the idea he is expressing is object permanence. Just as we know that the bird continues to fly once it exits the window and is no longer visible, so also do we know the soul continues to exist after it flits out the window of life. The allegory of the Bird and the Meadhall is rather like Plato's Allegory of the Cave, with the idea of object permanence overlaid on top of it.
I wonder if any of this is suggestive of the psychology of material atheists, believers that all that exists is the material world (this is not to be expanded to all atheism, since Buddhism is an atheist religion, yet still has ideas that might be considered a type of object permanence). It may very well be that material atheists, believers in reincarnation, and believers in an other-worldly afterlife are in some small way nudged toward their beliefs by experiences as infants.
Friday, August 05, 2005
My Sister Unlocks Her Wordhoard
I just found out my sister has a blog. I put it on my blogroll, but may have to remove it if she doesn't stop discussing her personal hygiene and referring to people as "super awesome chicks."
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Get the Wordhoard in your e-Wordhoard
As those who know me know, I am quite lazy. My friend Les, however, is even lazier. He would like to read my blog, but can't be bothered to check it for updates, so he asked if I would set up a subscription service to send it straight to his e-mail. Hey, Les, perhaps you'd like me to call you on the phone and read it to you as well? ;)
Fair enough, but as said before, I too am lazy, and am too lazy to go to the trouble for one guy -- especially one guy who knows me well enough that he has to forgive me if I don't do it. If I have enough interest, though, I'll do it.
Therefore, if anyone is interested in receiving Unlocked Wordhoard in their e-mail, please express interest in a comment below. Enough replies, and I'll set up a subscription.
Fair enough, but as said before, I too am lazy, and am too lazy to go to the trouble for one guy -- especially one guy who knows me well enough that he has to forgive me if I don't do it. If I have enough interest, though, I'll do it.
Therefore, if anyone is interested in receiving Unlocked Wordhoard in their e-mail, please express interest in a comment below. Enough replies, and I'll set up a subscription.
Reason, Tradition, and Evangelical Outpost
Evangelical Outpost builds on my earlier analysis of Lee Harris's piece on the apparent conflict between reason and tradition in a posting here. The comments section is well worth reading, too.
Hooray! 1000 visitors!
I got online this morning to find my counter at 1001 visitors. Now that I am using Tracksy, I also find that I have regular readers in Spain, Ireland, and Australia (and not-so-regular readers in other countries).
Maybe Spain, Ireland, and Australia can get into a three-front war against one another, so I can blog things of particular interest to each.
Maybe Spain, Ireland, and Australia can get into a three-front war against one another, so I can blog things of particular interest to each.
Caedmon's blogging
I notice that Caedmon's Hymn had been posted over at "So I Said I Am Ezra," and Ezra has confirmed for me that it was done to thank me for linking to the blog. Thanks Ezra ... that's really a nice tribute.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Ugh ... CV!
The previous post makes me realize that my CV is in desperate need of updating -- it is several articles and book contracts old!
Non-academic perspectives
Hwaet, I answered Michael Drout's call for contributors for the Tolkien Encyclopedia, primarily because one of the categories was "health and medicine" and I happen to know a bit about medieval health and medicine. As I've committed to do a paper on Tolkien for the Popular Culture Association next year, I thought it would be good to re-read all his stuff for the encyclopedia entry, just in case I find something good for the PCA paper. Plus, I'm becoming rather taken with my PCA paper, and will likely try to write an article-length version for publication.
Little did I know I was to become a minor celebrity.
For the non-academics among my readers, let me explain how rankings of academic publications go. These rankings generally aren't codified (though I seem to recall Wayne State did codify them and give them numerical value for tenure and promotion), but are part of the academic culture. The totem pole looks something like this:
1. Book of theory or criticism
2. Edition or translation (elsewhere I've complained that this should be subordinated, but regardless of the justice of its ranking, it is generally valued less than books of criticism).
3. Journal article
4. Book reviews and reference work entries
5. Conference presentation
Of course, this is a gross simplification. A really well-placed and well-received journal article can be of greater value to one's career than a not-so-well-placed book, for example. Even within these categories, there are lots of subtle differences. For example, my article in Anglo-Saxon England, the premier annual in the field, is of greater value than my article in Alabama English, since the latter is basically only going to be read by locals.
Now, let's consider where a single entry in the Tolkien Encyclopedia falls -- next to last. The only kind of peer-reviewed publication of equal-or-lesser value is a book review. Now, none of this is to denigrate book reviews and encyclopedia entries, since these are often hard work and need to be done. Nevertheless, the amount of effort I am putting into, for example, Curing Elf-shot and Other Mysterious Maladies: New Scholarship on Old English Charms that I am editing with Kathryn Laity is far more than I put into the recent Facts-on-File entry I wrote.
I mentioned to a non-academic that I was doing this entry, and she gasped, "Oh my gosh! What an honor!" An honor? I thought of it as filler while I was waiting to do some larger projects that require coordination with other scholars and their schedules. I mentioned it to my chair, and he replied, "Oh, good" -- a more typical academic response. Just to see what would happen, I started mentioning the entry to other non-academics, and the response has been remarkable. Someone said to me, "At last people are recognizing you as an important scholar." When I pointed out that Michael Drout is the editor, not me, he replied, "Still, it's an honor." This word "honor" keeps coming up again and again.
So now, I find people who in the past never showed any interest in my work asking how the Tolkien entry is coming (just fine, thank you ... I'm still in the re-reading stage). And in a box in my study, about two dozen offprint copies of my article in Anglo-Saxon England sit undisturbed, and un-asked for.
Little did I know I was to become a minor celebrity.
For the non-academics among my readers, let me explain how rankings of academic publications go. These rankings generally aren't codified (though I seem to recall Wayne State did codify them and give them numerical value for tenure and promotion), but are part of the academic culture. The totem pole looks something like this:
1. Book of theory or criticism
2. Edition or translation (elsewhere I've complained that this should be subordinated, but regardless of the justice of its ranking, it is generally valued less than books of criticism).
3. Journal article
4. Book reviews and reference work entries
5. Conference presentation
Of course, this is a gross simplification. A really well-placed and well-received journal article can be of greater value to one's career than a not-so-well-placed book, for example. Even within these categories, there are lots of subtle differences. For example, my article in Anglo-Saxon England, the premier annual in the field, is of greater value than my article in Alabama English, since the latter is basically only going to be read by locals.
Now, let's consider where a single entry in the Tolkien Encyclopedia falls -- next to last. The only kind of peer-reviewed publication of equal-or-lesser value is a book review. Now, none of this is to denigrate book reviews and encyclopedia entries, since these are often hard work and need to be done. Nevertheless, the amount of effort I am putting into, for example, Curing Elf-shot and Other Mysterious Maladies: New Scholarship on Old English Charms that I am editing with Kathryn Laity is far more than I put into the recent Facts-on-File entry I wrote.
I mentioned to a non-academic that I was doing this entry, and she gasped, "Oh my gosh! What an honor!" An honor? I thought of it as filler while I was waiting to do some larger projects that require coordination with other scholars and their schedules. I mentioned it to my chair, and he replied, "Oh, good" -- a more typical academic response. Just to see what would happen, I started mentioning the entry to other non-academics, and the response has been remarkable. Someone said to me, "At last people are recognizing you as an important scholar." When I pointed out that Michael Drout is the editor, not me, he replied, "Still, it's an honor." This word "honor" keeps coming up again and again.
So now, I find people who in the past never showed any interest in my work asking how the Tolkien entry is coming (just fine, thank you ... I'm still in the re-reading stage). And in a box in my study, about two dozen offprint copies of my article in Anglo-Saxon England sit undisturbed, and un-asked for.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Bible in Public Schools
Ann Althouse has a story here about adding the study of Bible to high school curricula, followed by a vigorous debate in the comments section. As the debate in the comments section seems to have devolved into stories of Christians who hate atheists and atheists who hate Christians, I thought I'd comment on this issue here.
The story she links to suggests, I think, that adding the study of the Bible to high school curricula is a Trojan horse, out of which streams of screaming Christians will descend. To be honest, I have no idea of the intentions of the particular program described here, nor the intentions of opponents of the program. Both sides seem kind of fishy to me from the article.
Let me, therefore, make an unequivocal statement regarding Bible education (and one that will likely get me in trouble with some folks) -- no Westerner without a broad knowledge of the Bible and classical mythology can be considered an educated person. Without both of these, the entire literary, philosophical, and historic tradition of the West cannot be understood.
I'm distressed every semester by English majors who have to overcome a deep ignorance of the Bible -- and this includes self-described Christian students. I found this to be true in both the urban North and rural South. In this I mean no insult to the intelligence of these students, since they have a good grasp of things that have been taught to them, such as Greek mythology (they tend to be shakier on the Roman variants for some reason). High schools understand perfectly well the hurdles they need to overcome if they are to teach the Bible in any context, and so they decide (reasonably, in my judgment) to expend their political capital elsewhere. Legal hostility to Christianity has led to a general hostility to the Bible, and results in high school graduates poorly equipped to grapple with difficult literary texts.
To be sure, ignorance of the Bible is only one of many factors that make the study of literature difficult for so many students. Nevertheless, the centrality of the Bible to Western thought makes our refusal to teach it inexcusable. It is rather as if we try to teach physics but discourage the study of arithmatic.
For example, Althouse writes:
"While there is clearly nothing wrong per se with studying the Bible in public schools -- a local high school here in Madison has a "Bible as Literature" course, for example -- there are some ways of teaching about the Bible that violate the Establishment Clause."
Let's stop and think about her statement here. Althouse feels compelled to point out, with caveats, that studying the Bible in public schools is not wrong per se. She is, I think, trying to offer this as a defense of academic, non-devotional Bible study, and rightfully so. But why are we positioned so that this statement is anything beyond absurd? I would counter with a statement of my own, amending hers to read:
"While there is clearly everything wrong per se with failing to study the Bible in public , private, and parochial schools -- a local high school here in Madison has a "Bible as Literature" course, for example -- there are some ways of teaching about the Bible that violate the Establishment Clause" [bolded words my editorial changes, obviously].
My point is not to take Althouse to task, since she is simply participating using the rhetoric popular in legal circles, and seems to be doing a fine job of it. Rather, it is to point out the absurdity of having to point out that study of the central text of the West is not wrong per se.
The story she links to suggests, I think, that adding the study of the Bible to high school curricula is a Trojan horse, out of which streams of screaming Christians will descend. To be honest, I have no idea of the intentions of the particular program described here, nor the intentions of opponents of the program. Both sides seem kind of fishy to me from the article.
Let me, therefore, make an unequivocal statement regarding Bible education (and one that will likely get me in trouble with some folks) -- no Westerner without a broad knowledge of the Bible and classical mythology can be considered an educated person. Without both of these, the entire literary, philosophical, and historic tradition of the West cannot be understood.
I'm distressed every semester by English majors who have to overcome a deep ignorance of the Bible -- and this includes self-described Christian students. I found this to be true in both the urban North and rural South. In this I mean no insult to the intelligence of these students, since they have a good grasp of things that have been taught to them, such as Greek mythology (they tend to be shakier on the Roman variants for some reason). High schools understand perfectly well the hurdles they need to overcome if they are to teach the Bible in any context, and so they decide (reasonably, in my judgment) to expend their political capital elsewhere. Legal hostility to Christianity has led to a general hostility to the Bible, and results in high school graduates poorly equipped to grapple with difficult literary texts.
To be sure, ignorance of the Bible is only one of many factors that make the study of literature difficult for so many students. Nevertheless, the centrality of the Bible to Western thought makes our refusal to teach it inexcusable. It is rather as if we try to teach physics but discourage the study of arithmatic.
For example, Althouse writes:
"While there is clearly nothing wrong per se with studying the Bible in public schools -- a local high school here in Madison has a "Bible as Literature" course, for example -- there are some ways of teaching about the Bible that violate the Establishment Clause."
Let's stop and think about her statement here. Althouse feels compelled to point out, with caveats, that studying the Bible in public schools is not wrong per se. She is, I think, trying to offer this as a defense of academic, non-devotional Bible study, and rightfully so. But why are we positioned so that this statement is anything beyond absurd? I would counter with a statement of my own, amending hers to read:
"While there is clearly everything wrong per se with failing to study the Bible in public , private, and parochial schools -- a local high school here in Madison has a "Bible as Literature" course, for example -- there are some ways of teaching about the Bible that violate the Establishment Clause" [bolded words my editorial changes, obviously].
My point is not to take Althouse to task, since she is simply participating using the rhetoric popular in legal circles, and seems to be doing a fine job of it. Rather, it is to point out the absurdity of having to point out that study of the central text of the West is not wrong per se.
Don't buy that book!
My medieval literature class for fall doesn't have the robust enrollment I had hoped, probably because of its 8AM MWF time slot. As long as it doesn't kill the class, I'm not too distressed about the time, since I'll be up anyway. The only trick will be to keep the students conscious.
Today at the bookstore I discovered another possible reason for the low enrollment -- instead of ordering the $30 paperback version of Conor McCarthy's Love Sex and Marriage in the Middle Ages, they ordered the hardback version which they were selling for $130 (Amazon has it in hardback for $100). Given that I've probably assigned about $150 worth of books anyway, the extra hit of $130 must have seemed devastating.
So, to any of my students out there, I spoke to the bookstore, and they are returning the hardbacks in favor of the much cheaper paperbacks. As soon as I decide what book to start with I'll post it, so that anyone who can find a cheaper used version online can start looking. Don't buy the hardcover edition -- you can save yourself at least $100 getting paper.
In an aside, while I was snooping around the shelves I saw the books for my colleague's class on medieval European history (Allen Jones). It looked pretty cool, including a couple of books I've never read. If you are interested in the history side too, I'd strongly encourage you to take Dr. Jones's class.
Today at the bookstore I discovered another possible reason for the low enrollment -- instead of ordering the $30 paperback version of Conor McCarthy's Love Sex and Marriage in the Middle Ages, they ordered the hardback version which they were selling for $130 (Amazon has it in hardback for $100). Given that I've probably assigned about $150 worth of books anyway, the extra hit of $130 must have seemed devastating.
So, to any of my students out there, I spoke to the bookstore, and they are returning the hardbacks in favor of the much cheaper paperbacks. As soon as I decide what book to start with I'll post it, so that anyone who can find a cheaper used version online can start looking. Don't buy the hardcover edition -- you can save yourself at least $100 getting paper.
In an aside, while I was snooping around the shelves I saw the books for my colleague's class on medieval European history (Allen Jones). It looked pretty cool, including a couple of books I've never read. If you are interested in the history side too, I'd strongly encourage you to take Dr. Jones's class.
Monday, August 01, 2005
Putting up with Potter
I spent the evening in Nashville last night with my parents, in a relay race handoff of my children who have spent the last month visiting them. My father made mention of the oddity that my daughter didn't seem particularly interested in the Harry Potter book he received and read last week. She probably gets that from me.
For so many people, I'm supposed to be the guru of all things medievalist, and Harry Potter falls (albeit uncertainly) into the area of pop culture medievalism. People frequently ask me about the Harry Potter books, and for years I had to confess I had read none of them. About two years ago, I finally decided that enough was enough, and I plowed my way through the first one (the title of which, I much confess, eludes me at the moment).
I wasn't overwhelmed, and I wasn't even underwhelmed. I was just whelmed. I'm not generally taken in by hype, but when something is ubiquitously praised, I expect it to be at least good, or if not good, at least collossally bad in interesting ways. Take, for example, Michael Crichton novels -- his plots are gruel-thin, his characters aspire to two-dimensionality, and the dialogue is an insult to boilerplates everywhere. Nevertheless, Crichton's novels always have underlying them one really cool interesting idea. This is probably why his novels make good movies, because a legion of better artists in film-making can keep the cool stuff and improve on the weak stuff. In other words, I thought Harry Potter novels would be like Crichton novels -- generally bad, but with one or two really cool elements.
If anything, I found the one novel I read brutally mediocre (and yes, I mean to pair those two words). It wasn't terrible, nor was it very good. It reminded me of book adaptations of popular movies, and had a rather workmanlike quality about it. I thought, well, I'd trust Rowling to adapt a screenplay for me, I guess, if a better writer were unavailable.
The problem with the mediocrity is that the novel wasn't even bad enough to work up a good jeremiad over. Is it distressing that adults are basing their entire reading-life around a series of children's books? I suppose, but the stories are at least longish, and not completely facile. Is it good that kids are reading long books? I guess, though I'm not sure these kids wouldn't be reading shorter-and-more-frequently-updated series if they weren't reading this.
A couple of Harry Potter books ago, I asked my daughter if she wanted me to buy one. She knows that if she asks for a toy outside of birthdays or Christmas, she's very unlikely to get it, but if she asks for a book, it will be in her hands very shortly. She just shrugged. She told me that the kids at school liked Harry Potter. When I asked her why she wasn't interested, she just shrugged again and said "eh." I think that response might be genetic.
So, in answer to the MANY inquiries: no I haven't read the latest Harry Potter book; no, I have no particular objection to the series; yes, I would read another Harry Potter book if it were all I had and I were on a long flight; and no, I have no intention of reading the series, more out of lack of interest than anything else. If you seek intelligent commentary on Harry Potter and that phenomenon, you'll have to find it elsewhere.
For so many people, I'm supposed to be the guru of all things medievalist, and Harry Potter falls (albeit uncertainly) into the area of pop culture medievalism. People frequently ask me about the Harry Potter books, and for years I had to confess I had read none of them. About two years ago, I finally decided that enough was enough, and I plowed my way through the first one (the title of which, I much confess, eludes me at the moment).
I wasn't overwhelmed, and I wasn't even underwhelmed. I was just whelmed. I'm not generally taken in by hype, but when something is ubiquitously praised, I expect it to be at least good, or if not good, at least collossally bad in interesting ways. Take, for example, Michael Crichton novels -- his plots are gruel-thin, his characters aspire to two-dimensionality, and the dialogue is an insult to boilerplates everywhere. Nevertheless, Crichton's novels always have underlying them one really cool interesting idea. This is probably why his novels make good movies, because a legion of better artists in film-making can keep the cool stuff and improve on the weak stuff. In other words, I thought Harry Potter novels would be like Crichton novels -- generally bad, but with one or two really cool elements.
If anything, I found the one novel I read brutally mediocre (and yes, I mean to pair those two words). It wasn't terrible, nor was it very good. It reminded me of book adaptations of popular movies, and had a rather workmanlike quality about it. I thought, well, I'd trust Rowling to adapt a screenplay for me, I guess, if a better writer were unavailable.
The problem with the mediocrity is that the novel wasn't even bad enough to work up a good jeremiad over. Is it distressing that adults are basing their entire reading-life around a series of children's books? I suppose, but the stories are at least longish, and not completely facile. Is it good that kids are reading long books? I guess, though I'm not sure these kids wouldn't be reading shorter-and-more-frequently-updated series if they weren't reading this.
A couple of Harry Potter books ago, I asked my daughter if she wanted me to buy one. She knows that if she asks for a toy outside of birthdays or Christmas, she's very unlikely to get it, but if she asks for a book, it will be in her hands very shortly. She just shrugged. She told me that the kids at school liked Harry Potter. When I asked her why she wasn't interested, she just shrugged again and said "eh." I think that response might be genetic.
So, in answer to the MANY inquiries: no I haven't read the latest Harry Potter book; no, I have no particular objection to the series; yes, I would read another Harry Potter book if it were all I had and I were on a long flight; and no, I have no intention of reading the series, more out of lack of interest than anything else. If you seek intelligent commentary on Harry Potter and that phenomenon, you'll have to find it elsewhere.
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