Month: July 2007

Language Log revives a “Breakfast Theory,” a wonderful cartoon from the eighties (remember them) by Jeff Reid, that Steve Lawler sent me when it was first published.

Si read all night, only just emerged from his room to get up and eat, and he beams with approval about Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I’m next in line to touch the numinous book.

Five.sentenc.es, explained by Mike Davidson.

I started reading David Weinberger’s Everything Is Miscellaneous late, partly because it took me a while to get around to obtaining a copy (Margaret bought one in North Carolina before me) and partly because it’s taking me some time to get the knack of “reading books” again after the school year. I had read the early reviews, both the enthusiastic and the critical, and I wanted to respect the critical reviews even as I also wanted to admire the work of someone I regard as a very dear friend (DISCLAIMER: To my grateful astonishment, I discovered that David refers to me as his friend on page 211 of Everything. Margaret said, “You didn’t look for yourself in the index? You always do that!” which is embarassingly true, but since I didn’t expect to appear in this book, I had not peeked.)

David’s argument will be familiar to anyone who reads his blog regularly. On his account, the transition to a world in which we store information digitally rather than physically effects a “third order of information.” He says, “In the first order of order, we organize things themselves” (17-18). We order our environment by locating objects in predictable, meaningful places. The second order of order creates further objects that refer to first-order objects: we call many of these things “catalogues,” even though a library’s card catalog differs from the innumerable catalogs of merchandise that arrive in my mail every day. They do not physically set the objects to which they refer in order; they constitute an order of representation, which points to the physical objects. Weinberger’s pivotal point here involves the fact that these representations themselves remain physical entities, limited by the necessity of locating these representations in space. One could, solely in theory, generate a catalogue in which every item was connected by a catalog entry to every possible association by which one might want to look it up — but even proposing such a thing provokes the realization that the scope of such a project would be impossibly vast. The second order to which David adverts remains constrained by its physical limitations.

The book goes on to celebrate what David calls the third order of order, the digital environment in which catalogs can function apart from the limitations of spatial organization. The all-encompassing catalog for Lands End merchandise would be infinitely thick (though the postal service would still offer an absurdly low mailing rate to subsidize mail-order companies) because Jeneane and I think differently about clothing, luggage, linen, shoes, and so on (DISCLAIMER: I don’t actually know if Jeneane buys anything from Lands End, or if we think differently about their merchandise, but it’s a likely guess that we do). But in David’s third order, Lands End doesn’t need to produce a single ultimate catalog to accommodate Jeneane and me; instead, they could produce a digital catalogue that presents Jeneane and me with different representations of their merchandise that fit our respective different interests. Freed from the constraints of physicality, “order” can remain miscellaneous at the back-end as software presents us with infinite different personalized “orders” when Jeneane and I consult it.

That’s the heart of David’s argument, if I understand it correctly; most of the book illustrates this principle, amplifies its ramifications, and endorses its implied metaphysics, and I agree with David ninety-five percent or so. I’ve put a lot of energy into pushing the theological and pedagogical angles of this point, that the non-spatial character of digital interaction changes the environment in ways that most authority figures in those fields haven’t begun to deal with (but also, to be fair, in ways that the self-promoting hucksters of change mostly misrepresent). David does a beautiful job of highlighting the difference of digital information with vivid, convincing, provocative examples. Everything Is Miscellaneous should help undermine the pompous ukases of the media authorities who run around like the character in the Homecoming Parade sequence at the end of Animal House who shouts, “Remain calm! All is well!” (take, for instance, David’s recent point-counterpoint appearances with Andrew Keen).

David embellishes his argument with a terrific hip-pocket history of ideas about taxonomy. He explains the metaphysical backstories that inform claims about the “natural” way of parcelling out information, and disarms them with insight, wit, and actual counterexamples. This element of the book delighted me, but I expect that some readers will resist the possibility that the joints at which we endeavor to carve our world are as miscellaneous as David shows them to be. Tom takes this up and launches it into the orbital shell of brilliance by comparing David’s thoughts in this chapter with Benjamin’s observations on tradition and the collector.

I’m not sure about the other 5%, though. As others have pointed out before me, digital data is still spatial in several senses (otherwise I’d be able to carry around infinite data on my laptop computer), and that does make a difference in the scaling of data. It’s a difference that’s insignificant relative to card catalogs or retail merchandise displays, certainly, but we shouldn’t overlook the real spatiality of data in our excitement about the difference digital storage makes. I’m not convinced, either, that this is a different “order of order”; I’m inclined to think that the order of order is the same — that is, it’s still “a representation of information about objects,” just as a card in a library catalog, or an entry in a Lands End circular — but it’s a different dimension of that order, or a different regime of that order. Maybe that’s hair-splitting, but I have a hunch that it’s related to the “spatiality” reservation, and to protests that David isn’t really describing anything very new. More metadata, even a lot more metadata, is still metadata.

[As a side issue, in connection with reading David’s book, I’ve been messing around with the Wikipedia lately, and it’s heightening my mixed feelings about that source. In my own area of specialized knowledge, the Wikipedia is heavily shaped by partisanship, and it’s hard to see how it will move away from its current condition toward the ideal of a neutral point of view. At least, I don’t have the energy — nor do I presume to volunteer others to supply the energy — to push back against ardent partisans. In relatively uncontroversial areas, or areas where I know the background terrain pretty well, I will continue to use the Wikipedia as a first source for general information, but I’ve become somewhat disillusioned about Wikipedia’s prospects overall.]

In short, Everything Is Miscellaneous fittingly heralds a dramatic change in the ways David‘s readers now encounter information, and even more so in the ways that they will shortly encounter it. For those who want to understand that transition better, and those who want the help of a lucid, engaging, convincing expositor, Everything Is Miscellaneous provides a unique touchstone. Once we grant a couple of David’s premises, we can get into further arguments about his conclusions — but that signals what an extremely valuable waypoint David has published.
Continue reading “Miscellaneous Is Terrific”

Charlie Pardue has begun posting downloadable audio of the Ekklesia Project Gathering sessions, beginning with the day that Margaret and I led worship (Sharon Huey preached a terrific sermon, which the audio appropriately foregrounds). Phil Kenneson’s description of the Project should be a priority-one download for anyone interested in this group. If you know my laugh, you’ll probably hear me in the background.

[Later: It occurs to me to note that my friends who know of my allergy to “praise music” will be struck by the incongruity of my participation in the services at Ekklesia. In order to preserve my grumpy reputation, I’ll simply re-emphasize that excellence makes a difference, and David Butzu has an excellent sense for liturgy and music. I’m not about to change my listening patterns, or alter the repertoire on which I’d voluntarily draw for services I plan, but I admire David and his liturgical-musical leadership. So there.]

Sloodle (via Stephen Downes) and the Open Library (via David) look fantastic.

The aftermath of Ekklesia leaves us physically and spiritually exhausted; though we need to lean into the project of moving to Princeton, today Margaret and I will be concentrating on several errands and restoring our vigor for relocating in fewer than two weeks’ time.

Mark Lau Branson led a very helpful workshop on the role of narrative in shaping congregational identity. I was pleased and encouraged that he set appreciative inquiry at the foreground of his presentation; he pointed out that churches’ strategic planning frequently reifies and institutionalizes exactly the problems that they set out to solve. Mark drew on Paul’s thanksgiving sections as a case in point of starting congregational change. Some of you can imagine my surprised delight when he espoused the vital importance of enriching the gospel imaginary in the local congregation. He refers to this aspect of congregational life as “Interpretive Leadership” which

creates an environment and provides resources for a community of interpreters who converse about God, texts, context, and congregation. The fruit of interpretive leadership is in the truthfulness, adequacy and ownership of meanings. Often most available in narratives and metaphors, interpretive resources lead to discernment and imagination.

Mark exhorted us to observe the social imaginaries on which our communities draw, and to draw our congregations into an understanding of ways that the Gospel offers a different vision of what might be possible.

Before and after Mark’s session, we heard Steve Fowl expound the Letter to the Philippians in ways that connect very vividly with the lectures I give in New Testament class, and that resonate with some of my arguments about the imitatio ethic. Steve gave a tremendous, convincing account of what Paul was up to in that letter, to unanimous enthusiasm.

The Ekklesia Project annually refreshes my affection for the church; the admirable people who navigate from intentional communities, from ordinary churches, from faculty offices, from independent churches, to this family reunion charm and awe me every year.

A hat tip (with gratitude for the generous compliment) to Jason for the link to Andy, and to return their favor a reminder from Newman:

It is in point to notice also the structure and style of Scripture, a structure so unsystematic and various, and a style so figurative and indirect, that no one would presume at first sight to say what is in it and what is not. It cannot, as it were, be mapped, or its contents catalogued; but after all our diligence, to the end of our lives and to the end of the Church, it must be an unexplored and unsubdued land, with heights and valleys, forests and streams, on the right and left of our path and close about us, full of concealed wonders and choice treasures.
    John Henry Cardinal Newman, in An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine, chapter 2, §1.14 (page 71 of the Longmans, Green edition of 1909).

Now, appreciative as I am of Andy’s passion and Jason’s approval, I would propose that studying the Bible constitutes one of the very healthy ways of learning how better to inhabit it. To hark back to my comparison to the practice of medicine, I would not want a doctor who knew only the correct conclusions and treatments about which she had read in books, especially when those books are gestures in the literature of controversy; “why I’m right and she’s wrong” doesn’t bring out the best, most responsible thought from any of us. But a humbled Bible study — aware that (as Andy says) the point of the Bible is not to enable us to defeat our doctrinal adversaries, but to build up faith — stands richly to strengthen devotion and discipleship.

For the next few days, we’ll be at the Ekklesia Project Gathering; I’ll try to take notes, though I’m terrible at that.

Pippa is off with her aunts, at a theater camp during the day, tending chickens in her off hours.

Si is working and spending free hours with Laura.

We’ll be in touch.

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This year, in one of my New Testament lectures I referred to having learned “The Happy Wanderer” in elementary school — an experience that certain students of my generation seconded — and when I sang it for the class, our younger colleagues were dumbstruck that anyone ever thought it was a plausible idea to make that song part of a curriculum.

Evidently JP and I have something in common.

Lately Dave, David, Doc, and Maggi (and I’m sure, many others) have all lamented some of the oddities of Facebook (and danah has posted a trenchant class-structure analysis). In the age of folksonomies, why can’t Facebook offer a starting set of obvious relationships, and allow users to create their own tags for others? I’m still stumped that I can’t have “married” be my relationship with Margaret, and my students and I have to go through contortions to indicate that I was their seminary teacher; if you turned the power of tagging loose on Facebook relationships, you could clean this up in a flash.

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Nate showed me how to be married to Margaret in Facebook — not in the “how do you know her” dialogue, but in the “married” status entry. But since Margaret didn’t have a Facebook entry when I made my page, that wasn’t in any way obvious; once she made a page, I added her as a “friend” (I hope I’m not overstating things in that regard), but I couldn’t identify her as my spouse in that process.

I realize there’s a spirit of non-competitiveness afoot in the churches, and I understand the commendable side to that — but what if we took knowing something about our faith seriously enough to conduct something such as Quiz Bowls on topics of pertinence to theological education?

What if theological institutions felt at least a superficial obligation to demonstrate their capacity to stir up theological literacy adequate for participating in such an endeavor? But I suppose the answer is that the present climate of non-compeitition has fostered a nigh-ideal state in which all share equally in the spiritual gift of understanding.
Continue reading “More What If. . . ?”