The Week So Far

I know it’s just Tuesday afternoon, but with the heat and our weariness it feels like Friday morning. Yesterday morning I ran a good pace, especially considering the heat and humidity; then coffee and fruit, shower, Morning Prayer, and home for coffee and toast. From then to lunchtime we were writing/rewriting flat out, printing, and otherwise getting ready for our presentation.
The talk went well, as far as we can tell. It was a good-sized interfaith group; everyone understood that we spoke as Christian theologians rather than trying to steamroll all the different traditions into one Universal mash. Some people were excited, some were patient and positive, and I’m sure some were frustrated — at the very least, because of the heat (again). We had a round at the Lamb and Flag with one of the organisers, where we waved to Fergus Butler-Gallie and William Allen (a former student of ours). Then a conference dinner where we were seated entirely surrounded by Sikhs, under whose protection we were solemnly assured that we now fell (apparently even after the conference, so don’t threaten our well-being). We slumped home and fell asleep as fast as conditions permitted.

This morning I walked my miles, and even that was sweltering. Coffee, fruit, shower, Morning Prayer, coffee and toast, and a recuperative day (insofar as the heat will permit).

Just Another Day on the Holy Spirit Ranch

Woke up, got out of bed, ran my two miles at an adequate pace (considering the heat and the interval since I gave it a hard push). Coffee and fruit, edit sermon (included below), shower, dress, print sermon, coffee and toast, then off to St Helen’s this week. After church, Margaret and I came promptly home where we spent the afternoon working on our presentation for tomorrow. Then I headed back to church for Evensong, back home for dinner, and we’ll finalise the press tomorrow morning, just in time to deliver it tomorrow afternoon. Then all I need do is prepare a sermon for next Sunday, a Faith Forum presentation for next Sunday, and a short homily for Sunday evening’s Wholeness and Healing service.

See you tomorrow!
Continue reading “Just Another Day on the Holy Spirit Ranch”

End And Beginning

Walked my miles this morning, then enjoyed coffee and fruit, cleaned up and attended Morning Prayer. Then back home, where I had coffee and toast and settled into working on Margaret’s and my presentations for Monday.It’s the first time we’ve done a shared presentation, and we think and present very differently, so it’s not stress-free.

I leave for the New Testament seminar after lunch (colleague Peter Head writing on letter carriers in the Roman world, and specifically in Paul), then down to Oriel for the finalists’ dinner.

Slowing Into Thursday

My morning miles went by more slowly; although I wasn’t worn out from a lot of running and walking yesterday, I did lug several concrete-block commentaries to and from Church House,

Concrete and glass office block with a sign that reads, ‘Church. House, Oxford’

and this morning was one of the warmest mornings of the year so far, and humid, so it felt much as if I were actively pushing the air aside as I went. But I did run, and then came home to coffee and fruit. Shower, Morning Prayer, then to R&R for public office hours, picked up some groceries, and home for the afternoon (with a wee online revision at the end of the day).

Last weekend, among other things that I had to address, a chapter-essay came back to me from the editor requesting a separate bibliography. I hadn’t even looked at the chapter for literal years; it looks distinctly dated to me, I saw some comments that I’d have sworn had been added after the last time I tackled editorial desiderata, and I didn’t even remember clearly what I had written so long ago. But there we go. Every day brings me closer to having the time to start advancing the Book Project.

Teaching Day

I didn’t run this morning; it was raining. I did make coffee and have fruit for breakfast. I showered, dressed, and hurried off to the bus stop.

The X3 decided to skip its scheduled return trip to Oxford, literally driving off from Abingdon by another way. I thus waited another twenty minutes or so for the X2, hurried from its Oxford stop to the stop for the S7 to Kidlington, and waited there for another twenty minutes. All that waiting mean that I didn’t get set-up time for my Romans class — but it didn’t matter, because (as it turns out) the various sessions were limited to five participants each (not a classroom of ten to twenty as I anticipated).

The day went well, I think; I talked with them about Romans, Liberation, and Freedom, and then I came home. Now time to do the washing-up.

I Thought June Meant Light Work

So, a good time for my morning miles — almost identical to yesterday — and coffee and fruit, shower, Morning Prayer, home for coffee and toast and an online revision for one of my first-years, then leaning into the preparations for tomorrow’s Study Day on ‘Freedom and Liberation in Romans’ at Church House in Kidlington. Evening wedding preparation for a summer wedding, and home to continue prepping.

Happy Bloomsday!

New Week

Morning miles at the best pace I’ve attained since the beginning of May, coffee and fruit, shower, Morning Prayer, and public office hours at R&R. Uncertain what will ensue.

Forty-Four

Dinnae run, slept late. Coffee and fruit, Morning Prayer, coffee and toast, lunch, and soon off to sit with one of the world’s greatest little girls, then to anniversary time with Margaret.

12 June, 1982

Every Other

Looks as though I’ve fallen into the pattern of blogging alternate days, which I’ll try to ramp up tomorrow and Saturday. In the meantime, I ran both mornings (before the rain started) to mediocre times. Yesterday I cooked a hot breakfast; this morning, coffee and fruit. After Wednesday’s Morning Prayer, I came home for a bit, then returned to church for the weekly staff meeting. Then I spent the afternoon working on an outline, and handouts, for the teaching day at Church House (Oxford) (more precisely, Kidlington) on ‘Freedom and Liberation in Romans’.

This morning, Morning Prayer went by very quickly, and I had dreams to hopping onto the 9:40 X3 through Abingdon and coasting into Oxford with time galore to go back over the points I wanted to emphasise in a morning revision with my first-years. Thames Travel and Oxford Buses had different ideas, though, and sent no bus through until after 10:00, and didn’t get me to Oxford till unnervingly close to my 11:00 revision. Came home, worked on one of the topics I discussed with the first-years (Western non-interpolations, about which I didn’t remember as much as I thought I did), and kept up with correspondence.

And I’ll try to blog tomorrow, even if it’s just my running and breakfast reports.

Whoops! Almost Missed Two

I didn’t run yesterday morning because of rain. Morning Prayer, public office hours at R&R, and later the funeral for our parishioner Peter Cannon-Brookes.

Ran this morning, slightly improving Sunday morning’s time. Coffee and fruit, Morning Prayer, then off to Oxford to talk with my former student Matthew Eddy, whose daughter is doing her undergraduate degree at Oxford. Then back home to Margaret.

All of which is overshadowed by the deaths on Sunday of Margaret’s Aunt Jan, on her father’s side, and Monday of her Uncle Roy, on her father’s side. It has been a hard, heavy summer so far.

Starting Back

Slept long (for me) and woke with barely enough time to take my morning run, shower off, and go to the 8:00 service, which is my favourite for Sundays on which I’m not on duty. The run was all right, not good and not bad, and I didn’t have time for coffee before. I was still, ahem, glowing when I got to church. Home for coffee and toast, for email errands (do they ever abate?) and time to let the muscles in my back and shoulders relax….

Another Recap

Another thread from last week’s BlueSky:

In the AI/anti-AI discourse, I haven’t seen enough treatment of the problem of ‘feeling’. A silicon-based ‘intelligence’ can’t feel as a human does: it can simulate touch, but not experience touch; it can calculate a response to visual stimuli, but it can’t see. And above all, it can’t have what in humans we call ‘feelings’. At best, it can call up a response that it has learned would be most probable if humans were to encounter particular circumstances — a break-up, death in the family, a favourable job offer — but there’s nothing internal (as it were) to the electronics that produces the thing a human feels. Nor, all the more, mixed feelings.
Now, I don’t put any stock in a feeling-mysticism that treats art objects as if imbued with wooooo ‘authentic feelings’ — but it seems vital to me that we distinguish the algorithmic processes that display a probable response similar to what a vast, fine-grained database implies a human would feel, from the human feelings themselves. You can’t surprise a computer. You can’t charm a computer. You can only submit input that you calculate will induce AI to guess at a human-seeming response.

To which Ryan Turnbull responded: ‘If an AI could speak, we couldn’t understand it.
– Wittgenstein, probably’.

Also, my most-frequently-played musicians for May:

1 Echo & the Bunnymen 7 scrobbles
2 Iron & Wine 7
3 The Beatles 7
4 The Who 7
5 Bruce Springsteen 6
6 Elvis Costello 6
7 Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds 6
8 The Rolling Stones 6
9 Van Morrison 6
10 The Clash 5

As always, I omit the Mountain Goats because they’d end up at or near the top every month. That’s partly because I am a big fan, but also because of the vast catalogue they’ve produced and the number of concert recordings I’ve retrieved.

Maybe It Will Be True

No run this morning; it was raining, with warnings of continuing rain, and I opted to stay home with hot coffee rather than run through chilly drizzle. My inclination was confirmed by the possibility that I’ll modulate to a more gentle schedule for running, perhaps running only alternate days.

Then hot breakfast, Morning Prayer, and catching up on email and general internet errands.

The title above refers to the fact that I’m not rota-ed to serve at any of Sunday’s services, so that I may be able actually just to recharge this weekend. I’m not counting on anything, but it’s possible.

Exorcise It, And I Will Advertise It

Earlier this week I responded to Cory Doctorow’s daily post about AI, art, intention, Brian Eno, and everything (you know, the usual). Here is what posted on BlueSky in response:

Peter Sagal has already brought some pressure onto Cory’s reliance on ‘intention’ as a conceptual lever. I’m with Peter on this — Cory can carry his point forcefully without invoking ‘intention’, almost always a hostage to fortune.
I’m with Mr Sagal because ‘intention’ muddies the waters by ascribing it the status of a phantasmic feature of art with which an artist intentionally imbues the work. But where is it? What is it? Is it one of those ‘I’ll know it when I see it’ characteristics like ‘authenticity’?

Occam’s Razor would favour an explanation of what Cory‘s getting at, one that doesn’t rely on an invisible force, especially when it always comes attended by significant debates about what the alleged intention is. Save yourself the headaches, Cory! Skip over the ‘intention’ boobytrap.

Sure, there are aspects of the art interaction that resemble the ‘figuring out intention’ model Cory takes as paradigmatic. But that’s just one thing, one way we interact with art. One of the most precious aspects of art involves effects or interpretations that are manifestly not intentional — far more than just encoding a secret ‘intention’ message into oil paints or a bass clef or ceramic glaze. Indeed, the stronger the ‘intention’ behind a form of expression, the less art-like it will seem. That’s one basis for the historic resistance to allegory as a mode: It threatens to constrain the liberty of the reader’s imagination.
(For the record, I am a proponent of allegorical interpretation.)
An artist is a gambler. They take a shot at doing something, estimating based on how they suspect, or hope, an audience will react. The artist may have an inchoate notion of how they expect people will respond, but even if they want to imbue an expression, a chord, a brush stroke with intended meaning, there’s no way to ensure that it will come across. Except, perhaps, by writing out a statement that instructs people how to respond… (assuming that the instruction itself is interpreted correctly, according to the artist’s intention).
This connects to Eno’s talk and the intensity/fidelity grid — except that the whole ‘fidelity’ aspect presumes a fidelity to something, and here the phantasm of ‘meaning’ or ‘authenticity’ or ‘authorial intention’ returns to haunt us again.

Exorcise it, once and for all.

Just discuss art, or sunrises, or whatever you want, in terms of effects, reasons, connections, affects, intensities, and any other aspects of the observation/appreciation/interpretation complex. There are no invisible, secret reference points, no occult qualities. We’re all just responding to the world, and art, as best we can. And that’s amazing, it’s great. We’re positive engines of imagination, association, and signification. It’s our glory — don’t trammel us with the bogeys of ‘intent’.

Slow Friday

With leaden, achey legs, I ran my morning route more than a minute slower than Wednesday — but la, there we are, I still got the exercise. Coffee and fruit, a shower, Morning Prayer, a quick grocery stop, home to tackle some emailing, off to Oxford for the New Testament seminar and a book launch. The book launch, though, had taken place yesterday, so onward to home again. I arrived in time to help Margaret customise her new clothes for tonight’s Leavers’ Dinner at St Stephen’s House; I stayed home and made sure the ladies were not dissatisfied by life.

Thursday Again

No runs yesterday or today because of the intermittent heavy rain. Yesterday I had my hot breakfast, today coffee and fruit; Morning Prayer both days. Yesterday I celebrated the midweek Communion at St Helen’s (then bounced over to the staff meeting), today I will celebrate the Corpus Christi parish Mass at St Michael’s (didn’t/won’t preach at either). Keeping busy with emails and with preparing a holy card for Clement of Alexandria.

Last evening we tuned in to a videocast of the requiem for a beloved friend of ours. Margaret had decided not to fly out to attend in person, in part because we knew the service would be shown online. As matters fell out, the bishop’s portable microphone wasn’t connecting to the A/V device; since she had the primary role in the service and gave a eulogiacal homily from her own long acquaintance with our friend, we watched almost the entire service without hearing a syllable of what was going on. What we had hoped would be an occasion for releasing grief and binding our hearts with those of others turned into an hour of vexation.

I Remember Rain

No run this morning, because it was raining heavily. It hasn’t often been raining heavily during my running window; of course, it hasn’t been raining much at all in England, and I have run in light rain, but today stands out for having had honest-to-goodness rainy rain. Glad for our soil and plants, even if I’d have liked to stretch my legs.

Coffee and fruit, shower, Morning Prayer, some Clement of Alexandria.

June Already

I ran my morning miles at a surprisingly good time (I was surprised, anyway) despite feeling dead-legged and oxygen-starved. I seem to be getting back into a groove.

Coffee and fruit, shower, Morning Prayer, public office hours at R&R, home to the dogs, and this evening out to Oriel for a Chapel Dinner (I haven’t participated in chapel this year, though I may next year, but I’m delighted to have been invited).

Another Two Days

Yesterday morning I walked and jogged to give my knees a break. Hot breakfast, and then spent much of the day working on an image of Clement of Alexandria for holy card purposes. I have the feeling that I committed a chunk of the day to some other purpose, but nothing comes to mind.

This morning I ran for time, improving over other recent runs. Fruit and coffee, shower, coffee and toast, off to Trinity Day Parish Eucharist at St Michael’s. I stayed around for a baptism after the Eucharist — a lovely service, with reinforcements from a half dozen couples and children who went through Birthing Classes together. Then, at last, I came home to relax with Margaret. A much-appreciated rest.

Almost Normal Friday

After several weeks of deviation from my, our, predictable pattern of a week’s days, today we draw near to a more usual plan. Indeed, my day will be almost perfectly ‘normal’; Margaret’s will depart from our usual Friday because she’ll attend the New Testament Seminar demonstrate respect for our part-time lodger Sam Tranter, who will give one of two presentations on “New Testament Ethics and Oliver O’Donovan’s Resurrection and Moral Order at 40.”

I’ll scamper home early, as usual, but M will linger after the presentation to participate in the Q-and-A and to go to the Royal Oak for post-seminar festivities.