AKMA’s Random Thoughts

Frank questions my interrogation of the positive value of “authenticity”: “Mark Woods has linked to this post, giving it more substance and weight than I think it deserves. The Hermenaut link is as much piffle as the Fishko presentation. Either can be criticized or enjoyed for the superficial mind candy that each of them is.”

One way of getting at my dissatisfaction, Frank, is to confess that I’m a very careful, deliberate writer. That’s my style; were I to try to write more spontaneously, with more of the visceral spontaneity that characterizes Jeneane’s writing, I think it would be inauthentic for me (in the sense that it would give a false impression of my character and my typical mode of expression). To that extent, careful writing is authentic for me, that’s the kind of guy I am; and no-holds-barred vividness is authentic for Jeneane. [Side note: I’m picking on Jeneane here because she’s put a lot of energy into advocating her visceral bloggery, which is great with me and I admire her style, and also because she knows I think she rocks, so she’s not likely to construe my argument here as an attack on her or her chosen authentic style.)

But many people use the term “authentic” to mean, “baring the performer/writer’s inmost feelings, holding nothing back” — and to those who use the term that way, the style of writing that best fits my gnereal persona would likely seem inauthentic, inasmuch as I express myself in measured, deliberate prose. I do bar some holds. I do hold back some of my thoughts and feelings.

Which is why I raise the question, “authentic to what?” Do I fail the test of authenticity if I don’ write more like Jeneane?

Or to put it another way (because I admire Shelley, and I want to share out my links), if we were to find out that the Burning Bird’s phoenix-song were very carefully composed, to convey the effect of having been written by someone very much like the Shelley we imagine when we read her heartfelt, sometimes very pointed, clarion-calls — would that be inauthentic? What degree of deliberation and painstaking composition disqualify a recording or literary work from the category of “authenticirty”? A brilliantly gifted writer, after all, may well be able to depict impassioned spontaneity with utterly convincing prose. Is it only authentic if she really felt it?

The Hermenaut article’s invocation of Philip K Dick touches on the point for which I’m arguing. The relation between “the convincing artifice of genuineness” and “heartfelt painstakingly-devised prose” defies a binary taxonomy of authenticity. I like hearing the mistakes and rough edges when some performers play, the eyebrow-scorching graphic explicitness of some writers’ prose — and the elegant precision in some performers’ recordings, and some writers’ fine, exquisitely-assembled literary compositions. I like them all, authentically. Or not.

I was in a cranky mood yesterday afternoon at about 4:45, so when NPR commentator Sara Fishko started expatiating about her recent hunger for “authenticity” in recorded music, my buttons didn’t even need pushing; she merely brushed them, and set off my temper.

This is not a new topic; others have treated it with wisdom and profundity, online and offline. I don’t have time to search for specific links right now, but I’m sure Jeff Ward, Tom Matrullo, the Happy Tutor, and Ray Davis would provide more than enough grist for an edifying mill; I’d love to convene an online seminar on “authenticity” with those luminaries, chaired by Heideggerian philosopher David Weinberger — what a treat! Hermenaut’s article on “fake authenticity” opens the topic nicely, and if you’re more comfortable with print media than digital media, Adorno’s Jargon of Authenticity and I’m inclined to think there’s something by Dorothee Soelle that led me to Adorno — her critique of Rudolf Bultmann — that led me to Adorno, but I can’t find the reference right now.

The short expression of why “authenticity” vexes me comes down to, “There’s no there there.” Fishko rhapsodizes about the informal, flawed performances that she prefers to the technically-refined, highly-engineered masterworks by perfectionist performers. She’s entitled to that preference, of course, but identifying it as “authenticity” perpetuates a critical sleight-of-hand by which Fishko’s preference for endearingly imperfect performances ascribes to the work in question a positive attribute: “authenticity.” That ascription, though, occludes the question of “authentic to what?” Are the missed notes and “risks” that Fishko admires part of, say, the composer’s own vision of the work? Or do they constitute a more genuine performance than one in which the instrumentalist doesn’t miss any notes, or take risks with the piece?

In other words, “authenticity” all too often serves as an ideological placeholder term for “stuff I like, for which I don’t have a more precise or reputable adjective that justifies this appreciation.” That’s sloppy thinking, and I object to it.

For the record, I too tend to prefer performances that involve risky, technically-imperfect expression of the compositions in question — though not by any means across the board, and certainly not because such performances are more “authentic.” Some performances benefit from a swung tempo, some from an urgency that missed notes actually reinforce, some from precision and immaculate engineering, some from the casual ambiance that amateur recordings imply. Some rare, astonishing performances combine technical virtuosity with imagination and risk-taking in a sublime confluence of the highest standards in accuracy of performance, recording and artistic imagination; would they be more authentic if the performer flubbed a few notes, or the engineer recorded the performance with a narrow dynamic range and mediocre microphones? When performers deliberately select minimalist, one-take recording techniques, are they opting for greater authenticity, or are they inauthentically adopting a style that doesn’t reflect their customary practice or capacities? Different listeners will assess different combinations of qualities differently, but not because one recognizes true authenticity while the other doesn’t.

To paraphrase the quotation I have most often heard ascribed to Sam Goldwyn, “The secret to success is authenticity. Once you can fake that, you’ve got it made.”

Ooops, I didn’t call it “the liturgical season before Christmas” — I must be one of the secularizers who are ruining Christmas (parishioner and Trib columnist Charlie Madigan’s take on the War is here, behind the Trib’s annoying free-registrration firewall). Well, you can judge for yourselves how anti-Christian I am if you care to read this morning’s sermon in the extended version of this post.

Anyway, we have a short break before Advent (otherwise known as “Pre-Christmas”) Lessons & Carols. If St. Luke’s posts a recording of the sermon, I’ll link to it here.
Continue reading “Third Advent”

Someone somewhere got the idea that blogs owed certain sorts of writing to particular topics. We’ve seen several sketches of “bloggers’ code[s] of ethics,” and I’ve heard various people opine that “_______ bloggers” (fill in the blank with the modifer of your choice, though recently the topic of “bibliobloggers” has been pressed on my attention) should write more about ______ (fill in the blank with the topic of your choice, presumably pertinent to the modifier you chose before). I’ve tried to opt out of these discussions (as the previous iteration, “What is a blog?”). They strike me as gravely misguided, conceptually confused (who appointed whom the High Commissioner of What Blogs Are And Ought To Be?), and antithetical to what I do here: namely, to converse semi-monologically with whatever readers happen by, on such topics as I suppose may be of some interest to some of them and to me. If they think I should write more about professional biblical studies, or less; or more about U. S. civil politics, or less; or more about technology, or less, that’s their lookout.

My exasperation factor has peaked, though, because somebody has decided that there’s something amiss with the fact that “Religious bloggers” or “Christian bloggers” haven’t devoted copious attention to the plight of the Christian Peacemaker Team hostages in Iraq. Now, let it be recognized right away that nobody mentioned this blog, much less singled me out for remonstrance. At the same time, since I’m arguably “religious” and almost undeniably “Christian,” the column implicates me by category anyway.

Some of the comments to the article point out that it’s better for the hostages that Christian groups not raise a hue and cry that might amplify hostility between Muslims and Christians. I suppose that’s right, although it wasn’t why I had not mentioned these peacemakers yet.

I hadn’t blogged about them because I hadn’t conceived that to be a topic on which I had something to say more than my readers might expect, nor does their captivity and jeopardy touch me so as to elicit from me a personal expostulation of fear and sorrow as it would have if the Peacemakers involved were Leah and Jonathan. I didn’t blog about the unfortunate family whose car was crushed at Midway airport the other day, killing their 6-year-old son; nor do I blog frequently about the thousands of U. S. troops killed in the Iraq conquest, or the tens of thousands of Iraqis killed in that same war.

Anything more that I say will sound tinnily defensive, and I can offer no defense to the accusation that I do not devote enough of my energies to the cause of peace. Nor is the point obliquely to elicit testimonials from people who think I’m not all that bad.

I’m writing about this now to foreground the question of whose expectations were going unfulfilled, and what claim readers’ expectations have on bloggers’ writing. Whatever one decides in answer to those questions, it shouldn’t be simple, and it may not be that bloggers stand under an obligation to write whatever readers expect them to. It’s more complicated than that.

Today was the last day of chapel for the term, the last day of classes, pretty much the last all around (apart from one of our classic all-day faculty meetings next week, followed by a faculty-colleague evaluation). I’m six papers away from being done for the term.

Meanwhile, I’m preaching at St. Luke’s on Sunday, a sermon for which I had a notional start — except that there’s been a death in the congregation, which will have to affect the way I address the congregation, the theme, pretty much everything about the day. I’ll try for a good night’s sleep, and see whether I can summon up an insight that’s respectful of grief while not immediately signaling to visitors that they’re not in the loop, that attends to the season and also acknowledges that holidays bring not only joy and togetherness, but can also bring despair and isolation. Oh, and that good news persists through all of this. And do laundry, maybe finish off those papers, and devote some time to the Pip.

Tall order — I guess I should get to bed right away.

A communique from the editorial offices at Fortress Press indicates that the title of my forthcoming book will be Faithful Interpretation, partly because it’s what the book is actually about, partly because they wanted to defer to my suggestion, and partly because it would mean changing only one word in the title design. (I didn’t hear about the subtitle, but that’ll come eventually.)

Today’s my last class session of the term, and that’s an exam, so I’m pretty close to being done. I can grade exams tonight, depending on how my sermon is going and how much energy I have. Papers arrive tomorrow (they’ve already begun trickling in), and I have some leftover papers to evaluate from other degree programs, I have to write an evaluation of Frank (“ought to blog more. . . .”), but the finish line is in sight.

There’ve been big developments in Blogaria, with Jeneane landing an interesting client, Euan receiving a prestigious award, Dorothy’s a nominee, Frank’s been approved for ordination, and so on. Just consider me part of the Long Tail of congratulations and recognition.

— Years of serving in the priesthood today. I had Alice Cooper’s “Eighteen” running through my head once I remembered what day it was, which is both the wrong number and the wrong musical accompaniment to my anniversary, but it’s also probably the Alice Cooper song that I’m most ready willingly to permit into my imagination. . . .

On this morning’s dog walk, the random five songs that my iPod offered for my morning listening pleasure were Bruce Springsteen’s “Jesus Was an Only Son,” Buddy Holly’s “Rave On,” Garbage performing “The World is Not Enough,” Emmylou Harris and Spyboy singing “Deeper Well,” and Parliament’s “Funkentelechy” (“You may as well pay attention; you can’t afford free speech”).

As I was listening to “The World is Not Enough,” I reflected (again) on the genre of James Bond theme songs. “TWiNE” is near the top of my list in that category, along with the early classics such as Shirley Bassey’s “Goldfinger.” The most recent entry, though — Madonna’s “Die Another Day” — would rank right up there except for the staggeringly banal exclamation about Sigmund Freud. Is there a remix that edits out just those four words? It would improve the song incalculably.

It would be funny how inflexible headphone wires get in subzero windchill, if it weren’t so hard to untangle them. Can’t do it with gloves on; and once you take gloves off, naked fingers gradually lose their dexterity. Add to that an immobilized right thumb, and a dog pulling on her leash, and the whole thing is simultaneously quite amusing and intensely exasperating.

Tonight I made a soup for dinner. Since I’m not pure of heart, I used a dry soup mix from the cupboard; Pip and I evaluated the choices, and agreed that this one looked promising. I am very sad to say that we erred. The soup was thin and cardboard-y, and Pippa and I decided after a half bowl each that we would not require one another to finish — and Pip made a delicious tofu dip to tide us over.

This sort of post — personal, unabashedly mingled with more serious reflections — has occasioned a number of posts on the bibliobloggers’ blogs (it’s slightly amusing to be the subject of a series of blog posts explaining why people don’t read my blog). At the same time, I don’t begrudge my colleagues their diffidence. Online media offer every reader the opportunity to read what suits him or her, and every blogger the opportunity to link to what suits him or her. . . .

Dave has been calling attention to drawbacks in the openness of the Wikipedia — first in conjunction with the Adam “The PodFather” Curry vs. Kevin “The Humble But Firm Pioneer” Marks fiasco, then in conjunction with the more weighty problem of horribly slanderous allegations against John Siegenthaler.

Two consequences of these demonstrations: First, I think Rex Hammock is quite right that we should “use Wikipedia as a gateway to facts, not a source for them.” If one knows nothing about a topic, the Wikipedia can be a great place to start — but one absolutely ought not stop there. A lot of people with strong opinions have a great motivation to insinuate biased or erroneous positions into this ostensibly NPOV (“neutral point-of-view”) reference source, whereas people who know a lot about such things tend to have other things to do. I observed something of this when working on linking Wikipedia entries to a Disseminary project. Good place to start, but by all means, check it (I’m looking at you, GOE-takers).

Second, there should be a space for professional societies to maintain moderated local-pedias on their areas of demonstrable expertise. That would be a tremendous step forward, wouldn’t infringe on Wikipedia’s turf, and would provide much more reliable information. Someone set up the Disseminary with the bandwidth and some small stipends, and we’ll show you how to do it.

People frequently ask me how I find time to blog. I will have completed this post inside two minutes — but last night Pippa and I spent four hours playing World of Warcraft, and really only just got our toes wet. So, my question is, how do people find time to play WoW?

Oh, and Mac users: How do you negotiate the chat interface? I find myself typing the slash-letter command, then deleting the slash, and the whole thing gets confusing.