Feeling the nostalgia again: Five Reasons to Love Ann Arbor. Mine would be slightly different:

1. Leopold Brothers- wait a minute...
2. Sweetwater's (also, Cafe Zola before it got weird)
3. The Bang!--I went to four or five, and only one was a letdown
4. The band shell in West Park/the Old West Side--not a better neighborhood to walk around in
5. 8th floor of the grad library--where I spent far too many evenings trying to catch up on my reading

And many others...

LINK: This sort of thing drives me crazy:

So too, growing numbers of serious Christian readers of the Bible have become persuaded that we can't hope to know what Moses "means" without seeing how he was read by Jesus, Paul, Irenaeus, Augustine, Aquinas, Luther, Calvin, Newman, and Barth. The particular lineup of midrashic commentators can change, of course. The point is the exegetical humility of reading the Scriptures through the saints—an appropriate response to the humility of a God who bends toward us in Christ and gathers his people in a communion of saints.

Maybe. I've seen plenty of chauvinism in readings of this kind, if it's the only way you ever approach the text. The trick, here as in political theory, is to have some idea of the kind of question you want to have answered. If I want to have an idea of what Grotius wrote, the absolute worst thing to do is read the commentary on De jure belli, which is largely a reflection of the biases of the commentator. If my question is how the concept of sovereignty develops over the modern period, or how it gets used in various political contexts, those commentators become more important. Within Protestant hermeneutics, I see no reason why one cannot read a prominent Christian writer's positions, accord them a great deal of weight, and still find them lacking as interpretations, or interpretations when certain questions are in mind (Christ and Paul are different, but let's not step into that minefield).

See also allegory:

Those in Reformation-based churches have often recoiled at allegory as one of the means by which the plain sense of Scripture is distorted. This is rooted in our revolt against our Catholic forebears: let them have allegory, and pretty soon they'll find the Queen of Heaven in Revelation, or prayers to the saints in 1 Maccabees. Williams ably shows that the heartbeat of allegory for the ancient church was Christological. Allegory was a means to further the church's passionate love affair with Christ through discerning his presence on every page of Israel's Scripture. Like any interpretive practice, allegorical reading can go wrong and stand in need of reining in, sure enough. But without it, something dear to the heart of Protestants is lost: the chance to see Jesus anew, now refracted through the words not only of the New Testament, but of the Old as well. And there are so many more words in the Old!

My Bible study (stuck in the middle of Jeremiah) got into a big argument on this topic a few weeks ago: they (Orthodox and evangelical protestant alike) were finding allegories everywhere, and assigning the primary meaning of the text to these. I protested, because these seemed to me a dodge--the text had to mean something to the people who first encountered it, and as the intensity of allegory is increased (so I find), the urge to find other meanings decreases, and that seems to me to do definite violence to the text. If you come to the text asking what portions of it might further our understanding of what it means to be in Christ, and how his coming changes our understanding of past events, well, go to town. But it's an activity that has a time and a place, and any halfway decent reading will balance hermeneutic techniques against what's being sought after.

I have an almost unlimited patience for all things Grotius, and Martine van Ittersum's Profit and Principle: Hugo Grotius, Natural Rights Theories, and the Rise of Dutch Power in the East Indies 1595-1615 is, at turns, quite engaging (and as close to a total reconstruction of Grotius' work on these issues in that period as is possible*), but I'm about 3/4 of the way through and having a little trouble following all the historical details, of which the book has many.

* Which is not to say the reconstruction is always convincing--though I don't do a lot of work with archival sources, so I don't know how reasonable a complaint this is. But the interpretive techniques are not clear to me:

In the chapter on the 'Spanish Black Legend,' Ittersum writes at some length about Grotius' appropriation of various anti-Iberian tropes in De jure predae, but she never addresses directly the following, somewhat important questions: 1. Did the Spanish consider Dutch independence to be fundamentally illegitimate? 2. Did the Spanish actually commit atrocities against the peoples of the new world, in part because they refused to convert to Catholicism? 3. Did the Portuguese commit atrocities against Dutch sailors in the East Indies? In all three cases, so far as I can tell, the answer is 'yes' (the discussion of Spanish military and economic pressures against the Netherlands comes up in later chapters). The question, it seems, is less whether those tropes are used for rhetorical purposes, but rather, how realistic the danger to the Netherlands really was (power asymmetries, which should loom when considering the Dutch v. the Spanish/Portuguese at the beginning of the 17th century, are rarely mentioned), and I can't quite put my finger on the underlying assumption that makes these concerns overblown, in Ittersum's estimation.

LINKS: Music-related items, while I try to finish drafting my syllabus:

* Carie Brownstein, the former Sleater-Kinney guitarist/vocalist, has a blog through NPR. Her mixes are excellent, and her general observations on music and creativity are well worth your time.

* Dead Flowers interviews Ivy, whose album, In the Clear, I bought on the strength of a couple songs DF offered earlier--very good. Requisite bizarre indie-rock connection: Adam Schlesinger is in Fountains of Wayne (which I think was originally the side project), and also wrote "That Thing You Do!" from the movie.

Finished A.S. Byatt's Possession this afternoon. I haven't had enough time reflecting on it to make a determination of whether I find its underlying premise ridiculous or not, but it was enjoyable to read and, I think, offered a few insights into the academic process (or, at least, inspired a few moments of recognition). The passage on letters struck me:

Letters, Roland discovered, are a form of narrative that envisages no outcome, no closure. His time was a time of the dominance of narrative theories. Letters tell no story, because they do not know, from line to line, where they are going...
Letters, finally, exclude not only the reader as co-writer, or predictor, or guesser, but they exclude the reader as reader; they are written, if they are true letters, for a reader.

And two pages at the end which describe the process of reading (specifically re-reading) better than anything else I've encountered, from which I excerpt a part:

Now and then there are readings that make the hairs on the neck, the non-existent pelt, stand on end and tremble, when every word burns and shines hard and clear and infinite and exact, like stones of fire, like points of stars in the dark--readings when the knowledge that we shall know the writing differently or better or satisfactorily, runs ahead of any capacity to say what we know, or how. In these readings, a sense that the text has appear to be wholly new, never before seen, is followed, almost immediately, by the sense that it was always there, that we the readers, knew it was always there, and have always known it was as it was, though we have now for the first time recognized, become fully cognisant of, our knowledge.

I often take issue with Daniel Larison on... practically everything. But he's right about the clumsy references to Constantine in the Evangelical Manifesto (first post, on whether Constantine oppressed dissenting religious opinions, here; second, on Evangelical defensiveness, here). From the second post:

Related to the previous post, this is an attitude in the manifesto that strikes me as far more troubling and obnoxious than any perceived defensiveness. No Christians today trace their heritage to Constantine (nor have any Christians at any other time done this). Indeed, the implicit claim is that there are Christians who do trace their heritage to Constantine, and so are actually schismatics who supposedly reject Christ and prefer Constantine. (It is an old polemical move to identify oneself with Christ and others with another individual to demonstrate the sectarian, rather than catholic, nature of the opposition.)

For reasons that might be obvious, I encounter anti-Constantinianism with some frequency, and there are few theological positions that aggravate me more. I try to avoid conversations on these topics whenever possible. A few months ago, I found myself at someone's birthday dinner; one person at the table asked if anyone could recommend a good book covering Christian ethics with respect to war. The gentleman sitting to my right said he considered John Howard Yoder to be the definitive source on this question. I was unable to repress my usual derisive snort, which then led into a long conversation on the merits of the pre-Constantinian church.

As an evangelical protestant, I have the usual reluctance to bring out arguments relying too much on authority, but on this question, I follow the historical interpretation of, among others, Grotius, C.S. Lewis, and Reinhold Niebuhr: the nigh-unitary voice of all Christian writers throughout history indicates that war may permissibly be fought under some conditions. A strictly pacifist view is, at best, a minority opinion that opposes the tenets of most major denominations (Lewis' position), or else an important witness to the church as a whole, but not to be confused with a tenable Christian approach to politics (Neibuhr's). The history of these writers is one of the signal worldly accomplishments of Christianity: without Augustine, Lactantius, Aquinas, Vitoria, etc etc, political ethics would not be developed as it is today.

Unfortunately, as my interlocutor was only too happy to remind me, every one of those came after Constantine, and thus is to be held suspect. He told me I could have my Augustine: he'd rather be on the same side as Christ and Paul.

What exactly do you say to that?

FWIW: I don't like any of these "Greatest Movie Teachers"

Interesting fact: I saw Stand and Deliver four times in high school (three times in Spanish classes (though only once in Spanish), once in Calculus (which I later dropped for Public Speaking)

QUOTE FOR THE EVENING: T.S. Eliot, The Cocktail Party

Reilly:
If we all were judged according to the consequences
Of all our words and deeds, beyond the intention
And beyond our limited understanding
Of ourselves and other, we should all be condemned.

LINK: Intended to go below, except what I forgot. The newly revamped Harry's Place on Ken Livingstone, Coriolanus, and leadership in a democracy.

I HEARTILY ENDORSE THIS EVENT OR PRODUCT III: Finally done with finals?

* The best Mac-v-PC zing I've seen in awhile.

* I found How to Get Divorced by the Time You're 30 to be an interesting look into several of the typical mistakes of relationships in one's 20s. Excerpt:

STEP ONE: Jump from your horrible early-20s relationship right into a mid-20s relationship without learning or growing or pondering what you really want out of a mate — then marry that person.

By your late 20s, you’ll realize you were merely over-correcting the first person’s flaws and that the one you married is just as wrong for you as the one you didn’t, but in very different ways.

The article builds from there, and it's impressive to watch how 'common knowledge' combines with factors only clear in retrospect and... it's depressing, I won't lie, but also fascinating in the emphasis it puts on self-awareness, self-analysis, and change. One doesn't necessarily know what one wants, and if that fact is kept in mind, it can mitigate a number of mistakes and make it easier to reverse course when things go wrong. (h/t: Prettier Than Napoleon)

* In response to this, I'll take the line William Zinsser adopts in On Writing Well: everyone thinks they have a style which is an ideal reflection of themselves as a person and a writer. However, if you look at anyone who writes well, they develop an obsession with style and constantly try to improve their writing. Certainly, Lancelot Andrews did not feel the need to follow 'the rules of English grammar' when translating the KJV (though I question what that could mean, given 1. 400 years of use between then and now 2. the fact he was often translating poetics and not just prose 3. that religious English is frequently recognized as a category of English writing that functions as a poetry-prose hybrid), but there's a substantial difference between suspending principles of good English usage because the occasion demands it, and haphazardly observing them.

* For those so inclined, Norm takes on, and links to, the discussion on whether it's better to take pictures or have memories.

Let me suggest as a corollary to the below that the two following propositions generally hold:

1. Everyone thinks their claim is the legitimate exception to the rule.
2. Not everyone's claims are legitimate.

RANDOM OBSERVATION ON GRADING:

I am near completion of my third semester of TAing (was supposed to be done yesterday, but, much like moving or writing a paper, the last bit always takes longer than you intend); all three semesters, I've been one of many TAs (six last year, five last semester, five this semester). Classes of large size don't bother me--my intro political theory lecture had 400 people--and the interaction with students is often deeply rewarding. But I am thoroughly convinced that coordinating multiple graders requires logistical organization seldom observed outside wedding planning. If you are soon or ever to TA with other people, I highly encourage you to make a plan, anticipate contingencies, and pick someone to be the enforcer. Failure to do so is a nightmare.

Relatedly, I can't imagine a three-hour meeting with a student; or I can't imagine one that would end well for the student. I make an effort when I first grade to be as generous as the terms of the assignment and the work in question allows me to be; thus I have never given extra points when a student has come to ask questions. While I don't anticipate that holding up forever, a student has about 15 minutes to make an affirmative case for more points. Pressing beyond that point (it's happened once or twice) increases my resistance to rewarding that behavior with a higher score. At three hours, they'd get the same level of scrutiny in the future, but stop getting the benefit of the doubt.

THANK YOU FOR GETTING OFFENDED ON MY BEHALF: but it's not really necessary in this case. Ross Douthat links to all the apoplectic bloggers responding to a NYT piece on chain restaurants. I, you know, read the article, and having been to all-but-one of the chains reviewed, found it to be perfectly fair. Sure, there's a little "can you believe they have restaurants in/near malls?" tone, but I assume any city-dweller will have a similar reaction. The actual reviews seem to me to be about correct: the wait can sometimes be preposterous, and there are not adequate while the time waiting (and this accounts for the greet-staff/waitstaff distinction several of the reviews mention); the food is surprisingly good (with some exceptions*) and relatively inexpensive; all of these places are especially good for families. So far as I can tell, that's all true. What's the hubbub?


SEE ALSO: Daniel Larison, who has especially kind words for Outback.

*Every place has redeeming dishes, and some, like Red Lobster, have many--they say more nice things about the entrees at Cheesecake Factory than I would

I came late to conservatism, so there are a number of things I spend time puzzling out, which perhaps do not seem odd to those who grew up in it (or embraced it earlier). The narrative of technology and progress is one of these. I read, and enjoy, Patrick Deneen and Rod Dreher, but they buy in rather unreservedly to a critique of modern American capitalism, and take, as a point of contrast, an earlier agrarian time period, frequently making an appeal to the world of their parents or grandparents.

The historical narrative has always struck me as a little curious. This fantastic New Yorker review of a book on American technological progress in the 19th century does a good job of reminding the reader how early many of the changes we might lament set in.

In particular, I recommend the section that begins "Historical narratives in which machines drive history look like this: x machine produces y kind of society." It intrigued me because it makes a connection back to at least some of the technology-driven critique of contemporary life. Phrased in the way quoted, the sentiment is clearly Marxist (the means of production determine the stage of economic development)--and, indeed, Lapore goes on to quote Marx. But surely conservatism doesn't require technological determinism of this kind?

Lapore gives a number of examples of this kind of reasoning, and then goes on to ask the questions I have in mind:

These statements have a ring of truth; they’re useful, insightful, and worth considering. And, at first glance, they’re pleasing: you can picture the steam engine, the clock, the light bulb, the printing press, the cotton gin, the Pill, the automobile. You find yourself silently nodding in agreement. Technology changes our lives all the time, in little ways and big ways, sometimes profoundly, very often for good, and sometimes for very great good. Really, it’s not such a big leap to believe that technology drives change, and drives history. Asked to guess which is the more powerful force in history—gadgets you can tinker with or wispy, diaphanous ideas—most people would put their money on gadgets. And why not? The printing press versus, say, predestination isn’t really a fair fight, unless you’ve got a lot of time to think about it, and to read books—printed on a printing press. In some parts of these United States, daily life is like living in a museum dedicated to the proposition that technology is destiny.

But what if x isn’t all that triggers y, or even what mostly does; what if it just looks that way, because we are living y? It’s easy to forget that some of these y’s started long before the x’s, suburbs before automobiles. And none of the x’s tell the whole story; the Pill, while not a small thing, wasn’t everything. Statements like “The light bulb ushered in the age of abundance” employ a grammar suspiciously like that of advertising copy. Viagra will save your marriage. Electronic voting will restore faith in American democracy. The iPod will make you groovy.

This is not to be critical of any particular rejection of technology (many things one can and should do without), nor even the conscious choice to find meaning in something other than the usual sites; but when I start to think about how it's supposed to work across culture or society more generally, I'm not entirely sure how the critique is supposed to function, how we verify that it's correct, and whether the remedy suggested might actually solve the problem.

(And this is always, it seems to me, swamped by the demand-side problem. I have a friend working on architecture and politics in the context of radical democratic theory; his prospectus was very hostile to the residential patterns that emerged in the US after World War II. He did an excellent job of showing that, because of the architectural theory, what was being offered had a characteristic form, but did not even address why people wanted to live in those houses and neighborhoods--false consciousness and poor decision-making can only account for so much. That is to say, it's not just conservatism that has this problem in our contemporary context, but it does rule out certain options--like the coercive force of the state--in pursuing a solution.)