K.I.S.S. (Keep it Simple, Scholar)

A word to all of you academics out there. If you plan on making your mark on your field -- let's say, with defining a movement -- you could do well to follow Jean-François Lyotard's example. In forwarding his well-known (or perhaps I should write defining) definition of postmodernism as "an incredulity toward meta-narratives," he followed a couple of excellent -- but dangerous -- rhetorical principles:

1. Keep it simple
2. Place it early

Unfortunately, most of us who earn (or hope to earn) our income by research and scholarship seem to struggle with -- if not openly reject -- such principles. More heavily credentialed critics than I (which, at this stage is the vast majority of them) have noted and/or speculated about this trend. Calvin (the cartoon character, not the theologian) recognized academic writing's purpose to "inflate weak ideas, obscure poor reasoning, and inhibit clarity." Others (whom I'm too lazy to look up again) tie the quasi-religious elevation of the academy (and hence academic prose) to modernism's preoccupation with constantly "making it new." (I didn't have to look that one up; it's Ezra Pound.) Unfortunately, perpetually making things new takes a lot of effort and gets steadily more difficult over time (which is where most things happen). Soon you just settle for making them look new. If academics can't do this with their ideas, they often do it with complex vocabulary and confusing syntax. (Could there be a greater cliché here than citing Ecclesiastes? That's why I'm not going to... because it wouldn't be new.)

But there are, I think, other reasons why Lyotard's example is so rare. I started speculating about some additional of them, and I'd like to share them here... 'cause that's what blogs are for. Here's what I came up with (Take that, NEASWAP!):

1. We're the Bourgeois - The primary use to which property owners dedicate their property is the acquisition of more property. We recognize the financial application of the principle -- thanks, AT&T! -- but perhaps there is an intellectual one as well, in which our "capital" is other people's attention and our purpose is to garner that attention into more attention. The most illustrative example I can muster at the moment is television news. On commercial news outlets, the tasty morsel may be hinted at (or "teased") at the top of the hour, but there's no telling how many commercial breaks you may have to endure to get to it and how disappointing the story turns out to be once you do. (This, by the way, is the strongest argument against a complete federal de-funding of public broadcasting: eventually sponsorship swallows the program it's supposed to be sponsoring.) We don't have commercial messages in peer-reviewed journals (yet), but we do long to keep the few people brave enough to begin an article reading through to the end. Of course, the acquisition of attentiveness begins with an important-sounding thesis, continues through of and ends with the promise that more could be written on the topic.
   
2. We're the proletarians - Since I'm speaking in these kinds of Marxist terms, I figured I'd try to keep the metaphor afloat (in an effort to keep you reading through to the end). In one scene of Batman Begins, Lucius offers a complex-sounding, jargon-filled, science-y explanation of how he made an antidote to The Scarecrow's neuro-toxin. When Bruce asks him if he was intended to understand any of the explanation, Lucius explains that he just wanted to show just how hard he'd worked. This need to convince senior academicians of our diligence invests them with a spurious power of ownership -- spurious because of the inherently communal nature of intellectual pursuit.
3. We're the managers - Some might consider the manager the middle ground between the owner and the worker, but I think a better model is that of a gatekeeper, who works at the behest of the owner to keep the factory running smoothly, but who holds no opportunity to advance into the realm of ownership him-/herself. This characterization is related to #2, with the words of the writer/manager in this case assuring that none of the intellectual "riff-raff" understand (and worse, be tempted to [ab-]use) language to express something important. Secretly though, we suspect that the pursuit we serve holds no special fondness for us.

But be warned; there are dangers to Lyotard's strategy. You could

1. Actually have your ideas critiqued - those who are intimidated by dense prose are not always sure that they've gotten the idea. Hence their critiques are themselves uncertain and equivocating. If they easily understand your idea though, they are much more likely to reject it... with reasons... that others can possibly understand;
2. Be broadly quoted but seldom understood (which is only a concern if you crave understanding; of course, this need suggests that academia might not be the place for you). I am informed that we live in a "sound-bite culture." If this is the case, you will have all sorts pretending to knowledge of your work by quoting something short and pithy-sounding. If #3 above characterizes your concerns, this fear might be enough to send you back to your Obfuscator 3000. (You do have one, don't you?);
   
3. Become a "public intellectual" - The money that comes with this unofficial title is often fairly good -- well, better than the average tenured professor anyway. The drawback is that it comes at the expense of your peers' esteem. Sure, you'll probably still get that endowed professorship; and you'll probably get invited by the university president to all kinds of public(-ity) events; and you'll think you're writing ground-breaking books. But the rest of us will know that your success is Faustian, a sell-out of unprecedented proportions (not counting Coldplay). It was lucky for Lyotard that he followed up his description with rhetorically complex and conceptually multi-faceted explanation. Otherwise, Random House could have ended up publishing his work.
   

Judith Butler has suggested that complex ideas require complex (read: incomprehensible) language. That may be true; after all, not everything can be turned into a children's primer. Most of us are far too comfortable, however, in rhetorical positions that are not only unassailable (to offer a military metaphor), but are so strategically irrelevant that few are interested in laying siege in the first place. Stephen Hawking, as a counter-example, seems to have condensed an explanation of the principles governing the known physical universe into a single volume of fairly readable prose.Stinkin' public intellectual!

What's up with the title; what's up with me

I tried blogging elsewhere. The effort was underwhelming, but the intentions were lofty. Hardly enough to single me out among bloggers. [Look at that! The Blogger dictionary doesn't recognize the word "blogger." Interesting.]

Anyway, I fancied myself possibly alienating people with those lofty intentions, so I made an effort to conceal my identity -- a modern Publius. [If you don't know, open another tab and look it up; I guarantee you'll be chuckling to yourself and admiring my wit and breadth of cultural knowledge. I know I was.]

[NB: I am trying my best to avoid emoticons. I'll do my best to communicate it otherwise, but a good general rule is that if it makes me sound like an ass-hole, it was sarcastic.]

[NB, II: I like parenthetical statements. If they obfuscate, I apologize, but I really can't write without them, and I don't feel like editing them out.]

Back to Publius. I have trouble being too diplomatic when I am at the forefront of communication. I thought that anonymity would allow me certain freedoms that I might not otherwise enjoy. The problem is that an anonymous blogging self is even more detached from community than a named blogging self, so the motivation to write was even lower than it might have been. So I decided to attach my name to a blog and to try to write honestly anyway. You might laugh, but self-knowledge makes it difficult enough; adding in the critical voice of the most judgmental person you know -- and who can make your life miserable for the knowledge -- that can definitely contribute to shriveling and retracting on a par with a cold swim in the ocean. It is possible that I may alienate some or all of you who already know me, while making new and previously unknown enemies at a historically unprecedented rate, but this needs to be me.

You know that feeling in high school that you always had to hide a bit of who you were in order to fit in? On some level, I have felt stuck there for the last twenty years. At its best this blog will serve as a step toward integrity (in its literal sense). I know that writing into the ether is a surefire way to display that inner anal sphincter, but it is my sincere desire to write with candor and love, open to who you are but honest.

I was initially tempted to offer a summary of beliefs that characterize me, but the temptation [yours, I mean] to read them as a kind of totalizing manifesto would be practically irresistible. Far too many evils arise from people who know about before they know. I'd rather not contribute to the chaos. Besides, I don't want to do all of my alienating at once.

Two final notes for today:

1. I love film. Some of my friends perceive studying movies too deeply as the worst kind of intellectual masturbation. They may be right, but I'd rather err on the side of too reflective than not reflective enough. I'll save the spiel about cultural parables for another time... maybe.
2. The name of the blog. It means (or is supposed to mean) "common grace," a term loaded with connotation. To some it may signify that I am a religious zealot; to others that I am a bad Christian who is trying to rationalize his "worldliness." The truth is that I am probably far more offensive than either of those characterizations can encompass. Whatever your perception of my error, I hope you'll hang around, open to the possibility that all beauty is divine beauty. I really don't strive to be dangerous ("but then again," to quote Gaff, "who does?"). Who knows; you just might convince me to change my ways. Less substantively, I should add that know just enough Latin to know that I probably messed up the endings on the blog's title. Regardless of my linguistic or philosophical problems, I think that I'm going to keep the name. It's just easier.

I hope this blog becomes bigger than my own narcissistic logorrhea. At the very least, I'm aiming to develop a writer's discipline through it.

Peace.