11.27.2006
politics | Shadow Company
I've posted elsewhere about my concerns about what Eisenhower termed the military-industrial complex, a complex so widespread that there is hardly an American politician who could vote to curtail military spending without offending constituents. Here's a look at the business of 'security:'
11.26.2006
travel | Out Of The Office
My parents requested more photos of Scotland, which is a little difficult to supply at the moment, given that I'm back in the U.S.A.
The above picture is my office at the University of Aberdeen. Below is a picture of the Loanhead of Daviot, a 5,000 year old recumbent stone circle, located a little northwest of Aberdeen.
Lastly, though not related to Scotland at all, here's a picture of Rodin's "Spirit of Eternal Repose" from a recent day in Paris.
The above picture is my office at the University of Aberdeen. Below is a picture of the Loanhead of Daviot, a 5,000 year old recumbent stone circle, located a little northwest of Aberdeen.
Lastly, though not related to Scotland at all, here's a picture of Rodin's "Spirit of Eternal Repose" from a recent day in Paris.
11.23.2006
theology | A Thanksgiving Meditation
I had a dream last night. I only remember the part where my mother walked in the house with a great deal of excitement wanting to show us what she had wrapped in a cloth. "I have an opossum," she proclaimed. In the dream, I didn't get to see the animal, but I assume it must have been a young opossum given its size.
I'm not sure what a dream like that means. I don't give a lot of credibility to dreams or their supposed meanings. I've only had one dream for which I've found some plausible explanation thanks in part to Freud. In that dream, all of my teeth were falling out in shards. They say that has something to do with feeling powerless and it came at a time when I'd just been living at L'Arche for a couple months. I suppose I felt somewhat powerless to be in a living situation where the way things operate didn't have much room for input and wasn't flexible enough to take into account the individuality of those living there.
I ate dinner last night with my roommate from my freshman year of college. It's amazing really. I was the most rigid, hyper-organized roommate possible. I listened to Green Day's album Dookie everyday and probably was asleep before anyone else on campus. Somehow Brad and I are still friends, and close friends at that. Not all of my relationships have weathered time well. I married young and haven't spoken to my ex-wife in well over two and a half years. Then I fell in love with a young woman and, though we often end up in the same room based upon our similar interests and friends in common, we don't talk, except for maybe an awkward hello. That's her choice, not mine. I still cry once a month over these relationships and have plenty of regrets. There is no one to listen to the many apologies that I have stored. Brad, though, is recently married. I flew from Washington, D.C. to Chicago earlier this summer to celebrate his marriage and marriage in general. That has become easier. The day after showing up in a lonely court room on a Friday afternoon to sign divorce papers, I was celebrating another friend's wedding. That one was hard to swallow.
I missed my connecting flight in Paris as I was flying to D.C. to attend the American Academy of Religion. Someone was waiting for me in Washington and the news that I'd be arriving a day late brought tears of disappointment through the phone. Disappointed myself, I ate my dinner in the hotel. I spoke French to the waitress, though she knew English, and she knew I was an English speaker. I had a couple drinks in the bar with other people from my flight. I met a thick-accented drunk Brazilian man who told me to visit because the women of Brazil are perfect. I fell asleep with the light on and don't remember dreaming. My flight the next day wasn't until late afternoon, so I took an expensive cab ride into the city. It dropped me of next to Hôtel des Invalides, founded by Louis XIV to shelter 7,000 aged or crippled soldiers. The gold-plated dome and buildings employs a style known in France as Jesuit, since it derives from the Jesuits first church in Rome, built in 1568.
I went to Le Musée Rodin. The trees in the garden were gold leaving the paths, like the dome across the street, gold leaved. I walked past "Le Penseur"; and around the grounds. I took pictures of "The Eternal Spirit of Rest" framing it as if it were leaning on the dome behind it and "Orpheus," for a friend who celebrates, in life and work, the wit of Jesus and Orpheus. I ate a chocolate croissant and thought of Irene who was always gleeful to be able to start her day thus.
I landed in D.C. finally, just two hours before the party that I was throwing was to begin. Although already 3am my time, it was nice to drink and socialize with people I love, some whom I had corresponded with but was meeting for the first time. I have wonderful friends. I really do. I'm richly blessed in this regard. Of course, I'm biased, but others agree, remarking I have friends who are sincere in heart, brilliant in mind, and (no less importantly) are compassionate, gentle, and throw a good party. While in D.C., I got to see friends who hail from Princeton, Duke, and Rice, as well as former professors and friends that I lived with in D.C. I got to see L'Arche core members and receive their hugs and verbal reminders that they care for me.
I'm at my parents' house now, typing away in the room which I inhabited when we first moved here in 1980. I was three and didn't like having a room to myself. I didn't like being lonely, seemingly the most natural desire. My parents and I went to see Little Miss Sunshine, a movie I missed in the all the craziness that landed me on Scotland's shore. There were fifteen people in the theater. I liked being able to listen to the laughs of each individual person. I laughed. My parents laughed. I was relieved by that. I once suggested that we all go see Traffic, not a movie to see with one's parents, and now am a little gun shy to suggest movies. My parents' house is on a quiet street and they live simply. I appreciate that, even the AOL dial-up that they still use. My mother is baking cookies and has a pie or two done already. I started a book today on Strauss and Levinas and heard from some friends via email. My brother is suffering from depression, a place I've been, a place of panic, burden, and overwhelming pain. I want to help and can a little, but know that the only way out is through, one long step after another.
I've never seen a Bears game live. I don't care for sports much. I think the entainment value smacks of gladitorial games; the lives being sacrificed are the players' (to lifting weights and flashy lifestyles) and the fans' (to watching, buying jerseys, and needless rivalries). I could be doing something more existentially meaningful with my time, but do love watching the Bears. I don't think I'll get to watch a Bears' game as I head to Princeton before Sunday's game. There more friends await, and I'll get to refresh some fond memories. I'll walk down the tree-lined streets, passed the house at 15 Madison, and drink another cup of coffee at Small World. Soon it will be time to board a plane back to Scotland, to travel home, but in the meantime, I'm thankful. Not a blind, sentimental, or vacuous thankfulness, but for all these things and more. Thankful to a God who rests but never sleeps, who sustains with hands that first created. To me this creation appears madly beautiful, or beautifully mad, but I love it. I love my life. I am thankful and so I give thanks.
I'm not sure what a dream like that means. I don't give a lot of credibility to dreams or their supposed meanings. I've only had one dream for which I've found some plausible explanation thanks in part to Freud. In that dream, all of my teeth were falling out in shards. They say that has something to do with feeling powerless and it came at a time when I'd just been living at L'Arche for a couple months. I suppose I felt somewhat powerless to be in a living situation where the way things operate didn't have much room for input and wasn't flexible enough to take into account the individuality of those living there.
I ate dinner last night with my roommate from my freshman year of college. It's amazing really. I was the most rigid, hyper-organized roommate possible. I listened to Green Day's album Dookie everyday and probably was asleep before anyone else on campus. Somehow Brad and I are still friends, and close friends at that. Not all of my relationships have weathered time well. I married young and haven't spoken to my ex-wife in well over two and a half years. Then I fell in love with a young woman and, though we often end up in the same room based upon our similar interests and friends in common, we don't talk, except for maybe an awkward hello. That's her choice, not mine. I still cry once a month over these relationships and have plenty of regrets. There is no one to listen to the many apologies that I have stored. Brad, though, is recently married. I flew from Washington, D.C. to Chicago earlier this summer to celebrate his marriage and marriage in general. That has become easier. The day after showing up in a lonely court room on a Friday afternoon to sign divorce papers, I was celebrating another friend's wedding. That one was hard to swallow.
I missed my connecting flight in Paris as I was flying to D.C. to attend the American Academy of Religion. Someone was waiting for me in Washington and the news that I'd be arriving a day late brought tears of disappointment through the phone. Disappointed myself, I ate my dinner in the hotel. I spoke French to the waitress, though she knew English, and she knew I was an English speaker. I had a couple drinks in the bar with other people from my flight. I met a thick-accented drunk Brazilian man who told me to visit because the women of Brazil are perfect. I fell asleep with the light on and don't remember dreaming. My flight the next day wasn't until late afternoon, so I took an expensive cab ride into the city. It dropped me of next to Hôtel des Invalides, founded by Louis XIV to shelter 7,000 aged or crippled soldiers. The gold-plated dome and buildings employs a style known in France as Jesuit, since it derives from the Jesuits first church in Rome, built in 1568.
I went to Le Musée Rodin. The trees in the garden were gold leaving the paths, like the dome across the street, gold leaved. I walked past "Le Penseur"; and around the grounds. I took pictures of "The Eternal Spirit of Rest" framing it as if it were leaning on the dome behind it and "Orpheus," for a friend who celebrates, in life and work, the wit of Jesus and Orpheus. I ate a chocolate croissant and thought of Irene who was always gleeful to be able to start her day thus.
I landed in D.C. finally, just two hours before the party that I was throwing was to begin. Although already 3am my time, it was nice to drink and socialize with people I love, some whom I had corresponded with but was meeting for the first time. I have wonderful friends. I really do. I'm richly blessed in this regard. Of course, I'm biased, but others agree, remarking I have friends who are sincere in heart, brilliant in mind, and (no less importantly) are compassionate, gentle, and throw a good party. While in D.C., I got to see friends who hail from Princeton, Duke, and Rice, as well as former professors and friends that I lived with in D.C. I got to see L'Arche core members and receive their hugs and verbal reminders that they care for me.
I'm at my parents' house now, typing away in the room which I inhabited when we first moved here in 1980. I was three and didn't like having a room to myself. I didn't like being lonely, seemingly the most natural desire. My parents and I went to see Little Miss Sunshine, a movie I missed in the all the craziness that landed me on Scotland's shore. There were fifteen people in the theater. I liked being able to listen to the laughs of each individual person. I laughed. My parents laughed. I was relieved by that. I once suggested that we all go see Traffic, not a movie to see with one's parents, and now am a little gun shy to suggest movies. My parents' house is on a quiet street and they live simply. I appreciate that, even the AOL dial-up that they still use. My mother is baking cookies and has a pie or two done already. I started a book today on Strauss and Levinas and heard from some friends via email. My brother is suffering from depression, a place I've been, a place of panic, burden, and overwhelming pain. I want to help and can a little, but know that the only way out is through, one long step after another.
I've never seen a Bears game live. I don't care for sports much. I think the entainment value smacks of gladitorial games; the lives being sacrificed are the players' (to lifting weights and flashy lifestyles) and the fans' (to watching, buying jerseys, and needless rivalries). I could be doing something more existentially meaningful with my time, but do love watching the Bears. I don't think I'll get to watch a Bears' game as I head to Princeton before Sunday's game. There more friends await, and I'll get to refresh some fond memories. I'll walk down the tree-lined streets, passed the house at 15 Madison, and drink another cup of coffee at Small World. Soon it will be time to board a plane back to Scotland, to travel home, but in the meantime, I'm thankful. Not a blind, sentimental, or vacuous thankfulness, but for all these things and more. Thankful to a God who rests but never sleeps, who sustains with hands that first created. To me this creation appears madly beautiful, or beautifully mad, but I love it. I love my life. I am thankful and so I give thanks.
11.14.2006
theology | Two Theological Statements On Israel
I. The biblical people of Israel, though related, should not be reduced to nor equated with the modern nation-state of Israel.
II. Though there are many horrrific genocides in human history (Stalin, The Khmer Rouge, Julius Caesar's campaign against the Gauls), the Holocaust can be taken to be theologically more significant precisely for its attempt to exterminate God's covenant people wherever they be found.
It should be clear why the first point is important, if not, read David D. Kirkpatrick's disheartening story, For Evangelicals, Supporting Israel Is ‘God’s Foreign Policy’, from NYTimes.com:
II. Though there are many horrrific genocides in human history (Stalin, The Khmer Rouge, Julius Caesar's campaign against the Gauls), the Holocaust can be taken to be theologically more significant precisely for its attempt to exterminate God's covenant people wherever they be found.
It should be clear why the first point is important, if not, read David D. Kirkpatrick's disheartening story, For Evangelicals, Supporting Israel Is ‘God’s Foreign Policy’, from NYTimes.com:
"Many conservative Christians say they believe that the president’s support for Israel fulfills a biblical injunction to protect the Jewish state, which some of them think will play a pivotal role in the second coming. Many on the left, in turn, fear that such theology may influence decisions the administration makes toward Israel and the Middle East."
misc | Criticism, Ontology, And Truth
"The fundamental challenge facing all critical strategies and historical ontologies is a version of the naturalistic fallacy: less the problem of attempting to derive an 'ought' from an 'is' (there being strategies to overcome this, such as Spinoza's derivation of ethics from ontology), but the problem of responding to an 'ought' with an 'is' (for example, choosing Spinoza's ontology because it lends a strategy for overcoming the naturalistic fallacy), and thus repeating the positivist commodification of truth." [1]=============
[1] Philip Goodchild, "Capital and Kingdom: An Eschatological Ontology" in Theology and the Political, ed. Creston Davis, John Milbank and Slavoj Žižek (Durham, NC: Duke UP, 2005), 129.
11.09.2006
poem | This Is How Memory Works
I wrote a poem last night, but it needs to be reworked and titled before sharing, so here's a poem I read yesteday and enjoyed:
This Is How Memory Works
by Patricia Hampl
You are stepping off a train.
A wet blank night, the smell of cinders.
A gust of steam from the engine swirls
around the hem of your topcoat, around
the hand holding the brown leather valise,
the hand that, a moment ago, slicked back
the hair and then put on the fedora
in front of the mirror with the beveled
edges in the cherrywood compartment.
The girl standing on the platform
in the Forties dress
has curled her hair, she has
nylon stockings -- no, silk stockings still.
Her shoulders are touchingly military,
squared by those shoulder pads
and a sweet faith in the Allies.
She is waiting for you.
She can be wearing a hat, if you like.
You see her first.
That's part of the beauty:
you get the pure, eager face,
the lyrical dress, the surprise.
You can have the steam,
the crowded depot, the camel's-hair coat,
real leather and brass clasps on the suitcase;
you can make the lights glow with
strange significance, and the black cars
that pass you are historical yet ordinary.
The girl is yours,
the flowery dress, the walk
to the streetcar, a fried egg sandwich
and a joke about Mussolini.
You can have it all:
you're in that world, the only way
you'll ever be there now, hired
for your silent hammer, to nail pictures
to the walls of this mansion
made of thinnest air.
This Is How Memory Works
by Patricia Hampl
You are stepping off a train.
A wet blank night, the smell of cinders.
A gust of steam from the engine swirls
around the hem of your topcoat, around
the hand holding the brown leather valise,
the hand that, a moment ago, slicked back
the hair and then put on the fedora
in front of the mirror with the beveled
edges in the cherrywood compartment.
The girl standing on the platform
in the Forties dress
has curled her hair, she has
nylon stockings -- no, silk stockings still.
Her shoulders are touchingly military,
squared by those shoulder pads
and a sweet faith in the Allies.
She is waiting for you.
She can be wearing a hat, if you like.
You see her first.
That's part of the beauty:
you get the pure, eager face,
the lyrical dress, the surprise.
You can have the steam,
the crowded depot, the camel's-hair coat,
real leather and brass clasps on the suitcase;
you can make the lights glow with
strange significance, and the black cars
that pass you are historical yet ordinary.
The girl is yours,
the flowery dress, the walk
to the streetcar, a fried egg sandwich
and a joke about Mussolini.
You can have it all:
you're in that world, the only way
you'll ever be there now, hired
for your silent hammer, to nail pictures
to the walls of this mansion
made of thinnest air.
11.07.2006
news | Starbucks loses four laptops...
Starbucks Loses Four Laptops with 60,000 Social Security NumbersNovember 7, 2006
by Humphrey Cheung
"Starbucks Corporation is missing four laptops which contain nearly 60,000 names and Social Security numbers of current and former employees. The laptops were supposed to be stored in a closet, but an employee discovered that they were missing way back in September.
Two of the four laptops contained the names and Social Security numbers of employees and contractors who began working for Starbucks before December 31st, 2003.
Starbucks issued a statement saying the laptops had password protection and that there is no indication that the information has been misused."
11.06.2006
quote | In Front Of A Lens
"Now, once I feel myself observed by the lens, everything changes: I constitute myself in the process of 'posing,' I instantaneously make another body for myself, I transform myself in advance into an image...I lend myself to the social game, I pose, I know I am posing, I want you to know that I am posing, but (to square the circle) this additional message must in no way alter the precious essence of my individuality: what I am, apart from any effigy. What I want, in short, is that my (mobile) image, buffeted among a thousand shifting photographs, altering with situation and age, should always coincide with my (profound) 'self'; but it is the contrary that must be said: 'myself' never coincides with my image; for it is the image which is heavy, motionless, stubborn (which is why society sustatins it), and 'myself' which is light, divided, dispersed..." [1]============
[1] Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida (London: Vintage, 1993), 10-12.
11.02.2006
travel | Nov 17-30, Plus, An AAR Roll Call
November 17-21 - Washington, D.C. (Attending AAR)
Yes, I'll be back in the District! If you'll be attending AAR, let me know and we'll try to connect (which might be a little bit of a challenge as I no longer have a US cell phone). I'll most likely be at the following sessions:
A19-42
Theme: Critical Reflections on Cornel West's Democracy Matters
Sunday - 9:00 am-11:30 am
A20-24
Theme: Pragmatism: Broadening the Discussion
Monday - 9:00 am-11:30 am
A20-111
Theme: Critical Responses to Theology and the Political: The New Debate
Monday - 4:00 pm-6:30 pm
A20-137
Theme: The Good of Diversity and the Virtue of Tolerance
Monday - 7:00 pm-8:30 pm
November 21-25 - Chicago, IL (Thanksgiving)
Nieces, poultry, and the like. Email me if you're going to be in Chicago for Thanksgiving.
November 25-30 - Princeton, NJ (PU/PTS/NYC)
Friends; conversations theological and otherwise.
11.01.2006
politics | Two Responses And A Thought About The Military Commissions Act of 2006
Bush signs bill to interrogate, prosecute terror suspectsHere is MSNBC Anchor Keith Olbermann's response:
October 17, 2006
WASHINGTON (AP) -- Some of the most notorious names in the war on terror are headed toward prosecution after President Bush signed a law Tuesday authorizing military trials of terrorism suspects.
The legislation also eliminates some of the rights defendants are usually guaranteed under U.S. law, and it authorizes continued harsh interrogations of terror suspects, a provision Bush had said was vital.
Imprisoned at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, and awaiting trial are Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, the accused mastermind of the September 11 attacks, Ramzi Binalshibh, an alleged would-be 9/11 hijacker, and Abu Zubaydah, who was believed to be a link between Osama bin Laden and many al Qaeda cells.
"With the bill I'm about to sign, the men our intelligence officials believe orchestrated the murder of nearly 3,000 innocent people will face justice," Bush said in a White House ceremony.
The Pentagon expects to begin pre-trial motions early next year and to begin the actual trials in the summer.
The Supreme Court ruled in June that trying detainees in military tribunals violated U.S. and international law, so Bush urged Congress to change the law during a speech on September 6 in the White House East Room attended by families of the Sept. 11, 2001, victims. He also insisted that the law authorize CIA agents to use tough -- yet unspecified -- methods to interrogate suspected terrorists.
Six weeks later, after a highly publicized dispute with key Republicans over the terms of the bill, Bush signed the new law "in memory of the victims of September 11."
"It is a rare occasion when a president can sign a bill he knows will save American lives," Bush said. "I have that privilege this morning."
Civil libertarians and leading Democrats decried the law as a violation of American values. The American Civil Liberties Union said it was "one of the worst civil liberties measures ever enacted in American history." Democratic Sen. Russ Feingold of Wisconsin said, "We will look back on this day as a stain on our nation's history."
"It allows the government to seize individuals on American soil and detain them indefinitely with no opportunity to challenge their detention in court," Feingold said. "And the new law would permit an individual to be convicted on the basis of coerced testimony and even allow someone convicted under these rules to be put to death."
...
The legislation says the president can "interpret the meaning and application" of international standards for prisoner treatment, a provision intended to allow him to authorize aggressive interrogation methods that might otherwise be seen as illegal by international courts. Bush said such measures have helped the CIA gain vital information from terror suspects and have saved American lives.
After Bush signed the law, CIA Director Mike Hayden sent a note to employees saying it gives them "the legal clarity and legislative support necessary to continue a program that has been one of our country's most effective tools in the fight against terrorism."
"We can be confident that our program remains -- as it always has been -- fully compliant with U.S. law, the Constitution and our international treaty obligations," Hayden wrote.
The White House has said that disclosing the techniques that are used would give the enemy information to resist those techniques. White House press secretary Tony Snow said Bush would probably eventually issue an executive order that would describe his interpretation of the standards, but those documents are not usually made public.
Snow rejected the idea that Americans should be able to see and judge the standards for themselves, particularly in the aftermath of illegal abuses at the Abu Ghraib prison.
"The only way accountability doesn't exist is if you believe that the military is not committed to it," Snow said.
Here's part of what John Yoo wrote for the Wall Street Journal:
Congress to Courts: 'Get Out of the War on Terror'Thought:
The Wall Street Journal
Oct 19, 2006
Until the Supreme Court began trying to make war policy, the writ of habeas corpus had never been understood to benefit enemy prisoners in war. The U.S. held millions of POWs during World War II, with none permitted to use our civilian courts (except for a few cases of U.S. citizens captured fighting for the Axis). Even after hostilities ended, the justices turned away lawsuits by enemy prisoners seeking to challenge their detention. In Johnson v. Eisentrager, the court held that it would not hear habeas claims brought by alien enemy prisoners held outside the U.S., and refused to interpret the Geneva Conventions to give new rights in civilian court against the government. In the case of Gen. Tomoyuki Yamashita, the court refrained from reviewing the operations of military commissions.
It would be unfair to pigeonhole the military as a bunch of violent thugs who do not care about moral concepts like justice. Snow's comment, "The only way accountability doesn't exist is if you believe that the military is not committed to it," is in one way correct. In fact, it is often the case that those who care most about ideas of just war etc. are those who are the ones to fight. After all, they are the ones who have to live with their actions. Yet, for me, a question remains. What happens when you take those who are trained in violence, trained to kill, place them in stressful situations, and give them legal grounds for torture:
Should we be surprised?
Most people would agree that living in a cage surrounded by barbed wire but with guaranteed safety would not be a life worth living. In fact, we'd think it a lot like prison. What if that is translated to morality? What are we willing to stomach morally before in saving our lives we lose them?
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