I was driving down Milledge Ave heading to Kathryn's, windows down, music enveloping me (and occasionally leaking out the windows), and came to a stop at the light in front of the Varsity. A car in the turn lane pulled up on my left, windows down but no music leaking out. What I heard from the car was, "S'cuse me, sir." Being addressed such by someone in a car next to you is not a frequent occurrence (at least for me), but I had been addressed this way twice in the past couple of weeks by strangers looking for directions, though I was in those cases a pedestrian. So, I thought maybe I was once again being asked for directions and fumbled to put the iPod on pause and address my interlocuters. I looked over at a pair of black guys in their mid to late 20s or so, the driver in dreds, and made some noise like "Yeah" to indicate I was open for business.

"S'cuse me, sir," said the passenger, "do you have any Grey Poupon?"

I stared at them for about half a second to process the immensely ridiculous nature of the situation. In the famous commercial, this same transaction took place between two old rich guys in Rolls Royces. Here, we've got (relatively) young, middle class yahoos in Athens, GA driving Japanese compact cars. Having decided that they weren't making fun of me, I busted out laughing, as did they. I felt a special bond between us: they made a silly joke, and I got it. What a couple of geniuses.

Pragmatism And The Humanities

In his short essay, "The Minister and His Greek New Testament," J. Gresham Machen wrote the following:

The widening breach between the minister and his Greek Testament may be traced to two principal causes. The modern minister objects to his Greek New Testament or is indifferent to it, first, because he is becoming less interested in his Greek, and second, because he is becoming less interested in his New Testament.

The former objection is merely one manifestation of the well-known tendency in modern education to reject the "humanities" in favor of studies that are more, obviously useful, a tendency which is fully as pronounced in the universities as it is in the theological seminaries. In many colleges, the study of Greek is almost abandoned; there is little wonder, therefore, that the graduates are not prepared to use their Greek Testament. Plato and Homer are being neglected as much as Paul. A refutation of the arguments by which this tendency is justified would exceed the limits of the present article. This much, however, may be said—the refutation must recognize the opposing principles that are involved. The advocate of the study of Greek and Latin should never attempt to plead his cause merely before the bar of "efficiency." Something, no doubt, might be said even there; it might possibly be contended that an acquaintance with Greek and Latin is really necessary to acquaintance with the mother tongue, which is obviously so important for getting on in the world. But why not go straight to the root of the matter? The real trouble with the modern exaltation of "practical" studies at the expense of the humanities is that it is based upon a vicious conception of the whole purpose of education. The modern conception of the purpose of education is that education is merely intended to enable a man to live, but not to give him those things in life that make life worth living.

Machen is pointing out a change he saw in his day in how we view education. He wrote this in 1918, presumably about the university, but he could very well have said it in 2007. Or in 1960, for that matter. I've been going through a book by once university president William Chace, 100 Semesters, in part of which he underscores two radically diverging views on education exemplified by his undergraduate alma mater, Haverford, and his graduate university, Berkeley. Berkeley, he was to find out in the 1960s, heralded the "modern conception" of education that Machen mentions, where research grants and practical disciplines trump the humanities in importance, interest, and promised impact on society.

It is this conception that I butt up against with my students nearly every semester: "How will this [e.g., the study of philosophy] be of any practical benefit to me in my life?" Machen warns that we should not answer this question "before the bar of 'efficiency'"--in other words, we should not answer the question on its own terms. Why not? Because the very asking of the question assumes that efficiency and pragmatism are the correct standards by which to judge the matters of life and education. It assumes that the purpose of education is merely to enable a man to live, to get him his white picket fence, his pleather sofa, and all the toys he can amass. With Machen, I agree that something could be said about the practical benefits of studying the humanities, especially philosophy, and I have before laid such benefits before the greedy mind-bellies of my students.

But they remain, for the most part, unmoved and hungry. Why? Because I have not addressed their assumption that unless they can take something as stated in a textbook and use it at the grocery store or the office without having to think too hard about it, then it isn't worth learning. Because I have not addressed their assumption that something must be immediately practical for it to be a worthwhile point of education. So, it is this assumption that gets attacked when they ask their question. I pull this rug out from under them, not to laugh at them as they are rubbing their sore behind or to get them to drop their business major, but to get them to be a bit more self-conscious about just what assumptions are guiding their attitudes toward life and living. Perhaps some of them will come to think less on what will enable them to live and more on what will make that life worth living.

On The Road

"I love to drive," said Gale to Evelle Snoats. It's a good thing, too, as I've been doing a fair bit of it the past couple of weeks with Kathryn, traveling to and through three states to visit kinfolk and friends. First stop: The Grandparents (hers) in Graceville, FL. Graceville is a small southern town (yes, there are southern towns in FL), a description that to some is tantamount to a cuss word, but I have always appreciated the intimacy and uniqueness that is bred in such places and that is often eclipsed in The City. Granted, intimacy and uniqueness in a southern town can be demanding and difficult, but my tendency is to be more willing to trade that for the demands and difficulties that City Life can bring. (Plus, there's a cafe in downtown Graceville that serves up some killer chicken salad, which, I've been told but have not yet experienced, Grandpa Polston serves up as well.) Pros and cons, cost-benefit analysis--it's all a matter of what you're willing to put up with.

I'd never been to a cattle auction before the trip to Graceville, and Grandpa Polston made sure I was treated to one before I left. Stadium seating. Small dirt floor arena sunk below the benches and chairs surrounding it on three sides. A front row of buyers at the rust-colored railing encircling the arena, tobacco firmly between cheek and gums. (One of the guys, who didn't buy anything while we were there, kept spitting his dark juice right on the calves when they came in.) And the smell of cow poop. (Reminded me a bit of the dairy farm one of my uncles once operated.) They would send in a calf through a gate, a guy in the arena with whip in hand would announce the gender and get the calf to walk around, the caller would begin his blend of gibberish and price-setting, and the calf would exit out another gate. All this happened in the span of about 10 seconds, at the end of which someone would have purchased a calf. After figuring out what the caller was actually saying, which admittedly took me a while, I started watching the buyers to see what kind of signals they would give to indicate they were interested in the price-at-the-moment. I could make out a signal maybe half the time. Sometimes they would just raise a pinky finger or roll their eyes. Sometimes it would be a full hand motion. Sometimes I couldn't tell that anything happened. But, somehow, the caller knew and no time was wasted getting those calves in and out. I felt kind of silly sitting there in my t-shirt and sandals, rather out of place among the checkered shirts and boots. But we were in good hands, and I figured if Grandpa Polston didn't mind then I wouldn't worry about it either. In exchange for the experience and entertainment of the cattle auction, I showed him how to microwave his breakfast oatmeal. I think we both got a pretty good deal out of that!

The dirt road lane beside the Polstons' house.

Grandpa and Grandma Miller were absolutely hilarious, the latter being especially, and enjoyably, feisty. They live on about 70 or so acres of pasture and woods with a small pond. We couldn't find the pond when we walked around one afternoon, so Grandpa Miller decided to show us himself in his truck and we commenced to pile the three of us in his small cab. The thing is, he can't see very well. "I sure hope there's nothing behind me," I hear as he guns it in Reverse. "I'm just going for the dark spot," he says just before we cross through the tree line into the pasture. Some of the deep dips in the pastures that we somehow made it past (or through or over) provided me with apprehension at first, but he knew where he was going so I just sat back and enjoyed the ride.

One afternoon we took a trip down to Panama City with Kathryn's uncle to visit with him and her cousin. We spent the afternoon at the beach and the evening eating crab legs and drinking Corona at the condo where her cousin was staying. Man, what a relaxing evening!

Standard beach pic

Second stop: My Parents in Clinton, MS. No funny stories to tell of, really. No pics, at least none that are on my computer at the moment. But we had a great time laughing and visiting with mom and dad, looking at my childhood photos (the ones from the late 80s are especially hilarious: "Why did you have your hair parted in the middle?" Kathryn asks), and picnicking at the Jackson reservoir with Colin, Yoybe, and the kids.

Okay, I'm all out of gas. I've been on this post for too long.

Strawberry Picking

Friday Kathryn and I took some of the Johnson kids strawberry picking at a farm just outside of Athens. At $8 a gallon, we pulled in a pretty good haul!

A sample of the Lord's strawberry bounty at Washington Farms.

Levi (above, nose to the strawberry plants) and Lucy (below, posing)

The gang with buckets full of juicy red strawberries

What a cute picture of the girls!

Levi all pooped out after a hot day in the fields. No, the picture isn't turned around--he decided to nap upside down in the backseat.

My Mom, THE Teacher

As if winning national Disney teacher awards and the prestigious Presidential Award for Excellence in Education from President George W. Bush wasn't enough, my mom recently received the Sunshine Teacher of the Year award, an award given to one teacher in central Mississippi for their dedication to teaching. Check out the video (the link is above the picture on the article webpage). Here's the nomination essay. Wow. GO MOM! Maybe one of these days I'll catch up to her accomplishments...

How To Be A Good Husband (In Japan)

Caught this gem in the weekly News of the Weird email:

On January 31, several hundred Japanese husbands recognized the second annual "Beloved Wives Day" to upgrade Japanese men's notorious, deeply-ingrained indifference to their spouses. Among the husbands' vows: be home from work by the unusually-early hour of 8 p.m.; actually look into the missus's eyes and say "thank you"; and try to remember to call her by her name (instead of, as many apparently do in substitution, grunting at her). [Taipei Times-AP, 2-1-07]

Top Ten Non-PC Songs?

I took a (late) movie back to the video store today and heard one of my favorite Devo songs, "Mongoloid," playing. It made me smile. How silly and absurd they were to write a song about the mentally challenged, which, somehow, makes it really, really funny to me. And it would very, very likely be really, really offensive to a lot of people--if not when they wrote it, definitely in our current wear-my-heart-on-my-sleeve litigious society. I'd probably rank it in the top ten non-PC songs.

Mongoloid, he was a mongoloid
Happier than you and me
Mongoloid, he was a mongoloid
And it determined what he could see
Mongoloid, he was a mongoloid
One chromosome too many
Mongoloid, he was a mongoloid
And it determined what he could see
And he wore a hat
And he had a job
And he brought home the bacon
So that no one knew
Mongoloid, he was a mongoloid
His friends were unaware
Mongoloid, he was a mongoloid
Nobody even cared

I say "probably" on purpose, because I wonder whether they were really writing a song about some mentally challenged guy making his way, unobserved, in the workforce. This just seems too easy of an interpretation, especially when interpreting a band like Devo. Those guys were much smarter than that. It seems much more likely to me to be a stab at Corporate America (or something in that ilk). The guy went to his job, brought home a paycheck--he essentially did what everyone else was doing and did it so well that no one could tell what he was. If he could fit in that well with those around him, what does that say about those around him? About the society they/we live in? Their lives are no more special than the "special" guy in the song.

Sojourners And Strangers

The year of jubilee caught my eye during this last jaunt through Leviticus 25.

"And you shall consecrate the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants. It shall be a jubilee for you, when each of you shall return to his property and each of you shall return to his clan." (v. 10)

I never really thought about the implications of the year of jubilee for the Israelite or Israelite economics until now--and, really, I am probably missing a lot that's there. (Scott, if you're still reading this, I'd love to hear what you think.) But think about what this must have been like, for the buyer as well as for the seller. If an Israelite was so down on his luck that he had to sell some of his property, and neither his nearest kin could redeem it nor could he become prosperous enough to redeem it later, in the year of jubilee it would simply be given back to him at no cost (vv. 25-28). Period. Property did not remain in the perpetual possession of the buyer, no matter what work the buyer put into it or fruit he got out of it. What reason is given for this?

"The land shall not be sold in perpetuity, for the land is mine. For you are strangers and sojourners with me." (v. 23)

The same goes for the Israelite who becomes so poor that he sells himself as a slave and hired servant:

"He shall serve with you until the year of jubilee. Then he shall go out from you, he and his children with him, and go back to his own clan and return to the possession of his fathers." (vv. 40-41)

This is even the case where a "stranger or sojourner," that is, a non-Israelite, is the one who buys the Israelite as a slave or servant:

"And if he is not redeemed by these means, then he and his children with him shall be released in the year of jubilee." (v. 54)

The reason given for this command?

"For they are my servants, whom I brought out of the land of Egypt; they shall not be sold as slaves.... For it is to me that the people of Israel are servants. They are my servants whom I brought out of the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God." (vv. 42, 55)

The land is the LORD's; it is not theirs to hold on to throughout their generations. The Israelites are the LORD's servants, not ultimately servants of one another. To the buyer, I wonder how much of a drag this must have been, to have to release without recompense what you paid good money for. But for the seller (of his land or of himself), the transitory nature of the land and the people--it is not their land and they are but strangers and sojourners in it--is a cause of jubilation every fiftieth year!

Here in the very structure of Israelite society, God offers a beautiful picture of redemption: no matter what happened over the previous fifty years, in the year of jubilee all accounts are wiped clean. Burrowed deep in the economic transactions of the Israelites is the reminder that neither they nor their stuff is really theirs--these things are the LORD's. I wonder what affect our own societal and economic views on property have on how we view ourselves and our stuff, how difficult it is for us to see these things as transitory, as ultimately the LORD's and not ours. Are we not just like the Israelites in the relevant respects: sojourners on this earth as they were (1 Pt. 2:11; Heb. 13:14), redeemed from bondage as they were? We should also have the same attitude that God's commands to the Israelites reveal (and, likely, were meant to instill): of being quick to forgive, of keeping no record of wrongs, of realizing that our lives and our stuff flow from God's steadfast faithfulness to us and not from our own doing.

Quite Alarming

I got out of my car at my apartment back door; the car windows were down. Out of habit, I locked the car doors with the little key chain thingy, and then went inside the apartment kitchen to get some food to put in the car. When I came out with hot dish in hand, I needed to unlock the car door, so I stuck my hand in the car to unlock it manually. I flipped the switch on the door console, and what happened? An alarm went off. I didn't even know the car had an alarm. I was so startled, I nearly dropped the dish. Lucky for me, I'm a man of composure (HA!), so no harm done. And at least now I know that I've got a car alarm.

Blood Diamond

Kathryn and I saw Blood Diamond last night. It was a little depressing and quite explicitly violent, but then so it goes with the issues that it dealt with, particularly that of child soldiers. When she asked me what I thought of the movie, I said something like, "It was alright." That's probably because it was so sad, even with the possibility of change that hung over the ending. But I don't want to give the impression here that there was nothing redeeming about the movie. Far from it--a major part of the movie seemed to itself be moored in the theme of redemption.

Part of the story of the movie is of a man, Solomon, who goes on a hunt for his little boy, who was abducted by the rebels, given a gun, brainwashed, drugged, and forced to kill as a demand for respect and a show of power. Solomon knew full well what they had done to his son, but when he found him none of that mattered at all. He was his son, and he was going to love him back to normalcy. As Kathryn pointed out during the movie, it was an unconditional love, an unconditional acceptance despite all of the horrible things his son had done and of the difficult times that lay ahead for his family.

As sad and horrible as the violence was that the movie portrayed, I wonder how powerful Solomon's embrace of his son would have been without it. I could just hear Hal say, "Now that's the gospel!" And in a real sense, it is. The incomprehensible beauty of God's acceptance of us is that much more powerful and moving (and incomprehensible) because of our rancid ugliness apart from Christ. In his bosom, we are both exposed in our ugliness and embraced as beautiful in his sight. Why does he continue to embrace us, even as we are repeatedly unfaithful and ungrateful? Because we are his, we are his children, and he loves us on the basis of his faithfulness rather than ours.