The Future of Scholarship?

A fantastic essay by Alan Jacobs on scholarship in the digital age:

The Future of Scholarship: Easier, Harder, and With More Charlatans – The Atlantic

Jacobs notes at one point that digital access to thousands of sources has made it easier for researchers to “fake erudition,” as a simple search in Google Books or JSTOR makes it easy to find obscure sources with which to dazzle one’s readers. I would by lying if I said I haven’t been guilty of this in the pass.

The upshot? Perhaps writing will once again become about writing rather than an attempt to pretend that you have actually read every word of your bibliography:

It’s at least possible that in this new knowledge environment we’ll be able to take more of the research as a given — not all of it, but more of it — and will demand from researchers some of the literary virtues: lucidity of style, subtlety of argument, liveliness of narrative. Maybe when readers will make it clear that they know how easy it is to multiply sources, writers will cease to try to impress through numbers of footnotes.

The Bible in Fifty Words

As I’ve noted before, I am for many reasons a fan of Urban Dictionary. Today I stumbled upon this entry, in which a clever user attempts to summarize the Bible in fifty words. Thought it was worth a share.

God made, Adam bit, Noah arked, Abraham split, Joseph ruled, Jacob fooled, Bush talked, Moses balked, Pharaoh plagued, people walked, sea divided, tablets guided, Promise landed, Saul freaked, David peeked, prophets warned, Jesus born, God walked, love talked, anger crucified, hope died, Love rose, Spirit flamed, Word spread, God remained.

Not terrible, I suppose.

For the original entry, click here and scroll to entry 5 (as of 5/22/2012).

Bonhoeffer, Facebook, and Cheap Grace

Christmas in May!

What follows is I’m sure one of the dorkiest things I’ll ever write. If you don’t mind, keep reading.

As I drove to the library today, I drove with a purpose. You see, last night I received word that one of my Interlibrary Loan (ILL) items had arrived. I request quite a bit through ILL, not because Marquette’s library is somehow deficient, but because the nature of my work is such that not many people are interested in it. Anyway, because I request a lot through ILL, I generally don’t even check to see what is waiting for me at the front desk. Last night, however, I caught a glimpse of which request had been fulfilled:

“The Greek Manuscript Tradition of the Protevangelium Jacobi,” a dissertation completed at Duke University in 1956 by Boyd Lee Daniels.

Here it is, in all its glory:

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I have been trying to get my hands on this thing for close to two years, and for whatever reason, my requests were continually denied. I imagine I would have had an easier time talking my way into the Pope’s personal library at the Vatican (you know, the place he keeps all the “secret books”). Needless to say, I didn’t sleep too well last night knowing that this baby was waiting for me.

Here’s where things really get dorky.

This 1,000-page dissertation is essentially a catalogue of nearly all the manuscripts known to contain a copy of the Protevangelium. I say “nearly all,” because it is not exhaustive. The remaining manuscripts were catalogued thirty years later by another Duke scholar, George Zervos (whose dissertation is also quite hefty). To my knowledge, there is only one hard copy of this thing in the world, and it is at Duke.

Why, you ask, is it necessary for me to have such a book in my possession? Well, the answer is simple. To date, no critical edition of the Protevangelium Jacobi has been produced. There are rumblings that one (or two) are in the works, but then again there have been rumblings for ten years. In the meantime, those of us interested in studying it must resort to doing some of the text-critical work ourselves.

The downside of all this, of course, is that the copy I received is on microfilm. I am lucky on one count and unlucky on another. I am lucky in that Marquette has a scanner that can transform microfilm to .pdf — slowly, page by page. I am unlucky in that I will have some free time next week.

Anyway, it would be remiss of me to not thank the ILL department at the Marquette Library. You have made one big dork extremely happy!

Pavlov Strikes Again?

I have been finished with coursework for nearly a year. For two semesters, I have not had to worry about that end of semester crunch that plagues so many graduate and undergraduate students. Yet the crunch, it would seem, is unavoidable. For whatever reason, I find that this point of the semester is characterized by anxiety. I constantly feel as if I’m not getting enough done, like I shouldn’t be taking a break for lunch, like I should be drinking even more coffee than I normally do.

To be sure, the end of semester crunch is more or less a fair wages for many students. Undergraduate and graduate students alike are horrible procrastinators with an uncanny knack for putting off papers until one week before they are due, so it is difficult to feel too bad for them (I speak as one with procrastinating tendencies, by the way).

The way I see it, there are a few explanations for this post-coursework phantom crunch.

1. Pavlov – I suppose it is perfectly possible that the stress experienced at this point in the semester is simply a learned, conditioned stress. I began college in 1999, and with the exception of one blissful year during which I took a break from school, each semester has ended the same way: papers need to get written, exams need to get taken, and neither of these things will happen on their own. After more than 10 years of experiencing the crunch, does it just become engrained? If this is the case, then hopefully it is also the case that one can become de-conditioned.
2. Contagion – Perhaps the crunch is communicable? After all, a good number of my colleagues are still in coursework (and are still procrastinators), and thus they continue to experience the crunch in a very real way. Could it be that my taking occasional lunch breaks with these people has exposed me to some sort of condition that one may contract like the flu? If this is the case, then perhaps we should make the library a sort of quarantine for those still in coursework.
3. Sympathy – I’ve heard of husbands who gain “sympathy weight” when their wives are pregnant, or there are those who will throw up when they see others do the same. Maybe the post-coursework crunch felt by some of us is a sort of subconscious “sympathy stress” that we manifest in order to somehow make others feel like there is someone there who knows what they’re going through?

Whatever the cause, the post-coursework crunch is annoying precisely because it is mysterious.

Faith Like a Child

A few weeks back, I found myself in the basement of my wife’s church before the Easter vigil. I wandered into a classroom, and on the walls were some images that intrigued me. They were clearly drawn by children, but I cannot speculate as to the nature of the project. There were about 15 total, and I photographed two of the best to share with you. Without further delay, here they are, accompanied by some commentary (click images to enlarge):

Image 1: A fascinating combination of theology and science! In case you can’t make out the captions, let me assist. The rocket ship is God, and the fuel tank and “extra” rockets are “other religions.” The robotic arm of the rocket is Jesus, and the satellite it grasps is none other than the Catholic Church. Now, the captions also stipulate that the rockets on the ship (In addition to the “extra” rockets? I’m not sure.) are the Holy Spirit. The astronauts, of course, are believers. In this case, there is only one astronaut: Spongebob Squarepants. Curious, mad, brilliant. Some questions, of course, arise. First, if Spongebob is a believer, then why is he floating around outside of both the rocket ship and the satellite, both of which would be proper locations for a person of faith (assuming that the satellite is actually a space station). Second, if the rockets are both other religions and the Holy Spirit, then what is the fire? Third, don’t satellites generally detach from the arms that launch them? Or, does this image depict the drawing in of the satellite to God?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Image 2: A theological interpretation of America’s favorite sport. Like the image of the rocket, there are captions. The scene is set in “Catholic Church Stadium.” The Christians are in the home dugout pitted against “other,” situated in the away dugout. Jesus is, quite obviously, the pitcher, and the Holy Spirit is the catcher. Spongebob makes another appearance here, as an outfielder. As was the case with the last image, in this one he is also a believer. More questions, of course. First, what precisely is Jesus throwing to the Holy Spirit? Second, who’s on third? Seriously, I can’t tell. Third, who’s up to bat first?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In case you’re wondering, these were not the only two images in which Spongebob made an appearance, although my fascination with him would certainly imply as much. He was actually in almost all of them, strangely.

Parental Criticism

Since the text on which I’m dissertating (Protogospel of James) involves children of all sorts (Mary, Jesus, John the Baptist), as well as their parents (Joachim, Anna, Joseph, Elizabeth, Zechariah), I find it necessary to devise a new sort of exegetical method that I have decided to term “Parental Criticism.” It is brazenly non-historical, and is rather based on my own experience as father of a four month old. Here is an example:

Chapter six of the Protogospel of James (henceforth PJ) narrates the events following the birth of Mary. Mary’s mother Anna places her on the ground when she is six months old to see if she is able to stand (PJ 6:2). Mary surprises her mother when she walks seven steps. Anna snatches her up and vows that her feet will never again touch the ground until they bring her to live in the temple (this will happen in the following chapter). Anna creates a sanctuary in her bedroom for Mary, where she allows her to eat no unclean food and to only be entertained by virgins (PJ 6:4-5).

This story of course conveys the fact that Anna was a practitioner of what is commonly called “attachment parenting (AP),” the slogan of which is, loosely translated, “keep ‘em close.” Rather than teach her daughter to avoid the things of the world that defile, Anna decides to shelter her from them. Mary spends the first three years of her life in her mother’s bedroom. The root of AP seems to have been the inkling that one’s child is in fact the most significant child to have ever been born. The ironic thing is, of course, that in Mary’s case, this was true (it remains true until the birth of Jesus).

This account is of course striking given what follows her third birthday, namely, her parents allow someone else to raise her. Now, the tension is resolved slightly because those chosen to raise the three-year-old Mary are none other than the priests in the Jerusalem Temple, which becomes in PJ a sort of permanent day care for the Blessed Virgin. In contrast to the makeshift sanctuary in her mother’s bedroom, Mary now lives in the holy of holies, the “real” sanctuary. She is no longer fed undefiled food by her mother, but is rather fed from the hand of an angel.

One more aspect of the story has yet to be mentioned: Joachim’s role as the father of Mary. When Mary turns two, Joachim goes to Anna and says that it is time to bring Mary to the temple in fulfillment of their vow to God (PJ 7:1). Anna “suggests” that they should wait until she is three. Joachim complies without resistance to Anna’s amendment. Joachim, as the ideal father in this instance, does what he is told. His initial suggestion is well-reasoned and good, but because it is different from that of his wife, he realizes that it is wrong.

Amen

Super Spuds

I’ve always been slightly amused by funny looking words, especially funny looking foreign words.

This past week I was rifling through a tome that I’m fairly certain most have not heard of…Walter Bauer’s Das Leben Jesu im Zeitalter der neutestamentlichen Apokryphen…titillating, right?

Anyway, the fifth chapter of the second part of the book (confusing, I know) is entitled “Jesus als Wundertäter.” I will leave it up to you to Google Translate that, but in the meantime I leave you with a few images that are more or less what popped into my head when I first read that Jesus was a “Wundertäter.”

First, a group of “Wundertäters”:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Second, one of my favorite “Wundertäters”:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And of course, the ultimate “Wundertäter”

Dissertations and Roller Coasters

I once knew a roller coaster “fanatic,” and in retrospect I imagine his fanaticism would make him a candidate for placement somewhere on the autistic spectrum. He sought out roller coasters like some sort of addict…most weekends you could find him at Six Flags or, if he was out of town, at the theme park closest to him. I once asked the fanatic what he liked best about roller coasters. He answered, “I don’t know…I just like them.” I then asked him what he liked least about roller coasters, and he said, simply, “Lines.” He then went on to inform me of the best days to go “riding.” Mother’s Day, without a doubt, is the best…no lines.

Marquette is in the middle of spring break right now. As a consequence, the library is like a graveyard, as the undergrads have all departed (dorms are closed, apparently). This is the first spring break that I don’t really have anything pressing down…no assignments due in the next month, no in-class presentations, no lectures, etc. The only thing I have to do is research and write my dissertation. Some may ask, “Shouldn’t you take a break?” Maybe, but I have come to realize that writing a dissertation is much like riding a roller coaster. Allow me to explain my analogy.

Graduate School :: Six Flags as Dissertation Writing :: Roller Coasters

Six Flags, like graduate school, is filled with people of different stripes. Some have come to ride the roller coasters, and some have come because they want to be with their friends. Some have come because they feel forced to do so (for whatever reason). Those who have come to ride the roller coasters genuinely love to do so. They will keep riding until the park closes. Those who have come to be with their friends are indifferent to roller coasters. They will ride them, but without loving or hating them. Those who have come because they feel forced will hate every minute. They don’t care much for roller coasters, and will spend much of their time simply watching others have fun.

Roller coasters, then, are the things that you do in graduate school. In my analogy, I have used dissertation writing as an example, but that’s only because that’s where I’m at. Like the roller coaster fanatic mentioned earlier, those who truly love the work of a graduate student will take every opportunity to “ride.” Especially wonderful are those times where the park is otherwise empty, as when the park is empty yet open, you get to ride more than you normally would! I suppose spring break in this analogy would be akin to Mother’s Day…Six Flags (the library) is open, yet no one is there. Gone are the lines (papers to grade, office hours to hold, classes to attend, etc.). For the roller coaster fanatic, spring break is the time to ride!

There is, of course, a caveat to this analogy. Those who love to ride roller coasters must control themselves, as everyone knows that if you ride too much, you will throw up. The case is similar with dissertation writing.

Studying Theology – Varying Perspectives

There have been a lot of illustrations popping up lately related to various careers – “how my friends see me…how my wife sees me…how my family sees me…how I see myself…etc.” You know what I mean, right? Well, the other day I saw one that had something to do with studying theology, but it left me dissatisfied. I’m too lazy to photoshop these images together, but here is my take on studying theology.

What my family thinks I do:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What my wife thinks I do:

 

 

 

 

 

 

What the undergrads think I do:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What I think I do (that’s me in the bottom right):

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cheers.