“There is no ‘there,’ there” famously wrote Gertrude Stein in Everybody’s Autobiography.  Gone from her hometown of Oakland for some time, she returned, looking for her childhood home.  The house was not there: Stein’s “there” was nowhere to be found. 

Mark Edmundson[1] used Stein’s quote to highlight the vulnerability of his college students: 

At a student party, about a fourth of the people have their cellphones locked to their ears. What are they doing? “They’re talking to their friends.” About? “About another party they might conceivably go to.” And naturally the simulation party is better than the one that they’re now at (and not at), though of course there will be people at that party on their cellphones, talking about other simulacrum gatherings, spiraling on into M.C. Escher infinity…

During a class one day Edmundson took a poll.  He asked his students, “How many places were you simultaneously yesterday — at the most?”  Between cells, texts, Macs, iPods, books, and an occasional glance at the teacher, some surpassed the level of 10.  Edmundson concludes, “Be everywhere now—that’s what the current technology invites, and that’s what my student’s aspire to do.” 

Last week I was invited to be a consultant for a Christian college.  My task was to listen, to be an outside voice responding to what I saw in a day dedicated to training student leaders.  As I concluded in my last blog (19 August 08), I am concerned about life’s distractions, a product of dichotomy, division, and disassociation rooted in the effects of Genesis 3.  I stated in my report:

I suggested to the group that unity is the essence of community—functioning with one voice, in one direction, on one mission.  Distraction and fragmentation, both results of sin, force our minds in too many directions, mandate that we do too many things, and belong to too many organizations.  The myth of multitasking, born of our humanistic tendency toward omniscience and omnipresence, emphasizes diversity over unity, individuality over community.  The Hebraic concepts of shalom and sabbat suggest that our finite, fallen selves should focus on a few things instead of many things.

Simply put: we want to be God.  Our puny attempt to usurp Heaven’s throne was a grasping for authority not our own.  We want to be all things to all people.  We want to control all situations.  We want to be everywhere at once.  We want, we want, we want.  The prefix “omni-“ suggests “every” and “all,” the same spirit found in Edmundson’s students; the same spirit found in us all.

Is there a solution to our pompous belief that “every” and “all” belong to us?  What is the response to a world that desire’s to be everywhere, but finds there is “no ‘there,’ there?”  Humans are tied to one place at one time whether we like it or not.  Electron feeds are not atomic feet—flesh and bone resident here, at this moment in time, as I sit in my chair.

Peggy Noonan rightly complains to journalist friend who is a podcaster “that he seems to be speaking from No Place.”[2]  In the educational world, Suzanne Kelly is correct that institutional foci and loci must be on “the embodiment of learning.”[3]  In short, we must find a place.[4]  

I offer what I refer to as a “theology of place” (see link below).  Everything from geography to property rights to where one calls “home” is rooted in all people.  This is because God has set the time and place for all people to live (Acts 17:26).  I believe disjointedness evidenced in our electronic world, a result of Genesis three, can be overcome by rootedness, the intention of Genesis one.

http://www.zionsvillefellowship.org/teaching/2007-07-08.mp3 

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[1] http://chronicle.com/free/v54/i27/27b00701.htm

[2] http://online.wsj.com/article/SB121874344365941765.html?mod=djemEditorialPage

[3] http://chronicle.com/weekly/v54/i46/46b02001.htm

[4] Ray Oldenbury.  1999. The Great Good Place: Cafes, Coffee Shops, Bookstores, Bars, Hair Salons, and Other Hangouts at the Heart of a Community. 3^rd ed. (Cambridge, MA: Da Capo).

Sitting at lunch in a restaurant the other day, I spied a young man handling five types of media at once.  He was working on his Mac, listening to music on an ipod with one ear, with the other, having a conversation on his cell phone, interrupting himself to text on the same devise, writing on a pad, and glancing at a book. Wait, that’s five types of media, six types of communication. 

I was tired just watching him.   But now I’m sitting at my computer.  I check my email each time I need a break.  Solitaire is a mouse click away to compensate for my slow dial-up connection.  Resisting the urge to check www.foxnews.com every five minutes is a battle.  My cell phone rests next to me.  Books and notes are stacked all around me.  Music wafts up from a CD playing downstairs. 

How am I any different than the twenty-something at lunch the other day?  Is there any hope for either of us?!  Maggie Jackson maintains “wisdom is knowing what to overlook” in her new book Distracted: The Erosion of Attention and the Coming Dark Age.  Christine Rosen in an article entitled “The Myth of Multitasking”[1] cites various studies, authors, and simple common sense that doing many things at once hurts economies, productivity, and people themselves.  Nicholas Carr cries out for “open spaces” where “deep reading” and “deep thinking” can take place[2].  Even The Chronicle of Higher Education is concerned that the internet is eroding faculties’, faculties.[3] 

The Christian historian D. G. Hart reminds us of the past to address the present. “The monastic ideal of withdrawal from the world in order to cultivate virtue overlapped with the kind of retreat necessary for contemplation and reflection.  Consequently, the monasteries emerged as nurseries for the life of the mind” (Religious Studies, ISI Books, p. 67). 

MahsehCenter exists as a “nursery for the life of the mind.”  Distraction (our problem ever since Genesis 3) must be overcome by time for reflection. 

Reading, pondering, discussing ideas, getting away from the pressures of life is important for us all.  In the attachment below I have written a biblical basis for retreat.  Our best response to Genesis three distractions is the blessing of rest given to us in Genesis two. 

I do not have to answer every email, respond to every “ping,” download the latest video, access every blog, or be concerned with “up to the minute news coverage.”   The young man plugged into multiple media at lunch that day may be of a different generation but he is of the same humanity. 

What I must do is come apart, before I come apart.

retreating-for-our-minds.doc 

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[1] http://www.thenewatlantis.com/publications/the-myth-of-multitasking  

[2] http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200807/google

[3] http://chronicle.com/weekly/v54/i44/44b00401.htm 

“If only I…” are the first three words of an unfinished sentence setting our sights on ourselves.  At times, we abdicate present responsibilities for some illusory moment.  And we always think it will make us “happy,” “fulfilled,” or “enlightened.”  We ride the merry-go-round of life, greedily clutching for the golden ring.   

“What if?” is a question that might imply creative thought, thinking out-of-the-box.  “What if?” could mean an alternative solution to a problem.  But most of the time “what if?” questions our present situation.  Unsatisfied with “what is,” we think that by creating a brand new situation our problems will be solved and we will be content.   

Blowing out the candles on the birthday cake suggests we “make a wish.”  But wishes do not necessarily come true.  And when we make our wishes come true, it means only one thing: our wishes are our wants.  “What if?” can be self-absorbed obsession.  

We think about ourselves too much.  Our focus is self-centered, directed toward personal interest and outcome.  The “now” is our concern only in the sense that we can’t wait for “what’s next?”  Our constant look to the future consumes our thinking because WE consume our thinking.  I care about tomorrow because I care about me.  Present life exists only as a springboard for “down the road.” 

Living with “what is” shows contentment for the present without resentment for what might be in the future.  We must accept our time and place (Phil 4:11) without forcing completion or even restoration (Prov 15:16; 16:8).  Contentment is satisfaction with what we have now (1 Tim 6:6, 8; Heb 13:5) because of He who strengthens me (Phil 4:13).  The Stoic idea of self-sufficiency (the meaning of the word “content” in Phil 4:11) is replaced with “the secret” (Phil 4:12) supplied by Christ’s internal change. 

I want “what if?” but live with “what is” as something “I have come to learn” (Phil 4:11).  I enter a new condition.  I think new thoughts.  “What if?” is “what was.”  “What is” is no longer self-directed but Christ controlled.