Six Years Smokeless

Early this afternoon, I was driving on State of Franklin, returning home from a run to the post office, and I noticed a driver ahead of me flicking the ashes from his cigarette out the window. I first remembered doing that myself. Then I remembered to be glad I no longer smoke. Then I remembered that I've never smoked in Johnson City--not since I moved here, at least. Then I remembered that today is the 6th anniversary of the day I quit smoking!

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It happened like this. That summer of 2001, my little family and I were all over the place. We were in Murray, Kentucky, where I taught at Murray State University. We were in Asheville, North Carolina, where we were to live briefly again in preparation for moving to Johnson City, Tennessee. We were in Ahoskie, North Carolina, a small town down on the coastal plains where my wife's father came from. And I was due to return to Murray on 30 June to prepare for teaching a couple of classes in the second summer session.

All this traveling, all this up and down somehow upset my allergies, and I had strange dizzy reactions that I'd never experienced before. It was a bit scary, to be honest. And so I was concerned about that portion of my health--not the smoking--and, I think, was vulnerable to any actions that might tend toward improving the way I felt.

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Anyway, I left Arden, North Carolina, on the morning of the 30th and bought a pack of American Spirit (the yellow pack, I think) just before I got on I-26 to begin the long trip to Murray. I traveled west on I-26 and then west on I-40, smoking all the way. I stopped in Nashville and smoked with my friend Mark. I headed northwest on I-24 and then took the two-lane through the Land Between the Lakes--smoking, smoking, smoking.

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I remember rolling into Murray at 11:30 or so that night, smoking as I arrived the last cigarette in the pack I'd bought that morning. I finished it, and I finished smoking.

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Lots of elements probably came together to make this cold-turkey quit a success: the allergy-related dizziness already mentioned, the fact that I was away from my smoking buddy in Asheville, that I was house-sitting my first couple of weeks in Murray for non-smoking friends, that nowhere in Murray could I buy American Spirit, and--last but not least--that my young son wanted me to quit.

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I still want a cigarette periodically. But the urge is never that strong. If I survive to 75 ot 80 and both cigarettes and the urge are still around, I might take it up again.

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But I doubt it.

Internet Down

Well, my Internet at home is out of commission until new parts arrive tomorrow or the next day. So, I'll continue on my little break until all is well again or until I have more time at the office.

Summer Solstice

From today's Writer's Almanac:

Today is the summer solstice and the first day of summer in the northern hemisphere. For those of us in the north, today will be the longest day of the year and tonight will be the shortest night. The entire earth is about 3 million miles farther from the sun at this time of the year. The difference in the temperature is due to the fact that our planet is tilted on its axis, and at this time of year, the northern hemisphere is tilted toward the sun, receiving more direct radiation for longer periods of time each day. It is that slight tilt, only 23 1/2 degrees, that makes the difference between winter and summer. The rise in temperature allows most of the plants we eat to germinate. Wheat and many other plants require an average temperature of at least 40º F to grow. Corn needs a temperature of 50º F, and rice needs a temperature of 68º F.

Poetry Is . . . (On Science and Religion)

A recent Speaking of Faith program featured Hindu physicist V. V. Raman, a brilliant man with some interesting things to say about the relationship between science and religion. This relationship, for many, is antagonistic. Science threatens religion, some say, and religion often responds blindly and irrationally to what it perceives as a death threat coming from the scientific world.

Raman suggests, however, that science and religion deal with different parts of a single reality, and therefore it's difficult to ask them the same questions. At one point in the program, Raman talks about how in Hinduism two different meanings to "why?" are accepted and understood, allowing science and religion to coexist peacefully:

Ms. Tippett: You make a point in something you've written that reflects an observation I've made, that so much of our cultural debate about science and religion seems to assume that science and religion pose competing answers to the same questions, but, in fact, they pose different questions. And you also note that in Tamil there's a distinction linguistically between 'why' as a causative question, the way science might ask why of a problem, and 'why' as a teleological question the way religion might ask it. I thought that was very interesting.

Mr. Raman: I think it's a very, very important distinction because both kinds of 'why' are important in that the human mind cannot escape those questions. We are intrigued by many…

Ms. Tippett: And we start asking those questions from a very young age, don't we?

Mr. Raman: Very young age. And — but the languages influence sometimes our way of thinking because when we talk as I — again that example, I sometimes ask my students, 'Why are you taking this course?' Some students may say, 'Because it is required in my curriculum'; others may say, 'Because I want to learn what you are going to talk about.' Now, you see, these two answers both are legitimate answers to the same question, but the first answer implies the framework in which the student is operating, the second…

Ms. Tippett: Right. It's kind of a logical framework.

Mr. Raman: …but the second is purposeful and teleological, the second one, 'Because I want to learn.' It's in the future, whereas the first one is because that's how the rules are set up. So both questions are relevant, interesting, except that, as I see it, the question about why in the deeper sense of what is the purpose of this universe — Why am I here? And why was the world created at all? Why are the laws such as they are? — those are very fundamental questions for which we may never be able to find answers which are unanimously acceptable.

Related to this idea, Professor Raman offers an interesting view of the uses of science and religion by using the analysis of poetry as an example:

Mr. Raman: Certainly, I think it is my involvement in physics and the sciences that has given me what I call historical cultural understanding of many of these enormously meaningful things in life, because science, among other things, enables us to look at human events in human terms. Religions, in their context, enable us to look at human events in religious or transrational terms. Both, in a way, are meaningful and illuminating. If you read a sonnet, let us say, science is like the discovery of the rules of prosody, the rules by which the sonnet is constructed, of measure and syllable and accent, iambic pentameter or whatever.

Ms. Tippett: Right.

Mr. Raman: Appropriately, you can analyze a poem and this understanding of the structure of the poem is a significant accomplishment but it tells us nothing about the meaning behind the poem or about the inspiration that the poem might give. And the universe, to me, is somewhat like that. Science enables us to understand the laws and principles by which the universe is constructed, its functions, and that is no trivial accomplishment. And I think that's one of the greatest intellectual achievements of the human mind, is what modern science has been able to do.

But there is always the question of meaning. And while it is possible to derive meaning without going beyond the physical world — and many people do it — it is no less inspiring and fulfilling to find meaning within religious framework insofar as it is not irrational. There's a difference between irrationality and transrationality, and, to me, many of the deeper messages of religions, such as the values it does or must inspire us to, such as caring and compassion and respect for others, helping others, love, reverence. These are not rational — these are not irrational, but these are transrational and they have their sources in the many religious frameworks of humankind. They not only carry the weight of centuries, but they also have something deep in them in the human cultural psyche.

We don't have to be Hindu to profit from thinking like this!

On Eloquence

One of my favorite colleagues and I were talking in the hallway of our office building on Tuesday. He mentioned that in his 19th-century American poetry class the night before he had taught, among other things, Ralph Waldo Emerson's "Threnody," a poem of mourning written for the poet's son Waldo, who died in 1842 at the age of five years and three months.

In one passage of the poem, Emerson writes,

I hearken for thy household cheer,
O eloquent child!

meaning that he listens for the child's playful voice and playful noises but can no longer hear them. Discussing overstatement as one of the conventions of such poems, my colleague suggested to the class, by way of example, it's unlikely that even Emerson's son was eloquent in speaking or writing (the kind of eloquence we usually think of) at less than six years old.

But then we realized that "eloquent" might be applied to other things--facial expressions, body language, actions that "speak" and so on.

And so I started thinking about eloquence recognizing it in unusual but important places:

some are eloquent in their exuberance (Dennis, for example);
some are eloquent in their empathy for others (John, for example);
some are eloquent in their passion for God and baseball (Mark, for example);
some are eloquent in their music;
some are eloquent in their movements;
some are eloquent in their laughter;
some are eloquent in their touch.

We are surrounded by all sorts of harsh and ugly people and things, but we are also surrounded by eloquence and beauty. Which of these we choose to focus on determines the kind of lives we lead.

I'm trying to practice living in the moment--a "crabgrass contemplation," as Wilkie Au calls it in The Enduring Heart--so that I can come closer to living an eloquent and beautiful life.

Change Positions

Okay, I intended to write a lot about this, but I'm feeling sleepy and expecting to start early and go long tomorrow.

So, here it is: This afternoon I signed the contract that makes me Director of ETSU's Honors and Midway Scholars Programs. It's a pretty big deal. I'll have another office in addition to the one in the English department. I'll have a staff. Although I'll still teach a course a year in the Department of English, I'll be part of the Honors College.

I'll pass on more of what these changes mean when I know more about them.

In other news: This evening my little family and I drove over the mountain to North Carolina and ate at Pizza Roma in Mars Hill. We were joined there by five of our fellow Class of '77 members who are planning a 30-year reunion for September. We had a blast.

Five of those around the table went all twelve years together at the Marshall/Walnut/Madison schools. The other two of us went all twelve years together to the Walnut/Madison schools. (I'll explain more about this later.) All seven of us there went to school together from the 7th grade through graduation. I'll keep here a periodic record of plans and memories and such.

My son drove us over the mountain--his first big Interstate trip. And he drove us back over the mountain--his first nighttime driving experience. He did well.

Williamsburg Miscellany

Well, I'm on the road again. This time at the College of William and Mary in Williamsburg, Virginia. The occasion? A joint conference of the Omohundro Institute of Early American History and Culture and the Society of Early Americanists. I belong to the SEA, a more literary organization than the OIEAHC, which is more historical.

I drove over here on Wednesday, and on Thursday morning I presented presented a paper on Charles Brockden Brown's Literary Magazine, and American Register (1803-1807). Having discharged my official duties early, I've spent the rest of the time attending different sessions, sleeping, eating, walking and writing.

I've had some revelations about my career as a scholar, revelations which I'll mull over a bit and then maybe write about here. But before I can do much about these . . . My professional life will be changing a good bit over this summer, and I don't yet know how that's going to affect any new ideas about myself as a scholar and writer.

More later.

Right now, I'm going to go to bed. The conference runs through midday tomorrow, but I've had enough. I'm anxious to get home and try to relax a little bit here and there.

News Flash: My younger son is now driving (with his brand-spanking new Learner Permit).

SoF: The New Monastics

Check out this recent Speaking of Faith program, featuring a young man who grew up here in east Tennessee:

http://speakingoffaith.publicradio.org/programs/newmonastics/index.shtml