Pilgrims,
I have been considering transitions from one sort of thing to a different sort of thing, both transformations and transubstantiations, to use a theological term. ‘Tis the season, fall. Though I suppose each season, at least as lived in places with real seasons, enforces the idea of transition and transformation. Surely winter into spring does, and so does spring into summer, if more subtly. But “fall” is all transition, as the word suggests, falling leaves and falling light, a movement from summer to winter, and a sense of aging, hardship coming, and for some, inevitably, their end. Lest I miss this point this year, across both sides of my family I have recently seen weddings, a much awaited baby on the way, big birthdays and anniversaries, and funerals — such moments often come in bunches. All this is familiar, and I am not adding anything new here, but sometimes it is worth pausing to remark not only the wondrous, but also the sensation of wonder.
Turning from wonder to thought, lately I’ve been interested in a somewhat different kind of transition, transubstantiation. Transformation is familiar: the substance remains the same, but the form changes. Liquid water freezes, or evaporates. Green aspens turn gold, and then silver and bare, echoing snow, yet remain aspens. But what if the form stays the same, while the substance changes? Or does not? Wars were fought over the proposition that, during the sacrament of communion, the bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ.
A war is now being fought over the meanings of “Russia,” which seems very much in flux, and “Ukraine,” which has solidified with astonishing speed. It is common, in certain mostly apologetic quarters, to say that this is an existential struggle for Russia. At one level, this claim is nonsense. Russia is an ancient land, and there will continue to be a Russia, recognizably bound to, and emergent from, its past. Nothing Ukraine, or the West, was or is doing changes that. Not even anything Putin has done, or will do, will change that: Russia will abide. But which strands of the nation’s past will predominate? What will emerge from today’s history? What Russia will we come to know?
I have been struggling with what Russia means, diligently not writing an essay, “My Russian Fragments,” about my encounters with the culture and the place under very different circumstances over many years, from forgetting what little I knew of the language to remembering Dostoevsky and Tolstoy to the last days of the USSR with my almost bride — staff left us flowers and clucked approvingly — to speaking in Moscow (in English), under watchful eyes. Despite such things, I do not know much, and yet one perforce has meanings even without a lot of knowledge, much less wisdom. Everybody “knows” the United States, right? Here is a funny bit of film, ridiculously talented kids not too far from the Kremlin a few years ago. Moscow Summer Night. Happier days, even though today’s storm clouds were already forming.
Not only Russia’s meaning is shifting in ways unpredictable, at least to me. A few days ago, I drove almost the length of Texas, north to south, from the Red River border with Oklahoma to south of Corpus Christi, not that far (in Texas terms) north of the Rio Grande and the border with Mexico, and back. I passed the Tesla plant, and even more significant, numerous In-N-Out Burger joints — in the heart of Whataburger territory! It would be fascinating to write about Texas and California vis-a-vis one another, their deep similarities and differences, efforts to establish a regional identity, shifting over time. (I love writing about unwritten texts — since only suggestive, irresponsible, and therefore liberating.) And what about both Texas and California vis-a-vis that even larger, vaguer, complex, “America,” which also may be becoming something else? Indeed, a central theme of Welcome to New Country: Music for Today's America was that the American project, understood in Madisonian terms, had run its historical course, and the nation was becoming more like other countries, based on shared experience, patrimony, rather than an experiment, to be validated by future success. Maybe the US is transubstantiating? Maybe not, but worth thinking.
I believe the University has transubstantiated, become something essentially different without changing form too much. This one I have written. In From the Ivory Tower to the Football Stadium, I argue that the institution in which I (and many of you) work fulfills fundamentally different roles, and so means different things, than most of us learned to think, back in the day when we were deciding our careers. This essay is in the 200th issue of Telos: Critical Theory of the Contemporary, “The Place of Truth at the University.” [If you have trouble with the paywall, you can read the draft at Draft of From the Ivory Tower to Football Stadium.]
Much of the fight over the University is about social construction, for want of a better word (and the word is misleading) “class.” I’m putting this newsletter out today because I want some of you to know that on Friday & Saturday, the 14th & 15th, Telos is holding a virtual and live conference: Universities and the New Politics of Class. You can register at the link. Telos has been published since 1968. Getting to 200 issues is a huge accomplishment, in this society, for a journal of ideas without university backing. So kudos to Mary, the publisher, and David, the editor!
Finally, a little bit I did a while ago, but it’s that time of year again: Blue, White, Yellow. This is found art, film by happenstance, unplanned and basically unedited, hippie dippie but a moment nonetheless, and it means . . . I will let you be the judge.
Be well.
David