Men of Letters

I am almost finished reading The Greater Journey: Americans in Paris by popular historian David McCullough. It has been a fascinating look at the "long Nineteenth Century" in Paris, during which time it was the undisputed world capital of the arts, science, and culture (and maybe still is). The author follows the lives of many notable Americans who made long stays in Paris, including such luminaries as James Fenimore Cooper, Samuel Morse, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Mary Cassatt, John Singer Sargent, and Augustus Saint-Gaudens, among many, many others.

An interesting thing to consider about the book, which deals about day-to-day existence as well as wider historical happenings, is that the primary source material is from personal letters and journals. Though only a few were "writers", everyone was constantly writing. Of course, it was out of necessity in those days, but it gives me pause to consider how my generation will be reconstructed by historians. We are, generally, not writing very much. At least, not in any intimate or personal way to one another. The phone call has generally replaced the letter for such needs. But, though they may serve a similar purpose, they are not perfectly analogous. First, the letter is permanent, while the phone call (apart from some clandestine word-for-word transcription being generated by the NSA) is transient. Second, the letter, as a literary form, can pack in much extemporaneous information that is notably absent from most phone calls. Poetic descriptions of the weather, or musings on the culture that one is immersed in, are predictably absent from most phone calls that I am apart of.

We might then suppose that the internet, in all its myriad social media platforms, may be the other replacement for the letter. But, as a public forum, it is necessarily deficient in the exact opposite ways as a phone call. The internet is public, and largely permanent (though it feels transient), so a degree of intimacy and personality is inherently missing. We hurl our thoughts out into the abyss on the internet (I am doing so now) without much thought about the person-to-person conversations or discoveries that they may engender. And, when they do engender discussion, the case is that it often rapidly devolves into nonsensical shouting (have you read the comments on anything, ever?). No, the letter, with its one intended recipient, has a way of provoking thoughtful response that no blog or Facebook post ever will.

So, that leaves me to my original question, I suppose. How will we be discovered by generations yet nonexistent? Will they google us and find our blogs? Will they be able to read our Facebook messages and updates to get a sense of what we were thinking and doing? Will they raid the digital archives for our Instagram photos? And, will they, when all of this is said and done, come away with only a shallow impression of our existence - as shallow as we are accused of being by other generations for delving so deeply into the fleeting things of the digital age?

The Daily Niblet: Emails

Having recently returned to college, I have found my once-tranquil email inbox inundated with tens - nay, hundreds - of superficially important emails. Approximately 20% of the emails that I receive pertain (even tangentially) to my life. About 5% of what I receive in my inbox requires me to respond in some fashion. That act of responding is the topic for today's niblet.

How should I end my email back to someone? It is one of those eternal questions in the vein of "who let the dogs out?" Should I say sincerely when I'm being less than sincere? Should I say thanks even if I don't ask for anything? Should I say something else entirely? I suppose knowing the audience is a big part of responding to email. If, for instance, I am emailing certain professors in the college of architecture and planning, I will invariably end my email with Best. I always send my Warm Regards to professors in the honors college. Emails to classmates rarely get any send-off (or greeting) at all.

But, there are always differing circumstances. Let us remove ourselves from secular email and discuss the most confusing form of communication the world hath ever known - the sacred email. The sacred email typically involves a rather mundane reminder of meeting times and places for certain events occurring in the parish, the Bible study group, etc. These pose a response problem for me. Far be it from me to belittle someone's piety and devotion, but I just don't know how theological people are getting with their emails. Ending with God Bless seems to evoke an image of someone sneezing. In Christ is nice, but a potent send-off. And using something as simple as Peace is just too mainstream. Part of me wants to reply with something like Through the Intercession of the Immaculate Mother of God or In the Mercy of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, but wiser counsel typically prevails.

Wish me well in my dealings with people via email!
Basking in the Brilliant Generosity of Your Readership,
Me