I do not think I have what it takes to blog. For one thing, I am about fifty years too old. I do not feel an irresistible urge, as soon as my plane has landed and is taxiing to the gate, to whip out a cell phone, call a friend, and say “I have just landed and we are taxiing to the gate.” I take as much pleasure as the next person in the discomfiture of my enemies, and when, like most old guys, I get up in the middle of the night, I am not above surfing the web a bit to see what unspeakable things some Republican notable has done lately. But true blogging, it seems to me, requires a de-centered sense of self, a conception of oneself as existing as much on line as in the interior of one’s own thoughts. My default activity, when nothing else is happening, is to daydream, quietly and privately. It is not to post a message on FaceBook.
And yet. For my entire adult life, I have been setting forth my thoughts, my opinions, my insights, to students, to readers, and to my small circle of friends. It occurs to me, therefore, that I ought to use this blog, conveniently hosted by Google, to continue this lifelong practice. It is a certainty that my readership will never be wide, though I think I can be pretty certain that it will be intelligent and thoughtful. Accordingly, I am going to try to make this blog an extension of the unending interior conversation that constitutes the substance of my mental life.
By all means, let me know when something I say strokes a responsive chord.