A heady, provocative search for the Deity via the Internet. Cobb, a theologian and computer consultant, has a large philosophical framework to work within—and against. She begins by ascribing human beings’ preoccupation with materialism to the rise of Modernism, which, not coincidentally, gave way to the ascent of atheism. Cyberspace, however, is less about material objects (i.e., computers) than it is about the spaces in between. We can transcend modern materialism, then, Cobb suggests, by finding divinity via creativity. Here she is describing a kind of divinity not far removed from the ideas of Ralph Waldo Emerson. Cobb goes on to investigate some very lifelike aspects of cyberspace, such as the ability of certain programs and of artificial intelligence both to mimic life in the traditional definition of the word and to replicate and actually evolve in a neo-Darwinian sense. She cleverly counters the observation that under the canonical definitions these phenomena are not “life” by noting that neither is a virus, which self-replicates and can even take over a host, but does not possess the other aspects of life in the taxonomical sense. In this framework, she observes the God-like nature that humans may gain in cyberspace and warns that we must proceed with caution. Cobb’s work then deconstructs the Cartesian mind/body dualism that is the backbone of much theology. Virtual reality, she reveals, is a place of neither mind nor body, but of process, and process —undermines the tidy rational linearity of the purely scientific worldview. A world of process is a world of relationality, of circularity, a world where all is connected to all. . . .— It is an excellent apparatus for dissolving the subject/object nature of human reality and promoting, instead, a more Buberian I/Thou relationship with one’s self and, by extension, with one’s God. Cybergrace should get tongues wagging about cyberspace in a new, stimulating, and more philosophical way.
Privately published by Strunk of Cornell in 1918 and revised by his student E. B. White in 1959, that "little book" is back again with more White updatings.
Stricter than, say, Bergen Evans or W3 ("disinterested" means impartial — period), Strunk is in the last analysis (whoops — "A bankrupt expression") a unique guide (which means "without like or equal").
Noted jazz and pop record producer Thiele offers a chatty autobiography. Aided by record-business colleague Golden, Thiele traces his career from his start as a ``pubescent, novice jazz record producer'' in the 1940s through the '50s, when he headed Coral, Dot, and Roulette Records, and the '60s, when he worked for ABC and ran the famous Impulse! jazz label. At Coral, Thiele championed the work of ``hillbilly'' singer Buddy Holly, although the only sessions he produced with Holly were marred by saccharine strings. The producer specialized in more mainstream popsters like the irrepressibly perky Teresa Brewer (who later became his fourth wife) and the bubble-machine muzak-meister Lawrence Welk. At Dot, Thiele was instrumental in recording Jack Kerouac's famous beat- generation ramblings to jazz accompaniment (recordings that Dot's president found ``pornographic''), while also overseeing a steady stream of pop hits. He then moved to the Mafia-controlled Roulette label, where he observed the ``silk-suited, pinky-ringed'' entourage who frequented the label's offices. Incredibly, however, Thiele remembers the famously hard-nosed Morris Levy, who ran the label and was eventually convicted of extortion, as ``one of the kindest, most warm-hearted, and classiest music men I have ever known.'' At ABC/Impulse!, Thiele oversaw the classic recordings of John Coltrane, although he is the first to admit that Coltrane essentially produced his own sessions. Like many producers of the day, Thiele participated in the ownership of publishing rights to some of the songs he recorded; he makes no apology for this practice, which he calls ``entirely appropriate and without any ethical conflicts.'' A pleasant, if not exactly riveting, memoir that will be of most interest to those with a thirst for cocktail-hour stories of the record biz. (25 halftones, not seen)