Saturday, July 10, 2010

Abraham and the Triune God

(I wrote this little piece for a parish newsletter. It's a slight piece, but I hope it contributes to a better understanding and appreciation of the wonderful biblical exegesis of the Fathers.) 

The Old Testament reading (Gen. 18: 1-3) that I took as my material for today's little meditation offers me an opportunity to sketch out a Christ-ological (a fancy theological word; it just means 'things having to do with Christ') reading of the Old Testament. Theology exists, or ought to exist, solely for the purpose of worship. If theological reflection does not lead us to prayer, it has failed in its purpose and should be cast aside as useless, and perhaps even dangerous. But now to the text itself!

“And the LORD appeared unto Abraham in the plains of Mamre, as he sat in the tent door in the heat of the day; And he lifted up his eyes and looked, and, behold, three men stood by him. And when he saw them, he ran to meet them from the tent door, and bowed himself toward the ground. And Abraham said, My LORD, if now I have found favor in your sight, pass not away, I pray you, from your servant.”

I suspect that this little drama has largely been passed over in many an individual's reading of Genesis; it's not nearly as well known as the events that follow. But this episode in the life of Abraham is what ancient Christian writers called a 'type.' A 'type' is an event in the Old Testament that foreshadows Christian doctrine. St. Paul uses this kind of interpretation in his letters. For instance, in his Epistle to the Galatians (4:21-31) he adopts Hagar and Sarah as 'types' or symbols of the synagogue and church; early Christians, following the Apostle's lead, enthusiastically adopted his method. Two brief examples: Cyprian, a 3rd century bishop, interpreted Noah's Ark to be a 'type' of the Church (St. Peter in his First Epistle [3:20-21] adopts the Ark as a 'type' of baptism), and Ambrose of Milan, a 4th century bishop and theologian, interpreted the marriage of Rebecca and Isaac as a 'type' of Christ's mystical union with His spouse, the Church. If it helps, you might think of this kind of interpretation as an ancient counterpart to C.S. Lewis' allegorical re-telling of the Christian story in the Chronicles of Narnia. In those wonderful stories, Lewis re-imagines events in the life of Christ and dresses them up in new clothes: he allegor-izes the Christian story, using Aslan and his sacrificial death on the Stone Table to represent the death and resurrection of Christ. For his storytelling, Lewis is beloved of modern Christians. For ancient Christians, the Old Testament was similarly beloved and beloved for similar reasons. There, Christ was always peering out in veiled disguise, preparing the world for his Incarnation.

At Mamre, Abraham, as the Scriptures say, met the Lord. This passage must indeed be puzzling to Jews, but for Christians, it allows but for one interpretation. The Lord, appearing in the guise of three angels, is a 'type' of the Christian doctrine of the Trinity. To Abraham, God was One (as He is to millions of Jews and Muslims), but for Christians, that's only true insofar as we believe that God is One in Three Persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. When God revealed Himself to Abraham, He revealed Himself as the Creator and Sustainer of the Universe. But revelation doesn't stop there. It continues with Moses who officiates at God's covenant with Israel, and with her judges, prophets, and priests. But like lightning from a clear sky, the New Testament, the record of Christ's incarnation, earthly ministry, death, and resurrection, reveals that God is not simply and only One; He is a mystery, a communion of three persons, and wonder of wonders, one of those divine persons, the Word, has taken flesh. Furthermore, his Crucifixion and Resurrection have reconciled us to the Father; and His gift of the Holy Spirit ensures the perpetuation of His grace and love in our midst until the end of the world.

Gregory of Nazianzen, a theologian of the 4th century, writes of God's revelation: “It was necessary to proceed by successive perfectings, by 'degrees'; it was necessary to advance from radiance to radiance, through ever more luminous movements of advance, in order that the light of the Trinity might finally be seen to shine forth.” And a modern theologian, Jean Danielou, writes, “The whole history of salvation may be considered as a gradual unveiling of the Trinity.”

When the Lord appeared to Abraham at Mamre, under the guise of three angels, He foreshadows his own revelation of Himself as Three-in-One. But preeminently, we ought to reflect, in this little episode, on Abraham's response: he runs to the Lord, bows down, and does worship. And he asks the Lord to stop with him and feast with him. Not even to Abraham did God confide his entire plan for the salvation of humanity, or the mystery of His own Triune nature, but it is our incomparable gift that we, so much the lesser than Abraham, should worship in spirit and truth the Lord Jesus Christ, the God-Man and the Revealer of God's mysteries. But this knowledge of the Triune God is a gift; we only possess it by virtue of God's own magnanimity, and we only possess it perfectly insofar as we make a gift of it ourselves. Let us too run forth to meet the Lord and bow down.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

In Praise of Legos


Yes, I hear they are officially called "Lego Bricks" but they are and will always be Legos to me and I suspect many others. They were my go-to toy and construction material of choice for many years. Their rivals could not really compete, although I had nothing against K-Nex, which remain quite appropriate for the mechanically-inclined. Yet Legos were smaller, more voluminous, varied, and versatile than than anything else, including their larger cousins, Mega Bloks.  Likewise Lincoln Logs were only suitable for building forts. Besides, one never had enough Lincoln Logs to build more than one house, fort, et cetera. A bucket of Legos was far more useful. Now if you had both, well then you had whole world of potential, i.e. an epic battle between the Lego vehicles and the Lincoln Log fort. Exhibits A and B:

The work of your humble blogger, dates unknown. 
The vehicle opened up in the back and front, has a crane on top with a crane-operator's 
area, two arms in front, and. . .

As you might infer from the photos, the joy of building with Legos was of course the limitless possibilities. Before the days of themed sets you quite simply had a bucket of pieces and from that would spring cars, boats, houses, and structures of endless variety. Eventually I grew to appreciate the themed sets, which gave you all of the fancy pieces, the translucent windows, the hinges, wheels, et cetera with which you could create increasingly elaborate structures. Such sets were always badly designed, though, always structurally weak and usually lacking suitable egress and defensive capabilities.

By nature Legos forced the user to adapt to the limitations of the pieces you have at hand. They also gave one the opportunity for experimenting with different designs. Some were too fragile, some wasted pieces, others were aesthetically displeasing. Unfortunately one could seldom achieve a perfect aesthetic since you rarely had each piece in precisely the needed color. Yet one continued to revise. Exhibit C.

Version 2 of "Bridge" with improved pylons and matching ramps.
(Version 1 met with a terrible accident.)

Sure, not everything worked and looked great, but Legos asked me to bring something to the experience of using them. They were not a self-contained experience I simply consumed, but rather were, to use the cliché of today's dutiful parents, "open-ended." They could be anything and what they became would reflect the person building. Rather than pacify they force one to be thinking, creative, and engaged.

Gladly I can say Legos and the Lego community are thriving today. The "Mindstorms" series incorporates programmable electronics creating the potential for rather remarkable machines. Lego competitions are common. Simply searching "lego" on YouTube will surprise you with a variety of uses for the simple plastic bricks, from firearms to stop-motion short films. Legos are not simply objects for amusement, but vehicles for exploration. They're also a lot of fun.

Monday, July 5, 2010

How to Avoid the Apocalypse

or, On False Curmudgeonry

My habit of reading online articles is this. I sit at my desk, often with a cup of Earl Grey tea or cranberry juice, and I have some music playing, usually Mozart or Haydn string quartets or serenades. I open up my web browser and bam! Which politician is destroying the country, which corporation is destroying the environment, which country is destroying the world, group A needs money from group B, things ought to be this way, things ought not to be that way and so on and so forth ad nauseam. Sometimes I just say "Ah foohey!" and stick with Mozart. Such claims of catastrophe are surprisingly predictable and highly formulaic. The continuing existence of newspapers is testament to, among other things, the weakness of man's memory. There is of course a class of people, the curmudgeons, who find ill and ailing everywhere. Yet the art of curmudgeonry is hard to perfect. Fall short of the curmudgeon's charm and wit and you become a gross bore to read. The craft of the curmudgeon lies in fact not in elegizing or deconstructing or proving, but in shedding a revealing light on life's incongruities and then, in the guise of complaining, relishing the contradictions. One comes away from the curmudgeon thinking, "Hah, we people are funny creatures, no? Hah!" and then goes about his business.

Such is the best and my favorite species of critic. There are many: the polemicist, the firebrand, the whistle-blower, the belly-acher, the censurer, the grump, the nostalgiacist, the dissenter, the peevish, and the nag are the most common. They all have their time-honored styles. Sometimes, though, they come in garb of the curmudgeon.

Over the last few years there has been a constant drizzle of articles about how we use technology and how it (allegedly) negatively affects us. Such is the province of the grump-nostalgicist but these articles have come in the guise of the curmudgeon. The more notable essays are Christine Rosen's "People of the Screen" (The New Atlantis, 2008)[1], Nicholas Carr's "Is Google Making Us Stupid" (The Atlantic, July/August 2008)[2], and more recently Nicholas Carr's (again?) "Does the Internet Make You Dumber?" (WSJ, June 2010)[3], and most recently "In Defense of the Memory Theater" by Nathan Schneider.[4]

It would be dishonest not to reveal my first reaction to these essays, which is this: "Stop it!"[5] If something you are doing is bad for you then stop it! But we don't stop do we? Circling around that very human paradox should be the focus of these essays. It isn't. We said if one fails to be a curmudgeon you're a bore. One also comes off as a whiner.

These essays have much in common. Consider the histrionics: "the literary apocalypse," a "dark prophecy," "deeply troubling," and "All in the name of progress." Oh no! And to think I was sitting here sipping my tea whilst people were reading on their Kindles. The horror! Alas, alack!

They're also not seriously fact-oriented, though they pretend to be. Carr does quote someone though, writing, "The pioneering neuroscientist Michael Merzenich believes. . ." He does? OK, good. Can we go over that part then? We ought to ask, "Is this assertion a fact? Is this fact relevant? Does this relevant fact function the way the author says it does in his argument? Is the argument, then, sound? Lastly, is it persuasive?" Consider Carr's examples: does the fact that a chimpanzee brain quickly rewires (how quickly is "quickly" by the way?) when you rewire the nerves in a it's hand, mean visual stimuli would have the same effect? Consider also the statistic, "56 Seconds [is the] average time an American spends looking at a Web page. [Source: Nielsen]"  Well, what is the average time it ought to take? How was the study conducted? (So we know they factored out mistaken clicks and other variables.) They also ignore the obvious. Carr writes, "Whereas the Internet scatters our attention, the book focuses it. Unlike the screen, the page promotes contemplativeness." Well, if that's so, such suggests an obvious solution toward fixing the "screen experience" then doesn't it? Curious that Carr and Rosen never offer the obvious solutions their criticisms generate.

Rosen too quotes a poll but actually chides someone who questioned a point she agrees on, calling the questioner a "techno-utopian" and his question "obtuse and misguided." The essence of this attitude is, "I'm saying this elegantly and it's plausible so believe me. I'll quote something for appearances if it'll get you off my back." The essence of this is a little pact between the author and reader, "We already agree don't we? Great. No tough questions then? Deal." Are books being replaced? Is there any actual data on that? Of behavior they quote studies but not conclusions. The curmudgeon's topic (human nature) and charm give him a pass here, everyone else has to argue and prove a point.

I'm not even saying Carr or any of these authors are wrong. (I may even agree.) Their articles are simply unpersuasive, patronizing, overwrought, and generally annoying. I'm offended by their writing and I admittedly share their bias in favor of focus, cogitation, and long-form literature and art. I'm certainly not inclined to pick up any of their books. If they wanted to prove something they should have done rigorous research, testing, and thinking. People trust and like scientists. If they wanted to talk of the curiosities of human nature they should leave that to the curmudgeons. Everyone loves and trusts curmudgeons too. But the vast realm of quasi-scientific, reasonable-sounding kvetching is an unsatisfying and inane land.

Schneider's essay is clearly the best and most enjoyable, but it is quite mixed up. First, he obviously uses and enjoys technology but has a lifelong sentimental attachment with books. The former isn't replacing the latter, but it's getting better and it might. The essay comes off like this: "I've been with my books so long, but look at these digital databases, they're searchable and indexed! But they're young and fickle. . . and might leave." It sounds like he's confessing to an affair. Since he is so conflicted we won't pick on him any more.[6]

This personal touch is quite pleasant, really. And significant too. Far more than the "I can't read long books because I stopped reading long books" arguments of the other essays. Fortunately the answers are simple all around. Mr. Schneider should have it both ways and the others, well. . . they should stop it!


[1] http://www.thenewatlantis.com/publications/people-of-the-screen
[2] http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2008/07/is-google-making-us-stupid/6868/
[3] http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704025304575284981644790098.html
[4] http://www.openlettersmonthly.com/in-defense-of-the-memory-theater/
[5] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1g3ENYxg9k
[6] Except for the fact that he ties the bookshelf's virtues to acquiring and possessing, which really does not damage the argument for the electronic reader, or at least an idealized/improved one. He admits this. So where was this essay going again? Again, all of these essays are rather flawed attempts at mixed writing styles and genres.  The bookcase would have been a fine subject for a little essay of praise, just as a few favorite long poems, books, or songs would have much more persuasively sold Carr's case. Likewise a curmudgeon's take, or a take à la Jacques Tati, on the e-reader would have been fun and revealing. Alas, alack! we are deprived.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Freedom and Natural Law

A few weeks ago in an interview with Reason TV, libertarian Judge Andrew Napolitano made the following statements about the Constitution of the United States in the context of natural law:
The constitution protects persons, it's not limited to Americans. And persons is not even limited to good persons. It protects Americans, it protects aliens, it protects those legally here, it protects those illegally here, it protects those who wish us well and those who have caused us harm. It makes no distinction whatsoever. This is absolutely consistent, the constitutional protection of persons, with the Lockean, and Jeffersonian, and Augustinian, view, and Thomistic view, that our rights come from God and are gifts into our humanity, and are as much a part of us as the fingers on the ends of our hand.

That would apply to me, to you, to George W. Bush, to Barack Obama, to Khalid Sheik Mohammad, to Richard Speck, to Al Capone, to anybody that the government wants to restrain for any reason.
The boldness and openness, even brashness, of these statements undoubtedly take even proponents of natural rights off guard. Yet somehow the tone is familiar. Quite a long time ago someone else boldly made the case for natural law:
True law is in keeping with the dictates of both reason and of nature. It applies universally to everyone. It is unchanging and eternal. Its commands are summons to duty, and its prohibitions declare that nothing wrongful must be done. As far as good men are concerned, both its commands and its prohibitions are effective; though neither have any effect on men who are bad. To attempt to invalidate this law is sinful. Nor is it possible to repeal any part of it, much less to abolish it altogether. From its obligations neither Senate nor people can release us. And to explain or interpret it we need no one outside our own selves.

There will not be one law at Rome, and another at Athens. There will not be different laws now and in the future. Instead there will be one, single, everlasting, immutable law, which applies to all nations and all times. The maker, and umpire, and proposer of this law will be God, the single master and ruler of us all. If a man fails to obey God, then he will be in flight from his own self, repudiating his own human nature. As a consequence, even if he escapes the normal punishment for wrongdoing, he will suffer the penalties of the gravest possible sort. [Translation by Michael Grant.]

This is the famous passage on natural rights from Book III of Cicero's "On the State" and it seems safe to say Cicero exceeds Judge Napolitano in eloquence. Even with Cicero, though, there is something daring about discussing the natural law, something audacious about declaring one rule for all everywhere. It's exhilarating too.

HBO's miniseries John Adams properly suggests the initial impact of such a statement. Adams, upon reviewing Jefferson's draft of the Declaration:
Well this is something altogether unexpected. . . not only a declaration of our independence but of the rights of all men.
Indeed, and the draft bears even more striking resemblance to Cicero than the final version, speaking of how the king "waged cruel war against human nature itself." [1] Nonetheless the final draft rings clear also:
. . . to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them. . .
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator  with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. . .
Individual rights are an individual's by nature. Period. The statement is boldly laid down as an axiom, not open to negotiation. This is not a dissertation on independence, but a declaration of it. These rights do not come down from kings or oligarchs or up from the majority, but reside in each individual.

Indeed, and Napolitano also makes a key point: that the American Constitution only mentions individuals, not groups. It does not create distinctions and does not have different sets of rules for dealing with different "types" or "groups" of people. It can only deal with people in one way, as individuals.

What a risk, not just to personal life, but of failure in establishing law and government of such a nature. For a mob to behead its tormentors is one thing and it is similar for a small oligarchy to change its puppet. History has many such examples and historians and philosophers have noted the tendency of governments to rotate amongst democracy, oligarchy, aristocracy, and monarchy. The forming of a constitutional democratic-republic formed by delegates elected from the people in order to replace a tyranny is not quite as common.

Many factors, some of chance and some created, must come to be for success in such an undertaking. Aristotle noted one, "In the generations of men as in the fruits of the earth, there is a varying yield; now and then, where the stock is good, exceptional men are produced for a while, and then decadence sets in." (Rhetoric II, xv.) Notions of "stock" aside, the Founding Fathers were a remarkable generation. (Using "generation" loosely as their ages were actually rather varied.) It is common to praise, even glorify, these men, but panegyric unfortunate and unnecessary. While it would be foolish and inappropriate to praise as a group their individual virtues, a broad reading of their lives reveals at least one virtue: the intellectual. Aside from the difficulties of the philosophical and liberal arts works that constituted the core of their education, the study of the law was particularly difficult. This owed to a lack of what we know as "text books," difficulties in obtaining texts, and the "dreary ramble" (in Adams' words) of studying the law with the standard text of the time, the "bewildering mass" of the work of Sir Edward Coke. [2]

While we of course benefit from their great sacrifices and challenges, we too continue to gain from what were at the time minute things: staying home to study and wading through Aristotle, Thucydides, and Edward Coke.

In what is actually a paraphrase and amalgamation of correspondence between John and Abigail Adams, HBO's miniseries about America's 2nd president ended with this statement:
No, posterity, you will never know how much it cost us to preserve your freedom. I hope that you will make a good use of it. If you do not, I shall repent in heaven that I ever took half the pains to preserve it.

 At the site where John Adams as buried, United First Parish Church, Quincy, MA.

(click to enlarge)

Pilgrim,
From Lives thus spent thy earthly Duties learn;
Form Fancy's Dreams to active Virtue turn:
Let Freedom, Friendship, Faith, thy Soul engage,
And serve like them, they Country and thy Age.


[1] http://www.ushistory.org/declaration/document/rough.htm
[2] Malone, Dumas. Jefferson the Virginian. Little, Brown and Company. Boston. 1948.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Emanuel Ax Beethoven Masterclass


A segment from pianist Emanuel Ax's masterclass on Beethoven's sonatas and variations.

On Piano Sonata, Op.28, No. 15 in D major, 'Pastoral' - Andante

Mini-Review: In Search of Beethoven

Directed by Philip Grabsky. 2009.

Ludwig van Beethoven is almost certainly the most intimidating of composers. The scale, complexity, and sheer force of his music overwhelm the listener. The image of the Olympian Beethoven triumphing over deafness, isolation, and the long shadows of his predecessors overwhelms the historian. Yet we ought not to feel distant from the composer who left so much of himself in his music, music which shows us not the caricature of the irascible genius but a whole man: witty, rambunctious, despondent, elated, introspective.Yet Beethoven is still difficult to bring to the screen either in drama or a documentary. In the latter case, then, play too much music and the dialogue feels burdensome. Play too little and you create a lecture. How many experts do you call in? How many pans over the dozen still portraits can you make? Which letters do you quote? Overall, how do you bring Ludwig van Beethoven into focus?

Philip Grabsky's "In Search of Beethoven" attempts this challenge, exploring Beethoven's life and music chronologically over nearly two and a half hours with the help of many musicologists, historians, and performers. The script competently traces Beethoven's life from his birth in Bonn in 1770 through his career in Vienna. We see Beethoven as a son struggling to support his fracturing family, an eager student of Haydn's, a dashing virtuoso, and a composer determined to make his mark. 

While this biographical outline is adequate it serves mostly to stitch together the interviews with performers and scholars. These little interviews I enjoyed quite a bit. They focus on specific sections or aspects of particular pieces and are rather little introductions to the many Beethoven pieces performed. We hear from scholars like Cliff Eisen, conductors like Riccardo Chailly, Roger Norrington, and Gianandrea Noseda, and performers from Emanuel Ax to Janine Jansen. The performers and conductors each discuss the challenges of performing Beethoven as well as bring their own metaphors to explain these pieces. Emmanuel Ax was easily the most enjoyable to watch, discussing the curious fingering of the second piano sonata. He is so affable and insightful in his segment one wishes he was more prominently featured. Likewise Kristian Bezuidenhout beautifully explains the genius of the opening to the Fourth Piano Concerto.

While the film does focus on the significance of Beethoven as a composer and cultural figure I found the length of the film and it's segmented structure do not create a monumental image of Beethoven. Rather said length and structure and the variety of pieces and performers contribute to a sort of multi-faceted  "search for Beethoven," coming at this complicated man and his art from many angles. Because of this appropriateness of structure to the task at hand I think the film overcomes the challenges we mentioned above and does bring us closer to the composer. "In Search of Beethoven" does not give us a "complete Beethoven" to meet, but it suggests that he and his music are worth spending a lifetime getting to know.

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Of Sagas and Not-Sagas


saga. sa·ga – /ˈsɑgə/ [sah-guh]

noun. a medieval Icelandic or Norse prose narrative of achievements and events in the history of a personage, family, et cetera.

e.g. Saga:
A man named Thorarin lived in Langadal. He held a godord, but was a man of no influence. His son Audgisl was a man quick to act. Thorgils Holluson had dispossessed them of their godord and they considered this a grievous insult. Audgisl approached Snorri, told him of the ill-treatment which they had suffered and asked for his support. From: The Saga of the People of Laxardal

e.g. Not-Saga:
Edward helped me into his car, being very careful of the wisps of silk and chiffon, the flowers he'd just pinned into my elaborately styled curls, and my bulky walking cast. He ignored the angry set of my mouth.

When he had me settled, he got in the driver's seat and headed back out the long, narrow drive. From Twilight "The Twilight Saga" by Stephenie Meyer

Also not a saga:

Monty Python - Njorl's Saga

On Television


In a recent episode of the web program "Poliwood" screenwriters and Hollywood veterans Roger L. Simon and Lionel Chetwynd both concluded television programming is of a high quality today. Broadly speaking, anyway. I really could not fairly comment on such a statement because I watch practically no television shows. Yet I do not quite share their enthusiasm and this is mostly because I find television as a medium is really not well understood. There seems to be very little understanding of what the television medium is good for and what material is appropriate to it. Let us take a systematic look at television programming, aka TV.

First, what is the distinguishing characteristic of TV? Foremost is that TV is episodic in nature, consisting of many short episodes either 25 or 45 minutes in length. Second is that these shows are broken then into smaller bits of 7-11 minutes. This is the basic unit of TV and while some might criticize it simply for being, I will not. All art forms have their conventions, scenes, lines, stanzas, meters, et cetera. This is television's. Yet it does bear two faults. First is the persistence of the commercial interruptions and whirligigs on the lower third of the screen are so distracting and deleterious to enjoying the show it is surprising to me they are tolerated. Such tolerance, I believe, we owe mostly to habituation. Would anyone tolerate commercials in the middle of a movie, or between movements of a symphony? Since people time-shift their programming and skip commercials we will not belabor this point as we want to consider what TV might be at its best. Second is that this highly predictable unit creates highly predictable patterns of climax within the drama. This is both highly limiting for the writer and dull for the audience.

Let us return back to the length of the whole show, though, i.e. TV's episodic nature. Episodic content has been derided since Aristotle, who called episodic plots "the worst" for their lack of probability and necessity in the sequence of the episodes and their tendency stretch out a plot beyond its capabilities. (see Poetics, ix.) "Types of plots" and their hierarchy is the subject of its own and substantial essay. We may consider it at a later date. Let us instead focus on Aristotle's point that a given story, speaking generally, will have an ideal form. For as the musician has at first a highly abstract musical idea and then chooses the best structure and instrumentation to express it, so the author must choose the best form for his story. On the other hand we may observe that every given work of art has an essence and this essence may be expressed in different mediums, with the effect of generating variations on the main theme. This perspective is summed up by the [perhaps apocryphal] quote from director Stanley Kubrick, that "If it can be written, or thought, it can be filmed."

Adopting this perspective we may then ask "Is there an idea, or at least an unacceptable form or artistic expression for a given work?"  This is impossible to assess without creating a taxonomy of plot types, though we may make a few general remarks: that abstract "stories" are suitable toward musical expression, less abstract but still general and concise concepts and personal statements for poetry,
plots that take place over the course of one day suitable for the stage, spectacle for film. . . and what for television?

Let us consider some existing, common TV genres. Two common TV species are the "Wagon Train" (i.e. a journey through a strange place) and "the [wacky] adventures of. . ." These genres have had countless TV incarnations and are perhaps the most appropriate for episodic expression as the drama of the episode is self-contained. As such they are a good form for morality plays and fables. The only commonalities from show-to-show are the characters, who never undergo any changes in this genre. This genre is commonly called the sitcom. The same is true for the similar genres of the police procedural or courtroom drama. The main problem with this particular style is that it is essentially the same plot over and over again. This fact coupled with the fact that the characters to not undergo any change makes the show dull and repetitive after a point.

Yet there are many TV shows and many in which the characters do change. These shows have several factors to balance: 1) crafting a sensible plot for a single episode (i.e. creating a self-contained drama), 2) crafting a dramatic arc over several episodes (i.e. creating one large drama, since as Aristotle says a proper drama consists not simply of a variety of things one person did, but a variety of significant actions and events, i.e. significant to the theme/moral/point of the story), and 3) working within the time limitations of a) the 7-11 minute blocks of individual episodes, and b) how many episodes they can/must make. As you might imagine successfully balancing these variables is quite a feat. The fact that episodes are written one at a time, often if not usually without a plan for larger story arcs bodes ill for achieving goal No. 2. The fact that the length of the season is not determined by the writer, with the show either being canceled too soon or extended beyond the limits of the material bodes ill for achieving goal No. 3. That TV shows are often canceled early in their run is no surprise, but also unfortunate is when popular shows often continue beyond what they ought to.

The last great challenge of episodic content was voiced by Edgar Allen Poe, who stated episodic content inherently produces no sense of unity for the sum of the episodes. Since they are spread out they cannot achieve the impact that a single event, like a short story or poem, can. Poe also says that certain classes of prose require no unity and uses Robinson Crusoe as an example. The parallel between Crusoe and episodic TV content is fortunate. Such is true and brings us to what I believe is the heart of television's appeal: the passage of time. Poe did not think any benefit could counterbalance the loss of unity attendant spreading out a story into multiple sittings.

Yet the ability of television to reach the viewer weekly, potentially for years on end, is exceptional. Because of this, people, consciously or not, essentially perceive TV as real at some level. Listen to people talk about television characters and how frequently they bring their favorite characters up. This is possible first because of the temporal aspect of TV we already mentioned and second because of the commonplace element of TV. No matter how much one is attached to certain historical or traditional dramatic figures, their remoteness limits how often we relate to them. What TV inherently loses in unity its structure then it inherently provides in apparent veracity. The obvious but extreme case of "soap operas" is the clearest example of this phenomenon. These lives go on and on, paralleling ours for years. (Such shows also have the most banal plots and the plots are stretched out immeasurably beyond their proper duration.)

TV being a young medium we essentially have no barrier in relating to it: it exists in our world. We are not distanced by differences of dress, language, or culture. It progresses with us in our lives unlike a single, self-contained event like a Greek drama. Aside from fantasy and science fiction shows, TV programs are also usually plausible, or more specifically they depict events and places more or less common to us. People know what court rooms, hospitals, and sitcom locales look like and we relate to the quotidian situations most readily. In contrast even "plausible" dramas in the forms of plays and films usually depict scenes and situations we have not been in.

As an aside, one might make a similar point about video games. While being able to make certain moral choices in a game increases identification with the character and situations, having to solve puzzles and perform mundane tasks like walking around diminishes the overall impact of the story.

Above we observed: "a series of events that befall one person do not necessarily make a dramatic plot." TV writers observe this insofar as some of the episodes are self-contained and others have permanent effects on the character and plots which will be developed over time. This blending can be dramatically effective but it also adds to the element of veracity we perceive because in our own lives some days are normal and others (and other events) more broadly significant. Is this mixed style to be praised? Let us perform a little test. Consider your favorite story, a movie or novel or anything. Now consider the main character. Would that movie or novel be enhanced by adding dozens of incidents that do not, or barely, affect the plot? Sure you might feel like you know the character better because you remember when he argued with his wife, was in a car accident, and so on? Of course not. On the other had a series of relevant episodes depicting character-forming struggles might. Veracity then is by itself not a virtue, but an element of TV, potentially useful to great effect. Thus what the plot loses in unity by expansion it does not automatically gain in significance by its veracity. Rather it must use its episodes toward a larger dramatic plot, otherwise it is no better than the "adventures of. . ." species of television.

As we have said some plots then may support interspersed episodes while others may not, likewise a short-form treatment and a long-form treatment have different effects. Yet what stories require dozens and dozens of hours to be told? Miniseries and even films have achieved tremendous breadth of time with the durations of 2-12 hours. Films like Wild Strawberries, 2001: A Space Odyssey and TV miniseries like The Six Wives of Henry VIII, I, Claudius, and John Adams all have tremendous scopes of time. A film need only suggest the passage of time for the viewer to feel it. A filmed version of events that take many years need not in fact take many years. No plot needs so many hours as TV can provide, but rather may optionally be expanded and potentially with good effect.

Briefly we may discuss "reality TV" which may appear ideal insofar as it is indeed "real" and proceeds at a "real" pace. In fact it is the worst of both worlds, providing neither the accurate depictions of particulars (the function of history/documentary) nor the philosophic axioms of art.

TV then is not a poor or inferior medium but it simply tends toward vulgarity, banality, and repetition, yet probably not at a greater rate than any other form. Perhaps the quotidian element of TV is prone toward such things. TV is unique also regarding our expectations of it: we expect a great deal of constant programming content. This puts unnecessary pressure on writers. Good TV, and by that I mean a good TV show from the first episode to the last, is exceedingly difficult to do, consider again the challenges outlined in paragraphs four and five above, without such added limitations. Even if they are met, other than the purpose of achieving a quasi-reality the common "TV Show" structure has no purpose as no plot could require it. That which is not required, is extraneous, and that which is extraneous detracts. Dramatic long-form programming would  better served by the form of the miniseries, which balances concise drama with some and relevant episodic content.

While the miniseries seems to be less popular today, TV programming, especially on cable TV, seems to follow the same pattern, with short 10-12episode seasons. This is not a guarantee for success but it may help remove some of the bloat.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

On Vacationing


Summer has arrived in the Norther Hemisphere and thus in the land of your humble blogger. School is out and many look forward to their vacations. There is something I do not quite understand about what we broadly consider vacationing. I dispute neither the importance nor pleasure of leisure time. Likewise even amusement is a sort of relaxation and is thus necessary. Yet vacationing seems to many to be something of special importance, but what and why?

The chief characteristic of the vacation seems to be a longer-than-usual freedom from one's duties. Most basically, then, a vacation is a lack, but a lack cannot provide a positive good but merely relief. This leisure, though, does allow people to pursue something for its own sake rather than out of necessity. People naturally have expectations about what such pursuits should be and do for them but a common response might be they hope to "enjoy" their vacation or something similar. We might divide the vague concept of "enjoy" into "pleasure" and "happiness." Considering the former first, all people aim at pleasure and all take delight in pleasing sights, sounds, and so on. We do seek it for its own sake and not to achieve something else. Yet pleasure is simply a favorable response to some stimulus to our senses. It is also temporary and fades as we grow habituated to the stimulus. If such is the essence of the vacation we should not be surprised to find most people wanting for something more soon after the vacation has ended. Indeed such is most common. Of happiness let us consider Aristotle's thoughts:
. . . everything that we choose we choose for the sake of something else–except happiness, which is an end. Now to exert oneself and work for the sake of amusement seems silly and utterly childish. But to amuse oneself in order that one may exert oneself, as Anacharsis puts it, seems right; for amusement is a sort of relaxation, and we need relaxation because we cannot work continuously. Relaxation, then, is not an end; for it is taken for the sake of activity. (Ethics, X.vi. 1176b)
Happiness then does not consist in amusement, relaxation, or idleness. Aristotle argued it consisted in virtuous activity and most chiefly in a contemplative life. He also added, "in a complete life" since "one swallow does not make a summer, nor does one day; and so too one day, or a short time, does not make a man blessed and happy." (Ethics, I.vii. 1098a) Also happiness depends part on past acts, part on present ones, and part of the expectation of doing in the future. Happiness thus requires work and work over a period of time. More precisely then we might say it requires cultivation.

In his collection of writings commonly referred to today as his "Meditations," which we would understand better if we thought of them as "writings or exhortations to himself," Marcus Aurelius stated a similar position:
Everyone dreams of the perfect vacation–in the country, by the sea, or in the mountains. You too long to get away and find that idyllic spot, yet how foolish. . . when at any time you are capable of finding that perfect vacation in yourself. Nowhere is there a more idyllic spot, a vacation home more private and peaceful, than in one's own mind, especially when it is furnished in such a way that the merest inward glance induces ease (and by ease I mean the effects of an orderly and well-appointed mind, neither lavish or crude.) Take this vacation as often as you like, and so charge your spirit. But do not prolong these meditative moments beyond what is necessary to send you back to your work free of anxiety and full of vigor and good cheer. (Translation, C. Scot Hicks and David V. Hicks.) (Meditations, Book IV. iii.)
Whether it be toward pleasure or happiness, one ought to have an idea what one is intending to gain from a vacation, lest one be disappointed.

Monday, June 28, 2010

Movie Review: Mr. Hulot's Holiday

Directed by Jacques Tati. 1953.

Mr. Hulot's Holiday, or Mr. Hulot's Holidays, is crafted with such subtlety and affection one cannot help falling in love with it. I say falling because while it worked its charm on me during my first viewing it grows on you more and more over time. My fondness for this movie is part nostalgia for the curious patrons of the Hotel de la Plage and part excitement to see Mr. Hulot and his antics, perennial in their freshness, grace, and charm. What exactly is this movie though? In his introduction to the 2001 edition Criterion DVD, director Terry Jones summed it best this way, that Mr. Hulot's Holidays is sort of a series of postcards from a vacation.

Postcards indeed, and you could pause this movie at any moment and find a little gem of a postcard from Mr. Hulot's seaside vacation. The gags and scenes are impossible to summarize and we would do violence to the film to dissect them. We can say though that each one takes delight in life's little incongruities. Mr. Hulot looks at everything with a pure curiosity, neither cynical or skeptical. He simply looks on and says, "Hmm. Funny that this is so. But how did. . . Did I. . . hmm."

Mr. Hulot is often the cause of the curious incidents he so quizzically looks upon. These "little holidays" are attended by the movie's musical score, a short, lilting, jazzy little theme. Sometimes the music is dubbed over and sometimes it is diegetic, started by one of the patrons. The effect of this, sometimes showing the source of the music and sometimes not, is that we feel the music is always going on. Someone is always starting some little adventure somewhere, someone is always getting the ball rolling. Sometimes we start it rolling, sometimes we keep it rolling, but don't let it stop! Likewise the theme varies in instrumentation. Sometimes it is orchestrated, sometimes it is on a piano, once someone whistles it. The effect is that of theme and variation: all of these little diversions, digressions, and variations on the main theme, i.e. Mr. Hulot's joyful outlook.

Of course they are only variations on a theme, little treasures, if we adopt Mr. Hulot's outlook. Otherwise they are inconveniences and trifles.

The hotel patrons are almost as colorful as Mr. Hulot: the commodore recounting his exploits from the war to whoever will listen, the touring couple who seem to be inspecting everything as they walk through, the perpetually exercising fellow with his goofy squats, the pretty girl and the host of youths courting her attention. The old generation of guests at the hotel cling to their habits, their cards and radio and regular meals. They show up to eat when the lunch bell rings and they go to bed when the radio signs off. Hulot shows up and literally blows them out of their habits.

Terry Jones also aptly said Mr. Hulot's Holiday was Tati's most forward-looking movie. I agree, and Hulot's jazzy version of "When the Saints Go Marching In" sets the tone. Mr. Hulot does not bring chaos and modernity. He just adds a little pizazz and an appreciation for the beauty that is already there. In Mr. Hulot's Holiday the patrons realize what Hulot brings, though they might outwardly be annoyed with the inconveniences of his antics. The people of Mon Oncle (except for the children) and Playtime (except for the party scene) do not see what Hulot brings. He is lost on them and among them.

Yet here Mr. Hulot is not lost, this is his world and we are glad, grateful, to accompany him on his holidays. For all of their complaining, the patrons all make plans to return. They tell Mr. Hulot, "Glad to have met you" and "same time next year." Absolutely.

In the spirit of Terry Jones' observation about the film. . .

Postcards from Mr. Hulot's Holidays.
click to enlarge

Thursday, June 24, 2010

The Bach Cantata Pilgrimage

Conductor Sir John Eliot Gardiner discusses his "Bach Cantata Pilgrimage" with his Monteverdi Choir and Orchestra. In 1999 Gardiner set out to perform all of the Master's extant church cantatas on the appointed feast day and all within a single year.

Bach is probably the only composer whose musical output is so rich, so challenging to the performers and so spiritually uplifting to both performer and listener alike, that one would gladly spend a year in his exclusive company.
–Sir John Eliot Gardiner

The Bach Cantata Pilgrimage
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI
Total Time: about 60 minutes.
 

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Choice Curmudgeonry


With a hat tip to Gerard Van der Leun of American Digest. . .

John Derbyshire, author most recently of "We Are Doomed: Reclaiming Conservative Pessimism," had in the WSJ a few weeks ago a short list of books for the curmudgeon.

It is a fine list and includes H. L. Mencken and Gulliver's Travels. As such I was reminded of some of my favorite curmudgeonly passages from Mencken and Swift.




Gulliver's Travels. Part III, Chapter VIII.
A further Account of Glubbdubdrib. Antient and Modern History Corrected.
Having a desire to see those antients who were most renowned for Wit and Learning, I set apart one Day on purpose. I proposed that Homer and Aristotle might appear at the Head of all their Commentators; but these were so numerous, that some Hundreds were forced to attend in the Court, and outward Rooms of the Palace. I knew, and could distinguish those two Heroes, at first Sight, not only from the Croud, but from each other. Homer was the taller and comelier Person of the two, walked very erect for one of his Age, and his Eyes were the most quick and piercing I ever beheld. Aristotle stooped much, and made use of a Staff. His Visage was meagre, his Hair lank and thin, and his Voice hollow. I soon discovered that both of them were perfect Strangers to the rest of the Company, and had never seen or heard of them before; and I had a Whisper from a Ghost who shall be  nameless, "that these Commentators always kept in the most distant Quarters from their Principals, in the lower World, through a Consciousness of Shame and Guilt, because they had so horribly misrepresented the Meaning of those Authors to Posterity." I introduced Didymus and Eustathius to Homer, and prevailed on him to treat them better than perhaps they deserved, for he soon found they wanted a Genius to enter into the Spirit of a Poet. But Aristotle was out of all Patience with the Account I gave him of Scotus and Ramus, as I presented them to him; and he asked them, "whether the rest of the Tribe were as great Dunces as themselves?"

A Mencken Chrestomathy. XVIII. Pedagogy. The Education Process

If I had my way I should expose all candidates for berths in the grade-schools to the Binet-Simon test, and reject all those who revealed a mentality of more than fifteen years. Plenty would still pass. Moreover, they would be secure against contamination by the new technic of pedagogy. Its vast wave of pseudo-psychology would curl and break against the hard barrier of their innocent and passionate intellects– as it probably does, in fact, even now. They would know nothing of learning situations, integration, challenges, emphases, orthogenics, mind-sets, differentia, and all other fabulous fowl of the Teachers College aviary. But they would see in reading, writing and arithmetic the gaudy charms of profound knowledge, and they would teach these ancient branches, now so abominable in decay with passionate gusto, and irresistible effectiveness, and a gigantic success.
A Mencken Chrestomathy. XVIII. Pedagogy. Bearers of the Torch

This central aim of the teacher is often obscured by pedagogical pretension and bombast. The pedagogue, discussing himself, tries to make it appear that he is a sort of scientist. He is actually a sort of barber, and just as responsive to changing fashions. That this is his actually character is now, indeed, a part of the official doctrine that he must inculcate. On all hands, he is told plainly by his masters that his fundamental function in America is to manufacture an endless corps of sound Americans. A sound American is simply one who has put out of his mind all doubts and questionings, and who accepts instantly, and as incontrovertible gospel, the whole body of official doctrine of his day, whatever it may be and no no matter how often it may change. The instant he challenges it, no matter how timorously and academically, he ceases by that much to be a loyal and creditable citizen of the Republic.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Wagner and The Lord of the Rings

The music of Richard Wagner and the writing of J. R. R. Tolkien are both considerable interests of mine so you can expect substantial writing on both topics in the future. For now, I was recently watching Peter Jackson's spectacular film adaptation of "The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring" and came upon two rather striking similarities. The first is of set design and the second of music.


 Leif Roar as Klingsor in Parsifal, about to set Kundry against Parsifal.
Stage design and artistic supervision by Wolfgang Wagner. 1981

 Christopher Lee as Saruman in The Fellowship of the Ring,
invoking the spirit of the mountain against the Fellowship.
Artwork and conceptual drawing by Alan Lee and John Howe, 2001.


Parsifal, Act I.


The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring,
The Great River


The scene (using the word loosely since Wagner did not divide the acts into smaller scenes) in Parsifal is quite complex, with multiple choruses, the Knights marching up Montsalvat to the bells, and many themes including those of the Grail, the Eucharist, and the Lance. Shore's scene is considerably simpler but they function in not dissimilar manners. In Fellowship Aragorn catches sight of enormous statues of kings of old, his ancestors. This is simultaneously a reminder of their grandeur and weakness, and also his, that he is the rightful heir but turned from the path since he shares his ancestors' weakness to be tempted by the Ring of Power. Likewise the themes demonstrate Amfortas' mixed feelings, his sacred duty, his suffering, and his sin.

Likewise the figures of Klingsor and Saruman more than superficial relations. Generally, neither managed his tendency to sin and each turned to dark arts. In his classic work on Wagner, Albert Lavignac describes Klingsor:
[he] has vainly sought to root out of his heart the tendencies to sin; and, not succeeding, he has destroyed his animal instincts by laying violent hands on himself. . . he has listened to the Evil Spirit, and received from him unhallowed instructions in the art of magic. . . [Lavignac, 212]
That Saruman succumbed to a natural weakness and was not simply corrupted by studying "too deeply the arts of the enemy" requires some explication, handily provided by Tolkien himself in a letter c. 1956:
In the view of this tale and mythology Power–when it dominates or seeks to dominate other wills and minds (except by the assent of their reason)–is evil, these "wizards" were incarnated in the life forms of Middle-earth, and so suffered the pains of both mind and body. They were also, for the same reason, thus involved in the peril of the incarnate: the possibility of "fall," of sin, if you will. [Tolkien, 237]
Likewise where Klingsor "Layed violent hands on himself" Gandalf rebukes Saruman for his unnatural machinations, saying, "he that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of reason." [The Fellowship of the Ring, "The Council of Elrond."]

Yet we ought not to read too much into these similarities and we should avoid trying to craft analogies and allegories here. The characters are themselves different and function differently in the plots of their respective stories. I do not suggest one was a model for the other but rather point out the noteworthy similarities of style and fundamental themes of two artists exploring man's nature in these particular scenes.

  –

Bibliography

Lavignac, Albert. The Music Dramas of Richard Wagner and his Festival Theatre in Bayreuth. Dood, Mead, and Company. New York. 1901.

Tolkien, J. R. R. The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien. Letter No. 181, an unfinished letter to Michael Straight. c. 1956. p.237. Houghton Mifflin Company.  New York. 2000.

Friday, June 18, 2010

Mozart: Rhapsody and Reverie


I. Rhapsody

Musicologist Arthur Hutchings on the Mozartian rhapsody:
. . . the form is "a becoming." In it we may be aware of phrases, of sequences which show metabolism. . . but the main principle of its form is the approach to and decline from climax. . . we imagine ourselves to be the performer; if we do not live along its line, we are not fulfilling the composer's demands of us. [Hutchings, 139.]


Piano Concerto No. 21, KV.467 - Andante


II. Reverie


Musicologist Cuthbert Girdlestone on the Mozartian "Dream Reverie:"
The true "dream" does not imply any strong emotion; it does not exude passion, but the exquisite fancy of a fresh and rich nature is its character. When melancholy speaks it is not with a tragic voice. They are inspired by a spirit of fairyland, too far removed from reality to know sorrow. Their form is that of a long, winding melody which cannot be broken up into phrases and follows on almost uninterruptedly from one end to the other, and Mozart's rhythms are found here at their freest. [Girdlestone, 39.]


Piano Concerto No. 6, KV.238 - Andante


Violin Concerto No. 3, KV.216 - Adagio
Gidon Kremer, violin. Nikolaus Harnoncourt conducting the Wiener Philharmoniker


String Quartet in E-flat, KV.428 - Andante con moto
Salomon Quartet



Bibliography

Hutchings, Arthur. A Companion to Mozart's Piano Concertos. Oxford University Press. New York. 1948.

Girdlestone, Cuthbert. Mozart and his Piano Concertos. Dover Publications, Inc. New York, NY. 1964.

Around the Web

For Saturday, June 12 through Friday, June 18 2010.

1) Robert Weissberg at the Pope Center on how universities breed dependency.

2) At Mises Daily, Robert P. Murphy weighs in on the fractional-reserve banking question.

3) In the WSJ, Dale Buss on the potential end of the 45-year project of the Dictionary of American Regional English.

4) At the Well-Tempered Ear, Jacob Stockinger asks "How did Vladimir Horowitz play octaves so fast?"

5) Thomas Sowell vs the Intellectuals.  (For City Journal, Daniel J. Mahoney reviews "Intellectuals and Society" by Thomas Sowell.)

6) The "Tea Party" vs. the Intellectuals. (from Lee Harris at the Hoover Institution.)

Monday, June 14, 2010

A Taxonomy of Sports

Permit me to open with a few caveats and general statements. First, I do not regularly watch or follow sports. Second, I know people take the sports they follow and the teams the follow very seriously. Consider me then an impartial observer. My intent is to distinguish the appeal of various sports and to determine the significance or virtues of each. I will confine myself to the most popular sports. Also, I will not be quite as comprehensive as usual, my goal being more simply to encourage some deeper thinking about popular activities.

First we must begin with definitions. What is a sport? Sporting is a particularly vague word and today practically anything is considered a sport. I propose a finer distinction. I will start by saying what a sport is not. A sport is not simply a feat. A feat is simply a performance of something that is difficult to do, for example mountain-climbing, marksmanship, and weight-lifting are feats. Likewise a sport is more than simply a contest. The essence of a contest is what its name suggests, a mano-a-mano challenge like wrestling or fencing.

In contrast to a feat, which has no rules other than the natural limits that make the feat difficult, sports have man-made rules. These rules, though, should be sensible, complementary, and not arbitrary. They should not include deliberate handicaps or artificial constraints of time. While the feat has the harshness of necessity intrinsic to its nature the sport does not. Sports need not be as violent as natural contests are or seemingly impossible as feats. The rules ought to be appropriate to the central goal of the game, which ought to be simple in principle but difficult to master. They should not make the goal any harder than it is by nature. Whereas a feat has only the challenge imposed by nature and the contest has only the challenge imposed by the other player the sport ought to combine both in moderation, balancing the extremes. The player ought to be playing against an opponent to achieve the goal, not playing against the rules to achieve the goal. The rules create structure for the competition.

In contrast to the contest the sport is inherently social. It involves free men coming together of their own will to associate in sporting. The camaraderie of the team is integral to sporting, fostering both competition amongst the players as well as competition. As in life individuals use their unique skills to accomplish the task none of their teammates can, thus allowing a victory otherwise impossible.

Let us not forget an aspect of sporting integral to it though not unique: that of leisure. This can be inferred from the word itself, which derives from the word disport, which roughly means to carry away oneself from more serious matters. One takes up a sport in one's leisure time for the simple pleasure of it. It is an end in itself and the individual takes delight in it for that reason only. The object of sport is not like discovering or inventing something, or earning for practical remuneration, but a special and curious thing, desirable because it is pleasurable to do.

With these ideas in mind, let us consider a few sports of the major sports that seem to qualify (as many have been ruled out already.)

Basketball seems promising as it revolves around a simple concept difficult to master: get the ball in the opponent's net. There is likewise a team and it is not excessive in violence or challenge. But why must you effectively keep yourself and the ball in constant motion? And why is there a time limit? These are arbitrary rules that make the game proceed at an unnecessarily frenetic pace and for a duration of an arbitrary length. "But!" you may say, "if he can just run around with the ball you would have American football!" Indeed, but it is only by the distinction of this arbitrary rule then that the sport is to be unique?

Regarding American football, it seems promising too. It revolves around a simple concept difficult to master, requires much planning in the form of tactics and teamwork, and is challenging. Yet it is violent and most ungentlemanly. It also has arbitrary time constraints and rules about the passage of "game time." Also, the central challenge is practically non-existent. As with soccer/football, you essentially only play against the other team since the central challenge is so easy (anyone can, if he is unopposed, run across the field with a ball or kick a ball into a net.)

The issue that the game-play itself keeps stopping is of some but not great concern. While the carrying out of a play resembles a military maneuver the fact that the plays typically are so brief diminishes the similarity by resetting the situation. Yet while it adds excessive length, as we said earlier a sport ought to balance the extremes brought on by the necessities of feats. In battle, scoring is achieved through violence. (Here there is brutishness and mostly imitation-violence.) In American football, though, it is solved by getting to stop and start the situation anew. This is necessary as we said but the effect is that with the central feat being so easy, the players are mostly just running at each other and then stopping. The downs system remedies this in part by creating continuity from play to play. If American football is imperfect it is largely because its model is hard to adapt to civilized sporting.

Hockey is an unusual sport, essentially a modification of American football with the added challenge of being on ice, which also has implications for all of the equipment. None of these adjustments are virtues. They add challenge without any observable effect. It is likewise excessively violent and arbitrarily limited in duration.

Football/Soccer is perhaps the most curious of the major sports. It too is a modification of American football. Why can't you use your hands?! Likewise, why can you use your head? These are absurdly arbitrary rules and exist only to create a distinction between it and American football.

We see so far, though, that all of our sports are modifications of American football but that none are successful copies. We might add that both the football/soccer and hockey goalies add an additional and desirable mano-a-mano dynamic to the game, yet the constant interference of the other players diminishes this.

Baseball, however, is an altogether different sport. It revolves around teamwork and a simple concept difficult to master: throwing the ball past the batter or hitting the ball. In describing the central concept we immediately notice its uniqueness. The prime place of the pitcher and his unique role creates a completely different dynamic for the game. Baseball, in dividing the game between the contest between pitcher and batter and then batter and fielders balances both the need for teamwork and the classic mano-a-mano challenge. Unlike in football/soccer and hockey this one-on-one contest is free from interference because of a deliberate and not arbitrary rule.

It is the only sport we have looked at without an artificial time limit. It proceeds as long as the contest between the pitcher and batter takes. This may be long or short. Additionally to its credit, the central concept (throwing/hitting a ball) is difficult in itself but complicated by the skills of the other players. It also has unique and balancing elements of both stability and randomness: on the one hand players take the same positions on the field when fielding, but the positions of which players end up on base when trying to score are always random, since you cannot predict who will strike out or score.

It is competitive but not aggressively violent or confrontational, being non-contact. It requires health and stamina. It requires the player always keeps his mind in the game but does not require what other sports absurdly do, that the player be in constant motion. It does not require complicated equipment, the essences of the equipment being a stick and a ball. (A stick and a ball that fits in your hand are far more natural than the shapes of the equipment for other sports.) The glove/mitt is an essentially optional accessory. Early baseball was in fact played without gloves.

Baseball may seem more complicated than other sports, the pitcher-batter dynamic and the existence of having to run the bases being more complex than "get the ball in the net/goal." Yet unlike the adaptations of other sports these are for particular purposes. They enhance the dynamism of the game. By dynamism I mean both the range of potential outcomes and the motivating energy. Having men on base and outs and innings work with each other cumulatively to create a crescendo and decrescendo of dynamism. (Football comes closest to this with its system of "downs.") This is enhanced by the randomness of who ends up on which base when. In other sports it is simply, "X is winning, now Y is winning, now X is winning." Likewise regarding scoring, in some sports it is simply "x is about to score" over and over again at frenetic pace. These games appeal to individuals who cannot remain focused for a long time. Baseball achieves balance, (as does football to a good measure.) The tension builds slowly while at any moment a home run can shatter the status quo.

We see then that baseball and American football by far outshine their competitors and imitations by having rational and complementary rules, though baseball succeeds by a wider margin. Baseball's dynamism makes it the most entertaining to watch and the manner in which it achieves said dynamism makes it more gentlemanly to play.

Friday, June 11, 2010

War, with Sebastian Junger


Peter Robinson, host of the Hoover Institution's Uncommon Knowledge, interviews author Sebastian Junger to discuss Junger's latest book, War, which focuses on the fighting in Afghanistan’s Korengal Valley.
 

War, with Sebastian Junger

Around the Web

For the week of Saturday, June 5 through Friday, June 11.

1) The National Endowment for the Humanities' 2010 Jefferson Lecture: Jonathan Spence on "When Minds Met: China and the West in the Seventeenth Century."

2) Lee Lawrence in the WSJ on "In the Realm of the Buddha" at the Arthur M. Sackler Gallery of The Smithsonian Institution through July 18,

3-5) Will "higher education" go boom?
  1. Glenn Reynolds thinks so.
  2. So does Mark J. Perry.
  3. . . .and so do the folks at NakedLaw.com
6) In an interview with Reason.tv, Joel Kotkin thinks America will still lead the world in 2050.


7-9) Of Economics:
  1. In the WSJ, and with polling data in hand, Daniel B. Klein says that "Self-identified liberals and Democrats do badly on questions of basic economics." (Indeed and ahem.)
  2. At Mises Daily, Credit Expansion vs. Simple Inflation.
  3. At Mises Daily, A Primer on Austrian Economics.
10) In City Journal, Theodore Dalrymple on "sympathy deformed."

11) Jefferson Grey for History Net on The Order of Assassins. (For almost two centuries, from 1090 until 1273, the Order of Assassins played a singular and sinister role in the Middle East.)

12) In The American Scholar, Joel E. Cohen on what poetry and applied mathematics have in common.

13) In the WSJ, Stuart Isacoff on Beethoven's piano sonatas.

14) In the WSJ, an interview with "people's diva" Renée Fleming, who makes a foray into rock with "Dark Hope," an album comprised of covers of Death Cab for Cutie, Peter Gabriel and other pop acts.

15) Remembering the great baritone Giuseppe Taddei, 1916-2010.