Let the Great Experiment Begin!

Today I went in to take the skills test for a job with the U.S. Census Bureau. The test was comprised of 28 questions, only ten of which needed to be answered correctly in order to qualify. Since all the questions were about on the 5th grade level (alphabetise this list... add these sums), I spent about half of the 30 minutes alloted to me drawing on my scrap paper. In the process of doing so, I had the most scathingly brilliant idea.

If any of you have seen my drawings, you know that I am probably the world's worst artist. My figures rarely come out proportional, my grasp on perspective is limited at best, and I even have trouble drawing a straight line. This provoked a small but steady thought in my brain: "I wonder what it would be like if someone like me tried submitting their work to art galleries, museums, agencies, etc." At first this thought merely tickled my fancy, but as I stopped to think about it, I realized that I had the kernel of a potentially interesting idea. So I have decided that my major project for the coming year will be this: get a sketchbook and other art supplies and go crazy making a portfolio and writing an artistic statement. In the process, keep a detailed journal of the creative mind at work. When finished, send the portfolio off to different places and wait for responses. Record said responses for posterity. In the end, I should have an interesting account of what it is like being an artist in 21st Century America. Who knows, maybe if the writing's good enough I'll submit the whole thing (lovely illustrations included) to a publisher. Even if not, I'll keep it around for my own pleasure.

It's All Greek to Me...

"What those ancient Greeks, who after all did know a little about philosophy, assumed to be a task for a whole lifetime... with that everyone begins in our age... Faith was then a task for a whole lifetime, because it was assumed that proficiency in believing is not acquired either in days or in weeks. When the tried and tested oldster approached his end, had fought the good fight and kept the faith, his heart was still young enough not to have forgotten the anxiety and trembling that disciplined the youth, that the adult learned to control, but that no man outgrows -- except to the extent that he succeeds in going further as early as possible. The point attained by those venerable personages is in our age the point where everyone begins in order to go further." --Johannes de Silentio in Fear and Trembling

Fear and Trembling is an outstanding book by one of history's greatest thinkers, and within its astounding whole it contains many small bits that are wonderful to chew on thoroughly, savouring the wisdom of Kierkegaard. This brilliant selection is from the Preface, and in fact sets up one of the major problems of the book. In the interest of masticating completely before swallowing, I will take this quote in a somewhat different direction than the context dictates, but one with which I think Kierkegaard would agree.

The question I will pose today: why are our children not given a thorough grounding in Greek philosophy by the time they exit high school? Does this seem like a stupid question? Many people, even academics, regard philosophy with an (un)studied distaste. Certainly much modern (I use the term in a general, not a technical, sense) philosophy engages in silly semantic disputes and intellectually masturbatory thought projects. This has less to do with the nature of philosophy than the nature of philosophers. In fact, these self-satisfied charlatans provide even more evidence that what is needed is a return to the bedrock of thought.

Essentially, what Western Civilization has produced is a society largely devoid of people who can think. Note that I am not saying society is stupid (that is a different question entirely); merely that most people can't or won't think in a clear, consistent manner. I believe that this is a result of having gone beyond the Greeks.

What, exactly, do I mean? I mean that when people set out to think about things or solve problems, they take for granted an indescribably long list of assumptions which they do not question. Nor have they ever questioned these assumptions. They stand entrenched, never wondering if the foundations are secure. (Perhaps I should take a moment to offer this disclaimer: I consider myself to be very much a part of my society. This is in no way an attempt to place myself above others; I too engage in all the activities I describe. I have a very great distance to go before I could even be fit to untie Socrates' sandals).

The point I am driving at is this: most people, when considering a problem, engage in a very great amount of intellectual arrogance. Take any political problem, and you will usually find that both sides clamour voraciously for their position. Dig a little deeper, and you will find that they do not even acknowledge the existence of their presuppositions. This is why so much political discourse is useless; the opposing sides may as well be talking about the completely different issues, from the lack of clarity about what precisely is at stake.

Or take an academic discipline. I will use sociology as an example, because I find so many unexamined presuppositions among its practitioners, and it is a little less controversial than, say, one of the hard sciences (I will sometime talk about the hard sciences and their faulty presuppositions, but that is another post entirely). *Disclaimer: I do not wish to besmirch sociology as a whole. I know quite a few sociology majors and respect them, and the only soc class I took in college was taught by a very good, very sane professor.*

Before beginning a career in sociology, one should presumably engage in s study of how sound a pursuit it is. What kind of knowledge is gained from sociology, and how does one obtain it. Is it a logical process? An empirical one? An ethical? Intuitive? Imaginative? Once we have answered this, we may proceed to ask other questions. How much stock should we put in the answers we receive? Are our findings indisputable truth, or are they an imaginative insight into the human situation?

Unfortunately this is not what you find in the majority of cases. Fools rush in; the basic principles of sociology go unquestioned in the haste to make a profound statement (the assumption that leaps to my mind in the case of sociology is the idea that sociology is a scientific pursuit, and the assumption which underlies that- even more pernicious- that it must be scientific in order to have value). From that point on, however interesting the data I collect, something will be missing from my sociological work.

This sort of going beyond quickly spreads to all of society. Once an academic pursuit is established, its findings are usually presented as irrefutable by wider society. Anyone with a PhD. is suddenly qualified to make any statement, however outlandish and have it regarded as credible. Not that I think it is wrong to have authorities on subjects, but accepting something without thinking about it first is a dangerous fallacy which we all commit day after day.

Put another way, we as a society are essentially technology driven, not knowledge driven. That is, we look for solutions which work and then move on, not bothering to wonder whether something is actually true. As a result we love having our presuppositions ready made for us, and we are eager to devour any warmed over thought system sent our way.

But wait, you may say, that isn't the case. We as a society value cynicism; we question everything! In reply: first, that simply isn't true. Cynicism may hold sway in certain sectors, but it is by no means the norm. Second, even this sorry excuse for cynicism in society proves my point, for it is a shallow cynicism indeed. Our cynics latch firmly like leeches onto their banner cry "There is no truth!", but none I have met have ever clearly thought through their reasons for such an attachment. Their cynicism is based on nothing more than a puerile distaste for authority (as witnessed in the intellectual inconsistency of most cynics, who in fact only doubt what is inconvenient to them), not a detailed examination of the limits of epistemology.

Alright, this has been a long post already, and you may find yourself wondering what all this has to do with teaching Greek philosophy to our youngsters. We, like Kierkegaard's age, have gone beyond the Greeks. We have hastily built up our system of knowledge but never pored over it for cracks. We consider it a small thing to move beyond Plato, since obviously we are much more advanced than he. Yet is this really the case? What if we are the simple ones?

This raises another point: our chronological bias against the Greeks. This comes in two flavours: first, we think that, since we come much later, we have obviously accumulated much more knowledge and wisdom than they. But this assessment only works if you consider human knowledge to be constantly progressing. Is this really the case? True, we may gain more facts about the remote operations of the galaxy, but has our knowledge of mankind really expanded? Or have we been chasing down rabbit holes, leading to nowhere? Pound for pound, the Greeks tend to be more profound about human nature than any modern commentator.

Second, we tend to view the Greeks as so old (and Lord knows we detest old things). Like a creaking wheel, the Greeks have worn out their welcome among us. But, viewed from another angle, it is not they who are old, but us. We live 2,000 years after them, with the weight of all those epochs bearing down on our bones. They are the youth of the human race, filled to the brim with curiosity and wonder. We are the old, dyspeptic senior citizens, so deeply mired in a rut that we fail even to recognize the hole we have dug.

By introducing our children to Plato and Aristotle (as well as less obvious things such as Greek tragedy) at a young age, I believe we may begin to counteract the thoughtlessness which is rampant in society. Let us start with Socrates. This infernal gadfly on the backs of the Athenians has much to teach us about questioning our presuppositions. Many men of Socrates' day went about their lives never bothering to question their basic ideas about the good, the just, the beautiful. But that darned Socrates would not leave them alone. He would always butt in with some remark which showed their presuppositions to be empty posturing (no wonder they put him to death!). What better remedy to the sleepy thought of modernity that the harsh bite of the gadfly?

If Socrates was the wrecking ball operator of Greek philosophy, smashing down tottering buildings, then Aristotle was the dedicated mason, patiently building his system brick by brick. And what a system! Has anyone in the history of thought come close to the depth and breadth of knowledge displayed by Aristotle? These days we smugly dismiss Aristotle because many of his ideas, especially regarding physics and the like, have turned out to be untrue (at least by our estimation). But the value in studying Aristotle comes not so much from his ideas (although those still hold a great deal of water) but from the thorough clarity with which he writes. Aristotle leaves no stone unturned, and he is fascinated even by the little things we would dismiss as fundamental to our own investigations.

Of course, I have no expectations that something like this will ever be implemented. Still, perhaps one of the ten people reading this will be inspired, and will start reading the Symposium aloud while their first child is still in the womb.

List!

One of the most addicting features of the new internet style of communication is the abundance of lists. No longer relegated to David Letterman, lists have become a phenomenon of sorts on message boards everywhere. I find myself strangely attracted to lists: they promise so much (20 Greatest Films about Sports-Playing Animals!!!) yet often fail to deliver the goods. I prefer lists that don't just provide the bare bones of a numerically ordered system, but delve into the reasons behind the choices.

Today, then, I provide a top ten (of sorts) with a distinct purpose behind it: to illustrate what I find pleasurable in a classic rock song. This is by no means my definitive "TOP TEN CLASIC (sic) ROCK SONGS" list; I would say it is extremely malleable (especially the bottom five or so; my top five are more definite). But, they are all songs I happen to like (enough to think of them when considering what to put on this list), and most of them have something to say about what I like in a rock song. Also, I have avoided giving more than one song by a group (otherwise the list might be entirely dominated by the Allman Brothers Band, only the greatest rock and roll group in history).

As a sort of a spoiler, I will say that generally I enjoy stripped down songs. Give me a relentless riff over a self-congratulatory solo anyday. This works with lyrics, too. Less is more. So, without further ado, here it is:

10 Classic Rock Songs That Are Good

10. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers -- Won't Back Down
As I was thinking this list over, I knew I needed to include some Tom Petty. He represents a style I like very much; his music tends to be lean and desperate. Still, it was a tough decision, because TP+tHB are a band that I listen to more for the overall effect than individual songs. Oh sure, I'll always keep the radio tuned to "Free Fallin'" if it comes on, but that's out of sentimentality as much as anything. I think my favorite Tom Petty song is probably Won't Back Down; a simple but catchy little riff and Tom and his most inspirational.

9. Styx -- Renegade
Yes, Styx. Look, don't be unduly influenced by Mr. Roboto (which is a great song in its own way); Styx brings the rock and roll. It came down to this song and Come Sail Away, which I do happen to like very much, despite its ridiculousness (or perhaps because of it). In the end, Come Sail Away is the type of rock song I generally dislike, but Styx takes it so far that it works. Renegade, however, is pure goodness. The jerky rhythm, relentless driving motion, and mangy singing are beautiful. And you cannot deny the greatness when they sing "Hangman is coming down from the gallows and I don't have very long".

8. Aerosmith -- Rag Doll
I must confess, I don't much care for Aerosmith, on the whole and for the most part (especially late period, verging on self-parody Aerosmith). But Rag Doll captures perfectly the things I do enjoy about them: an upbeat, catchy riff, a bouncy beat, some nifty guitar work, and totally ridiculous lyrics.

7. Blood, Sweat, and Tears -- Spinning Wheel
This is one awesome acid trip of a song. I generally like brass infused rock, and no one does it better than BS&T. Again, less is more; the song is fairly simple and repetitive, which makes it all the more effective when the freak out moment comes. Also, the song does a really good job of capturing the feel of a fair, particularly the creepiness of the carousel.

6. T Rex -- Bang a Gong (Get it On)
How awesome is this song? Well, the Rolling Stones felt compelled to rip T Rex off by stealing the riff from Get it On for It's Only Rock and Roll. Dirty cheaters. This song just rocks, from that famous riff to Bolan's seedy voice to the slightly ridiculous glam chorus. (Side note: does anyone know who did the cover of this song which is sometimes played on the radio? Cause that is a travesty).

5. The Edgar Winter Group -- Frankenstein
Top five time! And to usher it in, our first (and only) instrumental. If you somehow haven't heard this song, shame on you. It is delicious from start to finish, from the opening lick to the awesome drum solo which makes you wait forever and a half for the melody to re-enter. Any song that can make me like the saxophone has something right.

4. Queen -- Fat Bottomed Girls
Oh, were you expecting Bohemian Rhapsody? Look, I don't hate that song by any stretch of the imagination, but it does represent the excesses which I dislike in classic rock. FBG, on the other hand, is awesomeness distilled down to its core. It is a song you feel embarrassed to sing along with, yet you do it every time.

3. Creedence Clearwater Revival -- Fortunate Son
I consider CCR one of the best producers of pure (or simple) rock. They have little use for elaborate solos or convoluted lyrics, yet they do more in 2 minutes than many bands do in 7. Fortunate Son is one angry powder keg of a song about the illusion of the American Dream. Too bad it still gets played at patriotic events everywhere. Fogerty's steely rage almost makes me forget Centerfield.

2. The Allman Brothers Band -- Whipping Post
The Allman Brothers Band is known most for the live performances, which are epic in nature. One reason I think they were so good jamming it up for 20 minutes is that they kept their songs simple in structure, but they still contained lots of room to move around and improvise. Whipping Post is a monster song. The opening riff is perfect, the bluesey feel works so well with the subject matter, and Gregg Allman sounds like a broken heart incarnate. Flawless.

1. Led Zeppelin -- When the Levee Breaks
Screw Stairway to Heaven (for my thoughts on it please see Rhapsody, Bohemian). This is the real masterpiece from LZ 4. The boomy drumbeat, like a tribal call to war; the wailing harmonica which drags you through the mud of the Delta; Plant singing like a man with a demon inside him; the slow boil of the way the song builds on itself over the course of its 6 minutes; all these things add up to the greatest rock and roll song of all time.

So, there's my take. What are your favorite classic rock songs? Let the comments begin!

Slummin' It

Yes, the rumors are true; I am back to posting on my blog, hopefully on a regular basis. True, I have often claimed this in the past, but my comparative abundance of free time (especially now, when I have no gainful employment to occupy my labor) should enable me to keep up relatively well. If not, keep bothering me; what I will not do from pleasure, I will do to stop from being disturbed. Now, on to the post!

On a recent date, Leslie and I had the pleasure to see the film "Slumdog Millionaire", a film by the always reliable British filmmaker Danny Boyle (most famous for 28 Days Later -- which I haven't seen -- but known to me through the family film "Millions" and the sci-fi "Sunshine", both of which I heartily recommend). We both enjoyed it immensely, and apparently enough critics agreed with us that it has been nominated for numerous Academy Awards, including Best Picture. Imagine my dismay, then, when several critics I read regularly have nothing but disdain for the film. Far be it for me to defend the Academy, whose taste I often question (Gladiator, really?), but reading criticisms of the film, it struck me that most of them stemmed from a misunderstanding of what it is trying to accomplish, of what kind of story it tells.

The criticisms I am directly addressing are along the lines of "The story feels cheap, like it doesn't earn the emotions it wants to elicit. It isn't a realistic depiction of life in the slums." et al. These criticisms would perhaps be cogent if "Slumdog Millionaire" set out to be a gritty docudrama about living in the streets of Mumbai, scraping by from day to day. Then critics would have the right to be dismayed by the happy ending, by the bright colors and overwhelming joy found withing the frame of the film. In reality, these criticisms aren't just incorrect, they miss the mark entirely. "Slumdog" clearly sets out to tell a fairy tale, and to judge it by anything other than the standards of that genre is a miscarriage of justice.

Perhaps this thesis does not seem immediately obvious. Let me present some evidence in favor of it. First, some outside evidence. Danny Boyle clearly has a fascination with the supernatural and inexplicable. I can say this with assurance because his other films reveal it. "Sunshine" and especially "Millions" (and, presumably, "28 Days Later") both have elements of the ethereal and supernatural. "Millions", with its numerous interludes involving dead saints, brings this out most clearly. Boyle is a Catholic, and as such he is more likely to be drawn to the elements of fairy tales, elements shared by the story of Christ. (Side Note: referring to the Christian narrative as a "fairy tale" in no way implies that it is false; rather it refers to shared characteristics -- some of which we shall examine in our discussion of "Slumdog". Many people, myself included, look to the similarity as evidence in favor of the truth of the gospel. But that is another post.)

Very well, Danny Boyle might be the kind of filmmaker drawn to making a fairy tale. But does "Slumdog" itself bear the marks of a fairy tale? I would strenuously argue for the affirmative. First off, there is the presence of the supernatural in the story. Now, "Slumdog" does not have the intervening divines of "Millions", but the supernatural is present regardless. This is clear from the framing device of the story, which is a multiple choice question (a la "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire") which asks how a slumdog like the hero Jamal could be poised to win 20 million rupees on a difficult gameshow like Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. The potential answers include "He is a genius" and "He cheated", but the final shot of the film is the same screen, with everything fading out except for "D. It is written". (Side note: Perhaps it is a device like this which enrages the critics. "We want ambiguity," they cry, "not to be hammered over the head with the point of the story." But fairy tales have a clear point; they are not meant to sustain multiple readings. To be angry that a fairy tale gives you the point of the story is like being disappointed that a cow does not lay eggs.) Though we never see anything as direct as divine intervention take place, we may infer that the events of the film are driven forward by fate.

Furthermore, the structure of the events (not the film itself, which takes a more complicated narrative structure) fit well into the mold of a fairy tale. First, there is the humble, normal beginning. Our hero lives an average, everyday life and is consumed by normality. Of course, the Western viewer will have a hard time discerning this, since life in India is not our modus operandi. Not being an expert myself, I cannot comment on how accurate Boyle's depiction of life in the slums is, and frankly I think the point irrelevant. Jamal and his brother are shown doing the things that normal boys everywhere do. Then, suddenly, they are thrust out of that life by certain events. From this point on they embark on a fairy tale adventure. They must escape the clutches of a monster. They make their way by trickery. And, in the end, Jamal must set about seeking the freedom of his princess from the clutches of an evil man.

"Slumdog" also contains the single most significant earmark of a fairy tale, as identified by JRR Tolkien: it culminates, after many terrible things have happened to the hero, in a moment of eucatastrophe (literally, good catastrophe). There are smaller moments of eucatastrophe scattered through the film, but the big payoff at the end is nearly perfect. No, it is not in the moment of answering the final question on Millionaire, but the moment when Jamal calls his brother's cell phone and Latika, the love of his life, answers. That is the moment when everything bad is made right, and it is a thing of beauty.

I think that this is also part of what offends the critics, that a basic moral order is maintained by the story. Good is rewarded and evil punished. "But it never happens that way" is essentially a straw man argument against the film. Realism is not in view, but something which supersedes realism, the transformation of the mundane by the supernatural. This is what the best fairy tales do, and on that level "Slumdog" succeeds.

Now, I understand that some critics may not enjoy the fairy tale as a genre. In a later post I hope to defend the fairy tale from its critics, but for now I will let it slide as a difference of opinion. What is unacceptable is a critic approaching a film with no sense of genre. It would make no sense for me to negatively review "Chinatown" on the basis that there was no uplifting love story and very few laughs. Granted, nailing down "Slumdog"'s genre is a little more complicated than pegging Polanski's masterwork as a noir film, but recognition of genre must be something that a critic is able to do before he or she can accurately assess any film. That way, if a critic happens to not like fairy tales, he can give one negative marks while still acknowledging that the film succeeds or fails on its own level.

Joyeaux Noel

A Merry Christmas to you all. My gift to all you in internet land is my first post in, oh, six months, and a pledge to make several more before I head back to school (when most likely my time will evaporate).

I have somewhat of a reputation for being a Christmas humbug- a reputation that is self made as much as anything. It's pretty common knowledge among my friends that I hate Christmas lights and despise secular Christmas songs (and a number of religious ones as well). I don't want to spend this post ranting about that again, but it does lend a good starting point for talking about Christmas. I love Christmas- I flatter myself to think that I love it more truly than most- but in my mind Christmas is not a cheery time in the midst of winter, a haven from the blustering winds. It is indelibly wrapped up in winter, in the despair of ice and snow. Yes, I realize that in all likelihood Jesus was not born in December, it was a pagan holiday, yada yada yada. The symbolism is still significant.

What is your favorite passage of the Bible to think about at Christmas? Would it surprise you if I said mine was Philippians 2:5-7? If you are somewhat Biblically literate it might not, since these verses read:

"Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness."

Here is the incarnation in all of its wonder. Christ the God-Man, incarnate because of his humility, humiliated to the point of resembling man. In the incarnation we see the very incomprehensibility of God made coherent in human form- the Word made flesh. We often think on the grace of Easter, of our Lord Christ dying for the sins of his people, but do we stop to consider that first grace in time, the grace to come and resemble us? It isn't something I like to consider, especially when I see myself caught perpetually in sin. I can well imagine humans crucifying the one who came to save them- that seems perfectly in harmony with our nature. But Christ did not grasp at equality with God but came down and resembled me? We make a big deal about Christ being born in a manger, the lowliest of places, but if we stop to consider the sinfulness of man, we realize that the manger is like the Ritz Carlton in comparison to God taking the form of man. Can you picture those movies where the prim, proper royalty inevitably end up covered in horse feces? It's like that, but worse. Christ the spotless lamb landed right in the middle of the biggest pile of shit imaginable, human nature.

Of course the story does not end there. He must be further humiliated, but ultimately raised up to glory once again. But it does us good, I think, to meditate on that intial plunge into the humiliation of humanity. The big thing these past few years has been "The Christmas wars", where we as Christians, in the guise of preserving something or other, try to force Christmas down the throats of an unbelieving world. Maybe it would do us good to humble ourselves like the Christ and, instead of shouting about values and traditions, quietly celebrate the fact that he became like us, the vilest sinners. Christmas, after all, is for the church. We cannot expect the world to understand; we cannot even fully comprehend, and what we do know comes only from the grace of God. Let us humbly come before the babe in the manger, the ruler of all. I would like to leave you all with a Christmas hymn that my sister introduced me to this year, "Thou Who Wast Rich Beyond All Splendor":

Thou who wast rich beyond all splendor,
All for love's sake becamest poor;
Thrones for a manger didst surrender,
Sapphire-paved courts for stable floor.
Thou who wast rich beyond all splendor,
All for love's sake becamest poor.

Thou who art God beyond all praising,
All for love's sake becamest man;
Stooping so low, but sinners raising,
Heav'nward by thine eternal plan.
Thou who art God beyond all praising,
All for love's sake becamest man.

Thou who art love beyond all telling,
Savior and King, we worship thee.
Emmanuel, within us dwelling,
Make us what thou wouldst have us be.
Thou who art love beyond all telling,
Savior and King, we worship thee.

Merry Christmas and God bless.

Voicing: My Opinion

Be forewarned, this is one of those posts where I go all Aristotelian and insist on quality in art. If you are offended by the notion that aesthetics has objective standards, this may not be for you, though somehow I envision most of the people who read this blog agreeing with me on this one.

I would like to begin this post by confessing one of my prejudices to you all: I am an unflinching "voicist"; that is to say, the sound of somebody's voice tends to predispose me to be either more or less receptive to what they have to say. I know, I know, that's how Hitler rose to power. Sorry, can't help it.

In regular life this is just a quirk and in the end doesn't really hold a large sway over my opinion of people. When you enter the realm of music, however, everything changes. Suddenly my distaste for certain voices is, I believe, perfectly validated. A quick illustration: some of my friends are into a band called Opeth, which for simplicity's sake I will label death metal (Alex, I'm sure you could point out the exact category, but that wouldn't mean much to most of my readers). Repeatedly they have insisted I listen and find quality in the music. To be honest, they really aren't that bad a group musically; in fact they strike me as quite talented. The one thing that keeps me from praising them is that the predominant style of singing is harsh, grating growling. The usual defense my friends use is "Just ignore the singing; it's really good." I think this example sets up the problem fairly well. We have ceased to view the human voice as an instrument, and see it merely as a messenger for lyrics and superfluous to the actual work of music.

Bzzt, wrong! The human voice is in fact the most basic yet significant instrument we possess. It surpasses even the cello in its lyricism and beauty. Or, at least, the best voices do. Therein lies the problem. Beautiful voices elevate us to sublime heights, but I firmly believe that everyone in Hell will speak in a New Jersey accent. It isn't as if someone can trade in their voice and get a bona fide Stradivarius model. For the most part, we are stuck with the voices God has given us. Some people therefore suggest that singers aren't to be blamed for their poor voices. No, I suppose not, but that doesn't mean they are cleared to belt in front of crowds. We wouldn't condemn a man for wearing glasses, but neither would we encourage him to become an astronaut. Surely these people are talented at something (certainly it isn't singing); let them go become sanitation engineers or middle management. [N.B. This is tangential, but I'd like to put it in anyway. Don't you find all that talk about "following your dreams" slightly ridiculous when applied to people who clearly have no talent in an area? This is the triumph of individualism over excellence.]

Of course, some troublesome people will say "How do we determine which voices are beautiful and which aren't?" For just a minute, I would like to soften a bit and admit that there is a certain range of acceptability in voices. For example, I like Randy Newman's voice, which many people find irritating. However, in my defense this stems both from a more intimate knowledge of his voice (i.e. it grows on you) and also the perfect pairing of his voice with his cynical, imperfect style. So don't think I am going around insisting that every singer be Kathleen Battle; still, there are standards. Getting back to said standards: I think that everyone will acknowledge that something in a voice is self-evidently good or bad. Postmodernism has destroyed our liking of the self-evident, but too bad. Even tone deaf listeners can tell between a lyrical voice and one that is reminiscent of chalk on blackboards. Beyond this we can once again gain wisdom from our old (some might say ancient) friend Aristotle. In our individualistic society we like to think of ourselves as the best judges of what is right. In Aristotle's model, however, excellence in an area is determined by those expert in the field. Let's all swallow some pride and admit that the professionals are just that for a reason and that maybe, just maybe, they know more than we do about what makes for good singing.

If there is one point I would like to make with this post, it is that the lead singers of every punk band ever should be systematically hunted down and execut... ahem, I mean that excellence in voices is as important as the ability to play the guitar.

Blue Train of Thought

I've been itching to do some actual writing for awhile now. So, with Rachmaninoff on the stereo and an hour or so at my disposal, I thought I might post something worth reading (imagine that!). You guys aren't getting any apologies about the infrequency and inadequacy of my posts, but I will say that the last one didn't turn out how I wanted. The idea was good, but I ran out of steam and ended up with a halfhearted post. These days I just seem tired when I try to do anything.

If you travel in any circles that could be described even remotely as "evangelical", you have probably heard of the book Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious thoughts on Christian Spirituality by Donald Miller. Having spent several years hearing people insist that I had to read it, and encouraged by the positive reviews of several people I trust (here's looking at you, big sister), I decided last week to pick up the copy lying on my Dad's bookshelf and investigate the hubbub myself.

In the pattern of most of my reviews, I will begin with the technical aspects of the book. Miller has a writing style which I enjoy- it is relaxed and natural, not stilted yet not pedestrian. He also manages to be quite funny in many places, though I felt that sometimes he stretched too far with his jokes and came up a little short. Overall, however, the book is written well enough to hold your attention and keep you interested in what Miller has to say.

That he does this is very good, because most of what Donald Miller talks about in Blue Like Jazz is very solid. First of all, though, I would like to dispel what I see as a misconception. One thing I hear often about the book is that it is paradigm shifting and radically new. To this I say: yes and no. What I found when reading is that Miller's revolution is nothing more or less than the Gospel as it has always existed. Why are we surprised when people preach the Gospel? It is because we are sinful creatures who need hear over and over the radical message of grace found in the Bible. Donald Miller's views on what is wrong with American Christianity, when correct, are rooted in the truth of the Gospel. Interestingly, on the rare occasions when he missteps (and ends up sounding like many current evangelical mouthpieces), it is because he has strayed from the Gospel. More on that later; I like to start with the positive.

If I had to pick a thesis for Blue Like Jazz, I would say that it would be "Christianity is about relationship with God, not rules". What a perfect summation of the Gospel! I'm not sure that Miller would call himself a follower of Covenant theology, but he certainly has some of the basics down. One of the main pleas is for the reader to fall in love with Jesus- as the bride of Christ, that is what we must do (only because Christ first woos us, of course).

I greatly appreciate Blue Like Jazz for helping me to organize my thoughts on a subject which has bothered me for as long as I can remember: why does so much of American Christianity sound hateful? With some prodding from Miller and talks with my campus minister, I think I have at least part of the answer. Miller is the rare evangelical who refuses to kowtow to the Republican party- at times I would say he goes too far in the other way and takes pleasure in bashing conservatives in an unhealthy way (to be fair, he confesses this freely himself). How refreshing to hear someone rooted in orthodox Christianity who doesn't simply vote the party line. I suspect that Miller is a conservative on some issues, but he also cares deeply about concerns of social justice such as poverty. Why has social justice become a dirty word among evangelicals? God certainly cares about it- witness all the commands to care for the downtrodden and give justice to the oppressed. Many conservative Christians tend to say that doing to much social justice work interferes with the heart of Christianity (funny that this doesn't apply to works like protesting abortion), but I think a more accurate picture is this: if we acknowledged the truth of the Gospel, we would be forced to rethink our ideas about money and would probably have to give up a great deal of our own comfort. We cannot serve both God and Mammon.

A brief interlude to note something refreshing about Miller: he is always confessing his sins, especially his self-centered nature. Christ must purify his bride, but Miller wants that to come in a very real way, starting with himself.

Back to the thoughts above. One of the focuses of Miller's book is the earthshaking love of Christ. Why, he wonders, do we claim to know the love of Christ but preach only hate to so many people? This is a question that has come often to my head. I now posit a partial answer: loudmouths such as Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell, even if they be genuine Christians, are caught in a web of moralism. Quick definition for the uninitiated; moralism is an emphasis on changed outward behavior instead of on belief in the promises of God. It is concerned with how you act but not with the heart. These pundits yell till they are blue in the face about "traditional morality", but they fall short of their purpose as members of the body. I am not against living in a Biblical manner, but here is the problem as I see it. First off, God's laws only make sense in the context of covenant. The drastic misunderstanding of the Ten Commandments and every other part of God's law is that they are guidelines for good living instead of acts of worship that stem from God's love for us. We cannot expect non-Christians to abide by the laws of Christ. Paul makes this perfectly clear- we must deal with believers who are obstinately disobeying, but not with non-believers. Somehow this got lost and churchgoers see it as their responsibility to be everybody else's watchdog. Note that I am not saying we should give up and let injustice run rampant. I guess this ties in to my second point, which is that to preach moralism is to lose sight of the Gospel. As if what God cared about was whether or not you smoke or cuss! [N.B. one thing I like about Miller is that he smokes a pipe- holla] People have replaced the truth that "all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God" with a petty Phariseeism which makes them feel good that they are not as bad as x group of sinners. Bullshit. (*gasp*) (yes, I admit to putting that there for shock value. Sue me.)

Instead of yelling at people to change their behavior, we should (as the Bible makes clear and Miller emphasizes) reach out in love and gently point the way to Christ. What is our ultimate duty to others, to change their behavior or to "go and make disciples of all nations". Hmm, tough one, that.

One minor caveat I have with Miller's view on all of this is his attitude toward those in the church. Church discipline seems to be a dirty word with him. I agree that we should speak the truth in love, but we have the responsibility to correct obstinate sinning within the church.

Speaking of the church, I think that in general this is Miller's weak point. Most of the chapters in Blue Like Jazz are wonderful (the chapter on grace was amazing, har har), but to be blunt, his chapter on the church stinks. Ironically, he spends a great deal of time in the book discussing how self-centered he is, but when he gets to talking about the church, he proves it. His general advice about choosing a church seems to be "go somewhere that clicks for you". The reasons he lists for attending the church he does seems out of order and somewhat superficial. There is no real mention of going someplace which lifts high the name of Christ or anything like that. All in all it is a consumer mentality of church attendance (what am I getting out of it), instead of the Pauline idea of the body building itself up in love.

I suppose that's about all I have for now. As a final note, I would recommend Blue Like Jazz to just about anyone: Christians who want to fall in love with Christ again; non-Christians who have been jaded by the self-righteous hypocrisies of American Christianity; people seeking to know more about Christ. I was reading a book on how to do jazz improv, and it said "If you hit a wrong note, you only need to go up or down a halfstep and you will be on a right note". Donald Miller is akin to a jazz musician; playing freeform with the love of God, occasionally he hits something that is just slightly off, but he is never far away from the truth.

Dragonforce: The Ultimate Guy's Band

Once again my apologies for not ever posting. Life since returning to Titusville has been frantically busy, what with working 50 hours a week.

Still, here's a little post to tide you over. I'd like to talk about a guilty pleasure of mine. As many of you know, my tastes range from the excellent to the terrible, but once in awhile I discover something that defies either of those categories. Dragonforce is, I think, one such band. There is no doubt that they have immense technical skill- the guitarists shred at speeds not sanctioned by the DOT. Still, there are many valid criticisms to be levelled at them, notably that their songs tend to sound quite similar and even run together.

One charge I would like to defend is that their lyrics are abysmal. Now, I will not try to equate the words to their songs as great poetry, but I think they have a certain something that makes them worthwhile. Let me explain: instead of the typical rock band subjects of love, etc., Dragonforce sings almost exclusively about things such as flying, dragons, fire, battle, et al. The wonderful thing is that they manage to avoid the "Tolkien trap" of many metal bands by being completely generic in their subject matter. Why should one listen to songs about wings of glory and battlefield despair? This is where the subject line enters in. I am firmly convinced that Dragonforce is a band for guys. What man has not dreamed of being the victorious warrior in a hard fought fight? Or of soaring over the countryside on a dragon's back? There is something distinctly noble about Dragonforce, in a goofy way. In a sense they are a modern Don Quixote, striving after battles from ages past. As far as I am concerned they should not stop tilting- their extreme rock carries us through the heavens.

Baring the "Unbearable"

At the request of the Texas Ranger, I'm updating this thing. I'd like to apologize to my loyal fans out there for not posting more; to me, making a post isn't just something to do, it's a moral committment. These can take me upwards of an hour, on the long ones, and then there's the matter of thinking of things worth saying.

Nevertheless, here I am, and posting my first legitimate review in quite some time, as well as what I believe to be my first book review (correct me if I'm wrong). The book I am writing about for your consideration is The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. I was familiar with both the author and the book by name for quite some time, and finally decided it was one of those modern novels that is important to read for the sake of having read it.

First a disclaimer: as I stated at the inception of this blog, my purpose is not as the morality police. In the case of this book, however, I would like to warn certain readers of my blog who are more sensitive to what I will coyly dub "Adult situations" to stay far away from this book. To be blunt, there is sex in this book. A lot of sex. Almost every chapter. In frank, if not quite graphic, detail. That being said, I certainly recommend this book to those who think they can handle mature content well.

Perhaps the best way to give an overview of The Unbearable Lightness of Being is to describe it in terms of dichotomy: Kundera divides the book into sections such as Lightness and Weight, Body and Soul. I think a basic dichotomy exists in the writing as well. On the one hand there is the action of the novel, which traces the relationship between a husband and wife during the Communist occupation of Czechoslovakia. But there also exist the author's interjections, which I think contain the more vital and interesting parts of the novel. Yes, it is quite a modern technique, the author playing around with the action and pausing to address the reader, etc. Milan Kundera does this perhaps less skillfully than say John Fowles in The French Lieutenant's Woman, but also less substantially and it never seems like a cheap trick.

To return to the plot: Tomas is a womanizing doctor in Prague who entertains ridiculous numbers of mistresses but never commits to any. That is, until a young waitress from the country named Teresa enters his life. Though originally he intends nothing beyond his usual conquests, circumstances collide and he ends up marrying Teresa. This has little to no effect on his philandering, despite the fact that he realizes he loves Teresa more than any of his side projects. She is distraught over his infidelities, but somehow cannot bring herself to leave. All this goes on while the world falls apart around them; they leave Prague when the Russians invade, but are forced to return for seemingly trivial reasons. The main subplot also involves the travails of love; Tomas' main mistress, Sabina, enters into another affair with a professor who is married but long suffering. He falls desperately in love with her, but her own ghosts haunt her and she runs away.

So there are the bare bones. A pleasant enough plot- it never comes off as melodramatic, and Kundera does a good job of balancing the story arc. Where the novel really shines, though, is in Kundera's asides into music, history, and philosophy. He takes numerous breaks from the action to mull over ideas, or talk about Beethoven String Quartets. At times it is more than a novel; you feel as if Kundera is really having a philosophical discussion with you. This is aided by the fact that he openly admits on page that the characters are fictional. This may take away a little from the reader's connection to the characters, but since no one in the novel is really worthy of sympathy (except maybe Teresa) that doesn't really rear its head.

For a book so filled with sexual activity, I've never experienced anything that makes me more determined to live a life of monogamy. In fact the main thrust I felt through the novel was that sex by itself cannot satisfy. Tomas spends his days in lechery, but takes no real pleasure in any woman save Teresa. Yet somehow he cannot stop having sex with other women. He takes an almost scientific interest in seduction. Though he is the protagonist of the book, you cannot call him a hero. He is a downcast man trapped in his own depravity. The book may seem overly pessimistic, but in reality what else is there in human nature? Kundera thankfully dispenses with the pitifully naive humanistic notion that there are good people; the characters in his novel don't just do bad things, they are hopelessly adrift in a sea of brokenness. All this despair might be disheartening, but I would propose that not every story need be about redemption to be uplifting and, yes, Christian. Flannery O'Connor wrote about the depths of human depravity from a distinctly Christian perspective. Life doesn't always wrap up with joyful reunions and renewed committments to fidelity. Milan Kundera doesn't seek to tack on saccharine endings with no connection to reality; his characters reap the sorrow they sow. Though he may not be Christian, he shows that he cannot escape the reality of mankind's need of salvation.

What's your Anglo?

I've had this post in my mind for about a week; sometimes I just need awhile for it to ferment enough to be satisfying.

Once again multiple events in my life have converged to make me dwell on a subject. This time both "events" happened to be books that I was reading last week. One was one I had bought at Summer conference- A Severe Mercy, the memoirs of a husband and wife who became Christians and then had to deal with great loss; the other was an old favorite of mine that I decided needed rereading, The Wind in the Willows. What could possibly connect a spiritual autobiography with a children's book about talking animals? England, my friends, England. In A Severe Mercy Sheldon and Jean Vanauken travel to Oxford to study, where they eventually convert thanks in part to their numerous Christian friends (including C.S. Lewis). Of course, the characters of The Wind in the Willows live and breathe England.

Thoughts of England floating in my head! What is it about that tiny island off the coast of Europe that makes so many long wistfully for its shores? My theory is that anyone who truly loves literature loves England. We owe it such a great debt, of course, from Shakespeare to A.A. Milne, but it extends beyond that. It isn't just walking around imagining that you hear John Donne preaching the words of his sermons directly to you. Something about the isle strikes us as mysterious; the place where magic lives and adventure lurks.

There are two very distinct images I have of England, both of which are enticing. One stems from Tolkien and the like, and ultimately from Arthurian legend. It is the primeval England, where Romans battle with druids for supremacy. Where magic streams out of every rock. It is the England of fairies and dragons (it is fitting that the patron saint of England is St. George). Of Arthur and his knights and the quest for the grail. Or, moving back to reality, the England of the actual Middle Ages, so flavored in my mind by the Brother Cadfael mysteries. Stephen and Maude slugging it out; dark corridors and harsh conditions; savage meals of meat and mead.

The other, quite opposing view, is of a distinctly more refined England. This is the island of Jane Austen, Samuel Johnson, and Charles Dickens. People are refined or, if not aristocratic, still contain a certain charm. An island full of Henry Higginses. And of course the British army spreading the gospel of England across the globe. Rudyard Kipling and his ilk. And Oxford- oh, Oxford! Centuries of learning that seem to take on a life of their own. Everyone you meet literate in Chaucer and Milton, Catullus and Virgil. Where books still hold a power over the soul, and everyone is a poet.

How much of this is fiction? I suspect a great deal- my friend Matt (an English major who I think shares many of my convictions) spent a year at Oxford and was distinctly disappointed by it. Maybe that England, if it ever existed, has faded permanently from view. But maybe, just maybe, the ghosts of Swift and Orwell still dance in the moonlight with Merlin and Galahad and Richard the Lionheart. Someday I plan to go to England and find out. Perhaps I'll even share a pint with the Inklings.

Sacramentalism and the "Reformation Crisis"

Here I am, finally posting again. My computer was sick for about a week after Summer Conference, and I didn't feel like typing out long posts from the library. Thanks to my good friend Matlock, though, my darling Toshiba is back in action, and I feel obligated to provide you all with a post.

Today has been the first day I've felt fully justified in doing my summer research. Don't get me wrong- I am overjoyed to spend half my summer in Tulsa, getting paid to read books. But the actual research sort of seemed like an afterthought, an excuse to do the other things. That all changed at my meeting with Dr. Bowlin today; for the first time I feel energized to do work, stimulated by academic pursuit.

Since my research this summer is on Luther's view of baptism, Dr. Bowlin started me off on Heiko Oberman's seminal biography Luther: Man Between God and the Devil. In the course of our discussion today we spent time struggling with the idea of the radical existential crisis of the Reformation: how can one be certain of redemption? We talked about the sacramentalism of Catholicism, where participation in the sacraments ensures inclusion in God's people. Easy enough, for those who accept the transmission of grace through the Eucharist, confession, etc.

Funnily enough, Luther did not reject the sacraments per se- baptism was at least partially regenerative, and he accepted real presence in the Eucharist. These two served as assurances of redemption, along with the church.

Flash forward to modern times. Strained through the Anabaptist and Reformed traditions, not to mention old fashioned American individualism, the sacraments have in one form or another lost their efficacious nature. Modern American Evangelical Protestantism (now that's a string of adjectives) focuses almost exclusively on the believer's inner life; faith becomes only individual, not corporate. But individual activity cannot solve the existential crisis- doubts remain. For one in the sacramental mode of faith, there is no need for assurance because it is given from above. To take a naturalistic view (one we need not shrink from: natural explanations often point to supernatural providence), anthropologists recognize the vital role of ritual in religion, in the participation of community.

Because modern evangelicals have supplanted the church and the sacraments, they must substitute "homegrown" alternatives. Thus weekly altar calls offer a feeling of assurance. In radical Pentecostal settings, assurance is gained through the "works of the Spirit", usually speaking in tongues. Anyone not participating must not bear the seal of the Spirit. These heresies are why we must preserve the true sacraments of the church.

I suppose this is one reason I find Presbyterianism so attractive: the balance it acheives between the inner life of the believer and the corporate life. The more I look into Covenant theology, the more sense it makes: God is bringing together a people for himself. Paedobaptism, which I once vehemently shunned, seems more and more a viable option. Luther's explanation really stuns me: infant baptism signifies that the work is God's, not ours. Modern interpretations of baptism make it into a work we do for God, instead of a sign of the promise He made to us through Abraham.

Communion is a little stickier (and not only because we have substituted sugary juice for wine). What exactly does it mean? This is something I struggle with, but again I find myself attracted to the Presbyterian view. While I reject real presence, I cannot see it as simply something to be done and forgotten about. Christ's grace is present, if not his physical body. We must revere this great mystery, not shove it aside.

The third leg of the stool is of course the church. Sadly in Protestant circles the church is not the bride of Christ but rather the nanny of believers, catering to their every want. This is coupled with the problem of scriptural interpretation. Luther opened the word to all believers, but that means that many will distort his intentions and hold that, where exegesis is concerned, anything goes. The opposite strain is the dangerous form of fundamentalism that holds that every word of the bible is literally true, which is so preposterous that I would disbelieve its existence if I didn't know it to lurk around. Instead we should embrace Luther's view of faith informed by knowledge, recognizing that neither faith nor scholasticism alone will help us rightly divide the word of truth. Because of this individualistic approach to the Bible, the church is lessened instead of increased. We have a basic distrust of authority.

To be fair to Catholics, in modern times they have been affected by this crisis, and more and more they speak of individual faith and salvation. As Dr. Bowlin rightly pointed out, trying to fit things into definite categories is messy and usually falls apart in the face of the real world.

Still, this tension between individual assurance and robust community life (in the sacraments and word) lingers. How do we resolve it? I have the suspicion that no one has the answer entirely correct, and that we must bear all things with patience.

Life Together

Yes, it's time for another of those appropriately timed posts where life shapes what I'm saying. That seems to happen quite a bit.

I just finished (basically) packing up my room; finals ended today, and with them my freshman year of college. Seeing as I have a number of senior friends, and that I won't see most of my friends period over the summer, I thought I would reflect on the nature of friendship, and how it is affected by communal living.

Going back to Aristotle, who is a darn cool cat: he posits that true friendship involves living together, and asserts that one should have only as many close friends as may live together in close proximity. Leaving home this year has forced me to think about my friendships in light of seperation, and while I am not as despairing as The Philosopher, I see his point. Whenever I reunite with a friend I haven't seen for some time, there is a period of awkwardness which inevitably occurs as we get our bearing on our friendship again. Is this because we did not have true friendship? No, but our lack of sharing life together has caused us to lose some of what made our friendship what it was.

This aspect of living together has a bigger impact that we usually think. Our lives are formed in the day to day, not big events, and trust is built little by little. When you are around someone consistently, you build up relationship momentum that is not present when you are apart. Regaining that momentum is never instantaneous. Of course, the time it takes to get it back varies; with my closest friends the ice is normally broken very quickly.

But this raises another thought in my mind: what is it that our new relationship consists of? We can never fully have the old friendship back-- we have both changed too much for that. Do we sit around and reminisce about things past? Try to regain some of the old magic by engaging in new activities? Or do we blaze trails, hoping that the new direction is as enjoyable as the last?

The first and second options usually leave me sad. I cannot return to my high school days, through memory or imitation. I am a different person, and the old me has little resemblance to who I am now. No, I must move forward or risk being a dead shark. Hopefully my friendship survives this metamorphosis.

Back to the original point: how possible is it to maintain friendship when seperated by distance? My mother had some experience with this, having spent every year between 8th grade and the second year of college in a different school, in 6 countries on 3 continents. During that time she made friends who, at the end of her life, came to visit and rekindled past closeness. Much had changed in the intervening time, of course, but the spark of friendship remained.

Letters help, of course, which is why I am such a big fan, at least in theory (my practice often falls terribly short). But how can you capture someone's essence on paper? Very few people come across as themselves through the written word. I honestly don't have an answer to this problem. Yet I do not despair and lock myself away, refusing to engage people because I will only have to say goodbye. Knowing them, even for a short time, changes my life. As my best friend and I said as I left tearfully for college, "It doesn't seem fair that God has only given us four years together. But I'm sure glad He did." The tears are part of the gladness, and with my Christian friends at least I have the hope of reunion someday in a place where tears will not be necessary to let us know true joy.

Art Out of Balance?

Two events have dovetailed together so nicely that I just need to post about the intersection of their themes. The first happens to be the last true paper I had to write for the year, for my useless Freshman Seminar class "Faust in Literature and Music". The very open topic was to write about musical settings of Goethe's Faust-- any of my choosing. I wrote on Berlioz's "Eight Scenes from Faust" and "The Damnation of Faust" the latter of which flowed out of the former. I discussed the manner in which Berlioz set Goethe's play to music.

Fast forward to today, when I watched the indescribable movie Koyaanisqatsi: Life Out of Balance. It is completely unlike anything I have ever seen. I hesitate to even call it a movie; really it is a series of stunningly beautiful shots of nature and/or civilization set to the music of Philip Glass.

So, today's topic is music as interdisciplinary art. I'm not out to write a review of Koyaanisqatsi, much as I might like, but here's a brief thought: this movie is definitely not for everyone, and I don't know how eager I am to watch it again, but it is a wonderful movie. Paying attention to no dialogue or even action/narrative can be hard, but thinking of it as a visual symphony certainly helps. Also being a fan of minimalism.

Everyone knows about the importance of music in movies. The right music can make or break a movie- try to imagine the Godfather without that heartbreaking theme, or Star Wars sans the opening explosion of John Williams. Its absence makes us uneasy (think of The Birds). But most often the music stays squarely in the background. Never have I seen music partner so fully with film as in Koyaanisqatsi. Well, maybe the first five minutes of Manhattan give it a run for its money, but this movie makes its whole point the partnership of disparate modes of art. Likewise Berlioz's "dramatic legend" The Damnation of Faust blends the wonders of music with the magic of narrative. This is why opera has been called the most complete art form, blending as it does the spoken word, music, dance, and even visual art (in the costumes etc). You don't have to actually like opera to value the intense balance it acheives (well, good opera, anyway).

But mixing music with words seems natural to us; songs are one of our favorite modes of expression. We even have whole stories told to us through song. Less popular is the blending of music with visual art. Unfortunately this really limits the interaction between two art forms that would benefit greatly from increased contact. Koyaanisqatsi is proof that visual art and music can combine to form unique and valuable art. Is there a market for such art, though? I suspect that movies like Koyaanisqatsi (it is the first in a trilogy made over 20 years) will never catch on with the general populace. We have a traditional concept of what movies are so ingrained in us that anything outside the orthodox narrative scares us away. People expect movies to constantly entertain, not serve as a means for meditation on various subjects. I found it pleasant while watching Koyaanisqatsi to let my mind wander a little; not so much that I didn't follow the film, but enough to get lost in the music. It is somewhat akin to actually listening to a Brahms symphony-- the music enraptures me so that I am able to pay attention while thinking any number of other things.

Is there a point to this? Eh, who knows. Interdisciplinary art is pretty darn cool, if you ask me. Just so long as there is never a Kenny G/Thomas Kinkade collaboration.

A Revelation of Sorts

Just a short post to let you all know I am still alive. Finals time is always busy, so I likely won't make substantial posts for awhile, though I have some good ones planned for my return, including a review of the Derek Webb cd Mockingbird and a post on the arrogance of historians.

Today I would just like to state that upon waking this morning I realized I had solved the Star Wars problem. That is to say, why the new trilogy is such a piece of crap. The theories range far and wide on this one, but I think my solution has at least some merit. It isn't the acting, the dialogue, or the direction that make the new movies lackluster, it is the absence of an overawed imagination.

Think about it- the acting in the original movies wasn't exactly Shakespearean (with a few exceptions), and oftentimes the dialogue bordered on the ridiculous. What is it about those movies, so pulpy in many ways, that fires the passion of young boys everywhere? It is the awe and wonder of it all. I'm not talking about spectacle- the new movies have that in spades. But in the new trilogy it all seems so perfunctory it is hard to care. In a sense technology and success hurt the series; wondrous sights and epic battles are expected and not earth shattering. There was an overwhelming sense in the old movies of "Isn't this cool?!!" Recall the scene in A New Hope when Luke and Han fight off the TIE fighters. By today's standards the effects are clunky, but you can still feel the energy pulsing through them, the boyish excitement as they blast the Imperials out of the sky.

The space opera plot sure helped matters too. Instead of the dull political intrigue of the new trilogy, the old movies had the classic good and evil struggle, replete with underdogs, secret identities, and the like. Simple stuff, but good.

I want to wrap this up, so I will conclude by saying that imagination is one of the greatest gifts given to mankind. The first three Star Wars movies had it coming out the wazoo, and what's more, they encouraged others to have the same thirst for adventure and fertile imagination. That is why, 30 years from now, young boys will be discovering them and, despite the dated look, still be saying (along with their fathers) "Isn't that cool?!!"

An admonition and a chameleon

"It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it."--Aristotle

Thank you for the comments, everyone. I enjoy responses and seeing the perspective of others. The occasional compliment doesn't hurt my ego, either. An exhortation against misinterpreting my purpose: it is not my intention to deliberately offend anyone for offense's sake. Rather I write, as previously stated, primarily as an outlet for my ideas, secondarily to challenge the presuppostions we all carry around with us and force people to consider why they believe what they believe. I don't think anyone has taken offense thusfar, but I know it is quite within my capabilities to come across as abrasive and smug. So, get riled up against my ideas, but only in an abstract manner.

My last two posts have tended toward the negative side, so I will break up the criticism with a movie review. I would do this more often, but am afraid of posting them so often that it appears all I do is sit around watching movies. I wish I could review more books, but unfortunately I haven't had time this semester to get involved in books very much- a great travesty.

I wrestled a bit with what movie to review having recently seen two. My choices were Woody Allen's "Zelig" and Kurosawa's "Rashomon". It was quite an epic battle in my mind- I have so much to say about both. In the end I settled on "Zelig", mostly because I don't know if I am up to reviewing "Rashomon" after just one viewing. It is such an astounding movie, so groundbreaking and provocative in its ideas about justice. Maybe at a later date.

Woody Allen is a director who usually gets much less respect than he deserves. Perhaps because he is so prolific (he has averaged around a movie a year since the 70's) people ignore his numerous great contributions to cinema and berate him for his mediocre movies. Many people accuse him of always playing the same character, which to an extent is a justified criticism. Still, his body of great work (Annie Hall, Hannah and Her Sisters, Manhattan, Sleeper, Love and Death, Crimes and Misdemeanors, The Purple Rose of Cairo) certainly merits his inclusion on any list of stellar directors. Allen has a way of punctuating self righteous academia and exposing the underlying discontent of the modern era. Granted, he lacks the philosophical standpoint to resolve this unhappiness, but the problem must procede the solution, and I wouldn't expect a non-Christian to grasp everything anyway.

A brief plot overview, since I assume very few of you have seen Zelig. The movie can best be referred to as a faux documentary (I am hesitant to apply the term "mockumentary" since it is not really in the vein of Christopher Guest films) concerning the life of one Leonard Zelig, a man with the remarkable ability to turn into the people he is around. When in the company of doctors, he speaks like a doctor; when with black people his features change; when around obese people, he even gains a bulge. His doctor caretakers are puzzled till one, Eudora Fletcher, subjects him to rigorous analysis and therapy which seems to cure him. In the process, they begin to love one another. This love is threatened, however, when multiple people come forward bringing various accusations against Leonard, who cannot remember enough from his various personalities to plausibly deny the charges. He disappears, and Dr. Fletcher must search him out. I will say no more but proceed to the review.

I almost take for granted the fact that a Woody Allen film will be beautifully shot, and Zelig is certainly no exception. Set in the 1920's, the "newsreel" is predominantly black and white, though there are occasional "modern" interviews which resemble many documentaries from the 70's. Black and white works very well for Allen- Manhattan, by far his most beautiful film, is entirely without "color". His work is oftentimes dreary anyway, and form follows function quite well. In this case, though, the effect is mainly historical (By Allen's standards Zelig is practically cheery), but he still knows how to pull it off, reproducing masterfully the feel of aged films.

In his film Stardust Memories, Allen answered the charges that he was no longer funny. Zelig was made in the same era, and is more low key in its humor than a lot of his work, which tends to elicit laughter even from the most heartbreaking situations. Yes, there is humor in the movie, and it even incorporates one of his standard topics, masturbation jokes (for the sake of my audience I won't repeat it, but it is one of his better ones. A note: that is one of the few obscene moments in the movie, which on the whole is quite mild for Allen), but most of the time I wasn't laughing out loud. More often I had a wry smile on my face, for the humor comes mainly from the entire situation the movie documents. Absurdity is one of Allen's strong points, but Zelig handles it subtly, not so much through jokes as the entire structure of the movie. If you are looking for a riotous good time, try one of Allen's movies like Sleeper; Zelig is better for a slow burn mentality.

The central idea in Zelig is quite a brilliant one. What if you could, as St. Paul said, "Be all things to all people", but instead of merely assuming cultural mores you actually became one of them? This raises several interesting points.

Using the context of Allen's body of work, I would assert the main point to be man's disillusionment with modern society. Leonard Zelig morphs into different people because at heart he craves acceptance, something he has never experienced in his life. Anti-Semitism and a terrible home life contributed to his alienation, which he tries to alleviate by blending in. In a sense he is an incarnation of every person's desires to belong to community. Ultimately, of course, he discovers that this is an unsatisfying existence, and, not to put it in trite terms, learns to be himself. I suppose this is partly an existential defying of society- damn them, I will live how I will! Allen has no conception of true community (obviously, since he is far from being a Christian), but more than most he constantly deals with his inability to have meaningful relationships with people. Dragged down by sin, he despairs of meaning in life. In the end, Allen is a tragic figure because he sees the ills of humanity but cannot fathom the solution.

The other thought Zelig raised in my mind is one that probably everyone has pondered. Would racism exist if everyone could experience being another race? The movie deals tactfully yet realistically with Leonard's transformations into people of other races, but the issue never really comes up, it simply implies that he gets along fine with blacks, asians, Native Americans, and even Hasidic jews. What would such an everyman experience? Racism still plagues our society in terrible ways, though much of it has gone below the surface. Of course this division stems from our broken nature, which makes me pessimistic about the chances of ever erasing it completely. The greatest myth of modern society (among the plethora) is that sin is a result of ignorance, and that education is the panacea to cure our ills. The only thing to say to such blind foolishness is, and I quote, "Tcha". The heart is above all things sinful. Still, the first step is to examine our own hearts and seek for sympathy. Does Zelig support this? I cannot say for certain.

Overall, Zelig stands at an odd place in the Allen canon. It followed the late 70's, which saw his two best movies, Annie Hall and Manhattan, and came right before his next greatest creative spurt, which includes The Purple Rose of Cairo, Hannah and Her Sisters, and Crimes and Misdemeanors. It is appropriate, then, that the film teeters on the brink of greatness, but doesn't quite go over. In many ways it is too slight a film to be great, but it is still very, very good.

P.S. To those of you who were privilege to be at the reading of Matt McConnell's hourlong poem "George and Seraphine" last night, it proves my point about standing ovations entirely- that was something that so deserved every ounce of my applause, and I was overjoyed to stand and clap till my hands hurt. It means nothing if I do that for something subpar then turn around and do it for him.

I want a standing ovation!!!!!!!!

The history behind the title of this post: During freshman orientation, there was an event called "Playfair" which was a giant icebreaker affair. One of the gags of the event was that at any time someone could yell out "I want a standing ovation" and they would get lifted up on the shoulders of those nearest them while everyone else, forgetting the task at hand, would stand up and clap, cheer, whistle, etc.

This is a nice image for tonight's post. Last week I attended a concert of the Signature Symphony, the closest Tulsa can come to mustering a professional orchestra (trust me, they aren't professional). It was a nice concert, as far as these things go, but what stuck out to me was at the end, hardly anyone stood up and gave a standing ovation- my theory being that it was due to the fact that they were playing Mendelssohn's Italian Symphony, which, while an amazing piece that deserves a post of its own, is not showstoppingly loud or fast. This is the first time in a long time I can recall an audience at a concert I've attended not leaping up and enthusiastically clapping. In fact, it made me downright ecstatic.

I wish that I could attribute this tendency toward overexcitement to a lack of culture on the part of my Oklahoman neighbors, but I see this everywhere I go. Certainly some of it is due to an amount of tone deafness on the audience's part, but not all. Something about our culture fosters an intense need for affirmation which in turn leads to approval of things which don't deserve it. I guess this makes me a bit of a snob. Who am I to judge what deserves extreme adulation and what deserves only mild approval? I think Aristotle would side with me on this one; I've been playing the cello for nearly 12 years (at least 7 of those in a serious symphonic setting) and grew up listening to classical music constantly. Maybe I am not a music theory genius, but I know what sounds good and what doesn't. Clapping of course is only polite, and is acceptable for most situations. But a standing ovation?

I'm remembering the good old days when people rioted at the premier of Rite of Spring or booed loudly at Schoenberg's concerts (side note: I think one of the prerequisites of being considered a father of modern music is violent reaction to your work). Sure, history proved the masses wrong as to their opinions of those works (well, at least Stravinsky- the jury's still out on Schoenberg), but in most scenarios we are talking about performances of established pieces that have standards based on repeated performances. And gosh darn it, at least those people had the gumption to stand up and voice their disapproval!

Alright, this post is starting to come together in ways which are not necessarily coherent. Back to the main point. I think it and odd phenomenon in our culture, which so values the tearing down of others, that in concert halls we support the overzealous approval of art. A theory or two:

Many members of the modern audience are not overly musically educated, so their reaction to a piece is largely fueled by the overwhelming emotions it conveys. Instead of actual merit determining what we approve, we rely on the raw emotional ordeal to help us judge. This is not entirely a bad thing- emotion is, naturally, a powerful thing. But art is based (loosely) around the concept of expressing emotions through some sort of structure that requires skill. That is why no one finds art value in the poetry of teenagers- they have emotion galore, but no technical skill to help them convey said emotions in an artful manner.

The idea that this is what people do at these events. Ignorance is a common enough excuse for ill behavior. People, belonging to the category mentioned above, sense that standing to clap is the appropriate response to a concert no matter the quality.

In special cases their might be a felt obligation for affirmation. Specifically I am thinking of youth orchestra settings, where parents go wild for the sake of their children. What a beautiful thing that is, an expression of unconditional love. But let us not confuse the map for the territory. Cheer for your kid till your blue in the face, but unless their name happens to be Sarah Chang, don't expect me to do the same.

Both of these (first two) ideas are dangerous. The point so much is not the standing ovation itself- cultural norms gradually change, and it may be that this is one that does. Rather the general trend of heaping overwhelming praise on what is in reality inferior art is what really scares me. Are we losing touch with the works of art that define who we are? You see this trend all over. People read Danielle Steele instead of The Iliad, and worse than that, they (implicitly at least) attribute the same value to Steele as to Homer, if not more. People fill garbage bags with air and call it high art- and receive exorbitant grants for it! Subjectivity in culture, the curse of the postmodern world. I smell a post on the excellent man of Aristotle in the near future.

To a certain extent people fear hierarchy. We are trained from our youngest days that everyone is special and equal. Sometimes at concerts I have been chided for not standing when I clap, but to me realizing the hierarchy of the good frees me terrifically. When I stand and clap for a mediocre performance, it cheapens the action when I do it for a brilliant one. Maybe I clap particularly hard but don't stand for a piece that was very good, but not quite mindblowingly spectacular. To some extent it is a matter of personal conscience. This may sound like it goes directly against my belief in the objectivity of aesthetic experience, but it doesn't- each must be held responsible for their own actions.We should seek to discern good art, and affirm it as such. Otherwise, you'll find me firmly in my cushion executing my finest golf clap.

On Homeschooling...

The main goal of this blog is for me to have a place to do semi-regular non academic yet still thoughtful writing. Papers can be fun, but usually not, and I find myself unwilling to devote myself to anything serious beyond letters (which I don't write often enough, admittedly). As a secondary goal, however, I would like to offer food for thought for anyone bored enough to read my entries. Being a natural born critic, I have plenty to say about everything, and my purpose is certainly not to criticize only things I find wrong in secular culture. In fact I would say I am more concerned about reforming Christian culture than waging war against Hollywood, Madison Avenue, etc.

Having said that, tonight's post is about everyone's favorite alternative educational opportunity, homeschooling! Let me preface this discussion by saying that a number of my good friends were homeschooled. My best friend endured it through the 8th grade. It is possible to be homeschooled and function as a normal human being. I just don't really see the point. Here is my argument laid out:

1. Educational benefits. Yes, I said it. I am totally proud of my public school education. It has more than adequately prepared me for college. Granted, I have always been on the advanced side, but if it didn't boost me along, public school didn't stunt my growth either. Sure, you get bad teachers, but that happens even in college (I would say more often), and the good teachers I had far outweighed the bad. My life would not be the same without teachers like Magister and Mrs. Thomas having instructed me. Yes, I am sure that most parents would make passable teachers and have the competency, but that is not everything. The teacher-student relationship is a special one (again, not usually duplicated in college) that has important implications.

2. Social benefits. This should be pretty obvious. In general homeschoolers tend to be isolated, socially awkward, and unable to deal with real relationships. They build up "strong community" with the other homeschoolers but never learn to interact with people who aren't pristine "Christians" [the quote marks are not meant to imply that these people are not Christians, merely to emphasize that they display what the world views as the outward signs of a Christian]. Part of existing in society is dealing with people who are different from you, and college is definitely too late to begin the process. Look, if you don't trust your kids to stand up for what they believe, then that either says something about your kids or you. Know that the struggles they face are akin to the refining fire; if they burn up then they were never Christians, but if they persevere, what a glorious thing! How can we be salt and light by locking ourselves away in a safe Christian bubble?

The other side to this is the dependence it builds up. I am certainly all for close family ties, and I want to weep when my children go off to college, but I don't want to make idols out of my children or vice versa. Spending all day around them for 18 years makes for unhealthy interaction, especially when you are their everything- mother, teacher, lunch lady, etc.

I can't wait to have children, and when I do I want to be intimately involved in their upbringing. Sometimes my main motivation for wanting children is so that I can read to them. I desperately want to share my love of knowledge with them. But I think that by clinging to them through their formative years, I will do them a disservice by leaving them unprepared for facing reality. Maybe I just really loved my public school experience, but it is one I want for my posterity too.

V For... Vitriol?

Let me begin this post by sharing an example of what this blog isn't.

For a few years my family received a magazine called "Plugged In" from a Christian organization that shall remain nameless. This magazine claimed to act as a guide for parents to control what their children take in from modern culture. Fair enough- I certainly don't favor children being exposed to slasher flicks or pornos at age 6. But the tacit purpose driving this magazine was most definitely legalism; in their reviews of popular music they often counted the number of swear words present on an album. Is this Christian stewardship? What sorts of things should we be letting our children absorb?

I propose that the answer lies not in isolating ourselves from culture but engaging it and seeking to enlighten the darkness. If a movie has a thought provoking message that conveys truth or at least seeks it, is it worth the sex scene thrown in? Largely I feel this is a matter of personal conscience. I know the sins I struggle with and do not seek to aggravate them; at the same time I refuse to discount things of worth because they confront me with uncomfortable ideas.

On to today's review, which the astute reader will gather is about the new Wachowski brothers' film "V For Vendetta". I saw this last Sunday, so it has had about a week to soak in. I'd like to discuss the many good points of the film, its minor caveats as cinema, and then engage it on a philosophical level, because I think that its message is provocative but quite flawed.

I say as a preemptory statement that the action in "V For Vendetta" is very good. Any fan of the Matrix can tell you that the Wachowskis have a decent grasp on how to do action. As much as I try to keep from revealing plot points, I don't think it gives too much away to say that, cliche as it may sound, watching stuff blow up to the 1812 Overture is pretty sweet. Excepting a bizarre effect added to V's blades near the end (I should interject to note how glad I am that V fought with knives- huzzah!) the fighting stayed within the realm of good taste.

There, I had my paragraph about the action. But "V For Vendetta" goes well beyond an action movie- reflecting on it, I remembered very little of the stunt work, etc. The plot is tight and somewhat labyrinthine, essential to a movie that is at heart about political intrigue. A note: some of the twists could have been pulled off more subtly- some of my group found themselves guessing the surprises well before they happened. Symbolism abounds in the movie, and for the most part is done well. The writing is servicable, often witty. V's opening speech, one long alliteration using his eponymous letter, waffles between sounding extremely contrived and brilliant. On final analysis, it was memorable enough to be a good thing.

"V For Vendetta's" acting stands out as above par, at least for an action movie. Poor Hugo Weaving, trapped behind the face of Guy Fawkes for the entire movie. Yet he does admirably well, using body language to convey what he cannot with his face. Natalie Portman mangaged to not annoy the heck out of me, which is a step in the right direction for her. The supporting cast is littered with old hands of British acting- John Hurt as the deranged despot and Stephen Fry as a television host give strong performances. But, in my opinion, the standout of the entire movie is Stephen Rea, who plays the chief inspector hot on the trail of V. What a refreshingly hard boiled performance he gives- his weariness and inner turmoil shine through splendidly. Why have I not seen him in more movies?

All in all, taken from a cinematic perspective, I would give "V for Vendetta" somewhere in the ballpark of 7-7.2 out of 10. Better than average, better even than good, though not quite on the threshold of great.

The central moral ambiguity of "V For Vendetta" intrigues me. Many people talk and talk about perspectives on terrorism- one man's terrorist is another's revolutionary. If anything, I think the movie didn't go far enough in exploring this ambiguity; I read an interview with the author of the graphic novel, who had his name removed from the movie credits, and he stressed the shades of gray he attempted to show in his work. "V For Vendetta" sacrifices this because the movie is more intent on ramming its ideology down the audience's throat than exploring moral subtleties. Instead of being about the questionable ethics of freedom fighting, V stands as a testament to liberal smugness and ends up like a watered down 1984 or Farenheit 451. Do we really need another vision of dystopia telling us that fascism is bad? Moreover, the obvious hints toward the current American administration are at best irresponsible. Goodness knows I'm no fan of Bush, but I find no grounds for suggesting that he will suddenly sieze power and ruin personal freedoms. Jumping Jehosaphat, the guy's a Methodist! Also, I think the very idea of a (true) Christian as fascist tyrant is patently ridiculous. How in the world did he rise to power without somebody saying, "Hey, you might want to examine your actions in the light of Christ"? I wouldn't have minded so much if the movie clearly seperated the leader's lust for power from his veneer of faithfulness, but the filmmakers seem content to swamp the baddies with plenty of Christian imagery. This is actually related to what I see as a bit of a plot hole. How does England, for all intents and purposes a completely secularized nation, suddenly fall into the hands of a Christian zealot? Tsk tsk, Wachowskis.

That leads to the other unfortunate realm of preachiness of "V For Vendetta", its relentless pushing of homosexuality as admirable. Here I am wading into dangerous territory, which I fully acknowledge and accept. Let us differentiate between what I believe about homosexuality and where I think the movie goes wrong in its handling of it. I have no problem coming up against gay and lesbian characters in movies. No, I haven't seen Brokeback Mountain, but neither do I run and hide from it (I actually would like to see it so I can make an informed judgment about it). Use your vast mental capabilities to distinguish my views about the practice in general from my views on how it is used in the movie.

Despite its obvious ringing endorsement of homosexuality, I would actually argue that "V For Vendetta", in its goodhearted way, does damage to helping people see gays as humans (something that I readily confess many conservative Christians need to do). The homosexuals in the movie are used mostly symbolically, to stand for all repressed people. But they are largely without actual dimension- they are too busy being martyrs for the cause to be actual characters. The filmmakers obviously want to score a blow against the people they see as tyrranical bigots, but they fail to move beyond the symbolic. In many ways they take the typical detached liberal stance- say you care but make no effort to help. I hate the erroneous comparison of the gay rights movement with the black civil rights movement of the 60's (hmm... I see another post emerging from this one), but in this case they really do remind me of those Northerners who condemned the South but did nothing to really help the plight of blacks.

I guess the thing that strikes me as odd about the agenda of the film is that it so desperately wants the audience to agree with it. A movie made as a protest against thought policing which nonetheless attempts to manipulate its audience into believing a certain absolute viewpoint is devious and contradictory indeed.

Additionally, for a movie which strikes such an anti-bigotry stance, "V for Vendetta" comes across as awfully prejudiced. Certainly I am annoyed that not one sympathetic, sincere Christian was portrayed among the vile hypocrisy of the administration. The movie would have us believe that a nation ruled by Christians would support only mindless loss of freedoms and the systematic slaughter of poor, innocent homosexuals. A somewhat tenuous position.

Overall the movie succeeds philosophically when it sticks to asking questions, but becomes heavy handed when shoving the answers down the audience's throats.

On New Beginnings and Beethoven

Well, after a hiatus of a few years, I have decided to start a new weblog on Blogger. This will not be a personal blog, but one used for various thoughts I have on culture. I will do my best to be insightful as I examine books, movies, etc. from a Christian perspective.

With introductions out of the way, my post tonight is really about Beethoven. Honestly, he is one of the greatest composers the world has ever known. For some reason, however, I just can't get excited about his Second Symphony. I suppose that this is merely an unfair comparison with the majority of his symphonies, which are utterly mindblowing. Think about it: Number 9, the superlative symphony, about which loads has been written but little truly understood. The Eroica (number three) which burst him out of the classical era and essentially marked the beginning of the Romantic movement. The Pastoral (number six), with its image of nature as both serene and dangerous. Number 7, which might be my favorite of all, with its amazing power. Numbers 4 and 8, his two most underrated symphonies; there is a moment in the third movement of number 8 which is pure genius- the littlest thing, a note he brings in the horns on a beat before it sounds like he should- and gives me chills when I hear it. And number 5, despite its perennial overrating, still moves with its power. Even number 1 has its charming moments, and I suppose 2 does also, but... for some reason I just can't get excited about it. I really am giving it a chance. Maybe my appreciation will come with time.