Many Thanks

Something about the arrival of a new year makes people uncharacteristically introspective, a phenomenon for which I am quite grateful. Those for whom such a state is in fact a chronic condition may still, though, take this opportunity to reflect. I shall do so here and now.

First and foremost, many thanks to my esteemed and excellent co-blogger Mr. Northcutt. He kindly invited me to share this space with him and I have been most honored and pleased to do so. I much look forward to his coming writings this next year and toward collaboration.

Second, thank you dear readers. We have attempted to provide you with commentary, considerations, and findings both scholarly and significant, enjoyable and enlightening. We hope you have found them so.

Expect in the future more on conservatism and liberalism and significant disagreement between your humble bloggers. Expect more thoughts on Classics and the Classical world. I intend to continue my essays in musical analysis and film reviews and welcome any suggestions as to what to review.

We have largely refrained from entering the fray of partisan politics and intend only to do so at the service of discussing a philosophical question.

I will leave Herr Mozart the last words of 2009:

Le nozze di Figaro, Act IV: Contessa Perdono. . .

  Bryn Terfel, Alison Hagley, Rodney Gilfry, Hillevi Martinpelto.

The English Baroque Soloists conducted by John Eliot Gardiner.
Filmed at the Théâtre du Châtelet, Paris. 1993.

ALL Then let us all Be happy. This day of torment, Of caprices and folly, Love can end Only in contentment and joy. Lovers and friends, let's round things off In dancing and pleasure, And to the sound of a gay march Let's hasten to the revelry!

TUTTI Ah, tutti contenti saremo così. Questo giorno di tormenti, di capricci, e di follia, in contenti e in allegria solo amor può terminar. Sposi, amici, al ballo, al gioco, alle mine date foco! Ed al suon di lieta marcia corriam tutti a festeggiar!

Translation via Opera Guide: The Virtual Opera House.

Movie Review: Dr. No

Directed by Terence Young. 1962.

I recently revisited Dr. No, this time with the DVD commentary track turned on. The commentary features a variety of clips from people associated with the film’s production and one phrase came up with disturbing frequency, tongue-in-cheek; first from the director, incredibly referring to the first shot of Bond when he introduces himself, and then regarding the art direction. Let us add a quote from Richard Maibaum, who adapted Ian Fleming’s novel into the Dr. No screenplay:

A bright young producer accosted me one day with glittering eyes. ‘I’m making a parody of the James Bond films.’ How, I asked myself, does one make a parody of a parody? For that is precisely, in the final analysis, what we have done with Fleming’s books. Parodied them. [1]

I had, in fact, known about Maibaum’s quote before my recent viewing of Dr. No, but there was something about hearing it directly from the horse’s mouth that set me aghast. Dr. No, tongue-in-cheek. . . really? You are making fun of James Bond. . . why?! What exactly about him do you find it necessary to mock? His wit, cleverness, adaptability, strength, dashing, success? That he is irresistible to women, that he trounces his enemies with cunning and technological superiority, that he defends his country? To my mind I have yet to list something I would not consider an asset or laudable characteristic. Aside from being the hero of the plot in the films and novels, why would one mock someone who embodies these characteristics? When one hears the name James Bond what comes to your mind? Some months ago in The Chronicle of Higher Education Michael Dirda wrote:

The first words we think of when we describe James Bond — at least the 007 of the films — are suave, debonair, cosmopolitan. All those are shorthand for Bond's supreme personal characteristic, what Renaissance courtiers always aspired to exemplify: sprezzatura. That is the ability to perform even the most difficult task with flair, grace, and nonchalance, without getting a wrinkle in your clothes or working up a sweat. Bond not only is cool, he always looks cool, at ease in his skin, at home in the world. Whatever his surroundings, he's the best-dressed guy in the room. [2]

Do you think of that, or something like it, or do you laugh, and think, “Oh silly James Bond, he thinks he can do those things! No one can do those things!” With the inevitable and dejected, if suppressed, conclusion following, “I certainly can’t.” And how do you feel? Exhilarated at the thought of such feats and desirous of emulating them in some fashion, or envious?*

As I have observed, the public reaction to the series has been overwhelmingly closer to the former. The situation is not dissimilar from that of the television program The Avengers, which was apparently conceived of as a parody but went onto be taken seriously by the public and likewise on to great success.[3]

In her book, The Romantic Manifesto, Ayn Rand discussed this issue of self-mockery and succinctly summarized the contradiction:

One may laugh with a hero, but never at him–just as a satire may laugh at some object, but never at itself. . .

In Fleming’s novels, James Bond is constantly making witty, humorous remarks, which are part of his charm. But, apparently this is not what Mr. Maibaum meant by humor. What he meant, apparently, was humor at Bond’s expense–the sort of humor intended to undercut Bond’s stature, to make him ridiculous. . .

[Such tongue-in-cheek thrillers] require one employ all the values of a thriller in order to hold the audience’s interest, yet turn these values against themselves, that one damage the very elements one is using and counting on. It means an attempt to cash in on the thing one is mocking, to profit by the audience’s hunger for romanticism while seeking to destroy it. [3]

The audacity of James Bond: taking himself seriously! I recall once reading an introduction to Rostand’s Cyrano de Bergerac, one which went to various lengths to try to explain away the fact that title character too, like Bond, takes himself seriously, though we should not. (I tore the introduction from the book.)

—

Regardless of the director, screenwriter, and production crew’s intentions, in Dr. No James Bond is in full form and people love him. He is indomitable, getting the better of the increasingly-dangerous array of goons until defeating the arch villain himself. He is indefatigable, engaging in hand-to-hand combat, gun fighting, and working his way through the defenses of Dr. No’s island. Whether he is laying traps setting up his room so he will know if it was searched, or springing the henchmen’s traps and then turning the tables on them, Bond remains unfazed. He is irresistible, winning over several gorgeous women. Indeed, Bond is so incontestable when Dr. No, whose unlimited resources have failed to get the better of Bond, remarks to the spy, “you cost me time, money, effort. . . you damage my organization. . . and my pride. I was curious to see what kind of a man you were” we rather appreciate the praise for Bond, despite its source.


In the same article, Dirda concluded, “Bond has become as archetypal as Hamlet or Sherlock Holmes, a hero with a thousand faces — and among them are yours and mine.” [2] Indeed. Junior year in high school I was asked by a teacher what literary character I would like to be and replied: James Bond. I haven’t changed my mind.

—

[1] NY Times. December 13, 1964. Selection reprinted in The Romantic Manifesto. Rand, Ayn. 1971. Signet, A Division of Penguin Group. NY, NY.

[2] Dirda, Michael. James Bond as Archetype (and Incredibly Cool Dude). The Chronicle of Higher Education. June 2008. [Link] (subscription required)

[3] Rand, Ayn. The Romantic Manifesto. 1971. Signet, A Division of Penguin Group. NY, NY.

*In the Aristotelian usage.

Bonus: Six Lessons in Manliness from James Bond, via The Art of Manliness.

Around the Web

Christmas Edition for the week of Saturday, December 19 through Friday, December 25.

1-4) In The WSJ:

• Julia Vitullo-Martin on King's College Chapel.
• Heidi Waleson on  Les Contes d'Hoffmann (at The Metropolitan Opera Dec. 23, 26, 30 and Jan. 2)
• John J. Miller on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and "The Burden of Holmes."
  
• David Mermelstein interviews pianist Leif Ove Andsnes, who will be playing Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 23 KV.488 at Lincoln Center Dec. 29, 30 and Jan. 2. ("Though the repertory may seem unexciting. . ." Surely Mr. Mermelstein jests!)

5) In City Journal Stefan Kanfer reviews "Pops: A Life of Louis Armstrong" by Terry Teachout.

. . .the noise of axes grinding could never drown out the immortal sound of Louis Armstrong’s music. To Teachout, that constitutes a “sunlit, hopeful art, brought into being by the labor of a lifetime.” Second the emotion.

6) In City Journal, Guy Sorman reviews "Last Exit to Utopia: The Survival of Socialism in a Post-Soviet Era" by Jean-Francois Revel.

7) "A Tale of Two Libertarianisms" by Brian Doherty at Reason.

. . . as Rothbard makes abundantly clear here, very important differences exist between the fallibilistic, utilitarian, small-government thinking of Hayek (and Friedman, and to a great degree Mises) and the rights-based anarchism of Rothbard and many of his followers, both of which coexist uneasily under the label libertarian.

8) "Impermissible Ratemaking in Health-Insurance Reform: Why the Reid Bill is Unconstitutional" by Richard A. Epstein at Point of Law.

9) At Reason, Jacob Sullum on "the folly of a 'right to health care.'"

While liberty rights such as freedom of speech or freedom of contract require others to refrain from acting in certain ways, “welfare rights” such as the purported entitlement to health care (or to food, clothing, or shelter) require others to perform certain actions. They represent a legally enforceable claim on other people’s resources.

10) Michael Ramirez on "healthcare reform":

via IBD Editorials. 

–

11) "Jesus in the Eyes of Josephus" by Geza Vermes at Standpoint.

12-13) At Big Hollywood:

• John Nolte's 25 favorite Christmas films.
• Kurt Schlichter: 10 films that take place on Christmas.

Movie Review: The Shawshank Redemption

Directed by Frank Darabont. 1994.

The Shawshank Redemption could easily have been a banal exercise in politically correct finger-wagging or a hackneyed parable about hope. Two features elevate Shawshank, first is its intense focus on its characters; not simply their current feelings, but their natures, the men they were and who they came to be, and their journey of self-understanding. The film could have gone astray into the territory of police procedurals, legal dramas, or documentary-style exposé. Indeed, the prison’s corruption, Red’s parole denials, and the set-up that led Andy into prison are not central elements the film’s theme. Second is Shawshank does not venture to make foolish generalizations about prisons, prison life, prisoners, “the system” or anything else. Shawshank is about these men and their personal journeys.

It is actually worth noting at greater length where this film does not go wrong, given how many directions in which it could easily have veered and how many other films take those tired paths. First, the film is not mindlessly and vaguely "anti-prison." Shawshank Prison is indeed a dehumanizing place but not on account of some abstract sense of injustice but rather on account of the criminals and the abuses of its authoritarian warden and his right-hand, neither of whom represent the law but rather simple force. The warden is happy to ignore heinous acts, so long as he benefits and the prison is run well. He even uses such violence, violence that he permits, as a threat against Andy. Likewise the film is not foolishly "anti-law" either. You see when Red’s case comes up for review, he is not subjected to an objectively understandable law or criterion, but rather the whims of the review board. Consider Red’s response when asked by the parole board if he thinks he has been “rehabilitated:”

MAN #1
Shall I repeat the question?

RED
I heard you. Rehabilitated. Let's see now. You know, come to think of it, I have no idea what that means. I know what you think it means. Me, I think it's a made-up word, a politician's word. A word so young fellas like you can wear a suit and tie and have a job. What do you really want to know? Am I sorry for what I did?

MAN #2
Well. . . are you?

RED
Not a day goes by I don't feel regret, and not because I'm in here or because you think I should. I look back on myself the way I was...stupid kid who did that terrible crime. . . wish I could talk sense to him. Tell him how things are. But I can't. That kid's long gone, this old man is all that's left, and I have to live with that. . . Rehabilitated? That's a bullshit word, so you just go on ahead and stamp that form there, sonny, and stop wasting my damn time. Truth is, I don't give a shit.

Consider the honesty of this scene for a moment. Red does not shy away from referring to his act as a terrible crime, nor does he try to explain that he should be freed by offering excuses. He knows he deserves to be in jail, but he refuses to continue play the political game with the parole board, who themselves have no definition of “rehabilitated.” Is it supposed to mean he is sorry, that he would not do it again, that he is a “normal” person now? Why should he be, what did he do, or what is prison expected to do to him, that would make him so? What is the standard for “rehabilitation?” The definition of the word is up to their whims.

Let us now move on to what Shawshank does well. We said above the prison was a dehumanizing place, first on account of the hard criminals and second on account the corrupt officials. What Andy brings to the prison is something wholly lacking there: a sense of the sacredness of the individual, a sacredness that can only be marred by choice and not force, a sentiment reflected in efforts great and small done over long periods of time. It is something rejected by the criminals when they were free men, something suppressed by the warden, and thus something only an innocent man could have brought to Shawshank. The first example is requesting a couple of beers for his “coworkers” when they roof a nearby factory in outdoor detail. Red aptly summarizes the significance of Andy’s deed:

You could argue he'd done it to curry favor with the guards. Or maybe make a few friends among us cons. Me, I think he did it just to feel normal again. . . if only for a short while.

Sure they are prisoners and they are not free, nor does Andy argue they should be, but they need to remember the significance of the concept. They cannot forget it, as freedom or lack thereof defines their experiences. What is significant but unspoken about this scene, though, is that Andy stays apart from them. He does not enjoy the beers with his coworkers and his experience on the roof is a strictly personal one. Gradually, though, Andy’s relationships with his fellow inmates, especially Red, begin to define his life there. For example, though he maintains personal projects like shaping his chess pieces from stones, they are stones gathered by his friends as a little welcome back present when he is beaten by a group of inmates. Andy’s life is gradually having the threads of others’ woven in. Similarly, after his relentless requesting for library funds pays off and the state sends him some money and donated books and records, Andy risks much to share some of that with everyone in the prison.

The scene opens with a wonderful contrast: the lame guard, a free man, condescends to read Jughead of his own free will, while Andy, a prisoner, risks his personal safety not simply to hear but to share Mozart. This particular piece of music, a duet from Mozart’s opera Le nozze di Figaro, is particularly significant here. While Red says he hopes they were singing about something too beautiful for words, the significance is how they are singing the piece. Neither voice in the piece is singing anything intelligible on her own, but rather one must piece together both parts to understand what they are saying. Likewise the oboe is essentially an equal third partner to the human voices. On the one hand this is quite simply a beautiful piece of music Andy shares with the inmates of Shawshank, and even as such the act symbolizes his growing ability to act with his emotions and engage more intimately with others. The very act of the inmates listening to the music at the same time, that very shared experience, is significant on these terms. This piece of music, though, itself is especially appropriate for its use in the film. That fact, and the unique way we experience music (as we discussed in light of Bergman and Solaris), accounts for the tremendous power of this scene.

After spending time in silent, dark, solitary for his stunt, Andy shares his thoughts on music and the sacredness of the individual with Red and his circle of friendly inmates:

ANDY (taps his heart, his head)
The music was here. . . and here. That's the one thing they can't confiscate, not ever. That's the beauty of it. Haven't you ever felt that way about music, Red?

RED
Played a mean harmonica as a younger man. Lost my taste for it. Didn't make much sense on the inside.

ANDY
Here's where it makes most sense. We need it so we don't forget.

RED
Forget?

ANDY
That there are things in this world not carved out of gray stone. That there's a small place inside of us they can never lock away, and that place is called hope.

RED
Hope is a dangerous thing. Drive a man insane. It's got no place here. Better get used to the idea.

Later, Andy acquires a harmonica for Red, again emphasizing how Andy is trying to get Red to experience the joy he knows through music. That Red, first staring at the instrument in his dark cell before bed, only gives it a toot is not a symbol of failure, but rather that he has grown to understand its significance, both coming from Andy, and coming from Andy as his friend, and he is not emotionally ready to play yet. This gift represents perhaps the height of what Andy has learned about himself, his emotions and demeanor, and living with others. His last conversation with Red makes the development explicit:

ANDY
My wife used to say I'm a hard man to know. Like a closed book. Complained about it all the time. She was beautiful. I loved her. But I guess I couldn't show it enough. I killed her, Red. I didn't pull the trigger. But I drove her away. That's why she died. Because of me, the way I am.

RED
That don't make you a murderer. Bad husband, maybe. Feel bad about it if you want. But you didn't pull the trigger.

ANDY
No. I didn't. Someone else did, and I wound up here. Bad luck, I guess.

RED
Bad luck? Jesus.

ANDY
It floats around. Has to land on somebody. Say a storm comes through. Some folks sit in their living rooms and enjoy the rain. The house next door gets torn out of the ground and smashed flat. It was my turn, that's all. I was in the path of the tornado. I just had no idea the storm would go on as long as it has.

Like Red’s statement before the parole board, Andy is not filled with bitterness toward “the system” or anger towards his cheating wife or even the man who framed him, but regret for the man he was when he was free. He regrets that he was free but imprisoned anyway, albeit unknowingly and in a different way. As such, what he brought to Shawshank and what he did and learned when he was there enabled his redemption. What Andy brought was something Red had lost before he entered prison also, just as what Andy learned was something he had missed in life outside Shawshank. Indeed it is their friendship that becomes the touchstone of the movie and that which grows alongside their personal developments, in fact it enables them.

RED
Those of us who knew him best talk about him often. I swear, the stuff he pulled. It always makes us laugh. Sometimes it makes me sad, though, Andy being gone. I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are just too bright. . . and when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice. . . but still, the place you live is that much more drab and empty that they're gone.

Their reconciliation at the end achieves its weight not just from their many years together at Shawshank, but from a certain gratefulness that they should have met in the first place; that Andy Dufresne, a stolid banker who wrongfully went to jail, should have met someone there he could care about, and that Ellis Redding, a dumb kid who committed a terrible crime, should have gone to jail and had his soul reawakened by the imperturbable Andy Dufresne. 


Yet as Andy says of the storm above, need his redemption have gone on so long? Indeed the scenes of Shawshank roll by as do the years at the prison and we acutely feel the passage of time. One of Red’s sayings towards the end of the film, "get busy living or get busy dying," has the sense and appeal of a bromide, but is it not true? How different was Andy’s life inside prison from his old life outside in terms of his happiness? Andy's journey was one of self-discovery, as was Red's; their delays in starting that journey greatly cost them. True probably most people are not introspective by nature, but thinking of Andy and Red, perhaps we should not fritter away our free lives by not first stopping reflect. Perhaps, then, Red’s saying would have more weight if we included the above concept of introspection, which would leave us with something not dissimilar from, “the unexamined life is not worth living."

Around the Web

For the week of Saturday, December 12 through Friday, December 18.

1)  At the WSJ, Stuart Isacoff on music and the brain.

2) James Gardner at the WSJ reviews the James Tissot exhibition, "The Life of Christ," now on view at the Brooklyn Museum through January 17th.

3) David Mermelstein interivews mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe for the WSJ. 

4) At Laudator Temporis Acti, on trees and the nicknames of Samuel Johnson.

5) And now for something completely different: Tim Madigan of Philosophy Now watches Nietzsche clash with Wagner.

6) Geoffrey Robertson at Standpoint makes the case for a British Bill of Rights.

7) Director of The Cato Institute's Center for Constitutional Studies, Roger Pilon on "the modern executive state" in the National Review:

. . .the tale of how so powerful an executive arose is not really complicated: Congress and the Supreme Court conspired to create it. A century ago, progressives began viewing the Constitution’s checks and balances not as protections against overweening power but as impediments to enlightened government — the kind of government that would one day be used to “save the planet.” Since the New Deal, Congress has delegated ever more powers to the executive branch without much guidance as to how they are to be used. And a supine Court, cowed originally by Franklin Roosevelt’s threat to add six new members, has gone along, in the name of “democracy” and judicial modesty, even as the expanding government has looked less and less democratic.

8) Now available at the British Library's Online Gallery: pages from the score of Handel's Messiah.

Movie Review: Solaris

Solaris. Directed by Andrei Tarkovsky. 1972.

When film is not a document, it is dream. That is why Tarkovsky is the greatest of them all. He moves with such naturalness in the room of dreams. He doesn't explain. What should he explain anyhow?

Film as dream, film as music. No form of art goes beyond ordinary consciousness as film does, straight to our emotions, deep into the twilight room of the soul. –Ingmar Bergman

I. Film as Dream

The reverie passages of Solaris are perhaps the film’s signature feature, but what to make of them? And what to make of Bergman’s quote above, for that matter? What is the significance of experiencing a film like a dream? While I do not assume Bergman and Tarkovsky were of one mind on the matter, I believe there is some common understanding of films as dreams. For the viewer, the most fundamental aspect of films as dreams is the manner in which we understand them, an aspect expressed in the second quote of Bergman’s above: that we experience the movie emotionally first, like music. It is then in our subsequent reflections of why we experienced the feelings we did that we understand the movie and perhaps, and hopefully to a greater extent, ourselves.

II. Self-Reflection

The theme of self-reflection and self-understanding is the central moral issue of Solaris. Each scientist on the station has journeyed there to study the planet, but the nature of the entity on Solaris forces them to study themselves. For example, Dr. Kelvin, himself a psychologist, is forced to confront deep-seated feelings about his late wife and father. First, the entity on Solaris recreates his late wife from his memories. Unable to rid himself of this hallucination, he gradually grows attached to Hari, even confessing that while he left the real Hari on earth years ago, he loves the recreated one now. Yet when he relates this to the recreated Hari, and also the fact that his real wife killed herself when he left her, she too kills herself. Though once again resurrected, she asks the other doctors to terminate her with a device they have constructed. When Kelvin is informed of this, and that “she did it for him” Kelvin says, “things weren’t working out between us towards the end.” Is he talking about the real Hari or the hallucination? Did he drive one to death by loving her too little, and another by loving too much? Kelvin goes on to ask, “Why are we being tortured like this?” Does he mean generally or is he specifically referring to “being tortured. . . by the entity on Solaris?” Dr. Snaut replies as if it were the former, “In my opinion we have lost our sense of the cosmic. The ancients understood this perfectly. They would never have asked why or what for. Remember the myth of Sisyphus.”

Is not understanding oneself what foils attempts peacefully to interact with others. It is simply in man’s nature, then, to be contesting with struggle of self in relation to others. It is perhaps, as Nietzsche said, that life is itself the price of living?

Let us look at some more of the closing dialogue:

SNART: When man is happy, the meaning of life and other eternal themes rarely interest him. These questions should be asked at the end of one’s life.

KELVIN: But we don’t know when life will end. That’s why we’re in such a hurry.

SNART: Don’t rush. The happiest people are those who are not interested in these cursed questions.

KELVIN: To ask is always the desire to know. Yet the preservation of simple human truths requires mystery. The mysteries of happiness, death, and love.

SNART: Maybe you’re right, but try not to think about all that now.

KELVIN: To think about it is to know the day of one’s death. Not knowing that day makes us practically immortal.

As Dr. Snart says, what dire questions. Is there no chance of objectivity, of an answer to such questions? Kelvin’s dissatisfaction implies he seeks some non-materialistic metaphysical answer. Kelvin’s statement about mystery is like Snart’s about Sisyphus above: our situation is simply the nature of things, and it is our lack of knowledge about our ends that forces us to make use of what we have. But does it really make us practically immortal?

Why does Kelvin stay on Solaris? Is it for the hope of seeing Hari again? To experience the reunification (however artificial) with his father? To interact with the entity? He says he could return to Earth, “But I won’t be able to give myself to them fully. Never.” Why is that?

III. Many Questions

Interaction with the alien entity is an even greater source of questions in Solaris. Are we really capable of understanding with it? Clearly scientific testing has failed to provide any insight. It certainly has some basic understanding of us, yet it does not (at first) understand that the hallucinations it is conjuring are unasked for and painful, and it does not recreate the images perfectly (e.g. the solid lake and indoor rain.) Are the scientists' interactions with the hallucinations (“guests” as they refer to them) interactions with the Solaris entity or are they solely experiences between the scientists and their own consciousness? Are we capable of understanding the Solaris entity on its own terms or only when it creates something from our body of preconceptions about the universe?

Early in the film, a scientist says, “But what we’re talking about is far more serious than just the study of Solaristics. We’re talking about the boundaries of human knowledge. Don’t [you] think by establishing artificial barriers we deliver a blow to the idea of limitless thought? By limiting our movement forward, we facilitate moving backwards.” Is it inherently limitless, or limited? Some phenomena correspond to predictions, others do not. What are the tools of predicting?

What of how technology is portrayed in the film? On the one hand man’s technical abilities have brought him the ability to travel far from home. Yet in Solaris man’s technical skill has clearly outpaced his philosophical comprehension, evidenced by the scientists’ extremely limited approaches toward understanding the entity on the planet. Is technology helping, hindering, neutral? Has it brought the scientists to this great challenge, is it what is now holding them back (compare their distance on the space station to Dr. Kelvin finally going down to the planet at the end), is it incidental?

The final scene generates perhaps the most questions of all. Does Dr. Kelvin choosing to remain on Solaris represent a tragic inability to embrace reality? Or is it a spiritual communion between man and the entity? Is it an act of supplication of man toward a being of far higher understanding or an instance of imperfectly rationalizing phenomena and ignoring the inconsistencies?

Should we infer that Dr. Kelvin may one day come to understand the entity, is it simply beyond human understanding, are we limited to understanding it only in a certain, limited, way? If it is wholly, or partially, unknowable, is the notion of the incomprehensible foolish, awe-inspiring, or terrifying? Is there a middle ground between positions of conceiving of our surroundings as inherently unknowable or inherently knowable? Does the final scene suggest a dialectical or phenomenological method of inquiry? How do all of these metaphysical questions affect the issue of self-reflection discussed above?

IV. Conclusion

I suspect for many viewers Solaris will appear an impenetrable mass of questions and vagaries, useless perhaps for suggesting both nothing and everything. I hope it is evident, though, the film raises many important questions. Indeed in raising so many questions and presenting them in a manner inviting, indeed requiring, repeated consideration, Solaris achieves what few films do, being about the questioning itself. As such, it is the philosophically-minded film goer that will get the most from Solaris, and it is the individual for whom philosophy is a necessary part of life that it should most affect.

–

- Quotations from the film taken from the English subtitles of the November 2002 Criterion Edition DVD of Solaris.

–

Other writing on Solaris:

• Director Andrei Tarkovsky on his film, Solaris 
• Critic Phillip Lopate on Solaris
• At the Alt Film Guide, Dan Schneider of Cosmoetica on Solaris.
  

Around the Web

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

1) On Robert Schumann's Symphony No. 4 in D minor (and the issue of orchestration) at Peter Gutmann's Classical Notes.

2) On the constitutionality of a personal mandate to buy health insurance, from Randy Barnett at The Volokh Conspiracy. 

3) Ilya Shapiro and Travis Cushman at The American look at the constitutionality of the "Public Company Accounting Oversight Board."

4) At Big Hollywood, Mark Tapson's, "ZINN 101: A Radical’s History of the United States."

5) Carolyn See at The Washington Post reviews, "The Lexicographer's Dilemma: The Evolution of 'Proper' English from Shakespeare to 'South Park'" by Jack Lynch.

6) In the WSJ, Robert Greskovic on George Balanchine's "The Nutcracker" at The New York City Ballet.

7) At Slate, Witold Rybczynski on the "enduring influence of architect Christopher Alexander, author of 'A Pattern of Language.'"

Alexander argued that the standardized, mass-produced way in which buildings are designed and built today is wrongheaded, and to demonstrate an alternative he started to build himself. . .

Alexander's ideas have taken root in unexpected places. His early books, especially Notes on the Synthesis of Form and A Pattern Language, influenced computer scientists, who found useful parallels between building design and software design. The New Urbanism movement also owes him a debt, as a new book by Andres Duany and Jeff Speck makes clear. The Smart Growth Manual consists of 148 principles—patterns, really—that add up to a language for community design, from entire regions to neighborhood streets. "We believe that new places should be designed in the manner of existing places that work," the authors write, a concept straight out of Alexander. Curiously, the one place that Alexander, a lifelong professor, has had the least influence is in academia. The theories that are taught in architecture schools today are of a different sort, and in the belief that the field of architecture should be grounded in intellectual speculation, rather than pragmatic observation, students are more likely to be assigned French post-structuralist texts than A Pattern Language. Which is a shame.

8) "I.M. Pei's National Gallery of Art East Building: An Ultramodern Building Shows Signs of Age" by Catesby Leigh in the WSJ. (from the article, "It seems pretty clear that the architect's 'technological breakthrough in the construction of masonry walls' was more of an experiment than he realized.")

9) In City Journal, Michael Knox Beran reviews, "The Age of Wonder: How the Romantic Generation Discovered the Beauty and Terror of Science" by Richard Holmes.

But Holmes is concerned less with particular discoveries than with the mentality of the discoverers. The wonder revealed by science is not, finally, severable from the mind of the wonderer. Holmes cites Richard Feynman’s belief that science is “driven by a continual dialogue between skeptical enquiry and the sense of inexplicable mystery,” and that if either is permitted to get the upper hand, “true science” will be “destroyed.”

Even as he studies the outer world, the Romantic scientist is preoccupied with the secret of his inward existence. Banks observing the customs of the Tahitians, Davy on laughing gas, Mary Shelley wondering “in what sense Frankenstein’s ‘Creature’ would be human”: all remained perplexed by the mysteriousness of man. What laws govern his being? How do changing conditions affect his nature? Is he a creature created on purpose or a mere material accident?

Solzhenitsyn's Warning to the West

 The Text of Alexander Solzhenitsyn's Harvard Address

A decline in courage may be the most striking feature which an outside observer notices in the West in our days. The Western world has lost its civil courage, both as a whole and separately, in each country, each government, each political party and of course in the United Nations. Such a decline in courage is particularly noticeable among the ruling groups and the intellectual elite, causing an impression of loss of courage by the entire society. Of course there are many courageous individuals but they have no determining influence on public life. Political and intellectual bureaucrats show depression, passivity and perplexity in their actions and in their statements and even more so in theoretical reflections to explain how realistic, reasonable as well as intellectually and even morally warranted it is to base state policies on weakness and cowardice. And decline in courage is ironically emphasized by occasional explosions of anger and inflexibility on the part of the same bureaucrats when dealing with weak governments and weak countries, not supported by anyone, or with currents which cannot offer any resistance. But they get tongue-tied and paralyzed when they deal with powerful governments and threatening forces, with aggressors and international terrorists.

Should one point out that from ancient times decline in courage has been considered the beginning of the end?...

But should someone ask me whether I would indicate the West such as it is today as a model to my country, frankly I would have to answer negatively. No, I could not recommend your society in its present state as an ideal for the transformation of ours. Through intense suffering our country has now achieved a spiritual development of such intensity that the Western system in its present state of spiritual exhaustion does not look attractive. Even those characteristics of your life which I have just mentioned are extremely saddening.

A fact which cannot be disputed is the weakening of human beings in the West while in the East they are becoming firmer and stronger. Six decades for our people and three decades for the people of Eastern Europe; during that time we have been through a spiritual training far in advance of Western experience. Life's complexity and mortal weight have produced stronger, deeper and more interesting characters than those produced by standardized Western well-being. Therefore if our society were to be transformed into yours, it would mean an improvement in certain aspects, but also a change for the worse on some particularly significant scores. It is true, no doubt, that a society cannot remain in an abyss of lawlessness, as is the case in our country. But it is also demeaning for it to elect such mechanical legalistic smoothness as you have. After the suffering of decades of violence and oppression, the human soul longs for things higher, warmer and purer than those offered by today's mass living habits, introduced by the revolting invasion of publicity, by TV stupor and by intolerable music...

Schall on Culture

Fr. James Schall, SJ: Culture is Never Neutral

Fr. Schall, in this ISI lecture, gives an excellent account of the Catholic theological attitude towards culture.

Here's the text, though apparently, Fr. Schall was only working from the text, not following it verbatim.

Around the Web

For the week of Saturday, November 28 through Friday, November 4.

1) In Standpoint Magazine, a shallow discussion of the staging of oratorios.

2) In The Washington Post a shallow review of, "The Poison King: The Life and Legend of Mithridates, Rome's Deadliest Enemy" by Adrienne Mayor.

3) At The Hoover Institution, Liam Julian on "A Dictionary of Modern English Usage" by H.W. Fowler and edited by David Crystal

4) In City Journal, Michael Knox Beran asks "Can the polis live again?"

It was left to Thomas Jefferson to show that it was possible to preserve the public virtues within a nation-state. To protect civic artistry in a changing America, Jefferson sought to re-create the civic life he had known in his youth. As a college student in colonial Williamsburg, he had been drawn into little communities of sympathetic scholarship that he would always characterize in Athenian terms: “They were truly Attic societies.” It was in communities of this kind, he believed, that men’s civic impulses could flourish as they could not in a larger space.

“A great deal of love given to a few,” he wrote, “is better than a little to many.” Jefferson’s University of Virginia reflected this ideal: he intended it to be an “academical village,” and in designing its Lawn, he made ingenious use of the classical arts to frame one of America’s most beguiling public spaces.

Arendt didn’t heed Jefferson in this, and she offers little prescriptive guidance for those seeking to reclaim public space today. Yet her work remains a useful statement of the part that such spaces might play in resisting the social revolution, if only a way could be found to salvage them. A new generation of civic artists is seeking to revive the old public spaces. “New Urbanist” architects, among them Léon Krier, Andrés Duany, and Elizabeth Plater-Zyberk, want to restore the town square to its old pride of public place. Their effort is noble, but Arendt showed just how fierce the opposition is.

Political Theology: A Beginning (I)

As part of my interest in anti-liberal political philosophies, I'd like to draw the reader's attention to this BBC Radio 4 Beyond Belief program on Christian Socialism. The program features Dr. John Milbank, founding member of the Radical Orthodoxy movement. After listening to the program, I concluded that Milbank, while professing himself an English Christian Socialist, has more in common with European Christian democrats than with conventional socialists or even Christian socialists.(1) 

What are the sources of Christian democracy? This is not an easy question to answer: Christian democracy, like any political ideology, is diverse, with different and competing views. At its best, Christian democracy is rooted in the social encyclicals of Pope Leo XIII and Pius XI, Rerum Novarum and Quadragesimo Anno. At its worst, it's indistinguishable from left-wing liberalism (2), supportive of a central, bureaucratic state and none too sound on social questions, such as marriage, the family, and the dignity of the person. But what of the more acceptable version? Where are its roots located? What direction is it headed? What does it get right? What does it get wrong? And what lessons might it offer for American Christians? 

These are questions I'd like to consider and will do so by taking a closer look in future posts at some important texts from the Christian democratic tradition: the papal social documents, Radical Orthodox, Distributist and Catholic Worker texts, and the work of recent anti-liberal thinkers such as George Parkin Grant, David Schindler, Alasdair MacIntyre, and Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. If time permits, I may broaden my topic to include economic thinkers who are within the Christian democratic tradition, including Wilhelm Ropke and E.F. Schumacher. With the possible exception of Ropke, all of these thinkers and movements are fundamentally anti-liberal in outlook, preferring to locate the dignity of man not in Enlightenment views of individual autonomy but in man as the Imago Dei. Because American political philosophy and practice is rooted in the language of the Enlightenment, I shall, I suspect, have to devote some time and energy to adumbrating a Christian critique of classical liberalism. 

(1) For instance, the moderator of Beyond Belief calls Tony Blair a Christian socialist, an appellation that Milbank contests, and oddly, Wikipedia even lists the wildly anti-clerical Hugo Chavez as a Christian socialist.
(2) I hope it's become obvious that I'm not using the term 'liberal' in typical American fashion to necessarily denote a left-wing statist.

Russia & the Family

From Taki's Magazine:

'Love for the Motherland begins with family’—F. Bacon.

'Family is one of nature’s masterpieces'—Philosopher George Santayana

 

The most distinct feature of both ads is the fact that they don’t simply depict happy nuclear families, but, rather, emphasize genetic and historic continuity through multi-generational family “clans.”

Whether this country’s current pro-natalist experiment, in conjunction with the recent anti-alcohol and anti-smoking campaigns, achieves significant results remains to be seen. But for those concerned with the “Death of West,” some comfort can be found in the fact that what is taboo in western Europe and America is a national priority in the Motherland.

von Balthasar on Beauty

In a world without beauty --- even if people cannot dispense with the word and constantly have it on the tip of their tongues in order to abuse it --- in a world which is perhaps not wholly without beauty, but which can no longer see it or reckon with it: in such a world the good also loses its attractiveness, the self-evidence of why it must be carried out. Man stands before the good and asks himself why it must be done and not rather its alternative, evil. For this, too, is a possibility, and even the more exciting one: Why not investigate Satan's depths? In a world that no longer has enough confidence in itself to affirm the beautiful, the proofs of the truth have lost their cogency... And if this how the transcendentals fare because one of them has been banished, what will happen with Being itself? Thomas described Being (das Sein) as a 'sure light' for that which exists (das Seiende). Will this light not necessarily die out where the very language of light has been forgotten and the mystery of Being is no longer allowed to express itself? What remains is then a mere lump of existence which, even if it claims for itself the freedom proper to spirits, nevertheless remains totally dark and incomprehensible even to itself. The witness borne by Being becomes untrustworthy for the person who can no longer read the language of beauty.

Hans Urs von Balthasar, "The Glory of the Lord: A Theological Aesthetics: I. Seeing the Form"

Return of the King?

Phil Lawler at Catholic Culture reports:

Today the Vatican announced that Pope Benedict XVI met with "His Royal Imperial Highness Otto von Hapsburg, archduke of Austria." The Vatican protocol office thereby conferred upon the Austrian visitor a title that he himself had renounced.

The heir to the storied Hapsburg dynasty, Otto von Hapsburg is the son of Blessed Karl, the last acknowledged ruler of the Austro-Hungarian empire. Although he was forced from the throne and died in exile, Karl I never abdicated. Otto did renounce his claim to the Austrian throne, as a condition for being allowed to return to his native land. He has been prominent in European politics for decades. Now approaching his 100th birthday, he has stepped away from public life, and in more candid moments has admitted that he regrets renouncing his claims-- even though he made it quite clear that he was renouncing only his own personal claims, not those of his heirs.

Signs of Life: 40 Years of the New Order

 (On Sunday, the New York Times with unwonted liberality published an Op-Ed by Kenneth Wolfe, "Latin Mass Appeal." In the editorial, Wolfe reflects on the liturgical crisis of the last four decades, its origins, and Pope Benedict's support for the Tridentine Mass, which, with his imprimatur, is growing in popularity and visibility. These are my own anecdotal reflections on the New Order in the Church, its cultural implications, and the new signs of vigor that are challenging decades-old attitudes and hegemonies.)

In the foreword to his 1988 Gelebte Kirche: Bernanos (in English, Bernanos: An Ecclesial Existence), Fr. Hans urs von Balthasar wrote, "The flourishing of Catholic literature, which blossomed so splendidly with Bloy, Peguy, Claudel, and Bernanos during the first half of the century, seems to have left no heirs. We often regret this fact. But we have done very little to make our own what we have already been so richly given."

It is unfortunate that von Balthasar's statements should be so self-evidently true. Catholic Christians are ignorant of or alienated from the early 20th century renaissance of Christian thought. This alienation is parallel with a widespread ignorance of the root-and-branch sources of Christian culture. This ignorance is itself part of a wider cultural and historical amnesia, but there are concerted efforts to change this state of affairs. I intend to highlight a few of them.

Lay movements such as Communion and Liberation, the journals Communio, The Chesterton Review, and Second Spring (UK),  the new religious orders and institutes such as the Fraternity of St. Peter, Benedict the XVI's pontificate and his freeing of the classical Roman liturgy are all powerful spokes in the wheel of reform: all are working in some measure  for lasting renewal, renewal founded on the actual precepts of the Second Vatican Council and its call for resourcement. But what prevented the widespread success of the Council in the first place? Taking a look at the most deleterious after-events of the Council may give us some insight into our current situation and provide prescriptions for future action.

Perhaps the most arresting cultural effect of the bungled implementation of the Council was the rapid destruction of the classic Christian aesthetic: much that was beautiful was callously destroyed or altered, retaining, however, the cheap thrills of devotional kitsch. To my mind, it is not coincidental that the wells of Christian inspiration seemingly dried up at precisely the moment when the Roman Church began to abandon en masse its liturgical and artistic patrimony. In recent decades, we can claim very little of lasting liturgical value: no liturgical art, architecture, or music worthy of its subject matter. But there too we see some incipient dynamism: the University of Notre Dame School of Architecture is establishing itself as a leading institution for church architecture, and the new institutes and orders devoted to the classical liturgy are increasingly in need of new and larger churches to house their growing congregations. In music too, we see the gradual recovery and dissemination of Gregorian chant and Renaissance polyphony. That recovery and creative re-reception is necessary if we're to again have a native school of liturgical composition. 

The abandonment and repudiation of the classical liturgical patrimony doubtless did much to dry up inspiration, but the concomitant surrender of the educational and apologetic achievements of the past only exacerbated the crisis. In the early twentieth century, the Church, as Fr. Aidan Nichols put it, was a "presentation of truth, goodness, and beauty that was at once a powerful philosophy, a comprehensive ethic, and a vision of spiritual delight." The abandonment of a coherent and reasoned apologetics (pre-empted doubtless by the many doctrinal controversies that rendered the apologetic task largely moot) and the missed opportunity after the Council to renew and reinvigorate the philosophical life of the Church only weakened the Her appeal to men and women of genius. The parochial clergy, whose self-proclaimed task it was to interpret and implement the Second Vatican Council, seem, in retrospect, to have been willfully ignorant of the best currents of European and American Catholic thought and art: instead of attempting to leaven the minds of their parishioners with the best, they often chose the expedient and shallow, adopting music, theology, and architecture devoid imagination, beauty, and order: they served up theological pabulum and political ideology instead of the  thinkers and writers like Henri de Lubac, SJ, Hans Urs von Balthasar, Jean Danielou, SJ, Joseph Ratzinger, and our very own Dorothy Day (whose life and work seems to me to be the most striking evidence for the possibilities of renascence and vigor in the American Church).  

That they chose the easy way is not altogether surprising: an immediately fruitful and lasting reception of Vatican Two would have defied conciliar odds (councils are notoriously productive of schisms, heresies, and controversies); immediate optimism should have been disciplined by a strong statement of the challenges at hand. 

I hope that the efforts at reform, particularly the recovery of the classical liturgy, will spark a renascence of Christian artistry, but suppose that does not come to pass. Previous eras of the Church have been characterized only by stability, not by grandeur or sublimity. Extraordinary outbursts of creativity are fleetingly rare, and men do not live perpetually on the heights. While we hope for the future and the improvement of our estate, we should make every effort to preserve and generously disseminate the patrimony of our past. I believe the pontificate of Pope Benedict will be particularly decisive in this effort. 

All of the efforts of the great pre- and post-conciliar thinkers and actors were ordered towards recovering elements of Catholic life they thought had been overlooked or overlaid in the Tridentine Church: recovering the evangelical counsels for the laity and their transforming role in secular society and the indispensable centrality of the liturgy in the life of the Church and of the individual Christian. In short, the Council was indisputably a call to perfection and holiness in life, liturgy, and theology. That's our still task, a task admirably summed- up by Fr. Aidan Nichols, OP:  "What the Church can do today is to reform herself by repeating like a mantra the words 'only the best will do': the best intellectually, morally, aesthetically."

The Church must not settle down with what is merely comfortable and serviceable at the parish level; she must arouse the voice of the cosmos and, by glorifying the Creator, elicit the glory of the cosmos itself, making it also glorious, beautiful, habitable, and beloved. Next to the saints, the art which the Church has produced is the only real 'apologia' for her history. . . The Church is to transform, improve, 'humanize' the world --- but how can she do that if at the same time she turns her back on beauty, which is so closely allied to love? For together, beauty and love form the true consolation in this world, bringing it as near as possible to the world of the resurrection. The Church must maintain high standards; she must be a place where beauty can be at home; she must lead the struggle for that 'spiritualization' without which the world becomes the 'first circle of hell'.

 Joseph Ratzinger, The Feast of Faith, 124-125

Movie Review: Mon Oncle

Directed by Jacques Tati. 1958.

Mr and Mrs Arpel have really everything they want, they have achieved every success, everything is new in their house: the garden is new, the house is new, the books are new. And I think they need to be warned, somebody should definitely say to Mr Arpel: “Be careful, you should not forget a bit of humour! Your son is only nine and I think you should enjoy yourself and have a good time with him.” People think it is a message but it isn’t: one should be free to say to a man who is building a house “Be careful. It might be too well-built.”

- Jacques Tati

Creating and maintaining that personal tone is perhaps Tati’s greatest achievement in Mon Oncle. Like Playtime, Mon Oncle is not a hyper-intellectualized criticism of modernity. Nor is it an unsparing critique of consumerist habits. Rather it is a wistful look back at the world Tati knew and loved, and a quizzical, apprehensive look at the one he saw replacing it.  He sets up the contrast  no sooner than the opening credits, where the camera pans down the names which are neatly typed out on a neatly designed sign at the loud construction site of a new building. In contrast, the title card is a plain old street corner from Mr. Hulot’s town, with Mon Oncle scrawled on the wall in chalk. Dogs walk by and relieve themselves on the street lamp.

That image, however inglorious, is not a bad representation of Hulot's world. It has puddles, garbage, misshapen patches of grass, cracked stones, and yes, dogs do relieve themselves. It is a lived-in world and one that reflects what the people who live there do. Tati’s town was not built at once according to one master plan, but built and changed over many years as people came and went, as families grew and people passed on. Like his house, it many ad hoc solutions, little cribs, additions, and cheats to meet a new need without destroying what was there.

Sure, it is a rigmarole to get in, but what character it has! Mismatched shutters, mixed styles, hanging laundry, and so on. One wonders many people, how many generations worked on it. It reflects the characters of those who do, and who have, lived there. It is also, of course, Hulot’s home, filled with his friends and neighbors, so why would he want to live elsewhere?


Now the Arpel’s house is certainly a contrast to Mr. Hulot’s, but not so much in terms of outcome as of intent. Sure Hulot’s apartment building is inefficient, but it was not designed with the pretension of efficiency. The Arpel’s house is designed to be the pinnacle of modern style and efficient design. The house was built according to a plan, but a thoughtless, inhuman one. The building is simply not conducive for living. Take the kitchen for example, which looks like a cross between a dentist’s office and a NASA laboratory. It has every convenience, but it is cold and unwelcoming. The appliances buzz and whirr and crank. Even something as simple as a cabinet, which might have a gentle squeak as cabinets often do, instead has been engineered into a mechanical maw which nearly has Hulot’s hand for supper.

The yard is also quite a spectacle. It is large and walled off for privacy. It is the home of a ghastly fountain that only gets turned on for visitors and this touch most epitomizes the whole situation of the Arpels: they have all of this stuff that is not really for them. They have the fountain because it is supposed to impress others or display affluence. They have all of these conveniences and time-saving appliances, and what do they do with the time they save? They spend it on more time saving devices or they spend it away from their house. Have they really thought about what they would like to do, for its own sake? Of course none of what they do is bad, really, but it looks so silly because it is not done for any particular end. Look at the yard:

It is designed into many sections and cordoned off so you are only “supposed” to walk in certain areas. Why? Look at the picture above. In the scene, the party had to move from the other side of the yard to this side to sit down and eat, but there is no room because there is no other space sectioned off “for eating.” They have this big yard and cannot use it for what they want. In the scene depicted above, which may have presaged a similar scene in Playtime that uses cars instead of people, the characters walk around that little square like a circus line, amplifying the ridiculousness of the situation. We are glad to see later, when a dog gets loose at the party, the people running around trying to catch him. We want to say, “Yes, good! Go, run over the lines! It’s your yard, you can set the rules. Have fun in it and make a bit of a mess for once!”

Hulot’s brother in law works is a similarly sterile and highly polished, impersonal world. Trying to make Hulot more like himself, Mr. Arpel asks his boss to hire Hulot. The boss’ office looks like the lair of a James Bond villain, with ceilings so high they are out of sight, strange silver chairs, a map of the world in the back, and the boss sitting at an enormous desk. While in the office, Mr. Arpel phones Hulot to offer him the job, but wherever Hulot is, music is playing and Arpel cannot hear him. In a brilliant touch, Tati lets the music take over the soundtrack, and delightfully, it is as if Mr. Hulot’s world is pouring into that big and cold room, warming it and giving it life for the first time.  Of course the company is not up to any nefarious business like world domination and that is the point, why does it look like that? Why should someone's office, where someone works, be so uninviting? Even Arpel’s briefcase, which looked chichi at home when his wife neurotically dusted it, looks warm in such a hostile atmosphere.

Indeed it is atmosphere, specifically a personable one, that lies at the heart of Hulot’s world. The Arpel’s house, for all of its order, is in fact an order imposed upon them and not by them, and their house reflects their desire to live apart from others. (Recall that cursed, clanking, buzzer-operated fence that closes off their yard.) The human relationships are the heart of Hulot’s town, for better and worse. It is human incongruities that made it mismatched and imperfect, but also the desire of its people to live there, together, that kept it together. The combination of those two elements made it unique. The film’s title suggests what Tati’s quote about the film does: the desire to remind people who choose to live the “new way” to make the human component the heart of their endeavor. Hulot’s nephew is dreadfully unhappy at home. Quite simply, it is too clean and boring and more like living in a hospital ward than a home. When he goes out with his uncle, he rides on his bike amongst the townspeople (as opposed to riding past them in a car,) he eats jam-covered crullers with extra sugar, and plays pranks on people with other boys in the town. The boy’s classic prank, and a running gag throughout the film, is to whistle at someone as he approaches a pole in order to get him to turn around and look at you and thus crash into the pole. Towards the end of the movie, the boy’s father accidentally pulls the prank on someone and the boy grabs and squeezes his father’s hand in excitement as they try to sneak away. It is a beautiful little moment and we hope his father can learn from it.

We hope he learns what Mr. Hulot has taught us, that you have to be willing to make yourself a little vulnerable and go out and live with your neighbors. Sometimes you get splashed, covered in dust, or punched in the face, but that is probably better than having nothing happen at all, the same way the folksy little “town tune” is preferable to the silence of the Arpel household. Yet there is a certain wistful sadness to Mon Oncle, for just as surely as Mr. Hulot was moving away, the old world was passing. This theme is conveyed throughout the movie by cutting to a scene of construction workers tearing down an old building with pickaxes. The town is such a character this feels a surprisingly violent act, but we should not be too alarmed. It is not really the stuff we should be concerned about. Some change is normal, like Hulot’s little neighbor who is all grown up when he leaves. We should just make sure we do not get carried away with change just because it is novel and that we never forget the human element, the humour as Tati said; and in Mon Oncle Tati is not scolding or imploring us. The tone of Mon Oncle is not that of a self-righteous spokesperson crusading for a better world or an intellectual browbeating you into accepting his aesthetic philosophy. It’s more like your neighbor leaning over your fence as you  remodel your home and saying to you, “You’re going to add what? Really? Oh. . . Really?”

Msgr. Albacete contra Christopher Hitchens

On a related bibliographic note, Dr. David Bentley Hart, an Orthodox theologian, has published a book, Atheist Delusions: The Christian Revolution and its Fashionable Enemies, to counter some of the claims made by the New Atheist authors. Dr. Hart was featured in the July/August volume of the Mars Hill Audio Journal, where he discussed his book and the New Atheism: the interview, however, is only available to subscribers.

(N.B. I cannot recommend the Mars Hill Journal highly enough: consistently high quality, it's worth the price of the subscription.)

Thanksgiving (II)

In the spirit of Mr. Vertucci's list:

1) Gerard Manley Hopkins, Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things—
        For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
            For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
    Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
        Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
            And áll trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

    All things counter, original, spáre, strange;
        Whatever is fickle, frecklèd (who knows how?)
            With swíft, slów; sweet, sóur; adázzle, dím;
    He fathers-forth whose beauty is pást change: 

      Praise him.

2)  Josquin des Prez, Ave Maria Virgo Serena

3) Willa Cather, Death Comes for the Archbishop

Father Latour's recreation was his garden. He grew such fruit as was hardly to be found even in the old orchards of California: cherries and apricots, apples and quinces, and the peerless pears of France--even the most delicate varieties. He urged the new priests to plant fruit tress wherever they went, and to encourage the Mexicans to add fruit to their starchy diet. Wherever there was a French priest, there should be a garden of fruit trees and vegetables and flowers. He often quoted to his students that passage from their fellow Auvergnat, Pascal: that Man was lost and saved in a garden.

He domesticated and developed the native wild flowers. He had one hill-side solidly clad with that low-growing purple verbena which mats over the hills of New Mexico. It was like a great violet velvet mantle thrown down in the sun; all the shades that the dyers and weavers of Italy and France strove for through centuries, the violet that is full of rose colour and is yet no lavender; the blue that becomes almost pink and then retreats again into sea-dark purple--the true Episcopal colour and countless variations of it.

4) Henri Matisse, The Plum Blossoms & Blue Nude II

 

5) Richard Wagner, Die Meistersinger von Nurnberg

Act 3

6) Dante, The Divine Comedy

Paradiso, Canto 33

O Light Eterne, sole in thyself that dwellest,
Sole knowest thyself, and, known unto thyself
And knowing, lovest and smilest on thyself!
That circulation, which being thus conceived
Appeared in thee as a reflected light,
When somewhat contemplated by mine eyes,
Within itself, of its own very colour
Seemed to me painted with our effigy,
Wherefore my sight was all absorbed therein.
As the geometrician, who endeavours
To square the circle, and discovers not,
By taking thought, the principle he wants,
Even such was I at that new apparition;
I wished to see how the image to the circle
Conformed itself, and how it there finds place;
But my own wings were not enough for this,
Had it not been that then my mind there smote
A flash of lightning, wherein came its wish.
Here vigour failed the lofty fantasy:
But now was turning my desire and will,
Even as a wheel that equally is moved,
The Love which moves the sun and the other stars.

7)  Johann Sebastian Bach, Cello Suites

Suite No. 1 Prelude

8)  John Constable, Wivenhoe Park

9) James Boswell, Life of Johnson

BOSWELL. 'Pray, Sir, did you ever play on any musical instrument?' JOHNSON. ' No, Sir, I once bought me a flagelet ; but I never made out a tune.' BOSWELL. A flagelet. Sir! — so small an instrument''? I should have liked to hear you play on the violoncello. That should have been your instrument.' JOHNSON. 'Sir, I might as well have played on the violoncello as another ; but I should have done nothing else. No, Sir ; a man would never undertake great things, could he be amused with small. I once tried knotting. Dempster's sister undertook to teach me ; but I could not learn it.'

10) Giovanni Palestrina, Missa Papae Marcelli

Kyrie