Sir Charles Mackerras, (1925-2010), the American-Australian-British conductor famed for his conducting of the operas of Janáček and Mozart, and Gilbert and Sullivan. (via The Well-Tempered Ear)
Reading the work of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn (sometimes acclaimed as 20th century Slavophile) prompted this brief exegesis on a 19th century Orthodox counter-cultural movement.
Russian Slavophilism counted among its adherents such distinguished names as Dostoevsky, the Aksakovs, Ivan Ilyin, and Fyodor Tyutchev. Clearly, any movement containing such exalted thinkers and writers must be worthy of closer examination. What exactly was it that inspired these gifted thinkers? What were their goals and aspirations for the Slavic peoples? These are questions I hope to answer in this essay, for though these men are profoundly Russian in sympathy and at heart, the questions they pose and the answers they provide are relevant to all Christian men: using the insights and theological language of the Russian Church, they hoped to challenge the growing materialism and bureaucratism of Russian society, as well as counter its descent into revolutionary anarchy (cf. Dostoevsky's Demons). But before proceeding to the Slavophiles, we must take a closer look at a like-minded group, from whom they critically received some of their inspiration.
The Narodnichestvo movement was contemporary with late 19th century Slavophilism; Narodniks fought to preserve intact the peasant commune system after the Emancipation of Serfs. In preserving the economy of the obshchina (tr: the village 'commune'), they hoped to protect the newly-freed peasants from the money-hungry middle class, who might try to uproot and exploit peasant families. The Narodniks, to accomplish their goals, immersed themselves in the peasant culture, learning Russian (French was the language of the educated and wealthy.), dressing in traditional folk dress, and participating in peasant dances. Unlike Slavophilism, the Narodnichestvo had a strong revolutionary element.
Many of the leading thinkers of the Slavophile movement received excellent educations; they were intimately familiar with Western philosophy and literature, and some of them, in their early lives, were convinced by the materialist claims of the secular West. Ivan Kireevsky, an early Slavophile thinker, attended Schleiermacher and Hegel's lectures while traveling in Europe, Tyutchev was taught by one of the premier Russian disciples of the German philosophers, and Konstantin, as a university student, was a member of a Russian Hegelian society. All three men would later reject this youthful flirtation with Western philosophy, and all deprecated the soul-corroding effects of Western rationalism and acquisitiveness. In reaction to the excess scientism and rationalism of the German and French philosopher, they turned to the spiritual center of their country, the Orthodox Church, with its vibrant mystical tradition and its anti-Aristotelian bias. Kireevsky, in his essay On the Nature of European Culture and on its Relationship to Russian Culture, singles out for particular scorn Aristotle, holding him responsible for the West's 'decline' into empiricism and rationalism. The Christian East, according to Kireevsky, in contrast to the West, is the spiritual student of Plato. The Cappadocian fathers, St. Maximus the Confessor, St. Gregory Palamas are all heirs of Plato, emphasizing 'idealism' rather than empiricism. As such, the Slavophiles were polemical in their denunciation of the West's attachment to Aristotle. For Kireevsky, 19th century German philosophy was simply another baneful manifestation of the Western preoccupation with empiricism, a preoccupation he credited (wrongly, as I have it) to Aristotle. In contrast to the rationalist politics and theologes of the Germans, Kireevsky held up for particular reverence the Orthodox doctrine of sobornost, which he defines as "the sum total of all Christians of all ages, past and present, [who] comprise one indivisible, eternal living assembly of the faithful, held together just as much by the unity of consciousness as through the communion of prayer." His model of society, of sobornost, was the obshchina, where communitarianism and cooperation prevailed. Not surprisingly, a common Slavophile critique of the West was its rampant individualism.
Aleksey Khomyakov, the other grand old man of Slavophilism, was to develop themes and ideas similar to Kireevsky. Early association with Pyotr Chaadaev and other religious Russians was to lead him to a life-long and deeply-held Christian belief. He was something of a cultural provocateur, in that he wore a beard, a rare but noble act on behalf of Russian traditionalism. (Peter the Great had banned the beard in an attempt to modernize his country, and fines were levied on noblemen who wore the traditional boyar beard.) Khomyakov also criticized the two-headed economic demons of the West, socialism and capitalism. The weapon against these corrupt systems was the Church, where love, not lucre, was the commerce. The universality of the Church, its sobornyi, is for him a constant and ever-present model for the possibility of the world. He sees mankind's union in the Church as the one essential goal, for union with the Church also means union with God. Like Kireevsky, he saw the peasant obshchina as a Christian model for the world, where action was motivated by both love of God and neighbor. The reality of the obshchina may have been different, as Khomyakov's critics will no doubt happily point out, for the obshchina almost certainly had its share of wickedness and corruption. Nevertheless, the model Khomyakov is presenting surely cannot be faulted---as it is a society motivated by the highest ideal, Love. Difficult to achieve, but the mandate of every Christian---"A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another as I have loved you."
At this point, it might be suggested that the Slavophiles were only reactionary landowners, typewriter 'peasants' who had little or no concern for the lower classes. That, however, would be a false impression. The Slavophiles were among the first proponents of a constitutional, monarchical government. Konstantin Aksakov wrote a letter to Czar Alexander II after his accession to the throne, imploring him to reconstitute the Zemsky sobor, the traditional Russian parliament that had fallen into disuse not long after the beginning of the Romanov dynasty. The Zemsky sobor contained four Estates: the boyar class (the aristocracy), the Orthodox episcopacy and clergy, the representatives of the towns, and the representatives of the countryside. Like all parliaments, past and present , the Zemsky sobor had its failings and its inefficiencies, but it did achieve some kind of representation for the diverse elements of Russian society, aristocrat and commoner, city-dweller and country-dweller alike.
The Slavophiles were joined in these pleas for a more democratic society by the Pochvennichestvo (tr: return to the soil) movement. Like the Slavophiles, the Pochvenniki were men of the church, and they too believed in the especial spiritual vocation of the Russian people. Pochvennichestvo's greatest apologists were Nikolay Strakhov, a philosopher and critic, and Fyodor Dostoevsky, the novelist. The Pochvenniki held, inter alia, that the Russia's crises were a result of the educated and the wealthy's alienation from the soil. If the intelligentsia could come to know the common people, Russian could begin to right herself. Pochvennichestvo received some of its most eloquent press in Dostoevsky's journal, Vremia. For Dostoevsky, the great task of Russia was not to reconcile itself to the West, but to reconcile Russia's educated society and its peasantry. Politically, they applauded the emancipation of the serfs, but like the Slavophiles, they called for further political action, particularly decentralization of power. They too venerated the peasant obshchina, but not for the spiritual reasons of the Slavophiles; they rather appreciated its ability to empower self-rule and local autonomy. They also called for greater access to education and for the increase of literacy among the peasantry. The Pochvenniki placed great trust in the transformative power of literature.
I have not yet mentioned Leo Tolstoy, but there is a deliberate reason for the omission. As a philosopher and political thinker, Tolstoy defies all conventional categorization. He shares certain beliefs with both the Slavophiles and the Pochvenniki, but he is also clearly not one of their number. His un-Orthodox Christianity, for one thing, is a wedge between him and the more traditional Slavophiles. Tolstoy, however, despite his many failings, attempted to live out his ideals, many of them common to Khomyakov and to Kireevsky. His Anna Karenina is a beautiful 'hymn' to the peasantry and land, and Konstantin Levin one of the most sympathetic characters in the Western canon. Like his protagonist Levin, Tolstoy really did work among his peasants, plowing his fields on his estate and scything the hay at harvest time. Tolstoy seems genuinely to have cared for the well-being of the Russian peasantry, despite his other manifest hypocrisies.
As Christians, the Slavophiles hoped to vivify society through the Orthodox church with its teachings on man's moral imperative to love his neighbor. The spiritual vision of the Slavophiles and the political vision of the Pochvenniki may seem strange and unwieldy to the modern Westerner, particularly since much of their polemic is devoted to criticizing the excesses of the West. Nevertheless, I feel certain that many of their insights are of lasting significance for a revivified Christian humanism, and we would do well to meditate, critically, on their worth.
Last week at The Hannibal Blog, Andreas Kluth put the question, "Greatest thinkers: Greeks or Germans?" Of course the challenge is a bit of a joke of the fact so many great thinkers were Greek or German. I did begin to consider though, "what do you mean by great?" Do you mean "profound" or "original?" Many great ideas were first considered by a Greek thinker of the ancient world, but found their perfect expression later. By this I mean that many artists put ideas more clearly, succinctly, and beautifully than the philosophers who first thought of them did. Surely some philosophers were great authors and stylists, namely Plato and Nietzsche. Aristotle's prose is remarkable for its clarity and succinctness, but it is still dense and technical. Some philosophers, like Kant, were abysmal prose stylists and their work is excruciating to read.
Thus I thought, which works of art gave a philosophical idea, or even more specifically a metaphysical idea, its most clear, beautiful, and succinct expression? Of course all art is about some idea, but I was considering particularly abstract or philosophical ideas or ideas expressed in their most abstract or "pure" form. For example, I excluded expressions of a dramatic, descriptive, or pictorial nature. Likewise I considered whether the form of expression was appropriate, particularly appropriate, or most appropriate, for the idea. In the examples I selected I believe the form is ideal for the idea.
I also did consider mean statements simply well-said like, "the highest form of Human Excellence is to question oneself and others (Socrates) and "It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it." (Aristotle) Rather my thinking was to find an expression of an idea so extraordinary as to be a perfect expression of its essence, and one which invites the reader into an experience of it. Philosophers sometimes succeed here, for example, Nietzsche's statement, "Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you" is no mere assertion but an aphorism fraught with portent.
Thus we might say what I was looking for were expressions not about an idea, but which themselves constituted the idea. For example, Nietzsche's statement draws you into the question and makes the experience it is about and draws you into it.
The following were the first to my mind, though I welcome suggestions and there will likely be a Part II at some point. Music being the most abstract of expressive forms I am sure could predominate. I'm sure Beethoven ought to figure more prominently and one might consider the Mozartian overture in general as a fine example of what I am considering. I have discussed them here.
I have refrained from commenting where possible, since these works by nature are highly condensed, expressing much with little. Where necessary I offered some explication just to get the ball of inquiry rolling. In my experience starting to think about any of these pieces takes you down many and long roads.
Part I. Being, Non-Being, and Becoming
i. Overture to Don Giovanni, KV.521 (W.A. Mozart)
". . . the work is not about guilt and retribution but simply about being and non-being, and the overwhelming tragedy of the conclusion rests on the grandeur and terror of the action as such, not on the triumph of moral laws over the world of appearances." [Abert, 1050.]
James Levine, conducting.
ii. Piano Concerto 21, KV.467. Andante. (W. A. Mozart)
. . . the form is "a becoming." In it we may be aware of phrases, of sequences which show metabolism. . . but the main principle of its form is the approach to and decline from climax. . . we imagine ourselves to be the performer; if we do not live along its line, we are not fulfilling the composer's demands of us. [Hutchings, 139.]
iii. Hamlet, Act III, Scene I. (William Shakespeare)
– "To be, or not to be. . ."
iv. Das Rheingold - Scene 1: Prelude (Richard Wagner)
. . . It symbolizes the primitive element, water, in state of repose; the water from which, according to the teaching of mythology, life springs complete with all its struggles and passions. During this long sustained note we hear the beginnings of life; but those are things which are outside the province of words, and which music alone, speaking without an intermediary to the intelligence, can hope to make us comprehend. [Lavignac, 343.]
Georg Solti conducting The Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra.
v. Fragments (Heraclitus)
X: Nature loves to hide.
L: As they step into the same rivers, other and still other waters flow upon them.
CIII: The way up and down is one and the same.
Part II. The Problem of Knowledge
Items i-iii cannot be adequately shared here. Their length and nature is such that to divide them is to destroy their messages. I have, though, written on 2001 and Solaris.
i. 2001: A Space Odyssey (Stanley Kubrick)
ii. Solaris (Andrei Tarkovsky)
iii. Rashomon (Akira Kurosawa)
Briefly to comment: Rashomon is a sort of hermeneutic riddle. What happened, and how do we interpret these descriptions of the events?
v. Four Quartets, II. East Coker. iii. (T. S. Eliot)
You say I am repeating
Something I have said before. I shall say it again.
Shall I say it again? In order to arrive there,
To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,
You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.
In order to arrive at what you do not know
You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.
In order to possess what you do not possess
You must go by the way of dispossession.
In order to arrive at what you are not
You must go through the way in which you are not.
And what you do not know is the only thing you know
And what you own is what you do not own
And where you are is where you are not.
vi. The School of Athens (Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino)
Causarum Cognitio, but how do we get it? The full painting is a sort of galaxy of philosophy, with other philosophers as constellations around the fundamental, intertwined, and yet opposing figures of Plato and Aristotle.
i. Mass in B minor - Gloria - Duet: Domine Deus (J. S. Bach)
The canon "'neither confounds the Persons nor divides the substance', for the figure that is detached in one voice is slurred in the other." [Tovey, V. 38.]
IV. Love
i. Prelude to Tristan und Isolde
An unfolding of themes, ceaselessly modulating. . . "the tension growing towards, and relaxing from, a climax of passion; and the passion is the love of Tristan and Isolde." [Tovey, IV. 125.)
Originally a comment at The Hannibal Blog post, "Justice: by truth or victory?" and cross-posted here.
1. Andreas Kluth posed the question:
Which sort of judicial system, generally speaking, is more likely to lead to justice? One that:
looks for the truth, or
lets two sides fight it out to see who wins?
The first philosophy — justice as a search for truth — we call the inquisitorial system (because a judge sets out to inquire after the facts of a case, ie the truth).
The second philosophy — justice by duking it out until one side is left standing — we call the adversarial system (because two adversaries and their lawyers meet in court, and a judge merely makes sure that the rules are observed).
2. I'm somewhat more bullish on the "adversarial system" insofar as it seems essentially dialectical, i.e. that we expect truth to come out of the opposing ideas. Of course the adversarial system could be nothing but a glorified duel. Indeed, as one could show, it often has been, but I do not think it is of essence. We expect in this system not that each side be equally persuasive, but as persuasive as possible since the system assumes there is only one truth. Also, the arguments for both sides might be deficient, but seeing both of them resulted in a synthesis (truth.) This system is of course subject to the availability of facts and quality of logic.
3. Now the inquisitorial is ostensibly truth seeking too and just as dependent on the need of facts and logic. The difference is that the inquisitorial system is entirely dependent on the inquisitor's logic (would an "inquisitory panel" be more reliable? The term certainly reeks of totalitarianism.) whereas in the adversarial system, even if carried out poorly, there would be some element of contrast.
4. The problems seem in both cases to be 1) human error, and 2) the lack of finite methods for dealing with these cases. Regarding point No. 2, such is why many rightly consider English common law such an achievement, since it dealt with many issues and was refined over many many years. It reflected the nature and character of the people, what they considered natural and normative. Yet such a system requires an essentially homogeneous and relatively static society.
A brief discussion of justice as it intersects with the need for truth. Those uninterested may skip to paragraph 11.
5. As commenter Richard said, though, what is justice? Justice would seem to require truth. The burden of proof being "guilty beyond a reasonable doubt" certainly prevents injustice, but if a guilty person goes free is that justice? Of course not, but implicit in this very liberal standard is a sense of the imprecision of matters. To paraphrase Aristotle, the legal world is by nature a combination of logic and ethical-politics, rhetoric and dialectic, and various disciplines (with their own problems) precisely because it deals with matters for which there are no specific arts and precisely because we have alternative possibilities.
6. Its methods are inherently imprecise in some cases. To use the word science loosely, science aims at the truth but can be refined over many years by many great minds and altered with the benefit of looking at many examples. Still, it's truth is admittedly provisional. To expect perfection in every case from a legal system with so many variables, including time constraints, working against truth is hazardous. Thus, "beyond a reasonable doubt" is not only necessary but its existence demonstrates a keen observation. Such is not to say truth is always or even usually, out of reach, but rather that an individual's liberty (and thus his finite life) ought not to be lightly taken away. We might be less wary of pronouncing judgment if the stakes were not so high. One must note though, that we cannot say a legal system has failed either by excess or lack of convictions, but must independently consider each case.
7. Additionally, in a system founded on natural law, justice is part adherence to natural, immutable law and part adherence to positive, man-made law. To call a decision "just" then requires justice in both senses, and thus the positive has in all cases to be in accord with the natural. (See Aristotle, Ethics, 1134b, Rhetoric 1373b)
8. Let us consider a few hypothetical cases then. If a defendant has been logically proven guilty but is acquitted on account of a procedural rule or an obscure point of law, the fault is in the positive law. I say fault and not defect since the law in question may be designed to prevent a guilty man from being convicted. Such a system protects the innocent to the advantage of the guilty (and perhaps at the expense of other innocents, if the guilt party who was not convicted goes on to harm innocents.)
9. Such sounds unpleasant and contrary to justice but the only alternatives are 1) a perfect system with perfect people, or 2) a system which convicts the guilty at the expense of the innocent. Such examples can readily be found in totalitarian states. The concept was also nicely illustrated in two episodes of the Star Trek franchise. In the Deep Space Nine episode "Tribunal" we learn on one planet that all cases end in convictions. "The system is efficient and the swiftness of 'justice' makes the people take pride in it." (a paraphrase) In the Next Generation episode "Justice" we see a planet with seemingly normal rules, but there is only one punishment, death. That surely keeps the peace. (In contrast to this extreme consider Aristotle's concept of "equity," Ethics 1137b and Rhetoric, 1374.)
10. Thus in every legal case we are subject to the available means of truth-gathering, the available means of persuasion, the competency of the legal parties (lawyers and judges), and to what the laws themselves tend, deliberately or accidentally, to produce.
11. Have we answered our original question, whether an adversarial or inquisitorial system is desirable? Yes, insofar as we have seen they carry mostly the same defects. Is it more likely to find one person, the inquisitor, competent to the task for an inquisitorial system or two, evenly matched in skill, for the adversarial system? Is it more likely for a judge or two lawyers to be corrupt? These questions are most similar to those we saw in examining the concept of executive authority. [1] Are there then no virtues in any system involving these two methods?
12. Yes, and we will see them in a mixed system, whereby the whole case is broken down into separate elements. We see one virtue in the need of being convicted not by a fixed "inquisitorial board" but a newly- and impartially-formed jury of one's peers. We see one in the ability to represent oneself, choose one's counselor, and be guaranteed one. We see one in having an expert in law (a judge) accordingly guide the proceedings. Yet these structures do not guarantee justice, though they aim toward protecting the innocent. Also they cannot produce perfect justice in every case if they aim either to protect the innocent or convict the guilty. Most importantly they do not guarantee justice because they cannot guarantee good and wise lawyers, jurists, and judges, and while law may be amended better to promote justice, the injustice of acquitting the guilty or convicting the innocent cannot be undone.
13. Thus we, if we are to expect justice for others and ourselves, ought to err on the side of liberty and, being a part of the justice system, must ourselves keep informed and strive toward wisdom. No system can compensate for a foolish and frivolous people.
I've referenced Roger Scruton before on this blog. I admire him as a clear and incisive thinker with a catholic and far-ranging mind. Giving proof of his devotion to the traditions of Western man, he ventured, in the 80's, to Eastern Europe and gave private philosophical seminars to Czech and Polish dissidents. The proof, as they say, is in the pudding, and this willingness to put himself in danger for the well-being of the intellectually and spiritually oppressed marks him as a true philosopher, a lover of wisdom, justice, prudence, and truth.
(I wrote this little piece for a parish newsletter. It's a slight piece, but I hope it contributes to a better understanding and appreciation of the wonderful biblical exegesis of the Fathers.)
The Old Testament reading (Gen. 18: 1-3) that I took as my material for today's little meditation offers me an opportunity to sketch out a Christ-ological (a fancy theological word; it just means 'things having to do with Christ') reading of the Old Testament. Theology exists, or ought to exist, solely for the purpose of worship. If theological reflection does not lead us to prayer, it has failed in its purpose and should be cast aside as useless, and perhaps even dangerous. But now to the text itself!
“And the LORD appeared unto Abraham in the plains of Mamre, as he sat in the tent door in the heat of the day; And he lifted up his eyes and looked, and, behold, three men stood by him. And when he saw them, he ran to meet them from the tent door, and bowed himself toward the ground. And Abraham said, My LORD, if now I have found favor in your sight, pass not away, I pray you, from your servant.”
I suspect that this little drama has largely been passed over in many an individual's reading of Genesis; it's not nearly as well known as the events that follow. But this episode in the life of Abraham is what ancient Christian writers called a 'type.' A 'type' is an event in the Old Testament that foreshadows Christian doctrine. St. Paul uses this kind of interpretation in his letters. For instance, in his Epistle to the Galatians (4:21-31) he adopts Hagar and Sarah as 'types' or symbols of the synagogue and church; early Christians, following the Apostle's lead, enthusiastically adopted his method. Two brief examples: Cyprian, a 3rd century bishop, interpreted Noah's Ark to be a 'type' of the Church (St. Peter in his First Epistle [3:20-21] adopts the Ark as a 'type' of baptism), and Ambrose of Milan, a 4th century bishop and theologian, interpreted the marriage of Rebecca and Isaac as a 'type' of Christ's mystical union with His spouse, the Church. If it helps, you might think of this kind of interpretation as an ancient counterpart to C.S. Lewis' allegorical re-telling of the Christian story in the Chronicles of Narnia. In those wonderful stories, Lewis re-imagines events in the life of Christ and dresses them up in new clothes: he allegor-izes the Christian story, using Aslan and his sacrificial death on the Stone Table to represent the death and resurrection of Christ. For his storytelling, Lewis is beloved of modern Christians. For ancient Christians, the Old Testament was similarly beloved and beloved for similar reasons. There, Christ was always peering out in veiled disguise, preparing the world for his Incarnation.
At Mamre, Abraham, as the Scriptures say, met the Lord. This passage must indeed be puzzling to Jews, but for Christians, it allows but for one interpretation. The Lord, appearing in the guise of three angels, is a 'type' of the Christian doctrine of the Trinity. To Abraham, God was One (as He is to millions of Jews and Muslims), but for Christians, that's only true insofar as we believe that God is One in Three Persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. When God revealed Himself to Abraham, He revealed Himself as the Creator and Sustainer of the Universe. But revelation doesn't stop there. It continues with Moses who officiates at God's covenant with Israel, and with her judges, prophets, and priests. But like lightning from a clear sky, the New Testament, the record of Christ's incarnation, earthly ministry, death, and resurrection, reveals that God is not simply and only One; He is a mystery, a communion of three persons, and wonder of wonders, one of those divine persons, the Word, has taken flesh. Furthermore, his Crucifixion and Resurrection have reconciled us to the Father; and His gift of the Holy Spirit ensures the perpetuation of His grace and love in our midst until the end of the world.
Gregory of Nazianzen, a theologian of the 4th century, writes of God's revelation: “It was necessary to proceed by successive perfectings, by 'degrees'; it was necessary to advance from radiance to radiance, through ever more luminous movements of advance, in order that the light of the Trinity might finally be seen to shine forth.” And a modern theologian, Jean Danielou, writes, “The whole history of salvation may be considered as a gradual unveiling of the Trinity.”
When the Lord appeared to Abraham at Mamre, under the guise of three angels, He foreshadows his own revelation of Himself as Three-in-One. But preeminently, we ought to reflect, in this little episode, on Abraham's response: he runs to the Lord, bows down, and does worship. And he asks the Lord to stop with him and feast with him. Not even to Abraham did God confide his entire plan for the salvation of humanity, or the mystery of His own Triune nature, but it is our incomparable gift that we, so much the lesser than Abraham, should worship in spirit and truth the Lord Jesus Christ, the God-Man and the Revealer of God's mysteries. But this knowledge of the Triune God is a gift; we only possess it by virtue of God's own magnanimity, and we only possess it perfectly insofar as we make a gift of it ourselves. Let us too run forth to meet the Lord and bow down.
Yes, I hear they are officially called "Lego Bricks" but they are and will always be Legos to me and I suspect many others. They were my go-to toy and construction material of choice for many years. Their rivals could not really compete, although I had nothing against K-Nex, which remain quite appropriate for the mechanically-inclined. Yet Legos were smaller, more voluminous, varied, and versatile than than anything else, including their larger cousins, Mega Bloks. Likewise Lincoln Logs were only suitable for building forts. Besides, one never had enough Lincoln Logs to build more than one house, fort, et cetera. A bucket of Legos was far more useful. Now if you had both, well then you had whole world of potential, i.e. an epic battle between the Lego vehicles and the Lincoln Log fort. Exhibits A and B:
The work of your humble blogger, dates unknown.
The vehicle opened up in the back and front, has a crane on top with a crane-operator's
area, two arms in front, and. . .
As you might infer from the photos, the joy of building with Legos was of course the limitless possibilities. Before the days of themed sets you quite simply had a bucket of pieces and from that would spring cars, boats, houses, and structures of endless variety. Eventually I grew to appreciate the themed sets, which gave you all of the fancy pieces, the translucent windows, the hinges, wheels, et cetera with which you could create increasingly elaborate structures. Such sets were always badly designed, though, always structurally weak and usually lacking suitable egress and defensive capabilities.
By nature Legos forced the user to adapt to the limitations of the pieces you have at hand. They also gave one the opportunity for experimenting with different designs. Some were too fragile, some wasted pieces, others were aesthetically displeasing. Unfortunately one could seldom achieve a perfect aesthetic since you rarely had each piece in precisely the needed color. Yet one continued to revise. Exhibit C.
Version 2 of "Bridge" with improved pylons and matching ramps.
(Version 1 met with a terrible accident.)
Sure, not everything worked and looked great, but Legos asked me to bring something to the experience of using them. They were not a self-contained experience I simply consumed, but rather were, to use the cliché of today's dutiful parents, "open-ended." They could be anything and what they became would reflect the person building. Rather than pacify they force one to be thinking, creative, and engaged.
Gladly I can say Legos and the Lego community are thriving today. The "Mindstorms" series incorporates programmable electronics creating the potential for rather remarkable machines. Lego competitions are common. Simply searching "lego" on YouTube will surprise you with a variety of uses for the simple plastic bricks, from firearms to stop-motion short films. Legos are not simply objects for amusement, but vehicles for exploration. They're also a lot of fun.
My habit of reading online articles is this. I sit at my desk, often with a cup of Earl Grey tea or cranberry juice, and I have some music playing, usually Mozart or Haydn string quartets or serenades. I open up my web browser and bam! Which politician is destroying the country, which corporation is destroying the environment, which country is destroying the world, group A needs money from group B, things ought to be this way, things ought not to be that way and so on and so forth ad nauseam. Sometimes I just say "Ah foohey!" and stick with Mozart. Such claims of catastrophe are surprisingly predictable and highly formulaic. The continuing existence of newspapers is testament to, among other things, the weakness of man's memory. There is of course a class of people, the curmudgeons, who find ill and ailing everywhere. Yet the art of curmudgeonry is hard to perfect. Fall short of the curmudgeon's charm and wit and you become a gross bore to read. The craft of the curmudgeon lies in fact not in elegizing or deconstructing or proving, but in shedding a revealing light on life's incongruities and then, in the guise of complaining, relishing the contradictions. One comes away from the curmudgeon thinking, "Hah, we people are funny creatures, no? Hah!" and then goes about his business.
Such is the best and my favorite species of critic. There are many: the polemicist, the firebrand, the whistle-blower, the belly-acher, the censurer, the grump, the nostalgiacist, the dissenter, the peevish, and the nag are the most common. They all have their time-honored styles. Sometimes, though, they come in garb of the curmudgeon.
Over the last few years there has been a constant drizzle of articles about how we use technology and how it (allegedly) negatively affects us. Such is the province of the grump-nostalgicist but these articles have come in the guise of the curmudgeon. The more notable essays are Christine Rosen's "People of the Screen" (The New Atlantis, 2008)[1], Nicholas Carr's "Is Google Making Us Stupid" (The Atlantic, July/August 2008)[2], and more recently Nicholas Carr's (again?) "Does the Internet Make You Dumber?" (WSJ, June 2010)[3], and most recently "In Defense of the Memory Theater" by Nathan Schneider.[4]
It would be dishonest not to reveal my first reaction to these essays, which is this: "Stop it!"[5] If something you are doing is bad for you then stop it! But we don't stop do we? Circling around that very human paradox should be the focus of these essays. It isn't. We said if one fails to be a curmudgeon you're a bore. One also comes off as a whiner.
These essays have much in common. Consider the histrionics: "the literary apocalypse," a "dark prophecy," "deeply troubling," and "All in the name of progress." Oh no! And to think I was sitting here sipping my tea whilst people were reading on their Kindles. The horror! Alas, alack!
They're also not seriously fact-oriented, though they pretend to be. Carr does quote someone though, writing, "The pioneering neuroscientist Michael Merzenich believes. . ." He does? OK, good. Can we go over that part then? We ought to ask, "Is this assertion a fact? Is this fact relevant? Does this relevant fact function the way the author says it does in his argument? Is the argument, then, sound? Lastly, is it persuasive?" Consider Carr's examples: does the fact that a chimpanzee brain quickly rewires (how quickly is "quickly" by the way?) when you rewire the nerves in a it's hand, mean visual stimuli would have the same effect? Consider also the statistic, "56 Seconds [is the] average time an American spends looking at a Web page. [Source: Nielsen]" Well, what is the average time it ought to take? How was the study conducted? (So we know they factored out mistaken clicks and other variables.) They also ignore the obvious. Carr writes, "Whereas the Internet scatters our attention, the book focuses it. Unlike the screen, the page promotes contemplativeness." Well, if that's so, such suggests an obvious solution toward fixing the "screen experience" then doesn't it? Curious that Carr and Rosen never offer the obvious solutions their criticisms generate.
Rosen too quotes a poll but actually chides someone who questioned a point she agrees on, calling the questioner a "techno-utopian" and his question "obtuse and misguided." The essence of this attitude is, "I'm saying this elegantly and it's plausible so believe me. I'll quote something for appearances if it'll get you off my back." The essence of this is a little pact between the author and reader, "We already agree don't we? Great. No tough questions then? Deal." Are books being replaced? Is there any actual data on that? Of behavior they quote studies but not conclusions. The curmudgeon's topic (human nature) and charm give him a pass here, everyone else has to argue and prove a point.
I'm not even saying Carr or any of these authors are wrong. (I may even agree.) Their articles are simply unpersuasive, patronizing, overwrought, and generally annoying. I'm offended by their writing and I admittedly share their bias in favor of focus, cogitation, and long-form literature and art. I'm certainly not inclined to pick up any of their books. If they wanted to prove something they should have done rigorous research, testing, and thinking. People trust and like scientists. If they wanted to talk of the curiosities of human nature they should leave that to the curmudgeons. Everyone loves and trusts curmudgeons too. But the vast realm of quasi-scientific, reasonable-sounding kvetching is an unsatisfying and inane land.
Schneider's essay is clearly the best and most enjoyable, but it is quite mixed up. First, he obviously uses and enjoys technology but has a lifelong sentimental attachment with books. The former isn't replacing the latter, but it's getting better and it might. The essay comes off like this: "I've been with my books so long, but look at these digital databases, they're searchable and indexed! But they're young and fickle. . . and might leave." It sounds like he's confessing to an affair. Since he is so conflicted we won't pick on him any more.[6]
This personal touch is quite pleasant, really. And significant too. Far more than the "I can't read long books because I stopped reading long books" arguments of the other essays. Fortunately the answers are simple all around. Mr. Schneider should have it both ways and the others, well. . . they should stop it!
A few weeks ago in an interview with Reason TV, libertarian Judge Andrew Napolitano made the following statements about the Constitution of the United States in the context of natural law:
The constitution protects persons, it's not limited to Americans. And persons is not even limited to good persons. It protects Americans, it protects aliens, it protects those legally here, it protects those illegally here, it protects those who wish us well and those who have caused us harm. It makes no distinction whatsoever. This is absolutely consistent, the constitutional protection of persons, with the Lockean, and Jeffersonian, and Augustinian, view, and Thomistic view, that our rights come from God and are gifts into our humanity, and are as much a part of us as the fingers on the ends of our hand.
That would apply to me, to you, to George W. Bush, to Barack Obama, to Khalid Sheik Mohammad, to Richard Speck, to Al Capone, to anybody that the government wants to restrain for any reason.
The boldness and openness, even brashness, of these statements undoubtedly take even proponents of natural rights off guard. Yet somehow the tone is familiar. Quite a long time ago someone else boldly made the case for natural law:
True law is in keeping with the dictates of both reason and of nature. It applies universally to everyone. It is unchanging and eternal. Its commands are summons to duty, and its prohibitions declare that nothing wrongful must be done. As far as good men are concerned, both its commands and its prohibitions are effective; though neither have any effect on men who are bad. To attempt to invalidate this law is sinful. Nor is it possible to repeal any part of it, much less to abolish it altogether. From its obligations neither Senate nor people can release us. And to explain or interpret it we need no one outside our own selves.
There will not be one law at Rome, and another at Athens. There will not be different laws now and in the future. Instead there will be one, single, everlasting, immutable law, which applies to all nations and all times. The maker, and umpire, and proposer of this law will be God, the single master and ruler of us all. If a man fails to obey God, then he will be in flight from his own self, repudiating his own human nature. As a consequence, even if he escapes the normal punishment for wrongdoing, he will suffer the penalties of the gravest possible sort. [Translation by Michael Grant.]
This is the famous passage on natural rights from Book III of Cicero's "On the State" and it seems safe to say Cicero exceeds Judge Napolitano in eloquence. Even with Cicero, though, there is something daring about discussing the natural law, something audacious about declaring one rule for all everywhere. It's exhilarating too.
HBO's miniseries John Adams properly suggests the initial impact of such a statement. Adams, upon reviewing Jefferson's draft of the Declaration:
Well this is something altogether unexpected. . . not only a declaration of our independence but of the rights of all men.
Indeed, and the draft bears even more striking resemblance to Cicero than the final version, speaking of how the king "waged cruel war against human nature itself." [1] Nonetheless the final draft rings clear also:
. . . to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them. . .
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. . .
Individual rights are an individual's by nature. Period. The statement is boldly laid down as an axiom, not open to negotiation. This is not a dissertation on independence, but a declaration of it. These rights do not come down from kings or oligarchs or up from the majority, but reside in each individual.
Indeed, and Napolitano also makes a key point: that the American Constitution only mentions individuals, not groups. It does not create distinctions and does not have different sets of rules for dealing with different "types" or "groups" of people. It can only deal with people in one way, as individuals.
What a risk, not just to personal life, but of failure in establishing law and government of such a nature. For a mob to behead its tormentors is one thing and it is similar for a small oligarchy to change its puppet. History has many such examples and historians and philosophers have noted the tendency of governments to rotate amongst democracy, oligarchy, aristocracy, and monarchy. The forming of a constitutional democratic-republic formed by delegates elected from the people in order to replace a tyranny is not quite as common.
Many factors, some of chance and some created, must come to be for success in such an undertaking. Aristotle noted one, "In the generations of men as in the fruits of the earth, there is a varying yield; now and then, where the stock is good, exceptional men are produced for a while, and then decadence sets in." (Rhetoric II, xv.) Notions of "stock" aside, the Founding Fathers were a remarkable generation. (Using "generation" loosely as their ages were actually rather varied.) It is common to praise, even glorify, these men, but panegyric unfortunate and unnecessary. While it would be foolish and inappropriate to praise as a group their individual virtues, a broad reading of their lives reveals at least one virtue: the intellectual. Aside from the difficulties of the philosophical and liberal arts works that constituted the core of their education, the study of the law was particularly difficult. This owed to a lack of what we know as "text books," difficulties in obtaining texts, and the "dreary ramble" (in Adams' words) of studying the law with the standard text of the time, the "bewildering mass" of the work of Sir Edward Coke. [2]
While we of course benefit from their great sacrifices and challenges, we too continue to gain from what were at the time minute things: staying home to study and wading through Aristotle, Thucydides, and Edward Coke.
In what is actually a paraphrase and amalgamation of correspondence between John and Abigail Adams, HBO's miniseries about America's 2nd president ended with this statement:
No, posterity, you will never know how much it cost us to preserve your freedom. I hope that you will make a good use of it. If you do not, I shall repent in heaven that I ever took half the pains to preserve it.
–
At the site where John Adams as buried, United First Parish Church, Quincy, MA.
(click to enlarge)
Pilgrim,
From Lives thus spent thy earthly Duties learn;
Form Fancy's Dreams to active Virtue turn:
Let Freedom, Friendship, Faith, thy Soul engage,
And serve like them, they Country and thy Age.
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