Mozartian Counterpoint Part I

Part I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII

Introduction

The word "counterpoint" tends to conjure images of 17th century schools, where stern counterpoint masters taught "academic counterpoint." By this "academic" style we mean a style not so concerned with making beautiful music but following the rules of stretto [1] and assuring proper entrance and resolution of the subjects, matching point against point, punctus contra punctum. Johann Joseph Fux (1660-1741), Austrian composer, music theorist, teacher, and author of the classic treatise on counterpoint "Gradus ad Parnassum" typifies this conception. In contrast the word "polyphony" has a rather distinctive medieval ring, bringing with it associations of monks and minuscule scripts. Perhaps we think of the period between those, the era of Renaissance polyphony and the era of the great church composers and polyphonists like Palestrina and Monteverdi.

Those seem to be the three popular associations with what we broadly call "counterpoint," a word with both beguilingly simple and confoundedly complicated definitions. The most important feature of counterpoint is a relative rhythmic and melodic independence for each voice. The weaving together of these multiple "strands" of melodies allows for both horizontal and vertical relationships, i.e. each note is relative to the others being played simultaneously (up and down on the sheet music) and to the ones which preceded and which will succeed it. This weaving is said to create a polyphonic, or contrapuntal, texture. We should add that rhythm may be both harmonic and melodic, i.e. based on the movement from dissonance to consonance and vice-versa, and based on metrical units created from notes of varying length. With these observations alone one can imagine the many potentialities of contrapuntal writing.

We ought perhaps to make a few more technical and definitional observations before proceeding. First, is the concept of the canon. It comes from the Greek κανών, rule or standard. While the word itself explains the concept, another might be helpful: the Italian caccia, chase or hunt. Thus in the canon a melody is played and then imitated, or chased, by another, which follows by a particular rule, or canon, i.e. it comes a measure later, a fifth above, inverted, et cetera. The canon and the idea of imitation are the central concepts of counterpoint. Later, the fugue developed into the archetypal contrapuntal form. Perfected by J. S. Bach, the fugue has a specific structure of exposition of subjects but a somewhat looser overall organization. Edmund Rubbra put the fugue well saying, "fugues begin canonically with well-defined statements of the material, and then develop freely within the orbit of the tonal scheme. . . Fugue is a contrapuntal discourse that has a beginning, middle, and end but admits of no subtler labeling of its arguments." [Rubbra, 58]

While there is no accepted theory of the origins of its practice, polyphony has more or less worldwide origins.  Polyphony, a word which notionally is identical to counterpoint, is considered a more broad term, referring more generally to the simple practice of having multiple melodies.[2] In contrast counterpoint as we have seen is thought of as a more defined body of practices for writing polyphonic music. This unification began in the development of schools, like the 13th-century Ars Antiqua and 14th-century Ars Nova, and continued around the practices of 15th-century composers like Dufay and Josquin, and again around 16th-century composers like di Lasso and Palestrina. This period, the time of di Lasso, Palestrina, and Monteverdi, is often referred to as the Golden Age of Counterpoint.

Fux's Gradus ad Parnassum is part summary of the basic relationships among musical intervals and part counterpoint instruction, describing rules and procedures for writing against a fixed melody (cantus firmus) counterpoint of increasing complexity.

Yet from the time of the Golden Age onward tonal organization grew to rival and succeed contrapuntal structural organization. In the music of Johann Sebastian Bach the fusion of these focuses reached its zenith with his great, indeed incredible, attention to both tonal and contrapuntal structure. [3] While one could spend a lifetime on Bach alone, he is not the focus of this essay. In fact, in his own time J. S. Bach was more famous as an organist than a composer as the contrapuntal style in which he worked was gradually being replaced by the styles and forms we have come to know as "classical."

In the mid-to-late 17th century counterpoint remained a significant part of musical training even though it had faded from popular taste. Mozart's familiarity with the practices of counterpoint would have come in more or less three phases: early exercises under the tutelage of his father Leopold, rigorous exercises with Padre Giovanni Battista Martini, the prominent head of a musical school who the teenage Mozart met in Bologna during an extended Italian tour, and through Baron Gottfried van Swieten, the Prefect of the Imperial Library who befriended Mozart during his decade in Vienna and introduced him to the music of J. S. Bach via his considerable collection of manuscripts.

Looking at Mozart's output then, we see early simple canons, some elaborate contrapuntal pieces, stylistic exercises in earlier forms, early hybrids and combinations, and lastly what we formally consider Mozart's own fusion sonata and contrapuntal form. There are also of course varied uses of contrapuntal techniques and instances of canon and fugato (a passage in fugal style within a non-fugal work); the practice had not disappeared, but one would more seldom see a fugue proper than, say, a serenade, sonata, or symphony.  We said earlier that composers were more and more growing to consider music harmonically rather than contrapuntally. By Mozart's time one could fairly say such was the status quo. By the Classical era, counterpoint was being used as a tool in a larger structure.Scholar Arthur Hutchings suggested suggested Mozart, even in great contrapuntal works, still conceived of the structure harmonically. [Hutchings, 126] Indeed of composers after J. S. Bach, Beethoven is the most famous for using counterpoint. (Wagner is appropriately noted too in this regard.) Perhaps an investigation into Mozart's use of the practice will be illuminating. Where, how, and why did he employ it?

Such is the introduction to this essay, which in fact was intended to be a simple list of interesting Mozartian uses of counterpoint in his music. Yet one could ask, "why make such a list?" With our background sketch completed we may now justify such a list, the purpose of which is to shed light on why one would attempt such difficult musical experimentation. Looking back on musical history it seems a logical and natural progression, but it was far from necessary and far from simple.

The only necessary tool for hearing these differences in construction is being an attentive listener. The more carefully one follows the main line of the piece, the more one will hear the other voices when they come, and then one will be able to appreciate one of the effects: being able to jump to that line, stay on the main line, or focus on the totality. Sometimes Mozart, to borrow Hutching's phrase, will "feint" in a contrapuntal direction, and then pull back. Sometimes he will alternate between clearly delineated homophonic and contrapuntal sections.

We won't  count every point and identify every species: far from it. We will make a few, hopefully elucidating, comments on some of the pieces but leave as much investigating to the listener as possible. My goal is simply to give direction to the inquiry.

Detailed and repeated listening is recommended!

Please Note:

• This list is chronologically organized.
• The above introduction of course treats topics in broad strokes, but it did not seem reasonable simply to dive into a list of "Mozartian Uses of Counterpoint."
• We won't be comprehensive here, but please let me know if I've left anything significant out.
• I've placed the text before the videos: consider whether or not you'd like to listen first.

 –

1. Missa Solemnis in C minor, "Waisenhausmesse": Gloria: Cum Sancto Spiritu KV.139 (1768)

This robust fugue on cum sancto spiritu, "rolls along like a river in full flood. It, too, has a revolutionary element to it in the form of the tritone interval of its subject and great length, while its technique, structure and expressivity all mark it out as a great advance on Mozart's earlier style." [Abert, 224]

 2. Litaniae De Venerabili Altaris Sacramento: Pignus Futurae Gloriae KV.125 (1772)

This second of Mozart's Litanies dates from March 1772. The phrase pignus futurae gloriae (pledge of future glory) was often singled out in the Litany for contrapuntal treatment. Though with an attractive theme, a bright and clear tone, and a certain regal dignity, this feels over-long; in fact Mozart edited it down already and the changes are visible at the Neue Mozart Ausgabe (NMA) I/2/1.

3. Misericordias Domini, Offertory in D minor KV.222/205a (1775)

A setting of the words, "Misericordias Domini" from Psalm 89, Misericordias Domini in aetarnum cantabo, "The mercies of the lord I will sing forever" with great vigor and in brilliant variety of imitation.

4. Vesperae Solennes De Dominica in C - Laudate Pueri KV.321 (1779)

As with the pignus futurae gloriae of the Litany the Laudate Pueri of the Vespers was treated contrapuntally by tradition. Here we see the procedure outlined above: a theme outlined and then followed in canon. Then (at m.17) all of the voices converge and join in homphony on "excelsus super omnes gentes Dominus." The question, "Quis sicut Dominus Deus noster, qui in altis habitat, Et humilia respicit in caelo et in terra? / Who is as the Lord our God, who dwells on high and looks down on the low things in heaven and in earth?" concludes with a Phrygian half cadence before the bit of word painting with a trilled rising figure accompanying "suscitans." After more ingenious variation he concludes on a five-bar crescendo Amen.

5.  Vesperae Solennes De Confessore in C - Laudate Pueri KV.339 (1780)

With an almost intimidating D minor opening in the basses, this setting of laudate pueri is quite distinct from its companion in KV.321. Too it feels more tightly structured, with little homophony it proceeds through contrapuntal treatment and several motifs.

6.  Fantasia and Fugue in C KV.394/(383a) (1782)

Who can think of the form of the "Prelude and Fugue" without thinking of J. S. Bach and his Well-Tempered Clavier? These pieces clearly date from the period in which Mozart began his more intensive looks at J. S. Bach and Handel with Baron van Swieten. The "keyboard poems" that are these fantasias are themselves beautiful and fascinating, with their freedom of modulation, increased chromaticism and dissonance, and a structure which "combines freedom and constraint in the most felicitous manner." [Abert, 836]

The C major fugue, reminiscent of the opening fugue of the Well-Tempered Clavier, exhibits a great struggle between the subject and counter-subject. Abert is correct to point out the peculiar harshness to this piece, the quaver and semi-quaver figures at the end in particular suggesting a bare, desperate, attempt at survival before the struggle ends abruptly at the two-bar, chordal andante.

See also:

Fugue in G minor KV.401 (Fragment) [YouTube] (1782)

7. String Quartet in G major - Molto allegro KV.387 (December 1782)

The final movement of this quartet is both one of Mozart's most famous movements and the most famous examples of his fusion of counterpoint and sonata-form. This is the first example we have looked at which is strictly instrumental and thus more abstract.  The opening bars are provided below, showing the four entrances:

click to enlarge

mm.1-19

The ensuing imitation, texture, and contrast of color, along with the playful dynamics is glorious. At m.52 a new theme begins before being taken up by the other voices. The imitation falls away and at m.91 we get a bright theme in the first violin against repeated crotchets. After a rising scalar figure, a jaunt in staccato crotchets, and a highly gestural quaver figure, we raise twice in scalar figures falling off onto crotchets, as if coming to earth. Then from a short passage we conclude with a rising chromatic figure and a section repeat after m.124. After the repeat we hear a figure with an interval of a fifth and rising by semitones. After a brief imitative treatment we return to a recapitulation and, "The fugal texture of the opening measures gradually turns into the more normal obbligato writing of the late eighteenth century, in which accompaniments have only a shadowy independence given by their thematic significance." [Rosen, 441]

8. Fugue in C minor for two keyboards KV.426 (1783)

". . . the fugue avoid all pianistic effects, being conceived in purely abstract terms and pursuing a similar goal–albeit on a far less grandiose scale–to Bach's The Art of Fugue. . . The fugue is developed with both rigor and boldness and explores to the full the emotional antithesis of its subject, with its contrast between heroism and weary resignation." [Abert, 839]

9. Mass in C minor KV.421/(KV.417a) (July 1782 – October 1783)

Kyrie Eleison

The C minor kyrie opens with a haunting, limping figure. The canon seemingly begins with the entrances of the four voices, but the orchestra intervenes forte with the opening theme and cuts off the canon on its final syllable. The sopranos continue on alone, with a more lyrical kyrie eleison. They're soon joined by the altos, but the company provides no solace and they continue on, echoing and amplifying the anguish. The tenors and basses join but they too cry out and with all the voices it is as a sea of people crying out in grief over that grim opening them which marches on inexorably and heedless of the outcry. After the bass theme has ratcheted itself up and up, the upper voices leap up a 7th and octave and then as if exasperated all fall silent. The sopranos then take the melody and the lead, as if to sit and pray in unison for salvation, while the other voices follow in homophony. From a descending scale from the 6th to C the soprano enters alone, piano, on Christe. In the relative major E-flat major we now find solace, and the chorus enters together not in despair but with a figure of grateful supplication.

After a passage of effusive prayer with the soprano, to which the others add only punctuating affirmation, we return to the material of the opening. Yet what was once sole despair is now mixed with confidence. The opening theme here is now met with somewhat of a brazen fanfare, stricken but not lost.

The other contrapuntally-treated parts of the C minor could not be more different from the opening Kyrie. They know no darkness, proceeding in joyful sureness.

Gloria: Cum sancto spiritu [YouTube]

Osanna in excelsis Deo [YouTube]

Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini [YouTube]

10. Piano Concertos of 1784:

No. 14 in F major - Allegro ma non troppo KV.449 [YouTube]
 
"The four re-dressings of the refrain could not have been made by a composer who was not an adept in academic counterpoint; any student can force contrapuntal imitation, but it is style even in the modification of a single part, that tells the contrapuntist. One could easily force the theory that the entries of this refrain were intended to bring a laugh against the series of text-book "species" which seem to be parodied in turn.

So sure is Mozart's sense of contrapuntal style that in all kinds of unexpected places–the finale presto of Don Giovanni, for instance– he makes a fugato gesture which makes us we are going to have something on the scale of the 'Jupiter' finale; yet when the parts disappear in smoke, or find themselves on firm homophonic ground, we are aware of no incongruity." [Hutchings, 87]

No. 19 in F major - Allegro assai KV.459 [YouTube]

This movement lacks the wit of the fugato gambits of KV.449. Here in the concerto as he did earlier in choral writing Mozart varies the texture between homophonic and contrapuntal. This concerto is simply to large and complex to handle here; Girdlestone takes ten pages to discuss this movement alone. Minimally one may observe the opening: the main theme introduced by the piano is taken up and treated contrapuntally by the tutti, the soloist returns, varies the main theme and adds another, both of which will later be taken up in a double fugue by the tutti.

With many modulations, polyphony erupting and then quieting into homophony, some motives remaining in homophony others in counterpoint, the mirrored recapitulation, and the movement of material from the tutti to the piano which often decorates the material in competition with the orchestra, this movement is monumental. Too it has remarkably rich texture with various rhythms and instruments suddenly flaring up into fugato. As we have noted before we are seeing more and more chromatic lines. Mozart makes much of the piano's solo nature, it sometimes refusing to submit to the order of the counterpoint. To say listening to this concerto is a blast is incomplete: the panoply is mesmerizing and it is invigorating to experience that which seems to spring up unexpectedly each time.

"The form of this movement, at once concise and expansive, is the synthesis of Mozart's experience and of his ideals of form. Everything plays a role here–operatic style, pianistic virtuosity, Mozart's increasing knowledge of Baroque counterpoint and of Bach in particular, and the symmetrical  balance and dramatic tensions of sonata style." [Rosen, 227]

See also the first two movements of this concerto.

–

Endnotes

[1] Italian for narrow or close, stretto refers to the answer replying to the subject before the subject has completed. (It can also refer to a section of increased speed. [See The Harvard Dictionary of Music, entry, stretto.]

[2] For the purposes of clarification, we consider music with:

• one melody, monophonic
  
• one dominant melody accompanied by chords, homophonic
• independent (or mostly independent) melodies, polyphonic

[3] Dan Brown's essay from "Why Bach?" "Bach as Contrapuntist" is a wonderful introduction to Bach, his music, and the concept and practice of counterpoint. http://whybach.crosstownbooks.com/chapter.html

–

Bibliography
 

Abert, Hermann. W. A. Mozart. Yale University Press. New Haven and New York. 2007.

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

Rosen, Charles. The Classical Style. W. W. Norton and Company. New York. 1997.

Rubbra, Edmund. Counterpoint: A Survey. Hutchinson University Library,  London. 1960.

Manners, Duties, and Society

"Manners are of more importance than laws. . . Manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, barbarize or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible operation, like that of the air we breathe in." [1]

These words from Edmund Burke no doubt sound stodgy and exaggerated to us today. Important as they may be, how can manners not only be so very important, but more important than actual laws? According to Burke manners are important in at least two ways: somehow in themselves and insofar as they are not laws, i.e. have no threat of force behind them. Burke in fact adds a third, that they are pre-rational. Let us examine these claims and find out if manners are as important as Burke says.

First let us look at the claim that manners are in themselves important. While we may deduce their importance from Burke's own statement, we in fact see his point much earlier in Giovanni della Casa's Renaissance treatise on manners, Galateo. The importance of manners lies in the frequency of their use:

. . . everyone must deal with other men and speak to them every day; thus, good manners must also be practiced many times daily, whereas justice, fortitude and he other greater and nobler virtues are called into service much more seldom. [2]

Indeed, manners are with us all of the time, applying everywhere. Not all social intercourse is of great importance and calls upon us to make critical and life-changing decisions. Nonetheless these little interactions can be pleasant or unpleasant. It is truly remarkable how much rudeness, inattentiveness, and surliness can offend and wrack the nerves.  The essence of manners, according to Della Casa, is taking into consideration other people's pleasures. Extravagant or improper dress, over-fastidiousness, inattention, and coarse language are all subtle disdains for others. Yet extreme sensitivity is improper too, since living with such a person is tantamount to servitude, like living amongst many fine glasses, afraid to make a move. Breaches of manners, then, are instances of saying "I'm more important than you" but they are more. These breaches are more, and more frustrating and unpleasant, because they appear arbitrary and not calculated. For example, the person blasting music from his car stereo is not saying, "Listen to this great music; I have such great taste you should listen to my music!" He is saying, "I'm listening to my music how and where I want and you don't figure into my world at all." Understood as such, lack of manners is incompatible with, and detrimental to, anything to be called society. It is surprisingly easy to ignore someone with bad ideas, quite hard to ignore someone who lets a door slam in your face. Manners are thus omnipresent and practical.


Let us now consider Burke's point that manners have a unique function insofar as they are pre-rational, that is we do not really think about them or are taught how or why to be respectful of them. This is likely true insofar as we observe them before we fully comprehend them, but in the end is it so? Not if they are indeed a segue into learning duties, for learning manners is a step toward assuming duties. We would seem to need finer definitions of the fuzzy terms "manners" and "duties." This task is somewhat complicated by the common usages of these words and by the fact the concepts behind them are inextricably linked, and in some cases seemingly overlapping. Manners can either be simply a way of doing things, i.e. a manner in which something gets done, or a particular way of doing things, i.e. a way known to be good. Thus "manners" usually means "particular manners" or "good manners."

How should we consider manners then? First and following Aristotle we should note that we ought not to expect more precision in our discussion than the material permits, as such we should be content with some necessary generalities and exceptions. Second, it would be pedantic and impossible to attempt to redefine the word "manners" for analysis, thus we should use the common usage in our discussion.

Let us say then manners have two aspects, the practical and the dutiful. The first sense is unique to manners themselves. Their ability to smooth relations and make life pleasant is practical. Yet why are they so and why do we praise people with them? Only because they are themselves manifestations of duties. For example, we consider it good manners to act a certain way toward one's parents, yet such is only so because it is thought to be a duty to be pious towards them. Piety being a broader concept which encompasses manners towards one's parents. Without concepts of duties, manners are simply empty gestures. As such without a concept of duties it would be indeed unsurprising for manners to endure since anyone can see they have no purpose any longer. (Besides their practical aspect, of course, which I do not expect as many people would notice.)


To learn manners, then, is to begin relationships with others, relationships of particular natures. We learn how to behave toward parents, toward grandparents, siblings, friends, neighbors, fellow citizens, each relationship being somehow unique. We may observe that since we learn manners as children incapable of actually performing duties, manners come first as affectations and precursors. As such then we may see each manner as connected to some duty.

We assume the responsibilities of duties by being born to a particular people, most centrally to a family, and learning how, i.e. the manner in which, to relate to them. Assuming duties toward them is something necessary, quite obviously, for the continuance of society. In a simply practical way, the assumption of familial duties is practical: no one can take care of himself as a child and as an old man, times when your parents and children ought to take care of you. Of course such is not always possible, and in such cases extended family and friends and neighbors help you. The authority to carry out these essential tasks is thus quite diffused, in unpredictable and imperceptible ways, amongst family and neighbors, forming a complex web of obligations, with the individual assuming various duties towards different people: friend to friend, son to parents, neighbor to neighbor, and so on. These complex webs give communities, both families and towns, unique characters.

Thus manners and associations, for example those familial ones which exist by nature, are inextricable. Manners are the immediate facilitators of duties.

None of this is of course codified anywhere and there is no legislation to turn to. It is simply customary, or custom. The best analogy here is that of the mores maiorum of the Romans. The customs of the Romans' ancestors were preserved not primarily through law and enforcement but by the impetus of the feeling that they had to be preserved, that such was simply the way a Roman ought to do things. How else would you do it, how else would a certain thing get done? The Roman way, this way.

It would be foolish and impossible to consider transplanting Roman virtues to the present day as is, though inquiry would be instructive as many of Rome's problems then are ours now. To that end let us briefly look to Cicero, who wrote de Officiis (On Duties) in the last year of Cicero's life in 44BC. We ought first to note that the Latin "officiis" and English "duties" do not quite carry the senses of consistency, propriety, and rightness of the Greek καθηκόντως (kathekontos.) Looking at Cicero's whole program is beyond our scope here, but there is one argument quite relevant to our Burkean concept of rights, in which Cicero contrasts the notion of a voluntary protector and personal domain and the ruler, or the notions of patrocinium (defense patronage), dominium, and imperium (rule.) C. N. Cochrane aptly summarizes the implications of Cicero's outlook:

From this standpoint there can be no question as to the ultimate residence of sovereignty; it is and must remain with the populus or organized community whose primacy is, thus, theoretically secure and final. This community is the generative source both of imperium and dominium, the former the principle of public order, the latter that of private right. But, in contradistinction from dominium, imperium is non-hereditary and, so far from conferring any title to ownership, it exists in order to protect owners in their titles. Accordingly, to transform it into an instrument of possession is to deny the fundamental idea of the commonwealth and to confuse it with those forms of barbaric kingship for which no such distinction exists. On this fact depend the scope and character of magisterial power. The magistrate is charged with the maintenance of public order and, for that reason, armed with coercive authority. But that authority is limited by the terms of commission; to abuse it is to create a right of resistance on the part of the sovereign people whose 'majesty' is thus infringed (laesa maiestas populi Romani). A situation like this is, however, pathological; it develops only when terrorism (vis et terror) has replaced the true basis of political cohesion, viz. consent (voluntas.) [3]

Aside from the republican, legal-political, natural rights, and what someone today would unavoidably characterize as Jeffersonian nature of these ideas, Cicero here acknowledges spheres of influence. Namely, that the domain of the family is not that of the state. The former, natural and hereditary, is the domain of our obligations to one another, and the latter positive, of legal maintenance, i.e. custodianship. The mixing of these spheres is destructive of families and obligations. Such a mixing could have a variety of causes, most obviously a broad failure of some highly necessary obligation which then gets taken up by the state or an outright usurpation by the state. In his essay on Burke, Ian Crow nicely summarized this transformation:

Of course, as our natural sympathies and associations are swept away there is one relationship that remains inviolable–that between the liberated individual, and the source of his liberation, the central government. If this is a contract, it is hardly one between equal parties! Nevertheless, the trappings of this liberation are likely to be present in force: written constitutions, paper rights, and all the other guarantees that lead us to equate legitimate authority with rationalism on parchment and, by a trompe l’oeil, the omnipresent government as the only legitimate source of that authority.

While the fight for influence, when it happens, turns upon this central power, the collapse of our true sources of liberty proceeds almost unnoticed. Burke saw a resistance to that centralism as built into our natures, but it is also a resistance rooted in our local affections: “The strong struggle in every individual found to belong to him and to distinguish him, is one of the securities against injustice and despotism implanted in our nature.” [4]

Indeed exchanging one's unwritten laws, customs, traditions, and manners for some theoretical guarantee from the government is a most unwise trade. First, it is depersonalizing. Instead of an individual personally carrying out duties of, say charity, toward his neighbors, the government "liberates" him from this duty. Now with the government "taking care of" charity, what is the relationship amongst neighbors? Between them and the state? The government is a sort of proxy in between relationships, usurping power of money and of loyalty. And as we said above, without duties, why should we expect manners to endure? Indeed having some unwritten code of living together, i.e. a society, is preferable to having everything legislated and administered.

In Rhetoric I.xiii Aristotle categorized these unwritten laws into two types, one essentially of honor ("springing from goodness or badness") and one of a practical nature, supplementing the written law. The latter, what he calls equity, is a similar smoothing of relations, asking us to distinguish between criminal acts and instances of misfortune and poor judgment." Equity bids us be merciful to the weakness of human nature; to think less about the laws than the man who framed them, and less about what he said than what he meant." Equity relies on similar conceptions of life, i.e. literally common sense, and good will. That it does not legally bind and has no threat of physical force behind it is significant,  and abiding by such ad hoc judgments reflects a desire for harmony and not simply requital. It requires, though, one to acknowledge bonds with others.

A hyper-litigious society in part is one whose people have forgotten how to relate to one another. A society with a massive welfare state is one whose people have either defaulted on their social obligations or had them usurped, in both cases to the detriment of liberty and community. Without duties, the end reason for manners, manners are mere pleasantries and people will sense their superfluousness and not bother with them. The result in both cases is a people who can only relate to each other through the state, or not at all.

A solution, or at least a step in the right direction, would be to suppress the urge that "there ought to be a law for. . ." and simply in one's personal life carry out one's duties. The difference on man can make not only by doing good but by being known to be good is quite remarkable.

–

[1] Burke, Edmund. The Works of the Right Honourable Edmund Burke: A New Edition, v. VIII. London: F. C. and J. Rivington, 1815. p.172

[2] Eisenbichler, Konrad and Bartlett, Kenneth R. (trans.) Galateo: A Renaissance Treatise on Manners by Giovanni Della Casa. Center for Reformation and Renaissance Studies. 1994.

[3] Cochrane, Charles Norris. Christianity and Classical Culture. Oxford University Press. London. 1968. p. 57

[4] Crowe, Ian. Edmund Burke on Manners. Modern Age, Volume 39, Number 34. Fall 1997. [PDF] [Journal]

Recommended Reading
Free (PDF) via Google Books

Burke by John Morley.  [Link]

Reflections on the Revolution in France by Edmund Burke [Link]

Around the Web

For Saturday, July 24 through Friday, August 6.

1) The struggle for the (possible) soul of David Eagleman.

2) In the WSJ, Terry Teachout on Emmanual Chabrier, "music's master of good cheer."

3) In the WSJ, does language influence culture?

4) Sophisticated synthesizers and computer-manipulated recordings are increasingly taking over theater orchestras.

5) In the WSJ, Trevor Butterworth reviews, "The Enlightened Economy: An Economic History of Britain 1700-1850" by Joel Mokyr.

6) A model of the universe with no big bang, no beginning, and no end.

7) William Spiegelman in the WSJ on The Unfinished Perfection of Leonardo da Vinci's 'The Virgin and Child With St. Anne'

8) In the WSJ, David Mermelstein interviews Yo-Yo Ma, the "ever-curious cellist."

9) In City-Journal, Jim Manzi on the limits of social science.

10) James Lasdun in The Guardian on "the wonder of Chekov."

11) In the Financial Times, "The Language of Food": an excerpt from Simon Schama's "Scribble, Scribble, Scribble, Writings on Ice Cream, Obama, Churchill and My Mother"

12) Jonathan H. Adler at The Volokh Conspiracy on The Roberts Court, "the most restrained in decades."

13) One of the biggest canals ever built by the Romans in an ancient port as important as Carthage or Alexandria has been discovered by British archaeologists.

14) Tim Black reviews "In Defence of the Enlightenment" by Tzvetan Todorov, for Spiked Online.

15) Mark Hannam at The Philosophers' Magazine reviews "A Revolution of the Mind" by Jonathan Israel.

16) Mark Bauerlein reviews "Higher Education?" by Andrew Hacker and Claudia Dreifus for the WSJ.

17) Captured: America in color from 1939-1943

Gardiner on Bach's Brandenburgs

Conductor Sir John Eliot Gardiner on J.S. Bach's "Brandenburg Concertos," discussing their highly varied nature, their conversational structures, and "exploring Bach's language."

Gardiner conducted the English Baroque Soloists performing the Brandenburgs and their recording for the SDG label came out in 2009.

Part I | Part II | Part III

Masterclass, on HBO

I was recently clicking around on the television and the word "Masterclass" in the on-screen guide caught my eye. This happens every so often and usually ends in disappointment, for example seeing "philosophy" and such turning out to be a perfume. This time, though, I did find an interesting program called "Masterclass" currently airing on HBO family, in which high school students selected by the National Foundation for Advancement in the Arts' "YoungArts" program engage in workshops with "legends in the fields where they aspire to become legends themselves."

The episode was about 25 minutes of playwright Edward Albee entertaining the kids' questions, asking them questions, and offering them some criticism of their work. It is certainly good viewing for youths and clearly they are the intended audience. Yet even adult creative artists would probably like to hear what worked (and what didn't) for someone who has succeeded, tips and tricks, and any insight into the craft. I'd have liked a longer program with more emphasis on technique and details although Albee went into surprising depth with the high-school students, substantially scratching the surface of the nature of writing plays: the essential goal of the artist, how play-writing differs from screenwriting, and his creative process.


The program is certainly well worth watching and hopefully more programming of this nature can follow, since while there is much history and science documentary programming there is little-to-no for the arts.

Masterclass on HBO Family

Sneak peeks:

• with Frank Gehry 
• with Edward Albee
• with Julian Schnabel
• with Liv Ullmann
• with Jacques D'Ambroise 

Masterclass, with Michael Tilson Thomas

Book Review: Marathon

Marathon: How One Battle Changed Western Civilization
by Richard A. Billows

It will come as no surprise how many people, academics and scholars in particular, brim with enthusiasm for their work. Indeed the lifelong dedication toward mastering a specific field, often highly specific, demands a great deal of confidence in the importance of the material. So the music theoretician is aghast you cannot recognize the overture to The Magic Flute, the art historian confounded you don't see the philosophical dimensions of Rembrandt, and so on. Classicists are no different and indeed I know no Classicist with a lukewarm attachment to the Greek and Roman world. Yet the Classicist occupies a slightly different position in justifying his affinity, the difference being that the Greek and Roman world, especially the former, was the birthplace of Western Civilization. Many no doubt bristle at the term, "Western Civilization" which today has, somehow, become déclassé. Without probing the depths of that phrase's evolution, or devolution, "Western Civilization" ought to be a particularly valid term for describing the fruit of the Classical world for the reason of common cultural, political, and social ancestry alone.

Like it or not, Western Civilization is, and like it or not, the Greeks made it and changed it. Yet it was never guaranteed, and at one point, in Mill's words, "it hung trembling in the balance." [1]

–

Richard A. Billows', Marathon: How One Battle Changed Western Civilization, explores and commemorates this seminal event of the Battle of Marathon, whose 2500th anniversary is approaching. The 490 B.C. defense of Greece by 9,000 Athenians and their allies from an invading Persian force had been considered by the 18th and 19th century philosophers and in particular the 19th century "philhellenic" Romantics, as a critical moment of Western Civilization. Today, though, the influence not only of the battle but of Classical Greece, and the concept of a "Western identity" are, incredibly, no longer settled matters. To any student of history, such is pure rubbish, and Billows deserves credit for saying as much in no uncertain terms, "Some contemporary historians deride the idea of classical Greece as the cradle of Western civilization. They seem to me to be, quite simply, factually wrong; wrong not so much about classical Greece, as about the modern development of Western culture." Billows takes pains to say several times though, to emphasize that he's not making a qualitative assessment of the Greek influence and Western Civilization, but rather simply that the Greek influence was a significant one.

It is a general principle about making movies that a battle on the screen is only as good as the buildup to the action. In laying out the histories of Greece and Persia immediately preceding the battle at Marathon, Billows follows this principle and the result is effective. This is no small feat considering the quantity, significance, and complexity of the events in discussion. Yet the opening chapters do not simply recap history, but set the stage for 490 BC. What comes across most strongly are the many changes, none of them inevitable, which the Athenians underwent in the time preceding Marathon which made victory possible.

We begin, both customarily and properly, with Homer, who introduces the first of two concepts that we will see play out throughout Greek history. The concept of aristea, or "bestness" is at the heart the Greek enthrallment with being the best and the best at absolutely everything. This focus on being the best and demonstrating it, seen in the very aristocratic nature of early Greek warfare and the Iliad and Odyssey, which focus on great, famous men, goes hand in hand with the concept of eris. First laid out by Hesiod and usually translated as strife, eris is the intense competitive ethos, which can be good, encouraging a warrior or artisan to do the best work possible, or bad, causing disarray and disunity amongst a citizenry. These two concepts will underscore all Greek history, here enriching, there bedeviling.

Moving on from the Archaic times we see Greece grow and mature. We see its alphabet, around 800 BC., the first simple one which one could read and spoken completely from the text as written. We see the birth of trade and the rise of a middle class, one which would challenge the old aristocratic order. We see the tyrants, more properly understood not as malicious rulers, but as rulers who usurped the power from the traditional sources, the aristocratic families. In art we find songs which also criticize society and the status quo, but not with the claim of being prophets or aristocrats, but with the only authority of being a fellow citizen in a free society. This growing egalitarianism manifested itself in the Athenian military too, which transitioned from a system focused on rich, powerful, and well-equipped aristocrats to what we have come to know as hoplite warfare, of citizens tightly formed in ranks, supporting each other.

Billows' sections on early Athenian lawmaking and political life are especially good. The early conflicts among powerful aristocratic families like the Alkmaionids, the middle class, and tyrants, some of who wanted simply to usurp power and some planning actual reform, come across appropriately as unpredictable: no one knew the direction the government of Athens would take. Aside from the reforms of Solon, the most famous Athenian reformer and one of the "Seven Wise Men" of early Greece, Billows calls needed attention to two facts. First is the incredible civic participation of the early Athenian democracy. He points this out by way of comparison: The 500 councilors of Athens represented a body of about 30,000 to 50,000 men; The USA has a total of 535 members in the bicameral congress, representing over 200 million citizens. The Athenian system was designed to achieve in representation as random a sample of the people as possible, both by its size and by apportioning to localities. Billows' second point is the obscurity of the creator of this system, Kleisthenes. Mainly, why has he been largely forgotten? Billows traces this to the re-creation of the democracy following the overthrow of the "Thirty Tyrants" who ruled after Athens' defeat in the Peloponnesian War. In re-creating their democracy, they needed to establish legitimacy and continuity and thus the reformers like Ephialtes and Kleisthenes were too recent to draw on as authoritative. They needed to reach back farther, to an older tradition, and thus turned to Solon as the great founder of their traditions. This argument persuades.

Documenting the rise of Persia presents a different challenge, mostly because of the dearth of details on them. We rely heavily on Herodotus out of necessity. Billows strikes a good middle ground in citing the oft-fanciful and highly narrative stories Herodotus gives us about the rise of the Persian Empire, neither reporting them uncritically nor following the contemporary trend of disparaging him. (In the Suggested Reading section, Billows refers us to the recent scholarship on this debate.) Nonetheless, the story of the Persian Empire has an undeniable epic sweep: the fall of the Assyrians to the Medes, the Median King Astyages' fall to his grandson, Cyrus, who conquers and pulls together the many disparate lands to forge the first Persian Empire. When we finally meet Darius, he is one of several aristocratic conspirators attempting to seize the throne upon the deaths of Cyrus' sons, Cambyses and Smedris. Billows tells this tale quickly and soberly without the usual flash and drama that usually attend this "scandal" of succession. We see that when Darius finally encounters the Greeks, he has spent years fighting to re-unite the empire, which was plagued by rebellions when he took the reigns. He wasn't going to take any nonsense from these small, relatively poor, and quarrelsome people on the western border of his finally-secure empire.


In the years immediately preceding the battle of Marathon, the Athenian democracy was still fragile. It survived threats in part by the Corinthians and Plataians standing by their alliances to Athens. Thus the Athenians now were united with Sparta in resisting the Persians, who were now demanding the traditional tribute of submission, earth and water, after crushing the Ionian Greeks who revolted. Well, they were sort of united. The Spartans were still, and would remain, primarily concerned with the Peloponnese, which they seldom wandered far from out of fear the neighboring peoples they had enslaved and bullied would rise up. Athens itself, though burgeoning and increasing in "bestness" still faced the problem of disunity, both internally on account of rival factions and amongst other cities.



The Battle on the Plain of Marathon, Summer 490 BC.


It is a bit of a tradition to describe "Great Battles" in terms of columns, flanks, weapons, and armor. The image of generals moving figures over giant table-top maps comes to mind. Indeed this sort of analysis is both helpful and necessary. Billows accomplishes this aspect of understanding the battle efficiently and clearly but he does not dwell there, rather he brings out the many unique aspects of the battle as a whole. First, an astounding [about] one-third of the Athenian population, essentially a full call to arms, came out to fight.

Such an enormous mobilization of national manpower, percentage-wise, is virtually unparalleled in the history of warfare: only the fundamentally democratic and participatory nature of the Greek city-states, and especially of Athens, which made the city-state, in all important respects, the same as the citizen body and thus made the citizen feel the state was his state and his business, can explain the kinds of mass mobilization of which Greek city-states were routinely capable. [Billows, 209]

Indeed, as Aristotle would go on to say, thanks to those who fought at Marathon, "the salvation of the community is the common business of all. This community is the constitution [emphasis mine]" [2] and referencing the fight between Achilles and Agamemnon in the Iliad, "he is a citizen in the highest sense who shares in the honors of the state. . . he who is excluded from the honors. . . is no better than an alien." [3] Thus what made the Athenians uniquely able to prevail in this struggle vividly comes across here.

Billows also makes a few necessary corrections to the Marathon legend. First, it is not likely the Athenians would have run the entire mile between the armies, both on account of the fatigue which would ensue, and that it was only necessary to run whilst in range of the Persian archers, i.e. the final 150 meters. Second, Miltiades deserves more credit for his tactics. At at time before extensive and strategic generalship, when armies more or less walked at each other and started fighting, Miltiades' perceiving that the threat was of being outflanked and subsequent strengthening of the Greek army's wings at the expense of the center ought not to be underestimated as achievements.

Billows' step-by-step narrative of the details of the battle also gives a much-needed human perspective on the trial of battle:

The mass of men around him, marching in the same rhythm, wearing the same equipment, ready to fight for the same cause must have been a comfort, and no doubt the sheer act of marching in unison, of moving, will have settled his nerves a bit. Then came the trumpeting and shouting of orders as the regiments wheeled from column of march into line of battle, and with tit the front-rank hoplite will have gotten his first clear sight, through the eye-holes of his now pulled-down helmet, of the massed Persian ranks. Thousands upon thousands of strange-looking men, wearing trousers rather than tunics, and other exotic gear, must have started up the nerves again. [Billows, 222]

Lastly, Billows offers some clear alternatives to some of the post-battle incidents. First, it is quite unlikely Philippides, who had just run 140 miles from Athens to Sparta and back again, would have dropped dead after running, one way, the 25 miles from Marathon to Athens. Second, the real feat of the immediate aftermath of the battle was the fact that the whole Athenian army, desperately hoping to out-run the rest of the Persian force which was making its way to Athens by ship, marched from Marathon to Athens. They did so, according to Billows, via the two roads back to Athens, the young and more able taking the rockier, uphill path, and the rest taking the longer but less-strenuous path. The Persians, arriving and finding this army trickling in at Athens, wisely departed, probably grudgingly impressed. The Spartans, arriving a few days later, certainly were.

–

Billows rounds out the story with the conclusion of the Persian Wars, but duly emphasizes it was what happened there, then, at Marathon, that enabled a complete victory later. Had the Athenians faltered, failed, or simply left, the fates of the Greeks would have been different. The busy and bustling city of Athens, the city of Plato and Sophocles, the culture and world in which they lived and thought, would not have come to be. This city of garrulous and quarreling peoples, this city which fostered and required civic and cultural engagement, became a hot-spot of creation, experimentation, and inquiry. It is unlikely a town on the Persian Gulf, where the people of a defeated Athens would have been relocated, would have had a climate that would have inspired The Clouds or The Republic. If you were to ask  a Classicist, "what are the influences of the Greeks on Western Civilization" you would probably get a bit of a chuckle. If the ways are not innumerable they are near it.

I'll close with what Dr. Billows begins with, that the lesson of Marathon "is that on some non-trivial level, humans can take charge of and affect their destinies: if ten thousand men had not made the stand they did on the plain of Marathon, history as we know it would not have come about."

–

N.B. Gladly, Dr. Billows' book is not laden with footnotes and excessive scholarly minutiae. Someone, even a non-expert and non-Classicist, can actually pick it up and read it and enjoy it. The "Further Reading" section at the end addresses some issues of contention and points readers toward a variety of sources on more specific issues.

–

Marathon: How One Battle Changed Western Civilization
by Richard A. Billows
Overlook Duckworth, Peter Mayer Publishers, Inc. 2010.
Amazon | Barnes & Noble

–

[1] Hegel, G. W. F. Philosophy of History. 2.2.3
[2] Aristotle, Politics, 1276b
[3] ibid. 1278a

Grand Strategy with Charles Hill

Peter Robinson, for the Hoover Institution's Uncommon Knowledge, interviews former adviser to Secretaries of State George Schulz and Henry Kissinger, Hoover research fellow, and member of the Working Group on Islamism and the International Order, and author of Grand Strategies.

Part I
Grand Strategy: knowing where you're coming from and where you're going, maintaining the big picture; the 1648 Treaty of Westphalia and the birth of the modern international state system.

Part II
Education: Statecraft cannot be practiced in the absence of literary insight. Aeschylus' Orestia and modern Afghanistan.

Part III
Thucydides and the complexity of strategy and statecraft.

Part IV
Souls, human rights, equality, and sovereignty. American exceptionalism. Federalist 10, property rights, and protecting liberty.

Part V
Ineptitude and lack of purpose in post Cold War American foreign policy. Book recommendations for President Obama

Grand Strategy with Charles Hill

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

Around the Web

For the week of Saturday, July 17 through Friday, July 23.

1) In City Journal, Heather MacDonald and "Classical Music's New Golden Age."

2) William Schambra in National Affairs on "Conservatism and the Quest for Community."

3) Henry Olsen in National Affairs on "Populism, American Style."

4) Victor Davis Hanson and pitying the postmodern cultural elite.

Book Reviews

5) Ernest Gellner: An Intellectual Biography, by John A. Hall

6) Duel at Dawn, by Amir Alexander

7) The Wave Watcher's Companion, by Gavin Pretor-Pinney 

8) The Wind from the East, by Richard Wolin

9) Spartacus Road, by Peter Stothard

10) The Art of the Sonnet, by Stephen Burt and David Mikics

11) Music and Sentiment, by Charles Rosen

12) Remembering tenor Anthony Rolfe Johnson, elegant interpreter of Britten, Mozart, and Fauré.

Conscious Dignity, Freedom, and Tragic Fate

Just a brief reflection on thought that did not make it into yesterday's essay, "Man, State, and Morality."

In his short treatise, "Thoughts on Government" [1] John Adams wrote he wished for a people to be inspired "with a conscious dignity becoming freemen." The phrase reminded me of a wonderful section from H.D.F Kitto's classic, "The Greeks:" [2]

Pindar, Nemean Ode VI.

ἓν ἀνδρῶν, ἓν θεῶν γένος: ἐκ μιᾶς δὲ πνέομεν
ματρὸς ἀμφότεροι: διείργει δὲ πᾶσα κεκριμένα
δύναμις, ὡς τὸ μὲν οὐδέν, ὁ δὲ χάλκεος ἀσφαλὲς αἰὲν ἕδος
μένει οὐρανός.

One is the race of Gods and men; from one mother
we both draw our breath. Yet are our powers poles apart;
for we are nothing, but for them the brazen Heaven
endures forever.

So says Pindar, in a noble passage mistranslated by scholars who should know better, and made to mean: 'One is the race of Gods, and that of men is another.' But Pindar's whole point here is the dignity and weakness of man; and this is the ultimate source of that tragic note that runs through all classical Greek literature. And it was this consciousness of the dignity of being a man that gave such urgency and intensity to the word (eleutheria / ελευθερία) that we inadequately translate 'freedom.' 

Some were barbarians for living under despots, others for living in tribes, but they were all not free. The Greeks lived in what we broadly and inaccurately call the city-state, what, Kitto writes, "became the focus of a man's moral, intellectual, aesthetic, social and practical life, developing and enriching these in a way in which no form of society had done before or has done since. Other forms of political society had been, as it were, static; the city-state was the means by which the Greek consciously strove to make the life both of the community and of the individual more excellent than it was before."


I cannot resist drawing a parallel to the work of J. R. R. Tolkien here, especially because the folks at Tolkien Gateway put the ideas so well and in such similar terms:

The Gift of Men is death—the inheritance of Ilúvatar's Younger Children, which allows them to go beyond the confines of Arda, this world. Though the phrase commonly refers to this type of mortality, death is actually only part of the broader Gift given to Men: it is one with their ability to operate beyond the Music of the Ainur, which "is as fate to all things else". With this Gift, Men were to fulfill the world down to the finest detail. . . all other beings in Arda, including the Valar themselves, were bound to the World and its fate, [but] the Gift freed Men from this destiny, allowing them to shape their own lives as they wished.

But like all other aspects of life in Arda, the Gift of Men became darkened by Morgoth's shadow. Men came to view death with great dread, and it became a Doom to them rather than a Gift. . . However, those Men with the greatest understanding treated death as the Gift it was originally intended to be, and when their time came gladly gave themselves up to it. For example, the earlier Rulers of Númenor in the Second Age, and Aragorn in the beginning of the Fourth Age, accepted the Gift at the natural end of their lives. [3]

 

–

[1] http://www.liberty1.org/thoughts.htm
[2] Kitto, H.D.F. The Greeks. Penguin. Middlesex, England. 1951. p. 10
[3] http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Gift_of_Men

Man, State, and Morality

1. In a recent essay at Big Hollywood Mark Tapson discussed and expressed disapproval with some recent statements by filmmaker Michael Moore, who asserted all Americans share in the immorality of what he alleged were crimes committed by the American government. This is in fact, and surprisingly, similar to a philosophically-centered conversation your humble bloggers had a few months ago. The question boils down to this: what exactly is the relationship of the individual to the state? The corollary point, which is the only one discussed most of the time, is where does the responsibility for state action lie? There are a number of issues at play here so let us systematically look at them using the United States as an example.

N.B. While both of your bloggers discussed this issue recently, below are strictly my thoughts. I actually had in mind also various existential criticisms of the state, i.e. that it ought not to exist at all. Also, it is a rather preliminary investigation into these issues, presented here anyway for the purposes of promoting discussion and understanding of the questions.

I.

2. We already stated the first question, "what exactly is the relationship of the individual to the state?" We must now examine its constituent parts: the individual, the law, state institutions, and the execution of law. We must note first what is considered to be the natural state of things before any human action:

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, That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.

3. Thus governments are instituted to secure man's Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness. Government's just powers are derived from the consent of the governed. Thus any body of laws should begin, "We the people, for the purposes securing Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness, establish laws, X, Y, Z, et cetera." Let us look at how the Constitution begins:

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

It is not quite what one would expect. Instead of "Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness" we have to "form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity." Logically we must assume the latter six not only to be compatible with but in fact a subset of the first three. These are those "principles. . . as to the people will seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness." Other principles we will find in the Bill of Rights and the form as we know will be a bicameral congress, judiciary, and executive.

Through the remainder of this essay for efficiency we will use simply the word liberty to refer an individual's life and property, the protection of which is the means of effecting the above principles. (We will consider this particular point again in section eight below.)

4. But let us return to the notion of "consent of the governed." What if you withdraw your consent and refuse to be governed? You still possess the natural right to secure your "Life, Liberty, and Happiness" yourself. You would simply have a private piece of property somewhere not subject to the specific subset of laws adopted by other nations. We will call these "private men." This sounds acceptable, perhaps even preferable. However what if 10,000, or 100,000 such private individuals existed. Let us say they are free to interact with, amongst, and on the property of Americans. Should disputes arise, which law would prevail, that of the private men or the Americans? Each case involving a private man and an American would be one essentially of "international relations," i.e. highly complex. The only solution would be to say that on American territory American law prevails. This means American law is effective in certain places (still stipulating that Natural Law is effective everywhere.) What if, then, a man moves far away from American territory but still wishes to follow American law? Imagine the year is 1800 and 10,000 citizens from New York disperse to 10,000 private residences amongst the wilderness of the frontier and wish to follow American law. This is naturally impossible to carry out. They are effectively their own countries who choose to accept American law.

5. Let us look at another example. A child is born to an American family in an American city. This child as we keep saying has the same natural rights as all people. (We will not henceforth mention this.) Does he inherit the positive law also? Yet he is a child and subject to the laws of his parents too. Then let us assume he has reached the age of maturity, 18, and pose the same question. He would appear to have the choice of staying or leaving. If he leaves his choice is clear, but if he stays? May we assume consent?

What if he inherits or purchases property surrounded by "American property?" Which prevails, his right to exercise his authority over his property or the concept that an umbrella of the state exists over certain property the state claims? It would seem the man's claim, being based on natural law, ought to prevail.

6. We see in the problems from the above section five that the concept of the state, which is by definition an entity of homogeneity, is in tension with the concept of liberal natural rights. The terminology of the preamble to the Constitution demonstrates the fact the Founding Fathers were attuned to this tension. For example, it mentions forming a "more perfect union" and insuring "domestic tranquility" and passing on liberty "to our posterity." All of these phrases suggest a need for smoothing over, for harmonizing, or at least mingling, discord. The first two phrases quite obviously refer to establishing the legal homogeneity required for a state we mentioned in section five above. The phrase "to our posterity" implies some need of continuity from one generation to the next. We will revisit these principles later.

7. We looked for the natural condition of man, shall we not do so for the state? Perhaps nature will resolve or assist us in resolving the contradictions we have observed. Undoubtedly the most famous statement in this line of observation is that of Aristotle's, from Book I of his Politics, that man "is by nature a political animal." The Philosopher reasons that the state is a natural outgrowth of the most fundamental association of all, that between man and woman. This pairing, he says, is not deliberate but natural and necessary. Such is the criterion he sets forth for associations, that "there must be a union of whose who cannot exist without each other." Clearly he is correct in this observation regarding man and woman. Can man exist without the state? Surely he may, theoretically, but can he in practice? Aristotle reasoned likewise that as man and woman form family, families form communities, and communities villages, and villages states. The end of a thing being its nature, man is thus said to be a political animal. Minimally we may say based on observation that lack of a state, even if such a lack is not natural, is certainly not the norm. Indeed, societies without continuous government and law can be seen to be less sophisticated.

8. A state comes into existence, as Aristotle says in the opening line of the Politics, with a view to some good. The Preamble to the American constitution sets forth the good hoped for. The legitimate state, then, exists to bring about for the people something necessary and something attainable by no other means.

We should digress to elaborate on this notion. Namely that government should act only by design, toward its end, and not in incidental manner. Too it should not impede anything else which is necessary. Likewise it ought not to impede or promote anything contrary to its end. We see then, by this argument, that the protection of liberty, more specifically the restraining of criminals and of necessity the state itself, from violating the rights of citizens, is the only proper role of government because it is the only goal which can be carried out without destroying another.

9. To return to our earlier statement then, that the legitimate state exists to bring about for the people something necessary and something attainable by no other means. For example, the union of man and woman exists because without such a union humanity would not continue. Is the fundamental purpose of the American constitution, then, possible, without the state?

It would seem so, especially because man is said to be "born free." If he is already free, then why does he need the state to be free? Yet is the preservation and continuation of liberty possible without a just (recall, "deriving their just powers") state? Clearly not, at least on one respect, for example the constitution was needed in the first place. The American colonists were free by right but not in practice. Likewise, "common protection" was deemed something only commensurate to a just state. This too is so, for while a man can defend himself from a bandit, and perhaps even a family may defend itself from bandits, it alone cannot protect itself from larger parties.

This family is then both free and not free. Though seemingly free from compulsion, it lacks the means, the force, to deter those who would initiate violence against it and deprive its members of their rights. We see then that the role of government ought to be toward restraining those who would deprive others of their rights, i.e. criminals. Non-criminals do not need to be and ought not to be controlled.

10. Lastly we may address the issue of the "posterity" clause of the preamble, which addresses the aspect of time. In fact it addresses an aspect of freedom only a continuum of some kind can fulfill. This clause makes the whole document eschew the ephemeral. Holding generations as well as individuals at legal parity, this seemingly slight phrase prevents any law which would sacrifice the future for the benefit of the present. This posterity clause is redundant insofar as everyone has equal rights and thus the old and young have the same. It merely emphasizes that these rights must of necessity be delegated from the young to the old.

It would seem that while man is "born free" his nature being a reasoning and political animal, that is by nature he may act beside inclination and must somehow interact with others, preserving his freedom is less plain a task. Thus to be free in practice man must either be alone or establish law and order. Unless, of course, all men are virtuous and in accord.

11. Thus policing is necessary, as is an institution for it, but is it a task only a state can fulfill? Let us consider domestic policing and foreign threats separately. Of policing it is clear individuals can rightfully defend themselves, and likewise clear delegating this authority to experts is desirable so one does not have to be in fear for his property or always to defend it himself. Yet it seems a private policing agency could be effective. In order to be in accordance with law it would have to work closely with the appropriate legal agency. It would then differ only slightly from a formal, state-run police force. However if there were multiple and changing forces the courts and legal system would be unable to coordinate with them all and produce a consistent protocol for dealing with crime.

Such would also be a problem in having multiple, dynamic, private armies: they would all need to liaison with the appropriate federal agency in order properly and consistently to carry out national defense policy. Both situations, private police and armies, would produce too many variables for the legal system.

Additionally, it being the case that the military and military operations have higher needs for unity it would be infeasible to merge or intermingle these private forces, potentially many and diverse in skill, age, and size, into a single operating force for imminent combat. As such the national force would be compromised. Also a military tradition must exist to maintain a sufficiently trained army, although should no other professional armed forces exist in foreign lands, one would then not be needed since all would be at equal advantage.  Until then, one must exist in a state.

Such of course presumes a standing army and thus a need for expediency. Only an in-place institution can react swiftly to dangers. Or at least more swiftly than if the citizenry had to react to each common danger as if it were the first. For example, imagine  a citizenry being threatened by a foreign power. Now imagine if they had not just to decide how to defend themselves, but first if and what sort of body, and a body of which people, ought to be convened to decide.

12. Yet these arguments are relatively slight and might conceivably be overcome given sufficient communication, planning, and efficiency. Such not being universally attainable, the above arguments must be brought forth. Most importantly, though, the administration of law must be enforceable and enforced, and for this reason some element of force must stand behind the rulings of judges and arbiters. If private enforcement agencies were instituted, they would in theory be accountable to the legislative and administrative authorities, but in practice would pose risk of faction in the realms of interpretation, jurisdiction, and administration.

Great caution must be applied in the creation of all institutions with the force to bind, since all force and power, external and internal, are potential threats to liberty. A great army to defend against external force might prove as great a threat to the citizenry as a foreign force. Precedent offers many such examples, most notably the Roman army's influence on the succession of the Caesars.

13. We see then, that a state is necessary in several respects. First is as set of laws fixed in place, something both necessary and natural. For example, there must be an objective law to turn to, otherwise even if two people can agree on a dispute, or submit to arbitration, why should a third, or fourth party be bound to the ruling? Thus they must be fixed, which is essential to be effective, i.e. to fulfill their purpose.  As Aristotle says in II.viii of the Politics, that while sometimes laws do need to be changed,

. . .great caution would seem to be required. For the habit of lightly changing the laws is an evil, and, when the advantage is small, some errors both of lawgivers and rulers had better be left; the citizen will not gain so much by making the change as he will lose by the habit of disobedience. . . For the law has no power to command obedience except that of habit, which can only be given by time, so that a readiness to change from old to new laws enfeebles the power of the law.

Second they must be instituted, i.e. carried out by an institution, i.e. a government entity, e.g. the mechanisms of administration or enforcement. Such is because all laws, even when they are fixed, are subject to the vicissitudes of life insofar as their administration, though not necessarily of their interpretation. Only an institution whose rulings are regarded as binding can create the objective standard needed for order. We must note, though, that an institution is not a guarantee of the end. We must stress it is itself only a means. Government does not guarantee liberty, of course, though good government is needed to create an orderly sphere in which liberty may be lived. Yet good government itself has requirements, namely broad understanding amongst the people of the nature of democratic-republican liberal government and the desire for, and the industry to create, peace, justice, and equality of rights. It also ought to reflect and be consistent with the natural law, its positive law ought to be practical to administrate, and it ought to reflect the nature of the people. An institution of good government is, though, a necessary means as mechanism and a natural, though not complete, retardant to change because it harbors precedent.

14. Having discerned the natural need for and state of the state, let us at last return to our issues from section five. The need for a state, in order to justify its existence, to exist fixed in time in law and domain means it cannot endure a constant flux where at any given time any amount of it is in fact not of it. In other words a state needs a domain.

As such a man, though a non-American, can obtain and freely possess American land, the land must remain of American law. The law being of a fundamentally liberal, i.e. minimal, nature, this ought not seem so egregious. This also answers our question regarding citizenship, i.e. if an individual comes of age and remains in the land does he consent to its rules? If the land is inherently of the law, then yes. We must add, though, that he must be free to leave.

15. Having inquired into the fundamental natures of man and the state we can look at the more subtle aspects of their relationship. Foremost we observe that it is the preservation of liberty which naturally binds them. To stray from this end is to be destructive of it. To stray from this end is also a moral hazard, since the individual has consented to be governed only toward the end of protecting his own liberty, not toward any other. To pass laws irrelevant to this end is also a breach of the contract between the governor and governed. In such cases the fault lies with the governors and legislators. The terminology we just used, that "laws bind" should make us pause and recall that all laws bind. Thus laws in addition only to addressing the issue of liberty, should be as few as possible.

Such demonstrates the necessity for the principle of federalism, wherein within one state there are smaller ones and still smaller ones. In a cascading effect, some laws apply to the whole land, some to smaller jurisdictions, and some only to the smallest. This has several benefits. First, people have choice amongst regional constitutions. Second, people are subjected to as few laws as possible, since people of a certain opinion can have their own town and law without trying to make a larger area, and thus likely people who disagree with them, subject to their law. Third and similarly, it is easier to pass certain laws since they will apply to fewer people and thus need a smaller consensus. Lastly, this system of cascading laws, or federalism, allows people to bind together for issues of great importance, and be free from what they do not wish to be a part of.

Jefferson made a similar plan with his system of wards, "It is by dividing and subdividing these republics from the great National one down thro' all its subordinations, until it ends in the administration of every man's farm and affairs by himself. . ." [1]

16. We see then that while life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness naturally exist they do not naturally persist and are not always possible to act on. Even if one thinks freedom is conducive to allowing the individual to have everything he needs, it does not follow that everything (or nothing) is conducive toward effecting freedom.

The preamble to the constitution speaks of "unity, justice, defence, and securing for posterity." These are conservative points, as are the points about institutions we made above. Indeed we might do well to consider a just government an institutional of conserving liberty. A similar turn of phrase is found in Destutt de Tracy's Commentary and Review of Montesquieu, which much influenced Jefferson [2], that a rational government will always aim at conserving "the independence of the nation, the liberty of its members, and such security for every individual as to supersede the idea of fear internal or external." [3]

The Founders were acutely aware of forces, e.g. factions and mobs besides foreign threats, which were hostile to liberty. Even after experiencing tyranny, they resolved not to protect freedom by creating a vacuum of power, one they knew would be filled by the first man or confederacy which could arouse fear and promise security, but rather by arranging it as judiciously as it has ever been, with the most specific of focuses and limits.


II.

17. We may now observe the last of our three aspects, that of the execution of the law. It is in this respect which citizens most differ amongst themselves, how to carry out the law. In a democratic society there are indeed a great variety of opinions as to what ought to be done, how, and when, even when the final end is the same. It is in these respects which the government acts contrary to the will of some of its constituents. This could only be avoided if 1) society was governed by an individual or group with absolute power, which would mean the citizens could not be blamed for the actions of the government because the citizens had no choice. Or 2) if the government only acted when 100% of the citizenry agreed, which would remove all agency of the government since such a time would effectively be never.

18. Thus we might now answer our original question. If you disagree with the fundamental laws of the government of which you are a part, (I stress government and not society) dwelling there by nature is hypocritical.  Disagreeing with execution of law is a different sort of disagreement, in fact one fundamental to the concept of a liberal democracy. Yet when one disagrees one must voice dissent, and not just to one's fellow citizens, but to one's representatives in government to whom one has delegated authority. Only in doing so have you done the maximum you can to exert your single-citizen's influence over the law. You have also removed your sanction from what you consider "wrong" (let us indulge the use of this vague term here.)

19. Of course this is not some easy and delightful solution. There is a certainly-apocryphal quote[4] from George Washington that government is a “troublesome servant and a fearful master.” Indeed. Being political requires much of man. It requires diligence, reasoned consideration, and a consistent effort of keeping informed. Freedom too requires much of man, namely an active and continuous participation in government. Yet it requires still more than that, namely an understanding that politics both binds and separates, and that a man know himself, when to bind and when to stand alone. It requires a "conscious dignity becoming freemen." [5] Such is the cost of a free society. Simply to resolve that the government is "just bad" and to exonerate yourself of its actions is as foolish and is as shameful an evasion as hyper-statism. It is likewise dishonest and false to claim a nation of democratic citizens at fault for each and every of its government's actions. These extreme approaches try to resolve a complex problem into facile answers, wherein problems are either the fault of everyone or no one.

–

[1] Letter to Joseph Cabell, Monticello, Feb. 2, 1816, M.E., XIV, 420.
[2] Koch, Adrienne. The Philosophy of Thomas Jefferson. Columbia University Press, New York. 1957. p. 154, footnote no. 19.
[3] ibid. p.160.
[4] http://volokh.com/2010/04/14/government-is-not-reason-it-is-not-eloquence-it-is-force/
[5] Adams, John. Thoughts on Government.

Bibliographic Notes

After completing this essay I revisited Ayn Rand's essay "The Purpose of Government" which I had last read several years ago. I immediately became aware of many similarities between this and my essay. These were not deliberate nor did I seek to emulate, build on, or critique Rand. Nonetheless I must acknowledge the similarities and the debt.

Also after finishing my essay I read several sections of Ludwig von Mises' "Liberalism" and there too I noted similarities to this essay. Likewise they are not deliberate and in this case I had not read any of Mises' "Liberalism" prior to writing my essay.

Lest for any reason this essay be thought to give license to statism or a loose reading of "freedom" or "liberty" please consider my essay, "A Libertarian Case for Free Healthcare?"