A friend has been challenging me with consequentialist moral theory. I can't shake the sneaking suspicion that a Christian view of moral rightness is at the same time immensely deontological AND consequential. In other words, those actions which are right because they are ontologically right are also those which produce the most profitable consequences (assuming equal consideration of all affected persons and an agent-neutral view of the consequences).
"A major obstacle to proper description and analysis of social phenomena is that we think we know most of the answers already. We take a lot for granted, because we are, after all, competent adult members of our society and know what any competent adult knows. We have, as we say, 'common sense.' We know, for example, that schools educate children and hospitals cure the sick. 'Everyone' knows that. We don't question what everyone knows; it would be silly. But, since what everyone knows is the object of our study, we must question it or at least suspend judgment about it, go look for ourselves to find out what schools and hospitals do, rather than accepting conventional answers."
Howard Becker. Tricks of the Trade: How to Think About Research While You're Doing It. Chicago University Press: Chicago, 1998. (83)
My crazy father told me this joke:
A Polish immigrant went to the DMV to apply for a driver's license. First, of course, he had to take an eye sight test.
The optician showed him a card with the letters: 'CZWIXNOSTACZ.'
"Can you read this?" the optician asked.
"Read it?" the Polish guy replied, "I know the guy."
(So true! Other than that awkward X, this is pretty much how it goes with Polish names. Seems like we're following a theme, here: "The Polish Blog." Fascinating.)
It was Saturday night and the family was facing news of my maybe-sometime-soon departure for the wild blue yonger. What were we to do? We hit the nearest Kona Grill and then went down to hear the Houston Symphony Orchestra. I haven't checked, but I assume you can get more details on the dinner from the sister. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
In other news, however, I have a new favorite music hall: the Jones Hall, Wortham Center, Downtown Houston, TX. For the first piece, it was like we were in a terra cotta pot, at the very bottom, in a little music bubble beneath the soil. For the second, it felt like we were sitting in the inside of a wooden music box. And for the third, the whole place transformed into an old forest, the kind where the trees have grown so high you can't see their branches. Even at noon the sunlight from above barely reaches us on the forest floor.
Amazing. It was a big, wooden-lined hall the color of cedar, with unobtrustive geodesic floaters hung form the ceiling. The seats were red velvet and the stage was a deep, golden wood tone. Maybe birch?
Leipzig-born Claus Peter Flor conducted the Houston Symphony, and he did a magnificent job. First we heard Wagner's Siegfried Idyll.
[....whoops. I guess this was published instead of drafted...]
I think it was the first time I've ever really connected with Wagner. Am I allowed to feel that way? The man's music drives me NUTS. But this piece was actually fairly accessible. The really interesting part of the performance, however, was Claus Peter Flor. He conducted without a baton. Sometimes he would wave his arms with totally limp wrists, letting his hands flap about like big paintbrushes, while other times the entire arm went rigid and the actual conducting was done by two fingers, just barely twitching. He was also conducting on different levels. I, who was sitting as far away as possible and have no knowledge of musical conduction, could tell the difference between the different parts of his conducting airspace. When he leaned towards the ground and conducted just right of center, I knew he was directing the violas and lower strings. When the melodic parts spoke up, he would conduct high and center. The background themes were medium left. It was wonderful! Is this why I was getting Wagner? I could definitely identify which themes were doing the talking, and when, by watching Flor.
The next piece was Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto in E minor, Opus 64. 24 year old Latvian Baiba Skride debuted with the Houston Symphony as the solo violinist. She's apparently becoming quite the international superstar. I had to admit, I had my doubts. She has this really young-looking face and every photo I had seen made her seem eight years old. To top it off, she walked onstage in a floor-length pink dress. It was gorgeous, but pink nonetheless. (Just for you fashion police out there, I think I caught a glimpse of white shoes, but Melissa claims she was barefoot. barefeeted. shoeless.) Thankfully, I lost my skepticism right away. I still don't know how hard it was to play the solo part in this piece, becase she made it seem so easy! AMAZING, SHE WAS. Flor was using his baton, and the whole symphony really seemed supportive -- you know? They were really intense about their playing and about supporting this young whipper-snapper from Latvia. I was actually thinking the whole time about Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsodies -- the way Mendelssohn treated the violin reminded me of the way Liszt did. I think it has something to do with the fact that from the get-go, the solo line has a prominent spot, unashamed, brilliant-sounding even in a minor key. Skride got a standing ovation with three call-backs.
And then the loooong intermission before Dvorak's 8th Symphony (G major, Opus 88). It was long because I knew this last piece by heart, and I could hear different musicians playing snatches of it as they warmed up. I think my excitement was coming mostly from knowing the way Dvorak uses his horns and his cellos. My excitement was justified. I was on the edge of my seat from the opening chords. It could be my imagination, but I think the entire orchestra were on the edge of theirs, too. It was brilliantly played -- better, I think, than my London Philharmonic recording. It's the kind of piece that really, REALLY uses every instrument, not just as fillers, but as serious musical contributors. Every last musician on the stage had a noticeably talented moment: flutes and other woodwinds, bass, tympani, even the often-overlooked violas! And it really emphasized the skill of the conductor, more than either of the preceding pieces.
I can't really describe what happened during that piece. Go find it and give it a listen. After a moment of incredulous silence after the last "BUM, BUM-BA-BUM! Bum! BUUUUUM!" we all whooshed to our feet and started screaming. I always thought it wasn't polite to actually YELL at the symphony, but there was a lot of yelling. Was it because the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo just ended in our fair town? Maybe. Flor was called back by the crowd three times, which was actually a longer applause then Skride got, because Flor took a lot of time during his first call-back to point out every soloist (there were about 18). Oh man.
You know, when I go to the symphony, I always feel like my friend Krista. She's this highly-observant analogy and illustration Queen that always amazes people with spiritual and emotional parallels to physical phenomena. It just pours out of her. but it never really happens to me unless I think about something for quite awhile. Except at the symphony. I walked out feeling as if I had reached a new level of knowledge of self and God and creation. Whew.
For example: I was re-connecting with the problems I've always had with Andante movements. Give me something slow and emotional or quick and lively! As wonderful as the Mendelssohn andante movement was, I couldn't really focus. It reminds me of support-raising and my spiritual walk...
For example: During the first tuning, the principal second violinist (does that make sense?) broke a string (I could hear it in the back of the balcony). Immediately, the last chair violinist rushed forward and gave her his violin. She struggled to restring it for about two minutes and then accepted his violin. The funny thing was that the last chair really didn't seem to mind. He even sat back down in his place to turn the pages for his stand partner, even though he didn't have a violin. The whole group of musicians seemed to treat one another like a family -- they were obviously serious about what they were doing, but they were at the same time, well, comfortable. Like a well-oiled community.
For example: All the conductors I've ever had in my life (Mr. Spaulding, Mr. Lilly, Mr. Harding, the guy who didn't like me at my Texas high school, the crazy Houston Community Band Director who had me playing Mahler string parts on an alto saxophone, even Dr. Steele from Covenant College) only seemed to be telling people what to do and how to do it. There are some very talented people in that list, but it still seemed like they were giving orders. Compared to Claus Peter Flor, they were just pushing the right keys while he was really playing the whole piano. Of course, there's something to be said for the quality of musicians with whom you work -- Flor had a top-notch group. But watching him really made me think of Christ, whom I've mostly ever understood to be barking orders: "play now." "Play quietly." "Get louder slowly." "Stop playing now." With an order-barker, everyone needs to train their attention on him so that they don't do the wrong thing. There's something different about a conductor (manager, teacher, coach) who instead of presenting each musician with his marching orders, presents each one with the big picture. All of the Houston Symphony players kept their attention on Flor because in so doing, they received a sense of identity and stayed united as a group.
I guess it was like watching a cross between an empowerment seminar, a talent show, and a church service.
Could this post be any longer? Sorry these thoughts weren't more well-organized. Tata for now.
They're three important words from one of Horace's odes (Book 3, Ode 30): "not all of me shall die."
Whoever said "ars longa, vita brevis" finds a friend in Horace's words. His quote turned out to be a popular one.
It showed up as the title and first three words in a poem by Zuzanna Ginczanka, a Polish Jew executed in Krakow, 1944.
AND it popped up in two great Szymborska poems: "A Great Number" and "Autonomy." (Thanks to Carol for the second link!)
What in the world? Can someone please explain why the idea of survival is so important to so many people? Google pointed me in several distinctively Polish directions which I won't go into because I'm too tired, including a poem by the late Karol Józef Wojty (Pope John Paul II). Is this because the used anthology of post-war Polish poetry I picked up is making me over-sensitive to it? "It" being, more formally, survival and the cost of experience. Hmm.
Could be that I am surprised when I see pervasive cultural references to suffering and the will to survive simply because those aren't normal parts of my cultural dialogue. In a land of comfort and entertainment these are foreign words, anachronisms from some more difficult time (like the plows and handsaws on the walls of Cracker Barrel). See what living here does to me? Here's hoping they let me out, soon. ;)
It was late in the year and the whole land was weary
With the weight of her burdens and fullness of blood.
Alone in his pride with autonomous bearing,
A haughty and arrogant ruler once stood.
How few were the Northern aggressors invading!
How great was the host that you mustered to war!
But yours was the bloodguilt, the sullen evading,
And you would see mighty men falling in scores.
Away with the mighty king in battle stricken,
The king who did murder all sayers of sooth!
Give his care to the servants whose courage has quickened:
The one with the sharp knife remembers the truth.
It was late in the year and the land was exhausted
With the weight of her burdens and knowledge of blood.
Alone with his treachery, everything fearing,
A lonely and ruinous ruler once stood.
I really wanted to type "sunburned," but for some reason the "t" just made more sense. We're back from our surprise trip to Corpus Christi. Surprise! That's where I got burnt. Other than the skin side of things, we had a thoroughly enjoyable time. I had some REALLY GOOD tuna. Oh man.
The news item of the day caught my eye with the title, "Frog Communicates With Ultrasound!" I immediately clicked the link, thinking all the time of a frog who snuck into an obstetrician's office and hijacked the ultrasound machine in order to make his demands known to the human world. If you go to the source, you'll find these frogs really live in waterfalls.
Oh well. It was a nice thought.
I have about three hours to tell everyone in Atlanta that I might possibly be coming for a visit, before they hear it from someone else. Hear ye, hear ye! Here I come! I'm thinking the 6th - 13th. Maybe? Yes?
Then, of course, there are the few people who know that they have only to ask, and I will add on a few days for a South Carolina trip or even a Chattanooga trip. If you give a mouse a cookie...
...for a variety of reasons. I slept in till 8, biked around, had some good devotions, heard from BOTH BB and AG, called a couple of PCA folks here in TX, started another presentation, got the better of a rip-roaring headache, shuffled through a few emails, and stayed up late reading Becker's Tricks of the Trade and watching Fried Green Tomatoes. But I think it was really good MOSTLY becuase of a just-before-bed conversation with God.
It was a great day, all around. I was thankful, but also shocked. I didn't think I was allowed to have great days that didn't begin with an hour of early prayer, solid Bible study, strenuous exercise, and lots of productivity. Who knew this was an issue? Who knew that this is what I thought? I didn't. But climbing between the sheets, I was suddenly struck with how thankful I was for the day's contents and for how non-ideal the day had been. I spent nearly two hours in bed at midday because of that headache! I read some Scripture, but prayer got squeezed out! I mean, surely God can't be pleased with this kind of mediocrity. Surely he would have been happier if I had nailed a few more churches...
Nighttime reflections aren't usually this theological for me, but last night forced me to ask the question: "Can my actions elicit more pleasure (or less pleasure) from God?" The more I think about it, the deeper this question becomes. I went to bed refreshed by the possibility that the answer is no. This thought needs much more unpacking and thoughtful phrasing. More to come.
Possibilities
I prefer movies.
I prefer cats.
I prefer the oaks along the Warta.
I prefer Dickens to Dostoyevsky.
I prefer myself liking people to myself loving mankind.
I prefer keeping a needle and thread on hand, just in case.
I prefer the color green.
I prefer not to maintain that reason is to blame for everything.
I prefer exceptions.
I prefer to leave early.
I prefer talking to doctors about something else.
I prefer the old fine-lined illustrations.
I prefer the absurdity of writing poems to the absurdity of not writing poems.
I prefer, where love's concerned, nonspecific anniversaries that can be celebrated every day.
I prefer moralists who promise me nothing.
I prefer cunning kindness to the over-trustful kind.
I prefer the earth in civvies.
I prefer conquered to conquering countries.
I prefer having some reservations.
I prefer the hell of chaos to the hell of order.
I prefer Grimms' fairy tales to the newspapers' front pages.
I prefer leaves without flowers to flowers without leaves.
I prefer dogs with uncropped tails.
I prefer light eyes, since mine are dark.
I prefer desk drawers.
I prefer many things that I haven't mentioned here to many things I've also left unsaid.
I prefer zeroes on the loose to those lined up behind a cipher.
I prefer the time of insects to the time of stars.
I prefer to knock on wood.
I prefer not to ask how much longer and when.
I prefer keeping in mind even the possibility that existence has its own reason for being.
By Wislawa Szymborska
From "Nothing Twice", 1997
Translated by S. Baranczak & C. Cavanagh
© Wislawa Szymborska, S. Baranczak & C. Cavanagh
...I ran across a radio interview today with Mahatma Gandhi's grandson. It turned out to be a volatile combination. Folks, I just gotta say that I'm more and more perplexed by the vagaries of the global nuclear scene today. Iran faces international ire (especially from the American Ambassador to the UN, Tom Bolton) over uranium enrichment. India gets George's blessing to continue to research and develop it's own nuclear capacities despite tensions with Pakistan. Speaking of which, Pakistan itself seems to have earned a blind-eye benevolence from the United States due to cooperation in the war on terror.
Meanwhile, North Korea starves its citizens as a result of strict international sanctioning and huge government investment in nuclear weapons.
Can someone please explain? I was shocked to hear this fellow on the radio actually articulating a pacifist viewpoint! He seemed educated, well-connected, and bright enough, but he certainly maintained a critical perspective of the current Indian administration. "Too materialistic and militaristic!" he said. "We've abandoned our long-standing heritage of non-violence." He basically held a viewpoint that I've always been told is naive and impractical. I liked it. Hmmmmm.
(Of course, I can't post the above comments without also noting that India's non-violent heritage quickly collapses when confronted with Christian evangelism.)
So your friend and mine, the inimitable JK, recently introduced Covbloggers to PersonalDNA.
I liked:
the buttons, grids, and tanks used in the test
the feel of the test
comparing it to the MBTI, which I've more or less memorized
the pictures they give you at the end (mine's below)
the big category labels: I'm an "advocating creator." (sounds VERY flattering, right?)
I didn't like:
their name (Personal DNA? Are we totally encoded? Where's the nurture?)
the repetition within the test
the variable labels (earthy? authoritarian?)
not capitalizing the "na" in "Dna." I can't handle it.
So there you have it. Do with it as ye will.
Jealousy and awe, my friends. Jealousy and awe. I really hate to jump on the Iron and Wine bandwagon, but heck. This is a new favorite, from The Creek Drank the Cradle:
"Mother don't worry, I killed the last snake that lived in the creek bed
Mother don't worry, I've got some money I saved for the weekend
Mother remember being so stern with that girl who was with me
Mother remember the blink of an eye when I breathed through your body
"So may the sun--rise bring hope where it once was forgotten
Sons are like birds flying upward over the mountain
"Mother I made it up from the bruise on the floor of this prison
Mother I lost it, all from the fear of the lord I was given
Mother forget me now that the creek drank the cradle you sang to
Mother forgive me, I sold your car for the shoes that I gave you
"So may the sun-rise bring hope where it once was forgotten
Sons can be birds taken broken up to the mountain
"Mother don't worry, I've got a coat and some friends on a corner
Mother don't worry, she's got a garden we're planting together
[Chords quietly as below]
Mother remember that night that the dog had her pups in the pantry
Blood on the floor, fleas on their paws and you cried 'til the morning
"So may the sun--rise bring hope where it once was forgotten
Sons are like birds flying always over the mountain"
In other news, my little stash of Belgian chocolate (brought over after training in January) is halfway to the hereafter. It almost makes me wish I were in a cold climate, since chocolate just tastes better when it's cold outside.
On second thought, I spent an hour by the pool in our apartment complex today, working on French phoenetics. I'll take the sun, thanks.
Some little voice in the back of my head is asking me why, when I have such a big list of "required" reading in front of me, I'm reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone again. The short answer is Joanna.
The longer answer is that she's ruddy brilliant. It takes J.K. Rowling about 115 pages to have the title character lined up with other new students in the entrance hall of Hogwarts School. On the other hand, by that time, she's already assembled the main core of characters, with the addition of one or two more the moment the doors open into the Great Hall. She's planted the seeds of each of Harry's future adolescent crises. She's inaugurated some unique, non-formulaic, but also non-pretentious character devices that will spin out in unexpected ways over the next five books.
I found myself relating to these characters in ways that revealed something about myself, as well. The more I think about it, the more surprised I am that the author managed to avoid so much cliche that comes with "coming of age" novels. Maybe the situations she creates are in fact cliche to an Englishman, but not to my American eyes. I think it more likely, however, Rowling has held her public's attention on both sides of the Atlanta, partly because she has fashioned a plot that adequately balances believability (in terms of characters, of course, not magic) with freshness and spontaneity. The other part of why she's been so well-received is that so few othes posses the creative nerve to do just that. I mean, look at all of the copy-cat books that have come out since HP first began earning rave reviews? It's disgusting to see people earning money by mimicry.
Ok, that's all for now. I have to get back to calling churches and working on my real reading list. I just wish Augustine, Barfield, and Bonhoeffer were as quickly and easily perceived as children's literature. No, wait. I'm not sure I do...
(Oh. Earlier, I meant J.K. Rowling is ruddy brililant, by the way. But Joanna is too, as everybody knows. Just in case you were confused.)
no one can say he's really lonely
who hasn't stared silently at a dark ceiling
thinking nothing simply watching
to see if the ceiling changes.
here are shadows from distant lights perhaps
everything muted and faded into white plaster
only colorless suggestions of variety
a life lived in anonymity.
this song is for you whoever you are
the watchers and the ceilings all bound up
in one long sleepless vigil reminding me that men
do not always recognize
a good thing
when they see it.