What is art? - a theory of art from Tolstoy

Art is not a handicraft, it is the transmission of feeling the artist has experienced.
Leo Tolstoy

In 1897, Tolstoy published a book called “What is Art?” Since I think art is a very important enterprise in human existence, I like to look to the huge intellectuals about what they think art amounts to. As a writer, Tolstoy was amazing, a psychologist of the highest order, a superb creator of personality, character, plot, pacing, balance, and philosophical meditator on the human condition, a great artist, writer, thinker. He is responsible for probably the two best books ever written: Anna Kerenina and War and Peace. The only books that I think come close to their size, scope, and psychological depth are Moby Dick or Les Miserables. But Melville and Hugo never produced a philosophy of art. Tolstoy did!

To Tolstoy, a work qualified as a good piece of art if it turned up the ‘good, true, and beautiful’ notch. However far the notch was turned was the judge of whether the work was more or less a successful artistic achievement. Have you ever read a book which was just a complete sequence of events, driven by the raw succession of empirical consequences? There are characters to be sure, and even a plot, but the narrative’s chief concern is the description of the actions of the characters and ensuring that the preconceived events in the author’s mind unfurl exactly as planed, with little to no philosophical or psychological interpretation of the events taking place or the characters undertaking their acts, thoughts, or motives. If you have, these authors have in mind a philosophy of art called realism.

In realism, everything is just transparently given; no attempt at interpretation is made, because the very transparency of the events is so self-evidently clear that the reader’s interpretation is almost compelled from without. This isn’t a bad view and it’s been around a while: at least, since Plato.

Or, have you ever read a book just for the sheer pleasure of it, and so the more pleasure you felt as you read, the more you were tempted to call the book great, or a great work of art, or a beautiful piece of art? If you have, then Tolstoy still doesn’t think you’ve got your hands on a good piece of art: that the connection between pleasure and art is facile, not necessary, and actually counter-productive to framing a society’s whole habit of mind to discern great art, and so counter-productive to the artistic health of society as a whole.

A key ingredient in art, according to Tolstoy, is that the art’s creator forges in the audience’s consciousness some emotion that excites or otherwise peaks the interest of the art’s observer or experiencer. After the emotion is established, the stage is set for the artist’s message to the audience, however that message will be said, in whatever mode the artist chooses to say it - this makes the primary aim of the artist ‘communication’: the artist is trying to say something. That something that is trying to be said are actually the emotions themselves, feelings that are trying to be manufactured in the audience by the artist, to get the reader in a certain frame of mind, the frame of mind necessary for properly contemplating the content of the artist’s themes.

A prisoner of war endures the hardships, torture, loneliness, and fear of being cooped up in a stench-filled cell, his ears attacked by the horrific screaming of prisoners in the next rooms; he is - against all odds - rescued by his comrades and shipped back home. After some years of recuperation, he is able to tell the story of his horror. If he succeeds in arousing in his audience feelings of loneliness, fear, claustrophobia, or hardship in general, he has communicated the emotion: he has made a good piece of art. The audience is ‘infected‘ by the emotion through artful retelling of a story, regardless of the medium.

With the idea of infection, another idea arises. To call a work of art better or worse than another: is it just a matter of - the greater the infection, the greater the art? It is this and the question of whatever subject is accompanying the infection, the emotional infection, the infection of feelings. Someone may instill in his hearers the solid, uncontaminated emotion of exhilaration by telling a story about a roller coaster ride; but we think that the same emotion, just as solidly infected in the hearers, but accompanied by the story of a heroic redemption of a child from the clutches of some impending danger the more artistically superior of the two.

Tolstoy also believes in a hierarchy of feelings: so that the greater the art, the better the feeling is infected, the more dramatic the story, and the higher up on the ladder of feelings the feeling is considered. The highest feeling on the ladder of feelings is the feeling of brotherhood with mankind: and the social institution that had this feeling the most was Christianity. Thus, the truly Christian work of art was the best, the kind that infected the audience with that feeling, and the feeling itself was the best feeling, and the feeling itself was set in the background that is the epic story of the Bible itself. This disqualifies Greek art as the best for obvious reasons: the Greeks didn’t prize brotherhood as high as, say, personal pride, magnanimity, strength, or masculinity. But I would say that in so far as these feelings can be given a Christian interpretation, the better the art could be, at least more in the minds of the audience than in the mind of the artist.

Tolstoy then says very strange things. He degrades the works of Beethoven and Wagner, saying they aren’t sincere, ‘too cerebral’, and that because of this ‘children’s songs’ are artistically superior. This might be a case of a theory having too much impact on what is plainly not the case. The 9th symphony is a better work of art than any children’s song, even if it were the case that the feeling of brotherhood is more fully established, since the 9th symphony is accompanied by its feelings to a better degree and it’s set to the backdrop of a more interesting subject-matter: the human condition. One could argue that the human condition is also the backdrop for the feelings in children’s songs: but I would then have to argue from my own experience - children’s songs haven’t moved me, haven’t ‘infected me’, as Beethoven has. To degrade or demote Beethoven because the feeling produced is inferior, leaving aside or ignoring ‘infection’, is puzzling to me.

A cry in the night, a strangled laugh: The Game

I particularly like psychological thrillers. Regular thrillers have a restless pace, lots of action, and the main hero gets to thwart the plans of a villain. The villain usually is better equipped than the hero, so we are left in suspense about whether the hero has what it takes to win. But basically, it’s a story about some villainous scheme put in the hero’s way, and the hero’s wherewithal to overcome it.

The psychological thriller puts a little twist on things. There’s a bit more mystery and drama. The focus is less on the plot (plain thrillers) and more on the character. The focus is on the effects events have on the character’s mind, or how one character affects the mind of another. The hero has to resolve the conflicts in his own mind or the conflict caused by the effect one character’s mind has on another.

No movie does this better than The Game (1997), starring Michael Douglas as Nicholas Van Orton, a hardened investment banker who is given an enigmatic gift from his brother Conrad (Sean Penn). Van Orton’s soul has been estranged. He is an extremely rich business man living in a beautiful home, but he is divorced, alone, and traumatized by witnessing - as a child - his father plunge to his death off the roof of his home on his 48th birthday.

As it turns out, Van Orton is also just turning 48! For a birthday gift, Conrad gives his brother a gift: it’s a game. During one point of the movie, Van Orton talks with a ‘new member’ named Ted about ‘the game’:

Nicholas: So, you've played recently?
New Member Ted: Oh, about a year ago. I was working in Los Angeles.
Nicholas: I hear the London office is very good, too. It just sounds like a lot of fantasy, role-playing nonsense.
New Member Ted: [leans in] You wanna know what it is? What it's all about?
[Nicholas leans closer]
New Member Ted: John 9:25.
Nicholas: I... haven't been to Sunday school in a long time.
New Member Ted: 'Whereas once I was blind, now I can see.'
[rises]
New Member Ted: Good night, Nicholas. Best of luck.
Nicholas: Good night.

It’s a live action role-playing game from a company called Consumer Recreational Services (CRS). As Jim Feingold (a CRS representative) says: “The game is tailored specifically to each participant. Think of it as a great vacation, except you don't go to it, it comes to you.” The game fuses itself right into the intimacy of your very life. To qualify, you have to go through psychological tests and physicals. But he is told that his application has failed for unspecified reasons.

Somewhat disgruntled, Nicholas heads home to find a clown lying on the driveway in front of the entrance to his home in the same exact position his father was lying when he jumped off the roof! Without giving anything away, the clown has an implant which allows it to manipulate a news anchor on his television so that it actually talks to him, telling him his game has begun, a precarious scheme, with layers and layers of deception and intrigue. Just when he thinks he’s figured something out, the manifold becomes more complex.

The game pecks away and lays bear everything Nicholas holds dear, his material opulence, his wealth, his private insecurities, his past trauma, his lonely and secluded existence, his shell. The fortress he has built for himself is dismantled one brick at a time. He is brought to the bottom of the barrel in a premature burial in a crypt symbolizing his rebirth, bringing a whole new meaning to: “Except a man be born again he cannot see the kingdom of God.” His bank account is in shambles and the clothes on his back are tattered; he’s lost everything he has valued; his friends have turned their back on him and his lawyer has abandoned him.

We see that the chess match has whittled him down to talking to his ex-wife. His is able to make peace with her, a very moving confession. By the end of the movie, everything comes to a head and we finally get to “see the wizard”. On the roof of CRS’s skyscraper, he is pleaded with to realize that it was just a game. But he is desperate and wants answers. He still has a gun he found from his destroyed home, a gun not seemingly planted by CRS agents. I’ll stop there.

It was so interesting to see how The Game was designed to bring someone back to real living so that life can be enjoyed for what it is. Van Orton plays a snazzy, modernly cynical Scrooge with plot idiosyncrasies that would make Syriana (2005) blush. David Fincher, the director (also responsible for Se7en and Fight Club), said the film is about loss of control, about putting your greatest fears in front of your face and calling us to real life and what’s really important in life. The cinematographer purposively chose Godfather-type visuals where the surface is protective and rich, but lurking underneath is a sort of ominousness. Michael Douglas is awesome and one of my favorite actors. His is cold, angry, subtle, and shows a lot of finesse. It centers upon a simple question: can Van Orton be saved?

Adventureland: The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel

When I first watched the movie ‘Adventureland’ (2009), my mind inadvertently drifted to the lyrics of a Ryan Adams song called ‘Anybody Wanna Take Me Home’:

So, I am in the twilight of my youth
Not that I'm going to remember
And have you seen the moon tonight
Is it full?
Still burning its embers
The people dancing in the corner, they seem happy
But I am sad
I am still dancing in the coma of the drinks I just had
Does anybody want to take me home?
Does anybody want to take me home?
Take me to your house, and I'll leave you alone
Of course I will
Of course I won't
It seems so tragic... but it disappears like magic
Like magic

In enjoying the movie, I was reminded of a couple things. First, that (yep!), I am in the twilight of my youth. I have no idea why the image of the full moon hits me, but it does. These feelings usually hit me at night. A warm, comfortable night are the best conditions. It has just the right kind of comfortableness; it has the same quality that Rob (Cusack) wanted in his store’s background music in High Fidelity (2000): “I just want something I can ignore.”, he pleads to Barry. This lets the mind wonder and imagine.



Second, the movie made me sad - mainly because to lose one’s youth is usually one’s first wistful tragedy. “The Youth”, cries the poet William Wordsworth, “who daily farther from the east/ Must travel, still is Nature's priest, /And by the vision splendid/ Is on his way attended; At length the Man perceives it die away,/ And fade into the light of common day.” As a youth, we are still Nature’s priest. Our bodies are strong and our energy is high. But the transition into being a Man is filled with pathos: we see it ‘die away’, and ‘fade into the light of the common day’. The drive to keep youth can drive you to insanity, as it did for Dorian Grey. The secret is accepting it and moving on to the next stage. “On or back we must go; to stay is death.”

These are the feelings I had throughout the movie. The preciousness of youth, how fleeting it is, how memory doesn’t remember it all, and especially the whole notion of making it a ‘period piece’: all these elements really make the movie work for me. A theme here is that “growing up can happen when you least expect it” (Simon Reynolds, movie critic). To set the movie in the 80’s is smart, because the 80’s are becoming nostalgic. The people who were teens in the 80’s are now entering their fourth decade. But this movie just captures the feel of the 80’s perfectly, and so it sets the conditions just right for ‘memories that come in monochrome’, as Angela Carter would put it. This mostly is due to the soundtrack, which is full of great 80’s music - with quick clips from 41 songs. You can see them all here: http://reelsoundtrack.wordpress.com/2009/04/03/adventureland-soundtrack/

The plot is cliched and it’s been recycled so many times that I’ll just barely touch it. James Brennen is a smart kid in 1987 who has the dream of going to the prestigious Columbia University for postgraduate work in journalism and doing a tour of Europe. James says:

“I want to be, like, a travel essayist. But I want to report on the real state of the world. You know, like Charles Dickens, for example, wrote what you might call travel books, but he visited prisons and mental asylums.”

He graduated with a degree (with high honors!) in Comparative Literature. His hopes are dashed when his dad tells him he lost his job, which means he can’t fund his trip to Europe or the cost of his education. What do to?! He lands a job at an amusement park with the help of a friend. This forms the setting for all the teenage stuff that’s about to ensue. James meets Joel, who is socially awkward, but he can hold his own around James intellectually. There’s a point where the dialogue gets pretty charming. For example:

Joel: What's the point of being a writer or an artist anyway? Herman Melville wrote fuckin' Moby Dick, he was so poor and forgotten by the time he died that in his obituary they called him Henry Melville. You know, like why bother? They're just going to forget our fuckin' names anyway. I heard Em went back to New York.
James Brennan: I wish it didn't end like that, I should've - I don't know.
[Beat]
James Brennan: Your Herman Melville story that - that's bullshit.
Joel: It's true, they called him Henry.
James Brennan: No, I mean, he wrote a seven-hundred page allegorical novel about the whaling industry. I think he was a pretty passionate guy, Joel. I hope they call me Henry when I die, too.
Joel: One can only hope

I love that. Or when Joel says: “Oh, but I'm an atheist, maybe more of a pragmatic nihilist I guess or an existential pagan if you will...” There’s a poignancy about it in this coming-of-age setting. But back to the plot. There’s the usual stud (Mike), played with charm and humanity. Mike sleeps with (and might have feelings for?) Emily - you might know her from the Twilight movies. But James throws a wrench in everything when she takes a liking to him. James has an innocent nature, though: this keeps Mike from ever feeling bitter about anything that happens between them. It’s all stuff we’ve heard before. The movie’s focus is that relationship between James and Emily. But it’s also about James’ desire to deal with present, crummy circumstances, and the yearning to break free, live life, and “run away and leave it all behind” (Foo Fighters). The movie is more about characters than plot originality - and since it’s a period piece, it’s more about atmosphere and ‘feel’ and catharsis than anything else.



The movie was written by Greg Mottola, the same guy responsible for Superbad (2008). But there’s more emotion here. The emotion resides with way the script is acted out and the subtle, accompanying cinematography. The feelings are aroused right away, in just the right way. The homesickness just knots in the gut. You can almost smell the air of the summer night. If you relate to having a crummy, summer job, it’ll be even better. Some scenes have no talking at all. They relax in the summer twilight. At one scene, while James and Emily are forming the first stages of their attraction for each other, even the fireworks remind you that this is temporary, that soon they’ll break away from teenage angst, the other person almost embodying a hope that is just barely (it's just right) hinted at, but suggested in just the right degree. The comedy and the drama mix and compliment each other very well. I like what the American writer Carson McCullers says: “As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.” I’ve never been and had never heard about Adventureland before I saw the movie; but the whole setting makes me wistful and many of the scenes from the movie have an elegiac quality in my imagination.

Did Opera save my faith?

Oh, the problem of suffering. The problem of pain. As a philosophy major, this is a topic that I had a keen interest in. It is very, very thorny. To have an intellectual discussion about it is probably a slap in the face to anyone who's ever lost a loved one, gone through the agony of cancer, or been through some horrific situations, whether it be war, famine, domestic violence or abuse, neglect, being ignored (I think of the, “They ignore me.” confession in The Breakfast Club).

If you’ve ever read about the problem philosophically, it’s a major issue in the philosophy of religion. But it’s one thing to treat it as a logical puzzle (though that has it’s place), but to actually FEEL the problem is worlds away.

Don’t get me wrong! There is A PLACE for intellectual discussion. Psychologically, it might console some people. It comes in many different forms from many different philosophers, but I think we can sum up the skeleton of it in this clip from William Lane Craig. The tone is systematic and the logic is airtight. But don’t we as humans - and not just rational robots - need more? If someone wants to keep the talk on this level, they can. But I think this misses an important dimension to all facets of this very pressing riddle:



The emotional part is even put in a logical context. But we still don't feel it. I think this is more important psychologically, and so more relevant for someone who might change their mind. I think that once I FEEL IT, I can think about it in a better perspective. It’s one thing to write “war, famine, domestic violence, etc . . .”: another is to FEEL it. To begin to see the problem with this feeling, watch this first:



I notice the guy shooting the priest, almost as if to suggest that religion, or Christianity in particular, doesn’t have the answer. I FEEL the problem now. I have a knot in my gut. This is how Russian writer Dostoyevsky wanted to deal with it. Every consciousness, every soul, when we really think about it, has to come to grips with this. But not only here, in the world, but INSIDE our own lives. It’s such a obstacle!! I listen to philosophical arguments with a strained patience. EVEN IF THEY’RE SOUND, I still FEEL the knot. It hurts.

So, this is my autobiographical account about how I think suffering and pain and evil need to be ultimately answered. But I hesitate!!! This isn’t a math problem. This clicked for me and me only. I blog about it here because the solution for me came from an unlikely source: from a movie.

The movie is called Philadelphia (1993) and it stars Tom Hanks and Denzel Washington. It’s the story about a lawyer (Hanks) who gets AIDS and is unjustly discriminated against and fired by his homophobic boss. He plans to sue and picks as his representation another lawyer (played by Washington). The movie is mainly about Washington’s character learning about the humanity of homosexuals in general, and AIDS victims in particular.

But there is one scene - for me - that is the most powerful scene in the history of the movies I’ve seen. It is profound. It has illuminated the book of Job. It has - in a very, very, extremely inexplicable and mysterious and puzzling way - solved the problem of suffering for me, and it makes all the wire-drawn reasoning of every philosopher and theologian seem like cheap straw. This scene hits home and underlines - in an artistic, indirect, emotional, and cathartic way - what the mystics write about. Here it is:



Maria Callas! Opera! La Mamma Morta! Philadelphia? Who would have thought? The power of this scene leaves me breathless and I have no words, just like Job put his hand over his mouth and repented in dust and ashes. Pay attention also to what’s said.

Maddalena loses her house in a fire in The French Revolution. The music is so powerful! I can’t explain it. That’s the point. You just FEEL it! Can you FEEL it, Joe? It comes in the strings first, which is HOPE. It changes again. Listen. Then it comes. It's quick, but you have to pay attention. I BRING SORROW TO THOSE WHO LOVE ME. That line is profound. I bring sorrow to those who love me. Ponder that. I can’t explain; you just have to ponder it. It’s almost as if sorrow itself is a mystical, magical portal to the divine. So counterintuitive! So paradoxical! Oh, that single cello!

IT WAS DURING THIS SORROW THAT LOVE CAME TO ME.

A VOICE FILLED WITH HARMONY.

IT SAID LIVE STILL.

I AM LIFE.

HEAVEN IS IN YOUR EYES.

Listen to the music.

IS EVERYTHING AROUND YOU JUST THE BLOOD AND THE MUD?

I AM DIVINE. I AM OBLIVION. I AM THE GOD, WHO COMES DOWN FROM THE HEAVENS TO THE EARTH AND MAKES OF THE EARTH, A HEAVEN!!!!!

I am LOVE. LOVE!!!!!!!! I am love.

To experience this healing in our own lives is to treat, solve, and experience the “problem of suffering” in the right context. I don’t even feel like writing anymore. Writing ruins it. You just feel it. Anytime I hear someone callously talking about this, I just think of this scene and how in the right timing, this LOVE (God is Love) meets you in that hidden place.

Life reflecting art, or Art reflecting life.

I want to do an analysis of a scene. It’s one of my favorite scenes in the movies from one of my favorite movies. The movie is called Adaptation (2002) and it stars Nicholas Cage as Charlie Kaufman. What makes this movie stand alone is that Charlie Kaufman is actually a real guy. He is the screenwriter for the movie. Cage plays Charlie, and the story is about how real-life Charlie came to finally write the screenplay for the movie Adaptation.



There are some artistic licensees. Cage also plays Charlie’s twin brother Donald. There is no real-life counterpart for Donald. But he does represent the polar opposite of Charlie’s personality. Whereas Charlie is introverted, anxious, humorously insecure, pessimistic, and socially awkward, Donald is an outgoing social butterfly, the life of the party, and a bit shallow on the intellectual side. To watch these personalities clash and rub each other is one of the highlights of the movie.

But I want to focus on Charlie. The main thing Charlie is trying to do is adapt a non-fiction book about Orchids to the silver screen. The book was written by Susan Orlean (Meryl Streep), and it follows the passionate exploits of John Larouche who is obsessed with the exotic beauty of the orchid. Larouche looks like a redneck but if you pay close attention to what he says and how he says it, he’s actually a very bright, articulate, and passionate man. That is what Orlean is attracted to. We find out that she wants to know what it feels like to care about something passionately.



Charlie, however, has writer’s block. He can’t come to write a draft of the screenplay. The book is almost unadaptable. The most important thing to Charlie is originality and independence from a formula. Hollywood studios thrive on a formula because that’s what makes the money. But Charlie cares more for the ‘art for art’s sake’ motto. Throughout the movie, he tries and tries to get past his writer’s block. As a last-ditch effort, he visits a seminar for writing screenplays with guest speaker Robert McKee. He despises himself for doing this because he thinks McKee relies on the formula. He raises his hand to ask a question. His question betrays the misery in his own life. All the things he thinks are cliches in the movies don’t happen in the real world. He wants his movie to reflect the real world, where there are no resolutions, nothing of interest really happens. Here it is:



This speech moves me very deeply. Everything comes to a head here. Charlie is so caught up with making the script a reflection of the world (which is just his lonely perception of it) that he is blind to what actually goes on in that same world. The orchid becomes a symbol for that unattainable something we strive for our entire lives. We are all trying to write that eccentric adaptation of our lives, and to no avail. We all have a Charlie and a Donald in us. The movies with the cliches only show us that life is cliched and that cliches aren’t necessarily a bad thing. Does art reflect life or does life reflect art? This movie picks the former. This speech is just a pathos-filled reminder that life is filled with heartbreaking and sublime activity. We only neglect the eyes to see it. Once we see it, we can finally be in that position to appreciate what it means to be redeemed from it. McKee becomes a 21st century conduit for ‘the whirlwind’ in the book of Job.

There are so many layers to this movie, but I’ll stop here.

The Tortured Genius?

The phenomenon of genius fascinates me. I think of Mozart at the age of 4 entertaining a King with his sonatas. Or, John Forbes Nash Jr., the revolutionary economist and mathematician that Russell Crowe played in the movie A Beautiful Mind (2001). I remember the mentioning of Indian-born mathematician Srinivasa Ramanujan in the movie Good Will Hunting (1997) “whose genius was unparalleled”. From here, we can segue into the world of chess.

The intellectual giant in chess who stands out from all the rest is the American chess player and eccentric, the indomitable and genius Bobby Fischer.



I won’t lie. I love the game of chess. The more I play, the more I learn to appreciate gifted players and geniuses. The secret to success is an extremely analytical mind and the uncanny ability to see combinations of moves way down the road: not only to see combinations down one road, but many roads. Another key ingredient in Fischer’s style is the intimidation factor. It is psychological warfare. He gets in his opponent’s heads. If he could complain about the lighting, he did. If he could complain about the temperature, he did. If he could complain about the audience, well, you fill in the blank.

This made him notorious to play against. He also had a dash of charisma. He was loved by the ladies. And he became a symbol for American superiority during the Cold War when he defeated the Russian Boris Spassky to become the World Champion. He was a recluse. As anyone can see on youtube, he was socially awkward, despite the charisma. This is because he would spend countless hours in his room going over moves on a portable chessboard he would carry around in his pocket everywhere. His life was chess.



His style was aggressive and unorthodox. He was known for defying the textbooks and going against the grain. He would bring out his Queen early or make it look like his defenses were underdeveloped. But woe to the opponent who bought into the appearance. Every piece was moved for a reason. Each calculation consider combinations the normal chess player would never dream of.

He spent his last days as a recluse, a bearded eccentric, hating America, lauding 9/11, alienating his fans, and dying alone. He is the poster child for ‘what could have been’. What could he have accomplished if he could have been more whole? But there is no denying his genius. I immediately remember the footage of a young, adolescent Fischer in a room with 15 to 20 tables set up, each with a chessboard, and each with a different chess player. You watch him make his rounds, moving his turn in a matter of seconds, moving to the next table, and in no time, everyone in the room is defeated. As Mozart could just make music, as Nash could just see patterns in chaos, as Ramanujan could formulate theorems “that have baffled mathematicians for years”, Bobby Fischer could play chess.

I must confess that I first learned about Bobby Fischer from the movie Searching for Bobby Fischer (1993), starring Max Pomeranc in the role of child, chess prodigy Josh Waitzkin, based on a real person. Yes, it’s the story of his genius, but it’s also a story about the man Bobby Fischer. Who is he? Where is he? Keep in mind this movie came about in the early 90’s, so his whereabouts were still in question. The movie is interspersed with old news reels of Fischer: in interviews, on the road, in a match, as a child, as an adult.

This is a movie about a contrast of personalities. I got the impression Waitzkin really admired Fischer, imitated his style, and is one of his heroes. But you could always see a melancholy behind Fischer’s eyes. You can’t help but think it was self imposed. You might think it’s a case of bad genes. Either way, he wasn’t a happy man, and the competition in his blood made him hate his opposition. But this story is told from Josh’s perspective. He is an innocent child with a good heart, who is gifted, but loves his opponent, who competes, but doesn’t let the game consume his life.

This is one of my favorite movies. The score is performed by one of my favorite composers James Horner. The music perfectly accompanies not just the genius and the discovery of it, but how genius can be nurtured, how good can win out over evil, and how evil can even be inspired by it.

The child’s eyes are wide with wonder. His first love is baseball. He only recently discovers his gift when he randomly decides to play with the homeless guys in the city’s park. Escorted by his mom, she watches first with a subtle interest at how Josh moves the pieces with no previous training. Josh loses, but the mom-instinct has already sparked. She tells her husband, Fred, who reacts with skepticism. They agree to play a friendly game of chess and Fred comes out the victor. But little does he know, Josh’s good nature doesn’t want to beat his dad. After some heckling from the mom, they agree to play again (so Josh can play with his dad). What ensues is a beautiful scene. Josh dances circles around the dad. The dad is destroyed, but it’s not a destructive competition: just a joyful delight in a gift being delightfully handled by a good-natured and loving prodigy.

I especially liked Lawrence Fishburne’s character, Vinnie, the homeless man Josh meets in the park.



There, they play the frowned-upon speed chess. Moves are rushed, intimidation is preferred to strategy, hands race past the camera from the chess piece to the time-clock, while the camera moves from the hand to the thinking face. But Josh isn’t drawn to the style so much as the authenticity, and more because his good heart attracts him to those broken spirits who need love. Vinnie is a fast-talking hustler but is immediately drawn to Josh: to his innocence and love. Ben Kingsley also does a wonderful job as Josh’s stern but affectionate teacher.

I really recommend this movie. It puts you in touch with Fischer, a hero worthy of a Greek tragedy, the victim of his own nature. But it also unveils the true beauty of what genius can amount to. For Nash in A Beautiful Mind, it was discovered almost too late, as his demons are still with him. And for the orphan Will Hunting in Good Will Hunting, he is already damaged goods. But in this movie, we see it nurtured soon enough so it can grow roots and bloom. As I said, the score from Horner puts the icing on the cake. It’s what moved me the most. It’s the story of the beauty of goodness and simplicity triumphing over everything the cruel world teaches us as we meet its trials and tribulations. It gets behind our defense mechanisms. It gives us a glimmer of how things should be. It is a feel-good movie and some of the sentiment is milked, but the movie is so good and the characters are so engrossing and well-acted, you forget about it almost right away. It’s just really refreshing to see a gift from God put to good use. It puts you in a better position to “give Him glory”, as they say.

Se7en: a movie review

Imagine a blighted city under the yoke of a ceaseless, dismal deluge. The city has an air of sorrow about it: like it’s been tormented by a gluttony of crime, unspeakable abominations, evils, iniquities, corruptions, atrocities, and wickedness. For detective William R. Somerset (Morgan Freeman), this has made the city his ball and chain. He is about to retire. He is jaded with the history of his career, gorged as it is with years and years of detecting sight after sight of butchery, abuse, abduction.

But the virginal detective David Mills (Brad Pitt) is nearly unspotted. He has hubris, arrogance, and a swagger about him. He knows about the city’s horrors in the gray matter between his ears; but he hasn’t fraternized with it. He hasn’t dropped his anchor into it yet, as Somerset has.

In the interim, an unhinged butcher is on the loose. His (her?) identity is a cliffhanger throughout the movie. We discover that the killer slaughters the victims according to the seven deadly sins. What brings the detectives together (for the first time) is a very disturbing scene. A very fat man is tied to a chair (with barbed wire!) and forced to eat until his stomach burst. I'll never forget it. The camera moves from behind him. His backside is a murky and unseemly oval. The skin is sickly pale and glimmering sweat soaks his shirt. The setting is his unkempt apartment. The smell is appalling. You’re wondering: who could have done this? And why? Well, we find out that his murder represented the sin of Gluttony.

The atmosphere of the movie is smothering. The colors have a luridness about them. The story breaks new creative ground. Art direction and set design need to be praised. They strive for an early 20th century aura, and the colors swathed on the screen are dark, with even the light designed to punctuate the gloom. I love the director David Finch, as he has directed another one of my favorite movies, The Game, with Michael Douglas. His style is almost palpable. The overall ambiance of the atmosphere is unflinching and rigid. The writing injects the characters with dialogue that is shrewd and perceptive.

The characters are strong, interesting, and the reason why the movie rises above its imitators. It is intelligent. Somerset is a bookish monk trapped in a detective’s body. He studies the great works of literature to get inside the mind of the killer. He reads Dante, Chaucer, and Milton. Mills goes with his gut, and when he is forced to read, opts for the Cliffnotes. There is good social psychology: I love it when Somerset tells Mills - anyone who spends a significant amount of time with me finds me disagreeable. There is a prolonged scene in the city library, Debussy plays in the background, Somerset is studying, and it is the ideal vehicle to display the killer’s intelligence against the likes of Somerset.

The taxi ride to the killer’s final destination is what compels us to call the film brilliant. The interchange is perfectly executed, swaying from casual chat, to inflamed rage, to provoked annoyance, to debate, to rationalization, to sermonizing. All the characters’s complexities and personalities rush together like like three waves. There is so much to discuss with nearly every major stage of the movie, but I’m bound to bypass it just because I’m giving a general review. Needless to say, I loved the movie; it did what it set out to do: give us the story of two distinct characters against the dramatic backdrop of a crazed madman, tinged with theology and literature, using the provocative motif of the seven deadly sins for his uncompromising sermon on what he thinks is a world gone mad with sin - and he is the ironical, paradoxical conduit of God’s wrath: God works in mysterious ways.

Mumford and Sons, A Mack Truck of Emotion.

When I read music and movie reviews I rarely understand some of the metaphors the critics use to describe certain things.

"A Tour De force!"

"A Whirlwind!"

"Like A Punch in the Gut"

"An Earthquake for your eyes!"

Ok that last one I made up, but I feel like it fits. These men and women are trying to put into words what cannot be. A mood, a feeling, a split second happening in their life when they were immersed within a life changing creation.

Recently, I have discovered and become obsessed with Mumford & Sons "Sigh No More". I have literally listened to nothing else. I have headphones in 24 hours a day. I haven't heard the sound of my own voice for 5 working days. If I could be so bold, but this album is like having Muhammad Ali in your ears. I don't know what that means anymore than you do but it is the only way to describe my love and devotion to these guys.

It is a group of 4 from London. I don't know what they put in the water in foggy London-town but they are producing some good stuff. I'm not normally in the habit of saying, "If you like this you'll love this..." but these guys fall in the vein of Avett brothers, Blitzen Trapper, The Black Keys etc.

On a related note, I have never been a fan of Irish pub songs. At some point, guys my age, my peers become obsessed with Ireland and their drinking culture. Guys who are distinctly from the south all of a sudden find some random cousin or an uncle 4 times removed who was Irish and all of a sudden they have a clover tattooed on their back and know all the pub songs. All of that to say, these songs most definitely have the movement of a Pub song. You can envision a group of buzzed guys swaying back forth singing along.

So in closing, if you like good music, and that feeling you get when you start dating a girl, then this band and album is for you.

Also, I want to get into the business of metaphorical criticism, what do you think of mine so far?

Why does the Devil have all the good music - lately . . .

I have a rant! I’m going to say something that - unfortunately - might offend the vast majority of Christians out there. But this is my opinion and I feel a very strong conviction about it. It is this. The Christian music scene is - on the whole - awful. Why!?!?!

It puts out some of the most boring, repetitive, bland, inauthentic, cookie cutter, generic, horrifically simple, forced, somber, hopelessly uninspired drivel I’ve ever heard. It isn’t creative, catchy, impressive. It is devoid of excitement. It isn’t innovative. It is some of the crappiest, sappiest, shallow music I’ve ever heard. I’d prefer Gangster rap and mainstream country music to the schlock I hear on K-LOVE. It is something you’d hear slapped together around a campfire, or the music you hear in an elevator. And they all sound the same!

But before this turns into an exercise in mudslinging, I am a Christian. Why the heck is it that I can’t stand modern Christian music? Shouldn’t I like it? But I don’t. I HATE it with a passion. I turn it on and I cringe. I hear it during Church and I can feel myself getting angry.

It hasn’t always been like this. Christianity once held a monopoly on good music with Bach, Handel, traditional hymns etc. . . Why is it that “Christian artists” can’t compete with “secular artists”? And why is it that putting quotations around those designations annoyed me? Why can’t Christians rock?

DC Talk was okay. Third day had one good song, and you can’t help thinking that they rode that grunge, southern rock wave for a boost. Rich Mullins is a great, passionate Christian - but lets be realistic - he doesn’t stand a chance - musically! - against Bob Dylan, Ryan Adams, or Neil Young. Amy Grant is Christianity’s biggest splash and can you seriously say she’s on par with Jewel, Sarah McLachlan, Alanis Moressette, Janis Joplin, or Cher?

There is no song in Christian music (quote, end quote) that even remotely compares to the quality of music churned up our there by secular artists. Where is the Led Zeppelin equal? The Beatles? Michael Jackson? Pearl Jam? Radiohead? Where is the Christian artist that can pack stadiums, be authentic, and - most importantly - be a great, awesome, distinct, brilliant, and amazing artist? People think U2 fits the bill, but technically they aren’t Christian music. I want the Christian-sponsored industry to produce an artist on par with any of these guys. I defy them to do it!

I’m sorry, but the constant, unending, musically uninteresting, dull, repetitive, and even morally sanctimonious praise and worship formula is tiring, boring, vexing, and just viewed as retarded by the vast majority of musicians out there.

Mewithoutyou may be the beginning of something special. I’m not sure about their being purely Christian music. But that’s the key. It’s not just praise and worship 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Christians are people too, people who might suffer a horrible break-up with a girl they loved, and write beautiful poetic lyrics to amazingly passionate music. This is the trend that finally needed to be set. And what happened? Secular radio stations embraced them, and Christian radio stations shunned them. What the heck?

But droves of Christians flock to K-LOVE type, musical poppycock. While Christians are caught up in it, and while maybe it doesn’t offend their moral sensibilities, the music itself stagnates, and it becomes a slave to moral neutrality; it doesn’t serve the end of creating beautiful art anymore, but to be a sniveling milquetoast to artistically myopic people just wanting a momentary high while they piously think this inferior medium is the door to true worship. Meanwhile, the music (as music) dies, and is dying. I’ll stop there.

Liberalism continued - a credo subject to correction by better and wiser people!

I'm almost done. The reason why I'm doing this is because - like I said - I just want to get this premature fermentation down on paper, so to speak: so I can look at it better and organize it if I have to, which I probably will.

The ultimate end of a society should be the liberty of its citizens, which leads to the formation of healthy communities. The next question is a psychological one. Why do socialists believe what they do? It’s because they haven’t made the psychological transition from seeing themselves as members absorbed in a community to autonomous individuals that can freely associate themselves in a community.

They don’t - or don’t want to - see themselves as individuals. I want to keep in mind exactly what that means. To true liberalism, being an individual is an arduous task, one of the goals of life, finding out who you are, fulfilling the Socratic maxim to Know Thyself. It takes time, discipline, work, humility, and ultimately Christ. Socialists might be guilty of one or two psychological pathologies. Of course, it’s only a pathology if Socialism isn’t true; but I’m working from the standpoint of it being false.

First, they don’t know about their ability to be an individual. They’ve been brought up to think or they have a bias to believe that the purpose of life is to be insulated in a community. But if you’re insulated in a community, you’re insulated from any challenge to compete for opportunities. Second, they just don’t have the faith to rise up to their calling. Some feelings that the Socialist might have: envy, resentment, self-pity, persecution complex.

It seems to me that a sense of individuality is a key to finding out what you excel at, finding out whatever it is that you do well, and that doing it makes you happy. It’s a way to love yourself. But this key alludes the socialist: the key that lets them through the door of loving self and neighbor. It’s exchanged for a love for a utopian dream, an abstract idea, a community, a state, and not a concrete individual, like your neighbor, Zachary Elvington or Matthew Johnson.

Socialists want a government that is a nanny, a boss, an organizer, someone that gives orders, someone that fairly distributes goods and services to all the citizens, no matter what work is done, how much, or how little. A true liberal merely wants an umpire, someone to call foul if already autonomous individuals, working in a civil association, violate the institution of the rule of law.

The liberal wants to succeed; the socialist doesn’t want to fail. But then socialism would lead to a society with a boss or a nanny that is itself short on being an individual. When they call the shots, it’ll revolve around everyone getting an equal share in a government sponsored economy, rather than individuals competing in a market economy.

The thing responsible for the pathology is sin. That’s not to say that liberals aren’t afflicted with sin as well: it’s just to say that sin in socialism seems to be built into the system, a psychological condition of its getting off the ground, so to speak.

The liberal point, then, is this. Socialism erodes communities as they should be, and one of the communities that is eroding is religion. The community erodes because it’s looked at as an ultimate end; but it’s not. The community is what it is because autonomous individuals who have as their final end liberty voluntarily choose to join that community. When that community is religion, the religion in turn feeds the community ‘spiritual capital’, which strengthens the nation’s culture and morale, and puts in place the proper conditions which allow its citizens to practice their religion authentically in the privacy of their inner lives. Socialism ruins that spiritual capital over time, because it ruins liberty and autonomy (by enlarging the tentacles of government), the conditions for the creation of an authentic community to begin with.

I say all this knowing that a lot is left hanging, and that lots of points are dangling, not sufficiently argued for. But this is my philosophy for the moment and I felt like spilling it all out with all its apparent, latent, or real weaknesses.

What Liberalism should be - a very brief credo

The inherent vice of capitalism is the unequal sharing of blessings; the inherent virtue of socialism is the equal sharing of miseries. - Winston Churchill

I’d like to talk about true liberalism: the kind that a Marx would be against. Two things characterize this liberalism: emphasis on the individual over the collective and the free market. This blog will be very brief, but this is a credo that’s been fermenting in my head for a while.

There are five main institutions we should try to have: technology, free market, limited government (to protect freedom and our rights), rule of law, and an emphasis on personal autonomy.

The society that has these institutions seems to have the best material conditions. The main reason why this might be is because freedom itself is an institution. It is an axiom we start with.

But there are two main reasons why Americans are starting to forget that. First, they haven’t defined liberalism correctly - they’ve used the ideas of Ayn Rand, Rawls, and Nozick. Second, the discipline of social science doesn’t allow scholars to define it right. This was started by Marx, Freud, Durkheim, and the deconstruction of language. But this blinds them, because social science is secular, and the roots of liberalism are religious. Religion is an illusion to these guys.

John Locke and Adam Smith gave us the first great narrative for true liberalism. They both use religious language and concepts. But the second rival narrative came from Marx and Rousseau. Their main pillar was equality. Their view of art and science is strange: it doesn’t satisfy any human needs - it is an expression of pride. It deteriorates the ‘commune’, leads to consumerism, and so to dreaded capitalism. Locke, on the other hand, wants to make inequality an institution - not in terms of intrinsic worth, but talents, gifts, natural abilities, God-given endowments.

The 19th and 20th century socialists have agree with the second narrative: for distribution of wealth to be ‘fair’, for ‘equal’ opportunities, for reorganizing society into smaller communes. They don’t show us how this new economy will work, or really how to go from where we are now to where they want to go. What is common to all the socialists, though, is that the present system just doesn’t work. They show this by a moral critique, by labeling who the bad people are and who the victims are.

But true liberalism is about having what’s called a ‘civil association’; this civility is assumed in its economics, politics, and law. This association doesn’t have in mind the entire commune; it just prepares the soil to allow us to pursue what we want. Marx, Aristotle, Plato, and even Aquinas set out to absorb the individual into the commune. The community comes first, then the individual, says todays socialists and much of the Church.

Lets contrast. Socialists want the government to make the good of the commune the ultimate end, to absorb the individual into the commune, to serve the commune. True liberalism, though, wants to make personal freedom the ultimate end, in the context of civil association, based on a culture which allows individuals the freedom to choose to join communes if they want: communes such as religions, churches, schools, families, etc . . .

These voluntarily joined communes are true liberalism’s ‘spiritual capital’. This is the economical context in which we, in a society ruled by a government, approach, join, or shy away from the social institution of religion. That’s why we have so many religions here in America, instead of, for example, Iran, which has one religion, sponsored and made obligatory by the government.

The implication is that socialists, in the back of their minds, in their subconscious, in their philosophy of government and economics, haven’t made the switch from community being the ultimate end to individual freedom being that end. If community is the end, freedom is lost (along with true community); if freedom is the end, the community is saved.

I’ll finish my thoughts on this in the next blog.

"Gone Country"

Some of the fondest memories I have of my father were when I was a kid riding around in his beat up toyota pick up truck listening to country music. Just me and the Pops cruising with the windows down listening to some of the greats- Randy Travis, Alan Jackson, George Straight, George Jones and countless others. As a kid I loved those songs and the feelings they evoked inside of me at such a young age, but somewhere along the line I lost interest. I didn't want anything to do with those "honky tonk", "hill billy" songs anymore I had discovered newer, more exciting things. Thanks to my brothers I began to dabble in the likes of 'Nirvana', 'Red Hot Chili Peppers', 'Pearl Jam' and other early 90's rock groups. At a very early age I wrote off country music.

Flash forward 15 years-right this very moment I'm sitting in my room, typeing on my computer while a copy of Dwight Yoakams "Guitars, Cadillacs, Ect. Etc." spins on my record player, a Kenny Chesney tour hat sits on my desk and a Taylor Swift blanket lies on my bed (that's right, blanket. listen, don't worry about it, it's not a big deal.) Obviously my opinion has changed since I was a young-un! I've grown up and I'd like to think my narrow minded perceptions on music and art in general have disappeared, or atleast lessend as I've aged. I've realized, slowly but surely that in the modern music world, country is one of the most pure forms of music that exists.

I feel like just about everything that is out in the mainstream music industry these days is just all about money, fame, possessions and gimmicks. (Note: I did say JUST ABOUT everything, not everything. There are a lot of amazing musicians and artists out there in every genre, you just might have to look kinda hard to find them.) Where as the majority of country artists sing and write songs about things that matter, things that the average person can relate to, like family,faith, broken hearts, working jobs you hate just so you can pay the bills, and cold beer on a friday night. I understand alittle better now why my dad always listened to it when I was growing up. It's because he felt a connection with the songs, and now I'm begining to feel the same. Don't get me wrong, I haven't turned away from all the other music I've listened to and become attached with over the years. I still listen to all the same stuff I always have I've just broadened my horizons over the past year or so.

Summer is pretty much already here, which means cook outs, pool parties and boom boxes. I know everyone probably already has a favorite summer playlist, which hopefully includes DJ Jazzy Jeff and the fresh prince, Blink-182, the Beastie Boys and of course John Cougar but some where in the midst of listening to the regular summer faves do yourself a favor and pop in alittle Zac Brown band, Tim Mcgraw or maybe even some of the soothing sounds of God's gift to mankind- Taylor Swift.

One reason why I love Kierkegaard

Here is one reason why I love Kierkegaard's writings. The first page to his book "Fear and Trembling" has this quote:

"What Tarquinius Superbus said in the garden by means of the poppies, the son understood but the messenger did not."

It's a quote from Hamann; and the pseudonym Kierkegaard uses is 'Johannes de Silentio'.

Now, the first questions that pop in your mind, is "Who are all these people?", and "How does this fit in with the book?", or "Why put all this in, in the first place?".

Look at "Fear and Trembling" first:

1. Philippians 2:12 - Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed--not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence--continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling,
2. At the beginning of Psalm 54 - My thoughts trouble me and I am distraught at the voice of the enemy, at the stares of the wicked; for they bring down suffering upon me and revile me in their anger.My heart is in anguish within me; the terrors of death assail me. Fear and trembling have beset me; horror has overwhelmed me.

Serious stuff. Keep in mind that the subject of the book is Abraham's faith in God as He told him to sacrifice his son. One of the ways Johannes de Silentio tells us about Abraham's anguish is to clearly tell us what this 'fear and trembling' motif means.

Who is Johannes de Silentio? It's Kierkegaard's pseudonym. It is Latin for "John the Silent". He is silent because he doesn't understand Abraham's faith - he is trying to, but he just can't wrap his arms around it.

The book exists on two levels. 1. It is an examination of Abraham's faith in the Genesis story - very powerful. 2. It is a deeply personal allegory about Kierkegaard's faith, and how he gave up his fiancee Regine Olson, and thought that if he had enough faith, he would get her back - like Abraham got Isaac back: but alas! He didn't.

Who is Hamann - the guy who said the quote at the beginning? He was a philosopher. When he said the quote, he was focusing on something very, very interesting:

That an act can have a completely different meaning to someone who has special knowledge.

Hamann's example was Tarquinius Superbus, the 7th king of Rome. Superbus couldn't take the city of Gabii by force, through the military. So, he came up with a brilliant strategy. He sent is son, Sextus, to Gabii. When Sextus arrived, he faked like he hated his father, and he had marks all over his body from where he said his father beat him.

Gabii greeted him with open arms, he got the complete trust of their military, eventually was their leader, and so completely controlled the city. When he got complete control, the son sent a secret messenger to his dad, asking him what he should do with the city. His dad, the king, didn't say a word - all he did was cut off the heads of the tallest poppies!!!

I mean, think about it. Superbus couldn't just tell the messenger, "Tell my son to kill all the leading military figures in my rival city." That would have blown his cover. So, when the messenger came back, he told Sextus, "Well, all he did was cut off the heads of the tallest poppies. He didn't really say anything."

But: "What Tarquinius Superbus said in the garden by means of the poppies, the son understood but the messenger did not."

On the one hand, that's just a cool story. On the other, it is a perfect parable for what Kierkegaard is trying to tell us about the kind of book he is writing. An act can take on a completely different meaning if you have special knowledge. What acts?

1. Sacrificing a son.
2. Breaking off an engagement.

To someone without special knowledge, these acts would look hideous or mean-spirited. The special knowledge is Faith. The faithful and faithless see the same thing; but because the faithful has special knowledge, that 'same thing' has a different meaning.

I just scratched the surface here. But that's just the main reason why I'll never get sick of reading Kierkegaard. There's just layers and layers and layers of meaning, and they all make sense if you investigate and study it, and you just come away from that study completely refreshed, understanding something in an entirely new way, and you feel like you've actually discovered something about the meaning of life you wouldn't have got from any other source. I love it!