On do-overs

While visiting childhood haunts this past summer, returning to a town I haven’t lived in for almost thirty years, I was assailed by a series of memories that left me wanting a do-over or two. Nostalgia is a terrible thing. If you don’t remember the do-over, it was a special anti-mulligan that gave you grace after something went wrong in the game you were playing. Perhaps it was a pitch behind you, or an extra at-bat or just a repeat of a situation that went wrong, maybe a fourth strike. How many times since our childhoods have we needed a do-over? I think it is an inherent part of the human condition to do everything wrong: pick the wrong job, eat the wrong food, choose the wrong car, date the wrong person, and all the while it seemed like we were doing the right thing. It’s as if as children we understand the falibility of the human condition, so we make amends by invoking the do-over. Unfortunately, as adults, we cannot invoke the do-over and must live with all of our mistakes. We desperately need the do-over, but all we can do is lament our terrible decision making from hindsight, which cruelly hangs the correct decision in front us as if we were Tantalus staring at those unobtainable apples, that unreachable water. We hunger for a perfect life filled with perfect decisions, but we have to live with what we have, no do-overs allowed.

On do-overs

While visiting childhood haunts this past summer, returning to a town I haven’t lived in for almost thirty years, I was assailed by a series of memories that left me wanting a do-over or two. Nostalgia is a terrible thing. If you don’t remember the do-over, it was a special anti-mulligan that gave you grace after something went wrong in the game you were playing. Perhaps it was a pitch behind you, or an extra at-bat or just a repeat of a situation that went wrong, maybe a fourth strike. How many times since our childhoods have we needed a do-over? I think it is an inherent part of the human condition to do everything wrong: pick the wrong job, eat the wrong food, choose the wrong car, date the wrong person, and all the while it seemed like we were doing the right thing. It’s as if as children we understand the falibility of the human condition, so we make amends by invoking the do-over. Unfortunately, as adults, we cannot invoke the do-over and must live with all of our mistakes. We desperately need the do-over, but all we can do is lament our terrible decision making from hindsight, which cruelly hangs the correct decision in front us as if we were Tantalus staring at those unobtainable apples, that unreachable water. We hunger for a perfect life filled with perfect decisions, but we have to live with what we have, no do-overs allowed.

On dystopia in the movies

In no particular order, these are my favorite dystopia movies: On The Beach, Logan’s Run, Soylent Green, Omega Man, The Stand, The Hunger Games, Silent Running, Planet of the Apes, Blade Runner, Fahrenheit 451. A dystopia is a society with little or no order or too much order-anarchy or fascism. Democracy as we know it has disappeared in some sort of horrific way and either the government controls everything or there is no government at all and it’s every person for themselves. All of these dystopias have suffered some sort of catastrophic occurrence which has wiped out the government as we know it today. Some arevery futuristic, such as Blade Runner or Logan’s Run, while others, such as The Hunger Games or Fahrenheit 451 are timeless. On the Beach is about the Earth after a nuclear war as is Planet of the Apes. The Stand is about the world after a bad case of the flu. I am fascinated as to why people (or myself) like to watch such films of disaster, depression, isolation, hopelessness, and tragedy. 1984 could just as well be on this list, but the fascism depicted inthe film is so depressing and horrific that I cannot bear to watch it a secondtime. Are these films warnings? I think that a film like Silent Running, an eco-dystopia, is indeed a warning against our unbridled use of the planet, but against what does Blade Runner warn us? Many of these films are tied to the out-of-control use of technology, which the inventors do not understand fully. There is always an element of nostalgia tied into each film, which harkens back to a legendary golden era of happiness in which all was perfect and correctly ordered. I would give the movie “V” an honorary mention for its cruel depiction of fascism. Curiously enough, though not a true dystopia, “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” leaves the viewer with lots to think about as well.

On dystopia in the movies

In no particular order, these are my favorite dystopia movies: On The Beach, Logan’s Run, Soylent Green, Omega Man, The Stand, The Hunger Games, Silent Running, Planet of the Apes, Blade Runner, Fahrenheit 451. A dystopia is a society with little or no order or too much order-anarchy or fascism. Democracy as we know it has disappeared in some sort of horrific way and either the government controls everything or there is no government at all and it’s every person for themselves. All of these dystopias have suffered some sort of catastrophic occurrence which has wiped out the government as we know it today. Some arevery futuristic, such as Blade Runner or Logan’s Run, while others, such as The Hunger Games or Fahrenheit 451 are timeless. On the Beach is about the Earth after a nuclear war as is Planet of the Apes. The Stand is about the world after a bad case of the flu. I am fascinated as to why people (or myself) like to watch such films of disaster, depression, isolation, hopelessness, and tragedy. 1984 could just as well be on this list, but the fascism depicted inthe film is so depressing and horrific that I cannot bear to watch it a secondtime. Are these films warnings? I think that a film like Silent Running, an eco-dystopia, is indeed a warning against our unbridled use of the planet, but against what does Blade Runner warn us? Many of these films are tied to the out-of-control use of technology, which the inventors do not understand fully. There is always an element of nostalgia tied into each film, which harkens back to a legendary golden era of happiness in which all was perfect and correctly ordered. I would give the movie “V” an honorary mention for its cruel depiction of fascism. Curiously enough, though not a true dystopia, “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” leaves the viewer with lots to think about as well.

On Sherlock Holmes

There are few characters in the fictional world of literary creations that are as pure as Sherlock Holmes. He is driven to solve the crime, not because he necessarily wants to see justice administered, but because the puzzle must be solved at almost any cost. I wouldn’t suggest that Holmes is obsessive or compulsive, but in a way, he certainly is. He doesn’t care about moral philosophy or the structure of the universe unless either of those topics would help him solve a crime. His ideas about crime and punishment are black and white, so his objective of putting the criminal away is clear and obvious. At the same time, he hasn’t the least bit for popular news, discussions of the weather, or sports, beyond his own training in boxing and stick fighting. Like most people, he loves to eat, listen to music, talk when the talk interests him, but the one thing he cannot escape in this life is solitude–no man is an island and Sherlock Holmes is no different. His ability to discern the important from the mundane and casual stems in large part from his willingness to narrate the facts of a case, but he needs an audience, and most of the time his sounding board is Watson. Watson is the sieve through which his reasoning passes. If he can tell Watson the story, he can figure it out. Holmes functions because of the power of narrative. He can work through the logic of the clues by building a narrative that makes sense, discarding incidental clues that may be red-herrings, and see through the smoke screen left by the criminals. In the end, the stories are all very similar about shame and hate, vengeance and envy, greed and stupidity, or love and jealousy, and Sherlock must sort out the facts without getting personally involved in any of it. Emotion is all too often the downfall of many a criminal, and Holmes works constantly to see through the intentions, let the clues speak to him, and resolve the problem at hand. Yet, I would also suggest that Holmes cannot do all of this work, wade through so much human flotsam and jetsam, and still be the least bit normal as a person. He’s interested in bee-keeping; this is his only outside interest that doesn’t appear to have anything to do with crime solving. Bees can’t really talk back, they have a collective conscience, they have no crime, their objectives are orderly and pure, free from envy, sloth, and ire. He admires them. If Watson were not there to act as chronicler and psychologist/therapist, Holmes would go crazy listening to the irrational world which surrounds him explode. Watson is the perfect foil for Holmes because he is a walking case to be constantly narrated and resolved, but Watson is also the perfect uninformed audience who needs the explanations to make the world return to proper working order again. After all, isn’t that what the detective does? Return things back to their proper place, pass out punishment, get the world to spin on its axis again, make sure the bad guys are put away, give a solution to the problem. Holmes wouldn’t be Holmes, really, without Watson, and Watson would just be retired, boring, military surgeon with a bad shoulder without Holmes. A more interesting symbiosis in the literary world would be hard to find.

On Sherlock Holmes

There are few characters in the fictional world of literary creations that are as pure as Sherlock Holmes. He is driven to solve the crime, not because he necessarily wants to see justice administered, but because the puzzle must be solved at almost any cost. I wouldn’t suggest that Holmes is obsessive or compulsive, but in a way, he certainly is. He doesn’t care about moral philosophy or the structure of the universe unless either of those topics would help him solve a crime. His ideas about crime and punishment are black and white, so his objective of putting the criminal away is clear and obvious. At the same time, he hasn’t the least bit for popular news, discussions of the weather, or sports, beyond his own training in boxing and stick fighting. Like most people, he loves to eat, listen to music, talk when the talk interests him, but the one thing he cannot escape in this life is solitude–no man is an island and Sherlock Holmes is no different. His ability to discern the important from the mundane and casual stems in large part from his willingness to narrate the facts of a case, but he needs an audience, and most of the time his sounding board is Watson. Watson is the sieve through which his reasoning passes. If he can tell Watson the story, he can figure it out. Holmes functions because of the power of narrative. He can work through the logic of the clues by building a narrative that makes sense, discarding incidental clues that may be red-herrings, and see through the smoke screen left by the criminals. In the end, the stories are all very similar about shame and hate, vengeance and envy, greed and stupidity, or love and jealousy, and Sherlock must sort out the facts without getting personally involved in any of it. Emotion is all too often the downfall of many a criminal, and Holmes works constantly to see through the intentions, let the clues speak to him, and resolve the problem at hand. Yet, I would also suggest that Holmes cannot do all of this work, wade through so much human flotsam and jetsam, and still be the least bit normal as a person. He’s interested in bee-keeping; this is his only outside interest that doesn’t appear to have anything to do with crime solving. Bees can’t really talk back, they have a collective conscience, they have no crime, their objectives are orderly and pure, free from envy, sloth, and ire. He admires them. If Watson were not there to act as chronicler and psychologist/therapist, Holmes would go crazy listening to the irrational world which surrounds him explode. Watson is the perfect foil for Holmes because he is a walking case to be constantly narrated and resolved, but Watson is also the perfect uninformed audience who needs the explanations to make the world return to proper working order again. After all, isn’t that what the detective does? Return things back to their proper place, pass out punishment, get the world to spin on its axis again, make sure the bad guys are put away, give a solution to the problem. Holmes wouldn’t be Holmes, really, without Watson, and Watson would just be retired, boring, military surgeon with a bad shoulder without Holmes. A more interesting symbiosis in the literary world would be hard to find.

On Shylock and the Merchant of Venice

Shakespeare’s strange creature, a moneylender from his “The Merchant of Venice” is a man driven by justice in a world that treats him unjustly. As a Jewish man living and working in a Christian community he is subject to strict laws regarding his physical movements, where he lives, who he does business with, and what business he can do. Nothing about how he is treated by the governing Christian authorities is just, fair, or unbiased. He must wear special clothing denoting his religious orientation so there can be no doubt by anyone who meets him that he is a Jew. Within the context of the play, the Christian moneylenders cannot and do not charge interest on loans they might make, but Shylock, being Jewish, is allowed to charge interest. He feels discriminated against because his Christian competitors can lend against him, cutting into his business. At one point, Bassanio, a young Venetian nobleman, asked Antonio for a loan. Antonio is having cash flow issues, so they turn to Shylock for the money, Bassanio borrows the money and Antonio guarantees the loan. In a curious turn of events, Shylock does not ask for interest, but if the loan is not paid on time, Shylock wants a pound of Antonio’s flesh. The play’s denouement occurs in a rather infamous courtroom scene presided over by a cross-dressing Portia who is acting as judge. Antonio has failed to repay the loan within the specified period, and Shylock is demanding justice. What Shylock does not understand, and what Portia understands only to well, is that justice is not meted out equally. There is justice for the Christian men who rule Venice, but women and Jews are forced to live with bias, bigotry, and injustice. As a woman, Portia is being forced to marry someone by her father, and as a woman, she has no say in the matter. The fact that she is cross-dressing in order to act within the trial pays tribute to the disenfranchised nature of all women within this society, their complete lack of agency and choice, and their inability to get justice from any of the established sources of power–the courts, the city council, or the Church. Shylock, though he keenly feels the bias and bigotry that informs his world, will insist on battling on this uneven playing field. Yet he fails to understand that his condition could be even worse because women have less rights than he has. An offer is made to Shylock to repay Bassanio’s loan, but since the details of the loan have not been fulfilled, Shylock wants his pound of Antonio’s flesh. In a very moving speech, the cross-dressing judge, Portia, urges Shylock to take the money and forget about justice, especially when Shylock insists on following the contract to the letter of the law, demanding, for once, that he be given justice and his contract demands a pound of flesh. Portia reminds Shylock that showing mercy and accepting the money would be a better solution than the one he is demanding. Shylock is immovable in his demand, but before Shylock can take his pound of flesh, Portia reminds him that if they are really going to stick to the letter of the law, then he, Shylock, cannot spill a drop of Antonio’s blood, which would be a violation of the contract which makes no mention of blood, just flesh. Shylock is foiled, Antonio is not hurt–all because one man, ignoring the good advice of someone who knows better, cannot understand the difference between mercy and justice and the fact that justice is not equal for all. The play speaks directly to the problem that justice is not meted out equally, that Lady Justice is not blind, and that all disadvantaged or marginal groups might hope for is a good solution, if not an equitable one. The play, then, is not hopeful when seen through a modern optic that deplores the obvious antisemitism marshaled by Antonio or the lack of agency which Portia must endure. One man is destroyed, another flourishes, justice is not observed, and the world turns.

On Shylock and the Merchant of Venice

Shakespeare’s strange creature, a moneylender from his “The Merchant of Venice” is a man driven by justice in a world that treats him unjustly. As a Jewish man living and working in a Christian community he is subject to strict laws regarding his physical movements, where he lives, who he does business with, and what business he can do. Nothing about how he is treated by the governing Christian authorities is just, fair, or unbiased. He must wear special clothing denoting his religious orientation so there can be no doubt by anyone who meets him that he is a Jew. Within the context of the play, the Christian moneylenders cannot and do not charge interest on loans they might make, but Shylock, being Jewish, is allowed to charge interest. He feels discriminated against because his Christian competitors can lend against him, cutting into his business. At one point, Bassanio, a young Venetian nobleman, asked Antonio for a loan. Antonio is having cash flow issues, so they turn to Shylock for the money, Bassanio borrows the money and Antonio guarantees the loan. In a curious turn of events, Shylock does not ask for interest, but if the loan is not paid on time, Shylock wants a pound of Antonio’s flesh. The play’s denouement occurs in a rather infamous courtroom scene presided over by a cross-dressing Portia who is acting as judge. Antonio has failed to repay the loan within the specified period, and Shylock is demanding justice. What Shylock does not understand, and what Portia understands only to well, is that justice is not meted out equally. There is justice for the Christian men who rule Venice, but women and Jews are forced to live with bias, bigotry, and injustice. As a woman, Portia is being forced to marry someone by her father, and as a woman, she has no say in the matter. The fact that she is cross-dressing in order to act within the trial pays tribute to the disenfranchised nature of all women within this society, their complete lack of agency and choice, and their inability to get justice from any of the established sources of power–the courts, the city council, or the Church. Shylock, though he keenly feels the bias and bigotry that informs his world, will insist on battling on this uneven playing field. Yet he fails to understand that his condition could be even worse because women have less rights than he has. An offer is made to Shylock to repay Bassanio’s loan, but since the details of the loan have not been fulfilled, Shylock wants his pound of Antonio’s flesh. In a very moving speech, the cross-dressing judge, Portia, urges Shylock to take the money and forget about justice, especially when Shylock insists on following the contract to the letter of the law, demanding, for once, that he be given justice and his contract demands a pound of flesh. Portia reminds Shylock that showing mercy and accepting the money would be a better solution than the one he is demanding. Shylock is immovable in his demand, but before Shylock can take his pound of flesh, Portia reminds him that if they are really going to stick to the letter of the law, then he, Shylock, cannot spill a drop of Antonio’s blood, which would be a violation of the contract which makes no mention of blood, just flesh. Shylock is foiled, Antonio is not hurt–all because one man, ignoring the good advice of someone who knows better, cannot understand the difference between mercy and justice and the fact that justice is not equal for all. The play speaks directly to the problem that justice is not meted out equally, that Lady Justice is not blind, and that all disadvantaged or marginal groups might hope for is a good solution, if not an equitable one. The play, then, is not hopeful when seen through a modern optic that deplores the obvious antisemitism marshaled by Antonio or the lack of agency which Portia must endure. One man is destroyed, another flourishes, justice is not observed, and the world turns.

On the strange paradox of time travel

Just like the next guy, I love a great time travel paradox, frustrated by the fact that hypothetically a return to the past is possible, doubly frustrated that the real world doesn’t seem to understand the hypothesis. Time travel equations seem to indicate that time runs both forward and backward, but our reality only seems to run one way, which is why the equations are deceptive. A cup that has been knocked onto the floor and breaks stays broken, and unless you have a good supply of superglue, the cup will stay broken. Yet I am skeptical that even if we could go back in time and avoid breaking the cup altogether, we should. Since our past is filled with so many errors, follies, and foolishness, I don’t think there is enough time in the world to fix them. You would have to answer the question, which errors would be worth correcting, but the bigger question remains: if you fix a mistake, what might the “butterfly effects” be? Precisely because you have corrected a perceived error, have you inadvertently created others? Is it possible that you might disappear if a mistake in 1789 were corrected? The answer, of course, is yes. Since the only timeline that we know is the result of millions of individual mistakes, we must leave history as it is because we have no conception of the possible dangers of changing the most minimal detail in the past. Well, you say, what about big mistakes such as Hitler? It is hard to imagine a world in which Hitler never lived, but then again, the current world we have now is a direct result, for better or worse, of many of Hitler’s policies and decisions. How would his death as an infant effect us now? The answer, of course, is unknowable, unfathomable, but at the same time, intriguing. So the cup falls, breaks, and gets swept into the trash, and we are unable to avoid it’s destruction. We are the result of a single direction causality stream of which we are completely unaware at any given moment, but that, with hindsight, we describe after the fact as history. Of course, a causality stream is also a bit of a mystery because human interaction, although predictable within certain chaotic parameters, is essentially unpredictable at the macro-level, is essentially unpredictable at any given moment, and if we were to run the same causality scenario at any given moment, the outcomes may be radically different. If we were to time travel, we would always be in danger of introducing new factors into the time equation. “Back to the Future” reminds us only too well that even one’s best intentions can screw up a carefully built series of causes and effects. I fear that the impossibility of time travel may be for our own good, and that if we could time travel, that this might be the end of the world as we know it. The biggest problem I see is going back and meeting your own younger self and contaminating the future or possibly even causing yourself to disappear at some point. The cup falls, breaks, and gets swept into the trash. You go to the store to replace the cup, meet a new person, fall in love, get married, have children, one of whom becomes the president of the United States who averts a world-ending atomic holocaust, and you die of old age in your bed at age 102 after 76 years of marriage to a wonderful person who you met after breaking a tea cup. You avoid breaking the cup, you never go to the store, you never get married, you live alone, never having had children, dying in an atomic holocaust that ends life on this planet as we know it. It’s complicated, isn’t it?

On the strange paradox of time travel

Just like the next guy, I love a great time travel paradox, frustrated by the fact that hypothetically a return to the past is possible, doubly frustrated that the real world doesn’t seem to understand the hypothesis. Time travel equations seem to indicate that time runs both forward and backward, but our reality only seems to run one way, which is why the equations are deceptive. A cup that has been knocked onto the floor and breaks stays broken, and unless you have a good supply of superglue, the cup will stay broken. Yet I am skeptical that even if we could go back in time and avoid breaking the cup altogether, we should. Since our past is filled with so many errors, follies, and foolishness, I don’t think there is enough time in the world to fix them. You would have to answer the question, which errors would be worth correcting, but the bigger question remains: if you fix a mistake, what might the “butterfly effects” be? Precisely because you have corrected a perceived error, have you inadvertently created others? Is it possible that you might disappear if a mistake in 1789 were corrected? The answer, of course, is yes. Since the only timeline that we know is the result of millions of individual mistakes, we must leave history as it is because we have no conception of the possible dangers of changing the most minimal detail in the past. Well, you say, what about big mistakes such as Hitler? It is hard to imagine a world in which Hitler never lived, but then again, the current world we have now is a direct result, for better or worse, of many of Hitler’s policies and decisions. How would his death as an infant effect us now? The answer, of course, is unknowable, unfathomable, but at the same time, intriguing. So the cup falls, breaks, and gets swept into the trash, and we are unable to avoid it’s destruction. We are the result of a single direction causality stream of which we are completely unaware at any given moment, but that, with hindsight, we describe after the fact as history. Of course, a causality stream is also a bit of a mystery because human interaction, although predictable within certain chaotic parameters, is essentially unpredictable at the macro-level, is essentially unpredictable at any given moment, and if we were to run the same causality scenario at any given moment, the outcomes may be radically different. If we were to time travel, we would always be in danger of introducing new factors into the time equation. “Back to the Future” reminds us only too well that even one’s best intentions can screw up a carefully built series of causes and effects. I fear that the impossibility of time travel may be for our own good, and that if we could time travel, that this might be the end of the world as we know it. The biggest problem I see is going back and meeting your own younger self and contaminating the future or possibly even causing yourself to disappear at some point. The cup falls, breaks, and gets swept into the trash. You go to the store to replace the cup, meet a new person, fall in love, get married, have children, one of whom becomes the president of the United States who averts a world-ending atomic holocaust, and you die of old age in your bed at age 102 after 76 years of marriage to a wonderful person who you met after breaking a tea cup. You avoid breaking the cup, you never go to the store, you never get married, you live alone, never having had children, dying in an atomic holocaust that ends life on this planet as we know it. It’s complicated, isn’t it?