Friday, December 01, 2006

Pavane pour a Dead Princess

So Professor Dahlman and I were talking about composers who've come to hate their works, like Ravel with his Pavane and Boléro, or Debussy with the Rêverie. She told me Chopin asked one of his relatives--sister perhaps--to burn a bunch of manuscripts after he died, including his Polonaise-fantasy. This would have been a loss (though my friend David would probably disagree). We agreed that composers often aren't the best judges of their work.

Of course, my professor and I both have a healthy respect for the composer's original wishes. She suggested getting an Urtext edition of the Beethoven Sonatas, and I did (and I'm glad--it's so pretty), because in many an edition--my previous one was Schirmer, I believe--you can't tell which dynamics are the composer's and which are the editor's. I can't stand this. I believe (somewhat tentatively) that music is essentially a communication between the composer and his audience, and some third party shouldn't go screwing with that more than need be.

So in light of that, here's a little hypothetical I've thought about. Brahms burnt all his early work--we don't know what we've lost. All the youthful endeavors, the juvenile drafts that would have showed him developing his skill--gone. The result of this is that there is no bad Brahms. Some of it's craggier than others--the piano sonatas and the string quartets have never really achieved popularity--but none of it's actually bad.

So let's say, you found one of his early works, buried in a book at Brahms manor or something. Let's say it's clearly something he would have incinerated if he'd remembered it. Do you save it, or burn it? The tension's obvious: if you respect the wishes of the composer, you burn it.

But it would be invaluable.

I just might burn it. I probably wouldn't. God knows what masterpieces are out there that the composer might wish unwritten. If I had to justify such a move, rationalize rather, I'd probably say that we should trust a composer's musical choices, such as his dynamics, et al, but when it comes to his desired immolation of his own works, we're dealing less with music and more with the symptoms of poor self-esteem or brooding genius, choices we need not respect.

Tough to say what we should do with Bruckner then, whose low self-esteem led him to continually revise his symphonies, altering his musical choices. Seriously, if one of his students would make the least criticism he'd run crying to his office, to fashion his work anew. Luckily, I don't listen to Bruckner's symphonies. (I do recommend the motets though, and his string quintet).

Also, Professor Dahlman said, on her first hearing me playing the Pavane, that my touch was "beautiful." And Professor Dahlman seldom gives compliments--to me, at least. Which of course makes them all the more gratifying on their rare occurence.

Thursday, November 30, 2006

Posture

A couple of months ago I realized I had the posture of an 80-year old woman and, as this was neither visually impressive nor particularly attractive, took it upon myself to remedy this (though of course the only reason I stoop is because my friends have a silly habit of being a foot beneath me). While it does take a bit of mental effort to remind one's self to stand up straight--tough to do while sitting down--the trickiest part by far has been maneuvering stairways without looking at my feet. One has to develop a feeling for just when the stairs end so as not to be shocked when discovering either the floor has arrived a step too early, making your kneecaps tingle with the impact, or a step too late, making you stumble for a heart-stopping half-second through mid-space.

At this point though, I've gotten the hang of it.

Have spent an entire day within library, taking an hour out for the gym, meticulously outlining International Tax text, fighting off the urge to continually hit the refresh button on Defamer and seeing who the most recent young starlet is to disembark a vehicle while bearing a dromedary nether knuckle.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Thanksgiving and Crap!

Last Tuesday evening I went home for Thanksgiving, and Jay, being invited, followed. I got lost on the way to DC, putting me ten minutes behind Jay, which was enough to let him skim through Delaware traffic while I got stuck. You want government incompetence? Who decides to do road work requiring reducing I-95 to a one lane bottleneck two days before Thanksgiving? So I took my computer out of my bag and watched Fierce Creatures as I inched along.

Anyway, spent most of the time studying and outlining, taking time off for Thursday's feast. Saturday we had a stunning quintuple birthday of my cousin Steven, my twin brothers, great Aunt Peggy, and Dad. Here are some pictures!


Cousin Michael, deep in thought.





Richard has fun with his birthday present: dice. As gambling is the only vice Richard has yet to cultivate, it seemed the right gift.





From right to left? My new grandfather, my old grandmother, and Aunt Peggy.





Steven!






For most of my childhood, Dad was somewhere in the Delaware Bay fishing on a party boat. Because of this, all his gifts tend to be nautical. Aunt Suzy to the left.






Another example. Aunt Peggy is known for her utterly bizarre gifts. Here's one for my Dad, a fish made out of the remains of a 2 Liter bottle of Mountain Dew.








David reading a card.






Birthday folk, lording their birthdays over the rest of us.






Jay had to go back to DC Saturday, but he missed us, so we videoconferenced him into my computer and set him up at the table with a microphone attached.






Apparently Jay snapped a shot of me when I was stalking the wild turkeys that frequent our backyard. Not catching one, we had to get our turkey from the supermarket.






Marnie with spends some time with her evil cat, Twinkle. Marnie's new husband, who is my new grandfather, is allergic to cats, so she let us have Twinkle, which isn't really a gift, since Twinkle has only one expression used to convey whatever emotion she happens to feel: a fang-bearing hiss. Whenever Marnie comes over Twinkle runs for her, probably to complain about her new caretakers.






Suzi and Aunt Peggy (the latter being fully Peggy Creighton, with the fitting sobriquet of P.C.)






Michael pretends to be me while having a Skype conversation with Jay. As the phrase, "This is Scott--really Scott--and I am a giant butt" is not part of my vocabulary, Jay quickly discovers it is not the true Scott at the keyboard.






The green casserole vied with the butternut squash mush for best side.






My beautiful mom.






My mom.






Suz, Grandmother, Pash.






Jay communes with his roll.

So that was pretty much it. I took a week off from going to the gym because I was having trouble with my forearm (let the jokes fly). It's from preacher curls, but I'm not sure how to avoid it in the future. This evening Jay and I argued in Billy Goat over the wisdom of drinking whole milk, making the clerk laugh.

On the composer discussion board someone started a thread on pronunciation of composer names, leading to this comment from me:

Quote from: bwv 1080 on Today at 11:50:43 AM: How far should an English speaker go in non-English pronounciation? Some Anglicization ought to be encouraged. It always irritated me when professors made a point of sounding like they were hocking a loogie at the end of pronouncing "Bach" or when the local newscaster rolls the "r" in Burrito


Me: That is a problem, as we somehow try to balance precision with snobbiness. Perhaps a good dividing line would be to only use English phonemes, and thus using, try to get as close to the pronunciation within the original language as possible. So, for instance, we would try to get the stress right in Ravel (though we'd use an English R), and we could give a pretty accurate representation of Beethoven, but since we don't really have the ch hiss in English, we'd simply pronounce Bach as "Bah k".


Sounds reasonable to me.

Also today I was reading the Wikipedia entry for Adam West, followed a few links, and then I found the funniest pilot never picked up. Lookwell.

In Defense of Consequentialism

I've got stuff to write about Thanksgiving, but haven't had time to get to it yet. Tonight perhaps. For now, here's an essay I wrote for our Milton Friedman memoriam for Catallarchy. On the surface, it doesn't have much to do with Friedman, but it's completely a personal investigation of an interesting divide among libertarians (and many other groups), which Friedman was often in the middle of.

This basically sets out my current view of morality.



Men of Goodwill May Disagree

In Defense of Consequentialism,

For Milton Friedman



I readily grant that the ethical issue is difficult and that men of goodwill may well disagree. Fortunately, we need not resolve the ethical issue to agree on policy. Prohibition is an attempted cure that makes matters worse--for both the addict and the rest of us. Hence, even if you regard present policy toward drugs as ethically justified, considerations of expediency make that policy most unwise.


Prohibition and Drugs
by Milton Friedman
From Newsweek, May 1, 1972




Milton Friedman has died. Libertarians mourn a champion; non-libertarians mourn a man who, though at times disagreeable, couched his arguments in terms so good-natured it was impossible to dislike him.

But—no matter the ideology—the cost of moderateness is the charge of heresy (and the danger of dogmatism the label of lunacy). Compromise is a euphemism for abandoning the principles you believe in.

Was this pragmatism hypocrisy? Was it simply a rhetorical tactic?

I call it humility. Now, there is right and there is wrong. Morality is absolute and natural, mapped by reason and intuition. And there is room for consequentialism.

I. Morality, an Observation


The idea of no moral truth is unacceptable. The idea of no moral apparatus with which to perceive that truth is unacceptable. This is especially true among those interested in politics, a realm ruled by notions of what should be. Relativists have no business here.

I test this by summoning up various nightmares: children being tortured, women being raped. Is the cringe such situations produce a mere result of some social conditioning? Is my preference for such things to be avoided arbitrary, as unprincipled as a favorite color? Do I have any room to criticize those with the opposite preference?

Yes. The sun exists, those who deny this are wrong—its existence not merely the false consciousness of a billion observers. Women should not be raped, and those who deny this are wrong. Not eccentric.

We surrender only to the moral relativist the possibility of being wrong, as we surrender to the skeptic the possibility of the sun being illusory. Nonetheless, we maintain, if for no other reason than the strength of the feeling, that certain things are right and wrong. And the sun will rise tomorrow.

II. For Marxism, Libertarianism.


Perhaps you grant moral truth, perhaps you grant moral perception. Nonetheless you deny some particular moral theory because of its hard cases—or perhaps you’re skeptical of things you can neither see nor touch, like rights. And we know how we see the sun, we know how eyes work—how do we sense right and wrong?

I don’t know the latter—but nor did Galileo understand how his vision operated. Not to be flippant: epistemological questions are real and pertinent. But the idea of no means of tracking moral truth is more problematic. We choose the least flawed choice.

As to the tough cases—e.g., how much labor must be mixed with how much land for possession to occur?—tough cases always form at the margins. At times they necessitate more complex theory to fill in the gaps, and sometimes vagueness is simply the nature of the beast. But such conditions are not unique to moral theorizing.

Oftentimes the intricate rules of a moral system start to seem artificial. Maybe morality, undoubtedly extant, does not follow rules. Every situation is unique, with its own moral solution unlike no other. But this is doubtful. Similar cases probably display similar results, and if so, given enough cases, rules start to emerge, something rigid and general enough that it is the exception that must be explained. The physical sciences proceed in the same fashion.

Rules can be used to produce more rules, meta-rules emerge, and different starting axioms may produce wildly different systems. Observe Marxism, observe libertarianism. Social contracts and veils of ignorance. Find enough internal inconsistencies, enough holes, enough discrepancy with reality and the grand theory is rejected. Or, if solid enough, used to make accurate predictions.

Fallibility is an argument for theory, not against it.

III. The False Hope of Pragmatism


The pragmatist eschews theory. He does not deny morality—he cannot. To take an opinion of how things ought to be is to take a moral position. He cannot deny moral perception—he must explain how he has arrived at that particular position or admit his is baseless. The pragmatist has no higher ground, he cannot claim to be arguing in a realm less intangible than those who argue morality—his oughts occupy the same level.

The pragmatist has followed us most of the way—he does not deny morality, only that it is governed by rules. We can present our previous case to him, we can question how he expects us to solve hard cases without the formation of rules, without comparing and analogizing, and how we are to convince one another without them. If he is unpersuaded, there is little more to say.

And his defense of his position may be quite strong. He may argue, and he may be correct, that people can more easily recognize what is moral than decode it using a rule-based system. We disagree here, but perhaps our disagreement is intractable.

Nonetheless, we must let him find no refuge in a lodestar of economic efficiency or in utilitarianism proper, both systems eminently rule-based and controversial. Adopting either would subject him to his own critiques.

IV. Against Libertarianism


Relativism is unacceptable. We have defended moral rules. We have met the pragmatist and pointedly disagreed with him. The stage is set to devise a moral system.

We collect data points. We summon up nightmares, we cringe and make a note. We group like cases and look for trends. We run into some hard cases. Some can be solved by our new rules, some remain mysterious: we will save these for later, perhaps for other theorists. We proofread our work. We find how consistent our theory is. Perhaps it ends up rotten to the core and we wipe the slate clean to start again. Perhaps it’s simple, elegant, and produces accurate predictions. Or the flaws that exist are repairable.

Maybe we’re Lockeans. Maybe we’re social democrats. We might be Communists or utilitarians or environmentalists.

Maybe, like Milton Friedman, we’re classical liberals. We do not believe this theory to be arbitrary, but rather an accurate depiction of objective morality. And so far as the theory contrasts with other theories—Marxism, utilitarianism, et al—those theories must be false, if ours is true.

If we believe it true, then why, as Milton did, do we place our arguments elsewhere?

There is no contradiction in believing in moral truth and at the same time being wary of our own fallibility. Humility here is no flaw.

We are, perhaps, classical liberals. Classical liberalism suggests Policy A. But, though we are classical liberals, we are nonetheless skeptical of classical liberalism (however, assumedly, we are more skeptical of other moral systems). We also are not utilitarians, but we admit there is a chance utilitarianism is correct. If both utilitarianism and classical liberalism suggest Policy A, that is a stronger argument than either ideology in isolation.

We’ve committed no hypocrisy—we have not abandoned any of our principles, simply made two realistic admissions: we may be wrong and the detractors may be right. We have not become relativists, and we certainly have not admitted that utilitarianism is correct.

V. Consequentialism


Yet, in most fields, we do not bend so easily. We are humble, but we do not easily discard complete theories. Nor should we. It is in morality that humility is uniquely called for.

One reason for caution is that, as a matter of personal observation, moral theories are radically incomplete. We needn’t tick off the tensions of libertarianism, nor the monstrosities of utilitarianism to show this. Another reason is that divergence among people is large—what moral sense exists is obviously a shaky mechanism. And here we have another reason to argue within another’s system—not simply for the tactical reason of convincing them and getting their support for what we want—but rather because we know they too can make moral judgments, judgments there is no weakness in relying upon. Two opinions are often better than one.

We have now arrived at a vague meta-moral state, a place where we value one moral theory as true but others as valuable for their possibility of truth. What theories we slip in as our candidates for true theories, and the weight we attach to each is undoubtedly something that will vary from person to person—though not infinitely.

This place, consequentialism or pragmatism or whichever name you desire, is by necessity vague and subjective. At times, the “consequentialist” may be hard to pin down, simply because it is difficult to attach a concrete probability of truth to a theory, and one’s vintage of consequentialism will vary from group to group. The consequentialist Marxist will contrast with the consequentialist Rawlsian.

Nonetheless, he is neither poststructuralist nor nihilistic, neither a liar nor a coward.

Postscript:
Some of my terminology is atypical. Some may consider pragmatism and consequentialism synonyms, for example. Do not attach too much to the names I have chosen—consider instead the positions I use them to represent.