Dropping the Chains of Equality

I was on the treadmill today watching an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation (for some reason, I am on a mission to watch them all, in order) and Captain Picard referred to his "superiors." I had a thought at that moment that liberated me from the chains of equality.

Of course, Americans have the idea ingrained in them that "all men are created equal." This fuels a kind of independent spirit (no pun intended) and a sense that we are just as good as anyone around us. Those who think they are "better" than us can sod off. On an existence level, this is true... No one is simply born with more worth than anyone else.

As a teenager and as a young adult, I was fiercely against regarding anyone as a "superior." I have always been a bit snippy about that idea. I would never have joined the military, because I have a problem with playing the role of a subordinate. After all, I, as a private, I am every bit as good as the drill instructor, am I not? Am I not as good a person as him? Am I not as valid of a human being? Why should I call him sir?

At the same time, I have always been respectful of those who have achieved higher levels than I have. This would seem incongruous, no? I use, and have always used, the word "sir" when addressing elder gents. (I use "ma'am" more reservedly, if only because I have known women who think this is an accusation of oldness...)

Heresy in the Church of Science

I have, many times, criticized the American transition into science as a new religion. But, to be clear, it is not science I have a problem with; it's the worship of science I have a problem with. In fact, I (note the quite intentional lack of a rude expletive) love science. I have been fascinated with it since I was a boy.

As neurologist David Eagleman so aptly pointed out, science is just a pier that stretches out into a vast ocean of things we do not know; therefore, science cannot be looked to for the definitive answers to everything. And it certainly cannot be seen as a defining parameter for all that is possible in the universe. Things exist, in incalculable numbers, outside of what science can prove. To say one doesn't believe in anything that is unproven is to admit to idiocy, if you ask me.

The worst outcome of this worship of science is the decreased wonder at the depth of the human mind and body.

Just a few days ago, this occurred to me as the reason why I turn so angrily away from studies that tell us that there is an answer as to the source of human creativity; or that show us, in a CT scan how the mind of an athlete works; or that explain the physiology behind criminal behavior; or that reduce love and passion to chemical equations.

We humans are so much more than that. A trend in brainwaves might be a pier into the ocean of what goes on in our minds, but it will ever be a boat ride to Truth.

The Social Will

A short one, since it is Christmas Eve.

Society bends individuals to its will. It always has and it will do so in the future. No matter how much the will of society changes, it is the will of society that dictates the way we are "supposed to" act.

Therefore, what was "right" fifty years ago may not continue to be "right" today. Still, social will, no matter how much it reforms itself, is not a proponent of freedom. It is an organically occurring form of control that seeks to tell the individual how to think.

Social agendas that claim to promote freedom for certain individuals are, in and of themselves, an attempt to take freedom of thought away from others.

The only solution to this is to think one's own thoughts and to be independent of groupthink.

I leave you with this irrelevant but nifty cartoon. (Hat tip: C. C.):

Getting a Grip on Tradition

I hope people don't run screaming when I write about the drums. In most cases, I am not writing about the drums, but about something I learned about life through the drums...  Granted my last piece on the aesthetics of drums is a bit more drummy than most, but stick with me with this one. It's about the concept of tradition more than it is about drums.

There are those among us who are so tied to tradition that we refuse to admit change into our lives or into the lives of society as a whole. This is bad. But, then, there are those who call any traditional view "old fashioned" or outright stupid. This, also, is bad. The thing is, tradition that makes sense should remain and tradition that does not make sense should be considered for upheaval.

A great metaphor for this is the way drummers hold their sticks. There are, out there, die-hard proponents of the "traditional grip" in drumming. It looks like this:

Note the sort of sideways grip in the left hand. This is the way many drummers were taught for years and years. According to Neil Peart, in an article he wrote many years ago for Modern Drummer, this grip originated with the side-hanging snare drum for marching -- the one we picture in the Revolutionary War photos:

The Drum Aesthetic

I have referenced my ridiculous attraction to the appearance of drum sets before, but...I remember...

My father had a recording studio in our house for awhile. I was but a lad at the time; maybe in middle school. After a session, a great area drummer named Carl Mattola, who was a cool guy and a good friend of my dad's, left his drums behind in anticipation of an upcoming session. The thing was, he hadn't left any sticks, so I couldn't play them.

Gavin Harrison's set on a King Crimson tour: potential energy.

I had never played the drums before and now I had to just look at them. But, I could see something in that little Pearl four-piece set. At the time I wouldn't have been able to articulate it, but there was tremendous beauty in that silent sculpture that is a drum kit. It was the aesthetic of  potential -- potential energy; potential for human movement; potential for explosive or shimmering sound...

Here, a cymbal hung in perfect reach; there a pedal for one foot; there a pedal for the other foot. The drum set was a mechanism for a kind of Tai Chi movement of four limbs at different times and in different ways; there was the potential of bringing the disparate instruments of a hi-hat cymbal (that could hit or played with the feet) a crash cymbal, a "ride cymbal," a snare drum, a kick drum and a mounted tom-tom and a floor tom all into focused rhythmic pattern that could only come out of a musical oneness with Tao or Zen or "The Groove" whatever you wanted to call it.

I'd sit with my feet on the pedals and imagine playing. I'd envision it. But... no sticks.