Emergency Leadership

As with anything, the topic of leadership can be split and subdivided any any number of ways, but if we look at the multitude of environments which catalyze leaders, there are basically two types of leadership. The first, is emergency leadership, and the second is—drum roll please!—non-emergency leadership.

Emergency leadership is whenever a person stands up in the face of disaster and says, "Let's do this." I use the word "disaster" loosely here because the most obvious examples—in news media and fiction, say—are disasters. Whenever there is an earthquake, a flood, a fire, a plane crash, a train crash, a terrorist bomb, etc, certain people stand up and say, "Let's roll!" However, less public examples include late bills, traffic jams, broken copy machines, and marital spats.

Emergency leadership so often takes center stage in media because, for one, leadership of any kind is rare, and two, fixing a disaster looks so heroic. Tales of heroism have long been an important mainstay to the storytelling tradition. Stories of disaster and the brave men and women who led the people out of the darkness are as easy to relate for the teller as they are to envision by the listener. And they pass along portable lessons which are inspirational and valuable in less obvious crises.

The trouble with focusing solely on emergencies, as mainstream media tends to do, is that it teaches to—and therefore re-enforces—a reactionary paradigm. Many, if not most, emergencies are the result of too little proactive leadership—or non-emergency leadership. As Stephen Covey says in "The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People," most people focus on tasks that are "urgent"—whether or not they are important.

Proactive leadership is preventative maintenance. Many of the tasks performed are not heroic or glamorous, even though they are important.

In their quest for success, many ambitious people fall short of their potential because they seek the recognition that comes with heroically putting out fires. While putting out fires is certainly important, fires (even figurative ones) cause permanent damage which stunts growth long-term. Fires also take more time and energy to put out than sparks, and so reactionary leaders tend to waste valuable resources needed to prevent fires in the first place.

Despite popular opinion, the problem is not caused solely by "greedy hotrods." Many people simply lack the mental ability to recognize tasks that are important, but not urgent. It's not that they are stupid, just unlearned. Abstract concepts start with concrete examples, which is why stories of emergency leadership is so pervasive. It is important to grab a hold of an example, such as Jack Shepherd, from my favorite TV show, LOST.

Being a doctor, he reacted to the plane crash with the use of his expertise, and gained the position of leader, even though he didn't want it. However, his reactionary style continued long after the crash, when the survivors had settled into a sort of lifestyle—or "normalcy." Jack goes on to orchestrate acts of defiance against the other people on the Island who presented themselves as a threat.

Though he eventually learns to bide his time, he never really learns to be proactive. Interestingly, it is Sawyer, the "bad boy" of the survivors' camp who goes on to learn about being proactive. In a memorable scene, he tells Jack about Winston Churchill, who he says "read a book every night, even during the Blitz." His point is not far from Covey's 7th Habit, "Sharpening the Saw." Or in other words, preparing for the unknown.

Once you understand the principles behind the first type of leadership, it is important to dig deeper in order to get better at preventing the disasters that are within your area of influence. Once the disaster is over, the war brought to peace, and the fires put out, it is imperative to understand what went wrong so we can change our habits before they lead to another disaster. In so doing, we save a lot of time, energy, and even lives.

The Truth About TRUTH

When speaking about the concept of truth, it is important for an audience to understand what that word refers to. In my mind, there are two distinct concepts embedded in that word.

The first is somewhat adequately defined as "facts." The truth (lowercase "t") is a collection of general information about something real and quantifiable. Science seeks the "truth" about or universe through objective, empirical study. It collects and chronicles present and past instances of real events in support of a general theory of the parts' connection to each other.

The Truth (capital "T"), however, is not to be confused with his general theory, which is—after all—only a theory. The Truth is maddening to logicians and intellectuals because, by its nature, it can never be completely known or captured at any instance. It appears fluid because it has a broad application. In reality, it exists as unshakeably as the laws of physics.

Of course, religions claim exclusive ownership of Truth. Also, in many cases, nations or peoples claim this ownership. Even organizations (from legitimate to criminal) claim this ownership before their constituents. Indeed (and ironically), much blood has been and continues to be shed over the ownership of Truth. Yet Truth is bigger than religion, government, and the marketplace, the first informing the others. No man gets to decide what "Truth" is, only what "truth" is.

Throughout human civilization, those in power have sought to do a number of things using the Truth as a means to an end. Some seek to enlighten by attempting to expose the Truth, but the masses habitually remain focused only on what they can see. Others seek to control the masses by propagating a singular view of the Truth. No matter how monstrous or angelic the plan, the goal is nearly always to make the world a better place. The question is, better for whom?

There are two poles to the use of Truth as a catalyst for a better world. The first entails Truth being taught through a broad discussion, as with the Liberal Arts. People study the greatest ideas from all of human history in order to seek for themselves the best understanding of Truth. The other entails a scholar or "expert" building his own understanding (faulty or true) into a singular edifice for the masses.

The result is that only those willing to dive into the Liberal Arts ever acquire true perspective. Everyone else is encouraged to take the expert's word for it. However, the expert is not you, does not share your problems or passions, and ultimately cannot help you like you can when you have perspective. And so, people make do, and fail. Instead of making the difficult dive into the Arts, they latch onto a truth—that is, a prepackaged way of being—that most resembles their current lifestyle.

It's not that people don't believe in Truth, it's that they don't want to believe. Truth is obvious when it is simply laid out, but it may suggest the need for a change in lifestyle for many people. Since this can be painful, and since suffering is not in keeping with a better world, those with the means tend to deliver "solutions" to ease the suffering.

As with physical training, there are ways to work up to the heavy material. However, no fitness coach would be worth his salt if he helped you avoid "the burn"! And no FITness coach would be either if he let get by on half-baked ideas!

Only the Good Die Young

I've recently been watching (and studying) several cancelled television shows. For the purpose of this post, I don't need to go into which ones, but suffice it to say that they carry strong ratings in online forums and databases. The question is: why do these highly regarded first and second seasons not warrant further development?

I think they do. Now, I know that I lack a full understanding of what happened in each case, and it is the purpose of this post to discuss the general reasons that these shows (or any worthy ventures) fail. In fact, to say they "fail" might be a misnomer—in some cases, they're killed.

Like a lot of mainstream media, broadcast and basic cable are largely funded by ads. Whenever ratings take a dip, someone loses money. I don't know if there is a standard for whose responsibility it is to lose said money, but there really are only two choices. Either, the network loses money if the advertisers pay for results (less eyeballs = less advertising), or the advertisers lose money if they pay for time (less eyeballs = less value per dollar).

Either way, a show with falling ratings represents a liability, rather than an asset. Therefore, the same rules that govern any investment govern television production as well. Network executives, whose job it is to grow the bottom line, are in a hurry to cut liabilities—often at the first sign of difficulty.

However, in any business venture, this behavior is short-sighted and destructive. Long-term assets create stability for an enterprise, however, they are not easily identified by short-term market response. Often, assets of long-term value either start out with little success or enjoy a good reception but then suffer a dip when the bubble created by marketing hype bursts.

This is because stories—those of unique people, products, and services or those of an artistic nature—are about more than easily quantifiable facts. Facts are easy to put together, but what makes a story compelling is how and why a certain combination of facts is important. No one becomes loyal to a list of bullet-points.

The only way to identify long-term assets is to consider the potential of a project, not just what currently exists. If the fan base (or customer base) is small for the first two years, that's not a sign that it's a failure, but a sign that more explanation is required. By that, of course, I don't mean more bullet points, but more depth.

It seems to me that any story which acquires even a small loyal fan base, has the potential to be valuable. In fact, this should be the clue to executives that the project needs to be promoted, rather than cancelled. It may not be a short term moneymaker, but building on existing loyalty with existing projects would save the company "startup" costs.

Traditional ratings don't measure (or don't care about) loyalty, just overall numbers. It may be that the number of overall viewers tends to indicate loyalty, but this sort of numbers view is too remote to accurately measure loyalty in all cases. For this reason, this system is hostile to art, which is unpredictable.

Because art is about breaking new ground, it is in art that value created. This is important not just for a media company's stability, but also to society as a whole. Unfortunately, art cannot be rushed, and too many people are afraid of losing their jobs over a bad call on risky artistic programming.

It's just too bad they don't realize that slow growth is never risky.

Jamie Klueck
theFITmedia.com

Portable Lessons

I've used this phrase before when describing the importance of Truth in Fiction. However, by its very nature, a portable lesson is something that can be learned anywhere. When I first started studying success principles, I was like most people. I didn't understand how one thing related to another. I laughed at the concept that business principles had anything to do with raising a family.

It is true that many businesses are run by tyrants whom we would never want to have as patriarch of a family, but it is also true that many families are run by tyrants whom you would never want as a boss. On the flip side, it is a reality that there are both families and organizations run by people of integrity. In both cases, the lessons of one are easily transferrable to the other. The lessons a father learns from raising his children apply to leading a team of people, and vice versa.

The reason this is true is that all people respond the same to basic principles, regardless of gimmicks, that's why they are basic principles. Helping people identify these and pattern a life-habits after them is the very essence of the Liberal Arts, and why the study and discussion of them is such an important lost practice. Today's management/positional leadership culture is all about the gimmicks and strategies of getting people to do what you want, how you want it, when you want it. However, people want respect, they want to feel appreciated for their contributions, they want the freedom to pursue things they feel are important, and they need the time and space to do it in.

This runs perfectly counter to the dictatorship paradigm most management schools teach, and so media creators developed "solutions" in the form of endless gimmicks, tricks, bribes, and work-arounds. Endless patches to the human psyche by way of propaganda have brought us to the place in time where we believe that tyranny is the path to success in business, while avoiding relationships at home, is the path to success. We actually believe that one organization is different from another. The adage "people are like snowflakes" is true enough, but organizations are all the same. If you can't treat your son or daughter the way you treat your employees without repercussions, chances are you aren't really escaping those problems at work either.

Hence, portable lessons. Because of our complex culture, many of us work in organizations where it is difficult to perceive the total impact of our actions. Short of restructuring the organization tomorrow to allow more interaction between levels in a massive hierarchy, the solution to this problem is to simply look to areas where the impact of human relations is more apparent, then port those lessons to the workplace to give you a better handle on developing your influence and likability. Short of having a solid relationship, turn to the classic books.

These portable lessons are few and timeless. There is something to be said for the techniques of your industry or organization (even if its a family), but without a deep understanding of connecting principles which lead to integrity, you're doomed to make the same mistake in every single relationship you have in life—and that's a waste.

"Scott Pilgrim vs. The World"

DISCLAIMER: This post contains references to events in both the movie and the books. I recommend reading and watching Scott Pilgrim before reading this post. All links are affiliate links. You have been warned.

I recently both read the Scott Pilgrim graphic novels and watched the movie. The similarities are stunning, but the differences seem pointlessly disappointing. Whenever someone tries to adapt a given medium into a movie, the tendency is to start off strong and a lot like the original, but then to take artistic license and totally change it at the end of the movie. I know part of this is shortening the story in order to fit in the new format, but filmmakers tend to use adaptation as a platform for creation.

The question is, is this a good thing or bad thing? On one hand, you're creating a new medium for the fans of the original, but on the other hand, it's a new medium for new fans. To what extent is it fair change the original story to fit a new medium for the sake of gaining new fans? Is it just that the old medium didn't appeal to people who are now becoming fans of the new medium? Some people are just turned off by the concept of graphic novels (i.e.: comic books). Others dislike the time investment of any sort of novel, and are much more inclined to watch a movie which is easier and shorter. Even a graphic novel runs long (Scott Pilgrim in particular fills six books) compared to a movie which generally fits into two hours of screen time.

There are exceptions, of course. This is not to say that Scott Pilgrim is a classic in the same way, but if Peter Jackson had taken that much license with Lord of the Rings, fans of the original would've been appalled. What Tolkien fans were looking for was a visualized version of the amazing world that he created with words. The goal then was to fit Tolkien's vision into a watchable screen format without losing its original spirit. Of course, the books had existed long enough to have enough fans to support a budget that gave the filmmakers enough screen time—4 to 5 hours per film—in order to make this a reality.

Scott Pilgrim, of course, doesn't have nearly the fan base and so the question remains: why change the second half of the story so much from the original? The remarkable thing about this movie is that it so perfectly matches the graphic novel for about the first hour. After that point it starts making respectable cuts of scenes that arguably might have been unnecessary even in the novel. After some creative shuffling of the important plot points in the main body of the movie, the filmmakers made some choices that, I believe, diverged from the original story.

The most tragic thing about the movie is that the filmmakers and entirely missed the point of Nega-Scott. This concept isn't even fully developed in the novels, but even though it was subtle, it seems to me that the author was trying to say how Scott forgot his mistakes because he ran away from his dark side. In either killing or fleeing from his dark side, Scott also avoided absorbing the lessons from the experience. In the novels, Scott's training session with Kim leads him to eventually meld with Nega-Scott to become a whole person, capable of defeating Gideon and fixing his relationship with Ramona. In the movie, however, they seem to make a kind of flippant joke of the character.

All of this is not to say that the movie Scott Pilgrim vs. The World, is not thoroughly enjoyable on its own merit. It just simply does not contain the same depth as the graphic novels.

Is it impossible to maintain the depth while condensing the story into 120 minutes, or is it just REALLY HARD to do? I don't think it's impossible, and if I'm right, then this hard work is where the value is created. Interestingly, this means that it is actually harder (and therefore more artistic) to do a great job of condensing the exact story, than it is to create a new story out of the old one.

A movie with this kind of condensed depth kicks you in chest—and leaves you wanting to know more. If you're truly a new fan, you'll go to the original material for more. There is no point in using an original story to create a disconnected movie that is easier to swallow than the original. Condensed means potent. If you want to create art, never fear scaring away those that can't handle it.

Ignorance, Confusion, Enlightenment

[Reposted from ctif.blogspot.com]

A story is a process, whether we're talking about the story of our lives or the story of our characters' lives. We begin with a simplistic view. We are ignorant of anything outside our perspective. As we accumulate knowledge and experiences, our eyes are opened to the complexity of the world. Complexity leads to confusion because we don't yet possess the wisdom to understand the connections between the tangible elements of our story. As we gain wisdom, the complexity becomes simplified again and we become enlightened.

If you think about it, this arc applies to everything wherein learning is involved. Ignorance is not knowing. Not only do we not know the details of life, but we don't always know there are details to be known. As the saying goes, "You don't know what you don't know." Our perspective on life is determined by our personal experiences, what's called our "field of experience." The less we learn about the rest of the world, the more we rely upon the assumption that the rest of the world is like us. What would cause us to think otherwise?

As we associate with other people and learn about them, our perspective widens to encompass the new information. The faster we learn knowledge, the more confused we can become. Our brains begin to fill with what appears to be separate, if not random pieces of information. This process is difficult, even painful, because it expands our mental capacity. This is why many choose to remain ignorant. As they say, "Ignorance is bliss." But clearly, ignorance only limits our freedom. Without a adequate view of the elements of our story (again, be it life or fiction) we cannot hope to take command of our circumstances.

Like the water lily, these "pads" of information seem separate, but are actually connected. The process of deciphering the randomness of life gives us wisdom. As we begin to understand connections between separate areas of life, we find that our story once again becomes simplified. However, this time our perspective is one of truth and unity rather than self-centered autonomy. We understand that freedom must respect boundaries, and that we live in a world with other individuals.

Rather than blunder through life selfishly, we must think our way through life selfLESSly. In this way, we become enlightened enough to see the big picture, and understand the benefits of fitting ourselves into society on purpose.

Simple Yet Profound

Simple stories are for simpletons. Complex stories are for brainiacs. Both these groups are made up of individuals who have stopped learning. Simpletons—by which I mean the ignorant, rather than the mentally retarded—have a lid on their learning. "Brainiacs"—for lack of a better term—have a sort of floor on their learning. Both groups are kept within their respective circles by gravitating to greater personal preference and mental comfort.

Even those stories that are meant primarily as entertainment, necessarily inform our understanding of the world. When we partake of fictional stories, we gravitate to what we already believe, so nothing new can be learned. The trouble with such a trend is twofold. For one, it leaves a group in the middle feeling lost. For two, it destroys the ability of all three groups to understand the world and solve its problems.

Each group clings to their ideology, wishing it were possible to obliterate the ideology of the other group—or worse, existing in complete ignorance of any ideology but its own. Any refinement of expression is only a refinement of the ideology, which for the reasons I have already mentioned is not the unbiased truth.

When media creators seek to generate profitable content, they tend to serve one group or the other. This makes good business sense, and assuming they don't intend harm, is merely a response to market demand. To be a media leader, however, a creator must be more proactive.

It is a fair approach to first master an understanding of either group (and eventually both) in order to provide them what they want. This is an "easy" way to earn revenue. With this revenue, an aspiring media leader can fund the rest of his career. A surplus of funds is vital to sustaining the "anti-gravity" needed to capture an unbiased view.

In order to rise to the top of the storytelling industry, it is necessary to dig into the depths of the human condition. The consumption of "ideology-approved" stories by one or both groups will never generate the lasting impressions that truth will. Therefore, to become a leader it is further necessary to lead and strike a balance between these two groups—to be simple, yet profound.

Who? or Why?

There is a difference between the way a tradition murder mystery handles the perpetrator and the way a serial killer mystery does. A bloody topic to treat so lightly, I realize. However, murder mysteries in their core construct represent the very basics of all mysteries, however nebulous the "crime" and/or the "perpetrator" be. As J.J. Abrams remarked, "Mystery is the catalyst for imagination." And imagination is very important to creativity.

In a traditional murder mystery—or "whodunnit" mystery—the identity of the perpetrator in all its parts is kept strictly a secret. A series of clues mixed with misleading evidence teases the audience with a list of suspects. For this to happen, the audience must first meet the suspects. This must be a group of people equally capable and motivated to have carried out the act—at least at first, until suspects are eliminated by new information.

To reveal that the actually killer is not a person we had met, is to have cheated the audience out of any hope of figuring it out. Incidentally, to give the audience so much information about the killer that they do figure it out is to disappoint them. A good whodunnit delicately balances the audience's desire to solve the mystery themselves with the desire to remain challenged to the last.

By contrast, a serial killer mystery is a different animal. Unlike whodunnits, serial killer mysteries like "Se7en" aren't so much about "who?" as "why?" Typically the motivating factor for the detectives is a question of "when?"—as in "when is he going to strike again?" A story of this nature becomes a thriller as they try to determine the "why?" in order to get ahead of his plan and stop him.

"Who" a serial killer is, is a "serial killer." He is defined by his MO. In other words, the real villain of these stories is not a person at all, but the diabolical plan he is executing. In this way, the structure of a serial killer story has much in common with any conspiracy or manipulation story, regardless of the presence of impending murder. When a construct is laid for a large plan which is destined to wreak havoc (by design or because of flaws) similar methods of profiling the purpose and ideology of the perpetrator(s) is used.

Therefore, this type of story tends to open the door to deeper levels of philosophical implications. In the case of "Se7en" (affiliate link) the killer's plan is to make a demonstration of the "7 Deadly Sins" of Catholic literature. The film itself invokes Dante's Inferno (affiliate link), and makes a similarly gruesome display of sin and punishment. The irony is that the killer is acting as a sort of dark angel, delivering "God's message" through sin itself—even though I rather think the creators drop the ball at the end when assigning him the deadly sin he is guilty of.

All-in-all the point is that to be fulfilling and long-lasting, fiction must involve the viewers in the process of the story. Furthermore, it must lead them to areas of thought previously unexplored. This is the essential fascination with mysteries. Superficial mysteries of the "Clue" variety make for fun entertainment, but soon all seem alike. No matter the number and style of twists, "who" is still just an average person—boring.

Language is the Key to Thought

I've never considered myself a "car guy," but have nevertheless undertaken a project to restore a '65 MGB. Knowing nothing about cars except what's taught in Driver's Ed, I lacked any knowledge of the basic parts and the names of those parts. Everything I've learned has come from reading, looking at diagrams, and tinkering with the car itself.

I admit, I didn't realize that I was learning much at all. However, this past weekend, my car (the one I drive regularly) had some sort of issue which prevented it from starting. Now, I wish I could say that I miraculously figured it out on my own. This was not the case. I consulted a couple of people who I knew to be bona fide "car guys" to help me troubleshoot.

The point is how clear my thinking was in regard to the troubleshooting process. Where I would previously have been at a loss to describe the problem in words other than "thingy" and "doo-hickey," I surprised myself at recalling the correct jargon. When I crawled under the car—surprise!—the components I saw were easily identifiable despite the two cars' similarity being no more than apples and oranges.

Describing this sensation to my wife, she replied, "You're learning the language. Language is the key to thought." In other words, once complex ideas can be given a name, they can more easily be related to other ideas.

Equipped with this new revelation, I re-examined what I believe to be the future of media. In such meditations, new understanding is reached even on the most well-tread paths of thought.

I came to the realization that language is not only limited to words, but also to visual forms. It was not because I knew the name for a transmission that I was able to identify the one in my car, but because I understood the form of a transmission. Having learned more extensively what each car part does within the system, my brain was able to capture the range of shapes to which a given part is limited—by physical laws, among other things.

Truth in Fiction works the same way. The story (a vehicle) can take the audience to any place the creator can imagine. The engine, however, is limited to a certain range of forms—according to natural law. The one distinction in this analogy is that while violation of forms in a car will prevent the car from reaching a destination at all, fictional stories can be so contrived as to reach a desired destination despite flaws.

Nevertheless, the quality of each journey is dependent upon the driving parts' fitting together in harmony. Moreover, the experience of a harmonious journey teaches our unconscious minds about a standard of excellence—against which other experiences will be compared.

If all one knows is a crummy existence, full of lies, deceit, and poverty, then all one can expect from life is the same. However, if one trapped in this view of the world, views truth-based media, his mind is given a higher standard to which it can aspire.

Therefore, books are certainly important for teaching of language and its uses. Yet, there is much untapped merit in visual media, which teaches the language of forms and the standards against which one can measure his daily experiences.

The Apparatus

The machine of society is constructed in two areas. The area of science (the known), constituted as laws and utilized by factories; and the area of art (the theoretical, constituted by civil discussion and utilized by leaders.

There is nothing wrong with constructing a machine to handle what is known, insofar as it is available for use by all. Factories became an important part of our economy in the early 20th Century, and have evolved from the literal industrial form into big box stores and other business models. The more tasks can be gotten "down to a science," more machines can take over those tasks. This is desirable because it frees people to solve more organic problems which require human creativity.

The problem arises when a mechanical solution is applied to these organic problems. That is, when the machine attempts to arbitrate the theoretical, semi-unknown aspects of society, it must err by definition. I say this because, by its very nature, a machine can only work with rational systems. Humans create irrational problems that cannot be solved by a rational system.

Nevertheless, when societies realize that easy but tedious work can be handled by a machine, they inevitably desire that the same machine would handle the difficult work as well. So they create arbitrating systems that attempt to manipulate nature into a predictable form, like cyborg mechanisms grafted into a human body. This collective, I call the "Apparatus."

There is a vast selection of illustrations of this basic concept to be found in Science Fiction. Indeed, I believe that the central resonating theme of high quality sci-fi is based primarily upon this concept. In every example of machines attempting to emulate or intermingle with human emotions, terrible calamity ensues. One can argue that it is merely fiction, of course, but if that is so, then why does it move us so?

Possibly, the prevalence of such themes is owed merely to a popular, yet unfounded fear—brought on by an innate paranoia that we humans will some day cease to be masters of our world. That assertion is fair enough, but I would ask: which came first? Is there a fundamental reason to fear this, which prompts us to demand media which reminds us? Or did media creators stumble upon an latent fear, which they began exploiting for profit?

As I learn more about the big picture, I realize that it is both. Who can say which came first? Certainly, however, society must be wary of any machine that attempts to do what it cannot do. If media can be so constituted to remind us of this potential, so much the better. But if media goes so fair as to perpetuate irrational fears of, say, a literal zombie invasion—then the mainstream won't take the metaphoric warning seriously.

And that would be a calamity.

FEATURED MEDIA: Metropolis - A massive structure called the "Ziggurat" is meant to be a symbol of man's power, but becomes a terrible menace when a confused girl takes control of it. She is a life-like android model of a human, so real she is uncertain what she is.

One Step Beyond

Everything has a story. That knick-knack you've had on your mantle or your desk for innumerable years isn't just a meaningless piece of junk. That clutter of odds-and-ends on your workbench wasn't placed there en masse. No, it accumulated for as many reasons as there are individual items.

In written stories, we imagine the world that surrounds the characters. The odds-and-ends that clutter this imagined space come out of the clutter of our lives. Unless something is specifically described, it comes from the reader and not the author.

In visual media—with few exceptions—even meaningless knick-knacks and piles of junk have to be presented in solid form merely to create the illusion of a real world. By necessity, this must come from the creators. There is no room for imagining a scene which is pre-visualized.

Where there is room for the imagination of the audience is in the meaning of things pre-visualized. This process, however, must be kick-started. Just because a scene is dressed with piles of junk doesn't mean it will be imagined to be anything more. A clue must be given as to what else it might mean—its depth must be alluded to.

But let's back up for a second. Set dressing is an art in-and-of itself. Cobbling together an arrangement which emulates a "lived in" space requires a sophisticated knowledge of the artifacts belonging to that space and time. It also requires an understanding of the character(s) who lived in that space. A good set dresser understands that his art is an extension of the story. A great set dresser, however, understands that his art tells the story.

There must be a cohesion between the elements of a set, but this does not mean there must be similarities. In any visual media which places limited value on such background elements, it is standard practice to dress to stereotype and to use elements that are strictly contemporary to the period (especially if the "period" is now). However, you have objects in your house and in your closet that are neither indicative of your current philosophy or the current culture. This is depth.

It is important to creating solid stories that all parties concerned with creation grasp the importance of mastering depth.

The necessary depth varies by how many elements it must support to adequately tell the story. The greater the number of story elements being juggled, the deeper the root system that is needed to support it. A good rule of thumb is that the creators understand every element to at least one step beyond anything they would ever need to (or want to) tell.

Why does Hugo Reyes go by the nickname "Hurley"? I don't know, but Damon Lindelof probably does.

FEATURED MEDIA
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - One the clearest examples of piles of junk telling a story that I could think of: The drug-obsessed duo of journalist, Raoul Duke and his lawyer, Dr. Gonzo, go to Vegas to cover a race. However, the real story is told through the destruction of everything the two touch. In an infamous scene, Duke awakens in a flooded hotel suite with a rubber dinosaur tail tied to his rear and a microphone taped to his face—having no idea what happened.
The Return of the King - Depth knows no limits. This visual retelling of Tolkien's classic tale certainly goes one step beyond in every area. Reportedly, WETA Workshops designed armor with runes inscribed on the inside, while John Noble, who played Denethor, Steward of Gondor, wore a heavy chain mail beneath his fur cloak. Each race of Middle Earth is decorated with its own themes, and the remains of ancient statues adorn the countryside.

LOST Again

Anyone who knows me personally, or has been following this blog, knows I am an überfan of LOST. I have begun re-watching the series, again. It has been a couple years since I last watched Season 1, and despite the number of times I've watched each season (at least 5 times each), I am still seeing it anew.

This time, I am noticing things about myself that I never noticed before.

What I didn't recall about the beginning was the story of the US Marshall. I mean, I knew it happened, but I attached little importance to it. Like many, I was used to violence and death in fictional media—and the character was not particularly likable.

Perhaps I was "desensitized" to the violence, a term usually used to imply that violent media makes violent life easier to stomach. I firmly believe, however, that most mature people are capable of feeling nothing about fictional violence, while maintaining a humanitarian horror for real violence.

Perhaps I am too pragmatically minded, seeing realistic on-screen gore as a quality expression of someone's artistic craft. This is closer to the truth. Without time to get acquainted with the characters, it is difficult to see them as anything but actors.

However, the US Marshall was pointedly not a likable character. No further development of him made him any more complex or likable. Therefore, I found myself siding with Sawyer—someone had to put the Marshall out of his misery. What's the big deal, why all the effort on Jack's part to keep him alive?

This time, I was intimately familiar with the characters. I cared about everyone involved (except perhaps the Marshall). I knew for instance, that Sawyer had just shot a man in cold blood not more than two days prior to shooting the Marshall. I knew that Kate had tried to save her mother from an abusive relationship. I knew that Jack had trouble letting go of his patients.

This time, I was surprised at how dark the whole tangle of events was. The deeper spiritual struggle of the characters was not apparent to me without the context of the full arc of each character, and the sadness that came with the notable deaths of Charlie, Juliet, Sun & Jin, and Jack.

To know that the tangle of characters was already deeply rooted from the very beginning is further proof of the genius of this series.

FEATURED MEDIA: Lost - The Complete First Season

LOST: The Unanswered Questions—Revisited

It has been a little over two weeks since the series finale of LOST—the show that redefined television for me. As I was working on my understanding of Truth in Fiction, I was pleasantly surprised by some developments in Season 3 which began to sync up with my theories. From there, the show took the reins of my imagination, drawing me into deeper analysis than I thought possible (or necessary) at the time.

Truth in Fiction demands depth of story and depth of characters. It must be able to challenge the audience through repeated tellings. It must stand up to close scrutiny. It must connect the details to significance. The show does this beautifully, and continues to do so as fans begin to re-watch the series from beginning to end in light of "The End."

To many, myself included, the ending was a bit disappointing because it did not answer many questions. However, the interesting lesson here about Truth in Fiction is that discussion and imagination are paramount to a true liberal education. If LOST had answered many of the unanswered questions, it would have—for the first time—destroyed the integrity of what it does best.

My final verdict is that any disappointment felt at the end of LOST is caused by a misunderstanding of the show's purpose. We have been trained by mainstream media to allow the programming to passively inform us. We are not used to television challenging us to answer the questions ourselves.

Therefore, I encourage you to revisit the unanswered questions post and give me your own thoughts on the questions, or ask ones I didn't cover. Let's start a dialog. That is the most important thing.

FEATURED MEDIA: Preorder the final season!

The Mechanics of the Status Quo

We are fighting not for the liberation of bodies, but for the liberation and subsequent independence of hearts and minds against a machine commanded by those who wish to create a rigid class-system which will benefit the interested parties' respective political and commercial interests, and which seeks to fortify those benefits against all development of merit in the lower classes.

This is a statement, which I believe sums up the whole of the battle of the mind being waged under our very noses. It is precisely the battle to which FITmedia seeks to introduce people, that we as a democratic society may learn to hold our own against such an attempt. There are many more worthy organizations already engaged in the creation of truthful media—especially in books and blogs. However, support is lacking for the cause of changing large-scale media (such as television series) from a firmly entrenched propagator of the status quo into the intellectually challenging liberal art, which it can and should be.

Too many of us see the world through the "either/or" filter given to us by political pundits. Every societal issue is increasingly judged as either Liberal or Conservative. This and that, us and them. No matter what we are encouraged to think of ourselves and our parties (political or otherwise) as being in the right, while those in opposition to us are totally in the wrong.

Neither are we aware, nor do we question, the source of our convictions. Often we find that at some point in our lives we bought into an ideology, given to us in total by the media we individually selected on preference. Hunting or shooting enthusiasts have an interest in the NRA, and are therefore sold into the hands of the Republican Party. Animal activists have an interest in PETA, and are therefore sold into the hands of the Democrats.

Of course, these are stereotypes or broad, sweeping generalizations, and that is precisely my point. In this case A ≠ B ≠ C, or for the symbolically disinclined, the path of association is a contrived one—largely invented by mainstream media in an effort to market to the greatest number of interested persons. It is the opinion of the people running the machine that if you have a particular interest, then you must agree completely with the most general and largest organization that supports that interest. It follows along the same faulty line of reasoning that you would then fit into the political party which promotes that organization's interests.

The devastating thing to our society is that, largely, those in control are correct—at least, based upon the results of their actions. Our total experience in life (from education to religion to the media) rarely if ever encourages us to understand those with opposing opinions to our own. Not to criticize any one site, but we are bombarded by "smart" marketing, which tries to tell us what we would like, based upon what we already bought. However, the consequences of this is a tendency for people to live in a world of their own design—unknowingly shielded from the challenge of differing opinions. They become close-minded, almost through no fault of their own, but in their ignorance of the big picture they play the hand that is dealt them.

The two party system is irrelevant. Both sides have their strengths and weaknesses. Both are right and both are wrong. The true split lies not in the smoke and mirrors of bipartisan issues, but in the difference between those who seek to create change, and those who seek to avoid change. The former group sees the future as bright. They want to develop themselves, create abundance, and help others to do the same. The latter group sees only past failures and future risks. They seek only to develop their personal comfort, while using what power they can obtain to show mercy to the "helpless" individuals whom they favor (mostly for selfish reasons).

If you and I are to rise in life (whatever our current stations), we must develop ourselves, become truly open minded, and gain a peaceful heart. We must seek out the challenge of opposing information, taking upon ourselves the responsibility of discerning the truth. We must understand that to be truly successful as an originator or distributor of media, that media must be of the highest level of truth—its very gravity creating stability, viral spread, and genuine change.

"LOST: The End"

DISCLAIMER: In a previous post, I discussed the importance of ABC's "LOST." Therefore, I am beginning a series which briefly explores thoughts on the show with respect to FITmedia and Truth in Fiction. Being as the posts are philosophical in nature, I will try to keep story spoilers to a minimum. However, because many of the philosophical pillars are tied to critical events, it is impossible to discuss without some spoilers. For those of you not following the show, I hope that these posts will be worthwhile on their own merit, and should they inspire you to watch the show, that they will not have ruined the plot for you. You have been warned.

The End

There is so much to say now that LOST is officially finished. In fact, I hardly know where to begin. Of course, now that the series is closed, a serious discussion of its philosophical implications can truly be undertaken. I plan to periodically post (though not yet on a set interval) observations on the series with regard to everyday life, just as I do with other media. I also plan to revisit the unanswered questions post in the near future.

For this post, however, a standard (yet solemnly respectful) treatment is in order.

THE END

Two words that are at times either a relief or a time of mourning. A time of new beginnings or a time of utter despair. As many of you know, I had the distinct privilege of watching the Finale at the State Theatre in downtown Traverse City, MI. Until then, the largest group I had ever watched the show with was 6 or 7 people. Throughout the show, the crowd cheered at the crucial appearances of various characters—especially when Frank turned out to still be alive—and tears where shed over the touching moments.

The energy of the crowd was amazing. In dispersing from the theatre, the crowd that gathered outside was very reminiscent of the characters' interactions in the church scene. It's not so much that we will never see our fellow LOST fanatics again, but it felt like it would be different. To me, it felt like graduating high school—for better or worse, you'll never have that group together again. I will see my friends again, but our respective relationships with the characters on the screen are forever frozen—never to develop further.

I wasn't chosen, I volunteered.

It had long been apparent that Jack was the logical choice to take Jacob's place—a fact that was mocked by the Man in Black. For all Jack's new post represented, the questions it answered were disappointingly few. The vague concept of "rules" given to us by the young Man in Black in "Across the Sea," stand as the only explanation for many of the loose ends and odd powers which Jacob and/or the Island has.

One thing seems to circumvent Jacob's fixed rules: that the protector of the Island must be one who does not want the position. The Island represents power. A person who desires the position is a person who will be tempted to abuse that power. Unlike the One Ring from the Lord of the Rings, the Island is not inherently evil. It is only the influence of someone like the Man in Black that can corrupt another man. In effect, it is more like "the Force" from the Star Wars universe, with its light and dark sides—a comparison the creators have made personally.

Jacob remained the protector of Island for as long as he did because he did not abuse the power, such as the Man in Black was seeking to do. Jack also sought to use the power, as Widmore had apparently intended, to kill the Man in Black—who was impervious to harm until Desmond pulled the "key." This shared intention ended poorly for all three men. Widmore did not even fulfill whatever purpose Jacob assigned him to. The Man in Black, though correct about destroying the Island, was surprised to find that he was mortal once again.

Jack was mortally wounded by the Man in Black during their brawl on the cliffs. Ultimately, he would give his life for the Island and for his friends who had yet to escape it, an action which is widely regarded in our culture to be the greatest expression of love. He saved Desmond, taking his place in the pool of light after transferring his job to Hurley—the most reluctant, but arguably best-suited candidate. (Kudos to my wife for calling that one!) Ben suggested to Hurley that he might run the Island however he wants, with the aim of helping people as his main philosophical objective.

Prior to the church scene, Hurley commends Ben for having been a great right-hand man. Ben, in turn, tells Hurley the same. This implies that their "reign" was long and successful—a fact which, in reality, would conflict with the old axiom, "Absolute power, corrupts absolutely." That being said, one could argue that one does not really have absolute power if he gives it away, which Hurley would have.

Time has no meaning in this place.

The church scene that summed up the great mystery of the flash-sideways has to be the most creative solution to the ending of a story, even if it does feel a little contrived. By explaining that the most important time in the characters' lives were the times told in the series, the writers simultaneously provided us with a cohesive, happy ending; a definitive death of the main character; and the potential continuation of the survivors. "The End" delivers us our pick of ends while allowing us room to speculate about the continued lives and eventual deaths of those whose stories would have ended in ellipses...

FEATURED MEDIA: Preorder the final season!
The Lord of the Rings - The epic fantasy by JRR Tolkien, which defined an entire genre of books, and was masterfully reconstituted in movie form by Peter Jackson. It is an immersive tale of love and war for the fate of all mankind.
Star Wars Trilogy - The followers of an ancient order utilize a power known as "the force" to affects the ends of good or evil. Those who fight for the good side, struggle to save the galaxy from a tyrannical Empire, whose intentions are dark.

LOST: The Unanswered Questions

DISCLAIMER: In a previous post, I discussed the importance of ABC's "LOST." Therefore, I am beginning a series which briefly explores thoughts on the show with respect to FITmedia and Truth in Fiction. Being as the posts are philosophical in nature, I will try to keep story spoilers to a minimum. However, because many of the philosophical pillars are tied to critical events, it is impossible to discuss without some spoilers. For those of you not following the show, I hope that these posts will be worthwhile on their own merit, and should they inspire you to watch the show, that they will not have ruined the plot for you. You have been warned.

The Unanswered Questions

And now for the Questions... This is by no means a complete list, nor do I want it to be. I hope to include some of the more obscure, but significant (I think) loose ends which will hopefully be tied up in the finale. Enjoy and discuss...

What happened to Christian Shephard's body?

In the original timeline, Christian's body apparently furnishes the Man in Black with a new form ("The Last Recruit")—unless he's lying. Assuming the body was in the coffin on the plane, this loose end is easily justified by assuming it was moved by the Man in Black in order to fool Jack ("White Rabbit"). However, without the influence of the Island, we have no such justification in the flash-sideways.

Was every appearance of Christian (after his death) actually the Man in Black?

Assuming the MiB answered Jack truthfully, we know for certain that the suit-wearing Christian was him. After the Ajira crash, "Locke" appeared wearing a suit, but later changed into hiking gear. Christian seems to have done the same. Claire confirms that the Christian who talked to John Locke in the cabin ("Cabin Fever") was the MiB. However, the Christian who dismisses Michael on the freighter and especially the Christian who greets Jack at the hospital after they return from the Island violates the apparent rules about the MiB not leaving the Island. For a normal TV show, Jack could have been simply hallucinating, but for LOST that is a significant loose end.

Who were the two men in the cabin?

When Hurley falls behind the group ("The Beginning of the End"), he suddenly stumbles upon Horace's cabin, which is out of place. Peering through the window, he sees Christian seated in a chair. Suddenly, another face comes into view. If Christian is an incarnation of the MiB, was this second man supposed to be Jacob? Or is there another explanation? My first thought was it looked like Locke, who subsequently finds Hurley after the cabin disappears. However, Hurley's later question regarding where the cabin is seems to catch Locke off guard, confirming that he wasn't the other man.

What exactly happened when Ben and Locke first visited the cabin together?

Ben has not only confirmed that he was pretending about seeing Jacob in the chair ("The Man Behind the Curtain"), but also that he did not expect things to start flying around. I believe that Executive Producers Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse confirmed in the podcast that the man who appeared briefly in the chair was Jacob. Perhaps I'm wrong, or perhaps they renegotiated that particular element due to story changes. In any case, I re-pose the question: who was that? And why did he say "help me"?

What exactly was the purpose of the ring of ash around the cabin?

When Ben and Locke first visit the cabin, Ben steps carefully over the ash, while Locke stoops to examine it. Neither of them seem to have caused the break in the ash line found by Ilana in Season 5, even after fleeing the disturbance in the cabin. We know that the ring of ash is a barrier to the MiB, but it is unclear whether it was intended to keep him out or in the cabin. Since it seemed undisturbed, we could surmise that it was to trap in whatever caused the disturbance, but it could not have been the MiB because we had seen or heard the Smoke Monster elsewhere on the Island many times by then. Perhaps it was a safe-haven for ghosts.

How do the whispers teleport people and things?

Or are the whispers merely ghosts. It seems that the cabin was physically moved from its former location to where Hurley found it, and it seems that Harper physically appeared to Juliet ("The Other Woman")—though we don't know whether she is alive or dead. Ben warns young Rousseau to "run the other way" when she hears whispers ("Dead is Dead"), which suggests there is something to see for people other than Hurley. She was also described as "insane," so perhaps she was able to see what others could not.

What is the deal with the pallet drop?

At the end of "Lockdown," a pallet of food is discovered in the jungle. A parachute suggests that it was dropped by a plane, though no plane was sighted. Given what we know about the Island's physical properties, there might not be much explanation needed. What is more curious is why was it sent? The Dharma Initiative seems to be entirely out of commission (except for Desmond in the Swan Station), so the more interesting question is who sent it?

Who is Dave?

In the episode "Dave," the pallet of food seems to trigger a psychotic episode in Hurley who sees a bald man in a bath robe and chases him through the jungle. It turns out he's Dave, Hurley's best friend from the mental hospital—only he's apparently an imaginary friend. It is revealed that Libby was also in the mental hospital with Hurley. When she gives Desmond the sailboat ("Live Together, Die Alone") she reveals that her dead husband's name is David. Is it possible that Dave is the ghost of Libby husband? (Also, as a side note, Desmond's middle name is David and Jack's son in the flash-sideways is David).

What was Libby doing in Sydney?

In the flash-sideways, Hurley meets Libby for the first time while she is on a "field trip" with other patients from the mental hospital. Therefore, she was not on Oceanic 815 in that timeline. Since she was also in the mental hospital in the original timeline, the question is what caused her to check out and go to Sydney? Was she stalking Hurley? Or is there more to the story?

Who were the people Sayid killed?

Ben claims they were Widmore's people, who needed to be killed to protect those who remained on the Island. Since basically no more has been said on this matter since Sayid finished his task, we can likely assume that their link to Widmore is real. Whether or not killing them actually protected the Island is therefore a matter both of Widmore's and Ben's respective intentions for the Island.

Who is "R.G."?

In "The Economist," Sayid woos a woman named Elsa with the intention of getting at and killing her employer, an economist who works "in emerging markets." Since his name was on the hit list and Sayid claimed to have killed everyone on it ("He's Our You"), the economist is likely dead (at least in the original timeline). When Sayid reveals his intentions, we discover that Elsa was lying about her job. After Sayid kills her, he notices a metal bracelet on her wrist, which is the same as one Naomi is wearing on the Island. Inside is the inscription, "N, I'll always be with you. R.G." Assuming Elsa's bracelet said something similar, these two women seem to be linked to a mysterious third party.

What is the deal with Ray Shephard?

The writers of LOST are not in the habit of doing anything without double meaning or deeper significance. In "316," Jack is told that his grandfather, Ray, had again tried to escape from the retirement home were he resides. Ray claims he will one day escape, saying, "They won't ever find me, either." After a short talk, Jack finds a pair of his father's shoes the bags Ray packed—a belonging he needed as per Eloise's request. We are meant to think this is the only purpose of this scene and that his eventual escape to a place he cannot be found is merely an allusion to Jack's future. However, this seems far to elaborate a set up for merely this. I believe Ray will figure into the finale, or at least the writers were intending to use him for such a purpose. I hope they do.

What is the significance of the number 32 and its relationship the number 42?

We are all used to the number 42 as the last number in the sequence which appears throughout the show, eventually being revealed as corresponding to Jacob's candidates—the number 42 in particular referring to Sun and/or Jin. However, when Hurley and Miles take Dr. Chang to the Swan worksite, Hurley sees two men stamping the numbers into the Hatch. The one who is reading off the numbers says the last one is smudged before deciding it says "42." When Desmond fled the Hatch and Locke took over his job, the first sequence of numbers he entered ended in "32" before Jack corrected him. It is interesting to note that 32 is a reversal of "23"—Jack's number. Miles asked Ben for $3.2 million dollars, to which Ben responded, "Why not 3.3 or 3.4?" Once off the Island, Ben goes to the butcher's shop to drop off Locke's body. When he takes a number, it is "342"—"32" interrupted by "4" (Locke's number).

What caused the condition where pregnant women die on the Island?

Much of Season 3 labored over this point, though Richard pointed out to Locke that it was a lesser problem meant, by Ben, to distract his people. It is likely that somewhere between Ben's healing at the Temple and the Incident, this problem arose. It did not effect Amy Goodspeed, who gave birth to Ethan in 1977.

FEATURED MEDIA: Preorder the final season!

"LOST: What They Died For"

DISCLAIMER: In a previous post, I discussed the importance of ABC's "LOST." Therefore, I am beginning a series which briefly explores thoughts on the show with respect to FITmedia and Truth in Fiction. Being as the posts are philosophical in nature, I will try to keep story spoilers to a minimum. However, because many of the philosophical pillars are tied to critical events, it is impossible to discuss without some spoilers. For those of you not following the show, I hope that these posts will be worthwhile on their own merit, and should they inspire you to watch the show, that they will not have ruined the plot for you. You have been warned.

"What They Died For"

Sorry for the lateness of this post. For this penultimate episode, I wanted to switch it up a bit. Usually I attempt an analysis of implications and significance, in which I take a shot in the dark about the show's core mythology and its relevence to modern life. In this post, I'd like to bring up some unanswered questions about the series, which I think are central to the show.

But First... A Brief Analysis

I thought Jacob avoided the question when Kate asked him "what they died for"—referring mostly to Sun and Jin. He proceeded to explain to her and the other remaining candidates that he did not pull them out of a happy existence—that they were flawed, they were alone. The Kwons, at least, had each other—for better or for worse.

Perhaps they died for no other reason than to prove Jin's promise that he would never leave her again. However, it seems like they died senselessly at the hands of the Man in Black—not directly, of course, but via Sawyer, who expressed his guilt only to be reassured by Jack that he was merely a pawn. According to Jack, the Man in Black could not kill them himself directly because it was against the rules.

What power is it that protects them from harm? Ben credits the Island itself as "being done with her" when Ilana dies ("Everybody Loves Hugo"), suggesting that the Island itself was protecting her. However, Michael is dismissed by Christian before the freighter explosion kills him ("There's No Place Like Home"). Current evidence all but proves this is the Man in Black.

Both Ilana and Michael carried with them an unfinished purpose. This purpose seemed to keep them safe, but—like the amulet of protection from the Sandman series—allowed the next most convenient death sentence to be enacted once the purpose was fulfilled.

Sayid died to save those that survived, but what of Frank and Richard? What final purpose did they fulfill, or are they still alive? If Frank is truly dead, then isn't the plane rendered useless? However, it is interesting to note that Locke said he had gotten his pilot's license in the flash-sideways ("The Candidate").

It was no surprise to me that Jack accepted Jacob's position as his purpose fulfilled. As Jacob literally passes the torch, we wonder just how much changed for Jack in that instant. The survivors in Jack's camp are tasked with killing the Man in Black—something no one is certain is possible.

Through Jack, we will hopefully learn a host of secrets in the finale, like how Jacob left the Island to tell Widmore about the "error of his ways," and what "exact purpose" Widmore was to be fulfilling before Ben killed him. What exactly was the error—the mercenaries, the freighter, or the ideology that inspired the mission? Was his purpose at long last to inform the Man in Black about Desmond? Because that was the last thing he did.

And speaking of Desmond, I can think of no other solution to these questions than that he is able to cause the Oceanic passengers in the flash-sideways to travel to the original timeline—in body or consciousness. Widmore seemed surprised at Desmond's sudden cooperation ("Happily Ever After"), which suggests this was not part of the "failsafe" he had in mind.

If this failsafe had something to do with destroying the Island—like blowing the dam at the Hatch ("Live Together, Die Alone"), then how is that not a threat but an asset to the Man in Black? Perhaps he expects to be transported off the Island the same way Locke was apparently transported out of the Hatch ("Further Instructions").

To be continued...

FEATURED MEDIA: Preorder the Final Season of LOST! 

The Sandman - This ten-volume graphic novel epic by Neil Gaiman follows Dream—one of the Endless beings—from his capture by occultists through his history to his "end" where he is replaced by a new Dream. The Sandman is to comics what LOST is to television.

"LOST: Across the Sea"

DISCLAIMER: In a previous post, I discussed the importance of ABC's "LOST." Therefore, I am beginning a series which briefly explores thoughts on the show with respect to FITmedia and Truth in Fiction. Being as the posts are philosophical in nature, I will try to keep story spoilers to a minimum. However, because many of the philosophical pillars are tied to critical events, it is impossible to discuss without some spoilers. For those of you not following the show, I hope that these posts will be worthwhile on their own merit, and should they inspire you to watch the show, that they will not have ruined the plot for you. You have been warned.

"Across the Sea"

There is both much to say and not much that can be said about this episode. This episode is very central to the show's core mythology as we now understand it. It is the first episode in the series not to feature new footage of any of the Oceanic survivors. And to be quite frank, it could have done without replaying the Adam and Eve sequence from Season 1 ("House of the Rising Sun").

Every question leads to another question.

We now know the root of the Island's mysterious powers, even if we are at a loss to explain its rules. The light inside the Island apparently shares a little piece of itself with every person in the world, so if it goes out, it goes out everywhere. The question is: does each "pocket" of light or energy on the Island have different powers, or had the Dharma Initiative and others just used them in different ways.

If the pockets have different powers and each person has some of the Island's light inside them, then perhaps each person has different "special" abilities. Otherwise, perhaps anyone is capable of seeing dead people or surviving extreme electromagnetism under the right conditions. It isn't clear why the young Man in Black could see the ghost of Claudia, but young Jacob could not. It is also unclear how young Jacob had been sighted by both Sawyer and Desmond approximately 2000 years after he grew into a man—and many days after his death.

Then everyone will follow your rules.

When Jacob pushes his brother into the light, it is the most significant event the series has revealed so far. The Man in Black's "fate worse than death" is to become the Smoke Monster. However, we don't really know what that entails. The light seems to have gone out after the Monster clears the cave, yet if it seems not to have gone out everywhere. If this event is connected to the statements Widmore has made about what would happen if the Man in Black got off the Island, then presumably Jacob's job went from protecting the light to keeping his brother on the Island. Effectively, he changed the rules.

Yet their common past seems to echo throughout the history of the Island. The story of a distressed or sudden birth—where the mother is insistent on the baby's name—is a theme shared by Locke, Ben, and Aaron. The theme of mothers dying violently is prevalent in the Island's history. While the Man in Black killed his foster mother, she killed Jacob's and his biological mother. Ben's mother died in child birth, and the Others under his leadership suffered a plague of pregnant women dying. It is possible that the writers intended to imply that each child is causing his mother's death, much the way that the Man in Black did.

I made it so you can't kill each other.

Currently, the conflicted relationship between Widmore and Ben is a microcosm of the one between Jacob and the Man in Black, I believe, respectively. The two mortal men seem to be locked into the same rules of engagement as the twins. The method or magic by which the woman made that rule is unknown, as is the reason it also applies to the two mortal men.

This concept has always reminded me of the Mark of Cain from the Bible, where God made it so that no one would harm him. Biblical Jacob had a similar protection from God. Though, in neither case was the protection extended to the sibling—Cain having already killed Abel, and Jacob being in hiding from Esau. It is interesting to note that the biblical archetypes (and not the roles of good and evil) are a potential role reversal. Whereas biblical Jacob was encouraged by his mother to be dishonest (he was her favorite), wrestled with an angel (Samael, an angel of death), and went to live among other people, where he built a well; LOST Jacob cannot lie, is not his "mother's" favorite, and yet lives with her in the jungle. It is the Man in Black who wrestles with demons and goes to live with other people where he builds many wells.

Jacob doesn't know how to lie.

The Man in Black's ability to be dishonest seems to be a point of pride for his mother. Even though she vehemently criticizes men and their corrupt ways, she is a murderer and a liar herself. It is the ghost of the twins' biological mother who eventually reveals the truth. Strangely, she reveals it to the young Man in Black, who was told he was special by his "mother." Perhaps being told he was special is what triggered this special ability to see the dead, or perhaps something about his corruptness allows him to see.

Yet again, the ghosts may well be manipulators controlled by a third party whose agenda has yet to be revealed.

FEATURED MEDIA: Preorder the final season!

A Story is a Cypher

Give your audience all the secrets of your story, but give it to them in code. Then treat the remainder of your tale as that code's key. The earlier you give this information, the more concise you have to be, and the more central the symbols you use are.

LOST is coming to a close. Only one episode left before the series finale. The show has demonstrated this formula since the pilot episode, and we are only now beginning to understand the significance of symbols from Season 1. I will go more in depth in my weekly LOST post tomorrow.

This approach requires a firm understanding of the world in which your story is told. It doesn't have to have the same rules as the real world, but it has to have and follow its own rules. Moreover, the audience has to get the sense that what is happening (strange as it may be) is happening according to unknown rules. This is difficult to do without revealing secrets. The creator has to demonstrate the patterns of truth and the story's integrity to that truth by using symbols and "microcosms."

The audience is ready to suspend its disbelief when it agrees to partake of your story, but that suspension is limited to the introductory parts. After that, the audience's trust is won by keeping the promises made early on. It is better, I think, not to ask your audience to suspend its disbelief, but to give a story upon which to rest its belief.

The creators ultimately need to know where they stand on deep human issues (issues of nature and nurture, good and evil). Without this understanding, it is impossible to create integrity within the story. Without that integrity, it is impossible to create the stability necessary for a rabid überfanbase. So a fair foundation of humanity is essential to a megahit.

The symbols and microcosms must be anchored in philosophy, even if its not explicit. In fact, the philosophical discussion should wait until the resolution phase of your story. A tangible code—one which resonates with people—will compel the search for answers, developing loyalty. The answers must then be worthy, or the audience will feel betrayed.

FEATURED MEDIA: LOST - The groundbreaking epic about life and purpose, and more specifically, getting lost on the path.