What I Say When I Talk to Myself

Doing things wrong is a temporary byproduct of doing things different. When we want different results, we need to put in different actions. Different actions are naturally foreign to us and must be honed through experience. The byproduct of the hands-on training required for experience is that you will likely mess some things up. That's OK.

Albert Einstein apparently said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results. For a scientist, this is obvious. To even test a theory requires changing a variable in the experiment and looking for changes in the result. This is true in our lives as well. If you continue to operate at the same level of performance in your job, can you likely expect a bonus or raise? If you and your spouse are growing apart emotionally, wouldn't it be wise to try turning off the TV, quitting a sports league, and/or setting up a date night to rekindle the flame? If you continue to watch the same kinds of shows and read the same kinds of books, doesn't it follow that you'll get the same kinds of information? And if you find yourself feeling frustrated and hopeless, shouldn't you look for different information?

Sure changes can be scary, they're out of your comfort zone! That's the point. Our distraction-laden modern lives can have the effect of shrinking our comfort zones. We have so many options for pleasure, that we forget about chasing true happiness. Happiness, which only comes from doing what we were built to do, requires constantly pushing our comfort zones and trying new things. This process can look foolhardy at first, especially when we're new.

Imagine if a world-class runner decided to race a world-class wheelchair racer...in a wheelchair. Who would win? The wheelchair racer, of course, because he has experience that the runner (though fit and strong) does not have. Would the runner look like a fool? To the unknowing audience, probably. Could he learn to beat the wheelchair champion with training? Certainly. Would it make him a more well-rounded athlete? Absolutely.

So what about the failures and laughter of the audience? First, failure is a part of learning to be a success. Second, the audience likely does not understand what they are witnessing. Finally, who cares what other people think? Don't be so selfish. Let the ignorant have the pleasure of their laughter, while you chase the happiness of your dreams.

FEATURED MEDIA

What to Say When You Talk to Yourself: By learning how to talk to yourself in new ways, you will notice a dramatic improvement in all areas of your life.

"LOST: LA X, pt. 1 & 2"

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.

"LA X, parts 1 & 2"

As a perfect preface to any discussion which might contain spoilers, I refer you to an article from THR.com, entitled "Surprise fan reaction to leaked 'Lost' hour". Apparently, the prescreening in Hawaii of the Season 6 premiere had some pirates in attendance. The entire first part of "LA X" was made available on YouTube via cellphone bootlegs. However, much to the credit of LOST fans, many refused to watch the episode until it aired. Now tell me there isn't something magical about a story that inspires that kind of loyalty!

And tell me there aren't principles in the show to emulate as we move forward. In my recent post, I discuss two concepts of "truth of events" and "truth of existence." I believe that existence—that is, the philosophical realm of man—must of necessity be accurately captured in any story to elicit the type of loyalty that LOST has earned. One can earn superficial loyalty through truthful events like sexual themes or compelling murders, but if the motives behind these actions are not accurate, eventually the stories will fall flat. Truth of existence liberates the author to take the viewer on a fantastical journey of mystery and imagination. And that is precisely what makes this show so good.

So what about this season?

Season 6, as you are likely aware, is the final season of LOST. Basically, this is the writer's most challenging season yet. The show is driven by dynamics between characters—and I include the Island as one of the characters—with most of them being in the dark about what is happening to them. Given that the show has a hidden mythology and that revealing secrets (slowly) is the basis of its plot, this season becomes a question of how they are going to reveal the remaining secrets while keeping us fans guessing until the last second.

As it stands, the show has deftly explored the concepts of "science" and "faith," (see "Man of Science, Man of Faith" [spoilers]). Essentially, these words embody the epic philosophical struggle between "thinking" and "feeling," or what could be called "Reason" vs. "Passion." Jack Shepard, the main protagonist, has been the champion for the concrete, refusing to believe in miracles and their kin—at least until Season 4. John Locke, Jack's antagonist by default, has been the champion of destiny, believing that the Island is "a place where miracles happen" ("There's No Place Like Home" [spoilers]).

Toward the end of Season 4, when a certain major "Earth-moving" event transpires, this philosophical train is brought to a close. Season 5 opens with a new direction, driven by a mysterious conflict between a man named Jacob and his unnamed nemesis. Jacob seems to represent the concept of free will, having told at least one character that he has "a choice." Despite this undercurrent, Jacob has been represented as a meddler in history, if for no other reason than to bring people to the Island. By contrast, Jacob's nemesis, who I will refer to as "Nemesis," seems do be a manifestation of force. In conversation with Jacob, Nemesis reveals his opinion that people are always corrupted and cannot change this basic nature, while Jacob asserts that progress is being made long-term.

So what about "LA X"?

[SPOILER WARNING]

LOST have been defined by its non-linear narrative structure, which has featured both flashbacks and flashforwards. Due to time traveling introduced in Season 5, it even featured two different times (1977 and 2007) running concurrently. In Season 6, this narrative structure is being called "flashsideways." As "The Incident" has apparently created two parallel time streams. The story now flashes back and forth between the characters who safely landed in LA X (hence the episode's title), and the same characters who continue to exist on the Island (though they've jumped from '77 to '07). [Good luck following this season, Dad.]

In "LA X," we learn more about the nature of Nemesis and his presence in previous seasons, as it is confirmed that he is the "Smoke Monster." We also learn more about his relationship to the confused character of John Locke, who he has apparently been manipulating since Season 1 ("Walkabout"). Nemesis describes Locke as pathetic and "shouting at the world" not to tell him his limitations, "even though they were right." I personally find it a bit disturbing that we, the audience, invested so much time in the story of Locke's struggle, just to have him end up dead as a pawn. This is where an element of faith is required by the fans. True, he is still alive in LA X, but if that Locke never switches places with the dead Locke, then his story is in vain and the Nemesis was right to kill Jacob. But if Jacob is right, it seems that Locke must also be more "special" than Nemesis thinks. Which is why I think the two streams will overlap (or something along those lines), and dead Locke will resurrect. It is this sort of reasoning that is [hopefully] possible because of the writers' integrity to the truth of existence.

More importantly however, we learn that Nemesis wants to go home, which presents the underlying motive power to his actions. It also suggests that Jacob and his disciples, "The Others,"are not as innocent as they make themselves out to be. Nemesis's home—presumably the Temple—seems to have been stolen from him by Jacob and/or his people. This opens the question of who has the greater right of ownership—something I'm certain we will be discussing again.

This brings us back to the question of free will vs. pre-destiny. We get a unique glimpse into the consequences of different choices, which seems to indicate a trend toward free will. The show has, in past episodes, demonstrated the theme of an unchanging universe. In Season 3 ("Flashes Before Your Eyes"), Desmond Hume learns of the universe's ability to "course correct," meaning that small things can be changed, but the large ends are still the same. In "LA X," Charlie Pace nearly dies choking on a bag of heroin. When Jack saves him, Charlie says he was supposed to die—a theme that was dominant in Season 3, ending with his drowning in the Looking Glass station ("Through the Looking Glass").

The interesting thing to ponder as we go through this season is: what net effect have the little changes made, despite the large course corrections? After all, Charlie not dying at any one of several moments when he could have, ultimately let to major movements in Season 4, despite the fact that he did die as he was "supposed to."

I look forward to digging into this season, and hope to hear your comments!

FEATURED MEDIA:

The Final Season of LOST!

The Manifesto of Truth in Fiction

"Truth must of necessity be stranger than fiction...for fiction is the creation of the human mind, and therefore is congenial to it."
- G. K. Chesterton

Truth & Fiction

I have heard the comment that "Truth in Fiction" is an oxymoron—a statement which I usually take to be dismissive of the concept. Upon further consideration, I realized that it is an oxymoron, and that's the point. An oxymoron is when "...two words with opposing meanings are used together intentionally for effect," like "jumbo shrimp."

Truth in Fiction is possible for the same reason that "jumbo shrimp" is possible. Namely, the fact that there are multiple meanings to words in the English language. A shrimp is an animal which is known for being small, but since they are used for food, the larger the better. Hence the special addition of the word, "jumbo."

Truth in Fiction is not referring to the truth of events, but the truth of existence. Fiction allows the author to orchestrate the events and characters in a universe of his or her own design. Because it is not bound by the truth of events, fiction authors can forget that it must be bound by the truth of existence. To forget this is to produce works which are at best, unrelatible to the audience, and at worst, poisonous to the unsophisticated mind. When I say "unsophisticated," I am referring to those of us who are not familiar with the classics (of whatever medium), and therefore have no cultural reference for truth or its absense.

In my mind, any creator of media content has a profound duty to his audience to adhere to the truth of existence. Today's audiences tend to exhibit what Samuel Taylor Coleridge termed a "willing suspension of disbelief," which he presented as desirable. However, the consequence of building upon this tendency is that of a lowering of media standards. If the audience agrees to believe an author's tale, then the pressure is off to make it believable. And if the audience is willing to believe, then they are open to suggestion. Whether it is an effect achieved by the author, or a decision made by the audience for entertaiment's sake, the result is the same. The degree to which an individual suspends his disbelief is the degree to which he loses his defense against propaganda.

That being said, I feel I must clarify my criticism of suspending disbeliefs. First, the willing suspension of disbelief requires a decision to be willing, which means the individual is in control as long as he is aware and thinking. Next, there are at least two levels to any fictional story: the explicit narrative and the implicit meaning. I applaud anyone's ability to create and sell an explicit narrative that captivates, thrills, and intrigues the audience, even if that audience must suspend its disbelief to compensate for limitations in budget, medium, casting, and even technical acting or writing ability. Finally by contrast, I do not extend my approval of suspension to the depth of the implicit. Because the implicit is connected to the unconsious, a work of fiction which is not informed by the truth of existence can open a doorway past a person's rational disbelief. And that is the disbelief that keeps a person's sense of right and wrong safe from the corruption of outside interests.

Truth in Fiction requires the integrity of the author; his hunger to educate himself in the truth of existence, and his courage to stand by that truth as he understands it. It also requires the strength of character to admit where and when his understanding of the truth was flawed, and rectify his philosophy accordingly. Because this process builds a timeless foundation for the development of characters, the author can populate any world he chooses to imagine with said characters. The resulting story will transcend all its superficial flaws to become a classic.

Character & Characters

What makes you fall in love with a fictional person? What punches you in the gut when he suffers a great loss? What makes you want to get to your feet when he stands—blood dripping down his face, arrows protruding from his chest? What makes you shed a tear when he is cut down for the last time, having accomplished his mission? What makes the silence deafening as he chokes out his last words? Is it your suspended disbelief? No, it is "character."

Not a character, which is a collection of dialog and actions in a certain setting or circumstance, but the quality of "character" which is universal, belonging to all individuals real or imagined. Have you ever considered the relationship you have with the characters you love? Many of us would be ashamed to admit that some of our most reliable friends are imaginary. What have we learned from these characters? How have we become like them? Is that a good thing or a bad thing? The only people we are more intimate with than our loved ones, is our loved authors and their characters.

Character is developed chiefly through association and interaction, and in reality, stories which are driven by difficult moral questions are interactive. A thinking person has a form of discussion with the authors by way of the characters' character. If you are thinking through your fiction, then you are making decisions as to which character traits to "side with"—a process that shapes your own self-awareness. If fiction is to force you to think for yourself, it must necessarily present you with alternatives that are in conflict with one another. Not only does that drive a dynamic "truthful" plot, but it challenges your beliefs in a way that requires you to know what you believe in order to defend it. A thinking person cannot defend against two opposing thoughts without realizing where he stands, even if he agrees with neither.

Heroes & Villains

The role of heroes and villains is to act as anchors or philosophical bookends. The contrast between these two types of characters is indicative of the philosophical spectrum of the narrative. As manifested in whole characters, the heroes and villains embody what we understand to be good and evil, respectively. In a truthful story, heroes are the type of people which embody the quality of character to which we aspire, and should be considered models to emulate. Villains embody the lack of character and the moral depravity which we abhor, and should serve as a reminder.

Heroes and villains are not to be confused with the roles of protagonists and antagonists, respectively. Depending on the perspective of the story, the author may choose to follow a villainous character as the main character (protagonist), while the heroes play a secondary opposing role (antagonist). The most noted manifestations of this are mobsters like Tony Soprano ("The Sopranos") whose family and childhood friends don't approve of what he does. In most other cases, the philosophical spectrum is narrowed to a focus on degrees of evil (good bad guys vs. bad bad guys). This perspective is merely a superficial twist of narrative convention, rather than a distortion of philosophy. Truth in Fiction is not concerned with this twist, it is only concerned with accuracy in the depiction of heroism, villainy, and their respective degrees. It is then up to the viewer to determine whether a character is a hero or villain through personal experience and prediction of that character's results.

Rarely, in my opinion, is there fiction which does not make this choice for the audience. Most fiction I have experienced makes a statement of introducing the hero. "Here he or she is! This person is who you should respect." The hero is cobbled together from an array of safe character traits which are manufactured to meet the current audience's approval. The villian is, by default, the person who is the antithesis to the hero. Often, this is a person characterized by superficially offensive traits (like smoking), or a penchant for antagonizing the hero (the bureaucrat).

Rare is the story that has the audacity to depict the details of true good and evil. Petty bickering and rank-pulling may drive moment to moment tension, but to be used as the only means of building long-term tension is lazy. Such practices either reveal the author's lack of regard for the audience's intelligence, or reveal a desire to alienate intelligent individuals. Moreover, the tendency for some viewers to accept the protagonist as the hero by default, has led to a third category—the anti-hero.

As I said, a story can follow a villain as its protagonist, but it must eventually become evident to the viewer (through truthful analysis) that the character is a villain. If the story shrouds the realistic consequences of the character's actions, making him look heroic when emulation of him in real life would lead to tragedy, then the story is a philosophical lie. This is how media creates anti-heroes in culture. It has been said that one can tell a culture by the heroes it keeps. If we use fiction to pose an ideology as a heroic character, then the viewers can be snowed into believing the ideology. But what ideology must be snuck past the viewers' conscious awareness? Only one that is knowingly false.

That being said, the basis of Truth in Fiction is to pose as heroic in fiction that which is heroic in reality. This can only be done through free association and open discussion. Ideas must compete for the highest level of truth, not the highest level of ideological pull. It is vital to the fitness of our thoughts and passions that fiction not be simply congenial to the human mind, as G.K. Chesterton said, but also be challenging to it. The strangeness of truth, I believe, is the very distinction that makes a story great. And when media creators realize that creating a classic is more lucrative in the long-run, less minds will be wasted on tired congeniality.

For more information on this topic see "The Origin [of Truth in Fiction]."

FEATURED MEDIA

"Samuel Taylor Coleridge - The Major Works" : Poems and other works, including Biographia Literaria.

"Stranger than Fiction" : A film about a reclusive author whose gimmick is killing her main characters. What happens when she finds out her newest character is a real person?

"The Sopranos" : The story of mobster torn between one "family" and the other.

The Lesson I Should Have Learned...

Ted Geisel is a name that, for many, rings no bells. He also rang no bells for the more than forty publishers that turned down his first bestseller, The Cat in the Hat. Better known as Dr. Seuss, he went on to publish more than sixty books of the same variety including Oh, the Places You'll Go!, One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish, and Green Eggs and Ham.

It is the last one on the list that caught my attention today. Every night, I read one of Dr. Seuss's books to my 3 year old son, and every night, I wonder why Oliver DeMille listed the entire series on his classics for children list (see A Thomas Jefferson Education). Last night, it struck me: the lesson is "persistence."

As many of you may recall, the story is about a character who calls himself "Sam-I-Am," presenting a plate of green eggs and ham to another character, who is certain he hates them. In true Seuss fashion, they travel through a world of literally pictured rhymes and odd associations. All the while, Sam-I-Am continues to change the circumstances of his pitch as he sticks to his product.

I say product because Sam-I-Am is that greatest of salesmen: naive, enthusiastic, helpful, persistent, and eventually successful. The one advantage that Sam-I-Am has over the grumpy character is faith in the quality of the green eggs and ham. He  never bats an eye at the other character's attacks, but keeps smiling, eventually wearing the other character down. He is helpful, because he knows the grouch has never experienced this food, and is missing out. Of course, the grumpy character's attitude toward Sam-I-Am completely changes when he realizes what the salesman has done for him.

Sam-I-Am demonstrates one of the traits of a leader, and that is why it is a classic. However, many parents, I fear, are annoyed by this trait. They attempt to suppress (perhaps unknowingly) what makes life difficult for them, rather than nurturing the strong individual in the child. This problem continues in education and media, where authorities of all kinds seek a docile, easy to lead mass of men (and women).

Henry David Thoreau said, "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation." I know from personal experience that this begins with the stifling of rewards for persistence. When a child finally gets the point from failing, that there is no point in trying, his will is broken and he becomes afraid to try.

This is the lesson I should have learned when I was young: always persist.

On Minorities

I have recently been reading through Allan Bloom's book "The Closing of the American Mind." It is too soon for me to say whether I agree with his particular views, though I appreciate much of his observations on both education and modern media. So far, the book has been a journey that has challenged my thinking in certain areas—the kind of challenge that tends to make one angry. That particular brand of anger is just the sort of feeling that shields us from having a more open mind. If we are not willing to read things we do not agree with, we cannot truly be open minded.

In any case, a quote from early in the book concerning minorities prompted me to write a brief article as to the what I thought he meant by it. I hope this will be mind-opening for you, even if you disagree.

***

"For the Founders [of America], minorities are in general bad things, mostly identical to factions, selfish groups who have no concern as such for the common good." - Allan Bloom

Minorities represent aspects of humanity which are not necessarily good or bad, just not as common as other aspects. Basically there are three kinds of minorities: physical minorities, defined by race or other physical characteristics; political minorities, defined by culture or other social and civil thought; and spiritual minorities, defined by passion of purpose or other philosophical beliefs. (As a side note, religion is an aspect of political life and is distinct from spiritual life, though one informs the other.)

Instead of creating unity by embracing commonalities which the majority (an act which might gain them more acceptance and strengthen society's understanding of natural principles), minority groups create divisions by embracing their major differences, then fighting for "equality." Inherently, they value being different for the sake of being unique, not necessarily because they are right. Therefore, they tend to disregard—as judgmental and closed-minded—those comments which might suggest they are in the wrong, because they feel such comments threaten their individuality. It is therefore ironic, that it is often the minority which is closed-minded. This, of course, makes learning impossible for the minority.

A value for differences is the opposite of unity, as unity can be founded on common ground. This common ground is what we speak of as "truth" or "natural law." Diversity is desirable not because of differences, but because of the strengthening of unity despite differences. It is the civil disagreements between individuals allied in common purpose, which tempers the resources for the battle. "Iron sharpens iron." The Founders of America understood this, according to Mr. Bloom, when they sought a system of majority rule.

Whenever any system seeks to impose arbitrary regulations to benefit the minorities, it ultimately makes the problem worse. Take, for instance, Affirmative Action: a set of rules meant to give racial and gender minorities a "fair" chance. It was meant to be a step forward in equality, but in assigning value arbitrarily to race, et al, the divide between minority groups and the majority deepened. A person's minority status became more important than his skill level or other human qualities. This also re-enforced prejudice that certain minorities were not hard workers. If it is not a person's performance, but the color of his skin or the group to which he belongs that gets him into an organization, why bother pursuing excellence?

Paradoxically, all fervor over minority inequality fundamentally disregards the fact that we are all human and therefore equal by nature, a trait that should be at the forefront of any understanding of society. Considering anything else in priority above equality by the nature of being human, is the very definition of inequality.

FEATURED MEDIA: The Closing of the American Mind by Allan Bloom, is a book about the degeneration of higher education in America.

Crash is a fictional film about prejudice in Los Angeles. Several different characters from all walks of life "crash" into each other, revealing some interesting thought nuggets on race and class distinctions.

Media and Mealtime

I've been in the habit of referring to certain media (especially fictional films) as "candy." Upon further reflection (over-analysis), I realized that the term "candy film" is a misnomer. Given that I am normally not referring to mass media, of which I am constructively critical when I do, the use of a junk food analogy is incorrect. Therefore, what I used to call "candy films" will now more accurately be called "snack films."

To continue the mealtime metaphor, media can be constructed for the purpose of snacktime or dinnertime. It is not the volume or density of a given work that ultimately determines its literary significance, but its ability to fit the role for which it was intended. As with food for the body, media provides a full range of nutritional options for the mind. So it follows, in our contemporary fast-food age, that it is also more convenient and cheaper to feed the mind junk than health (same flaw, different industry).

"Dinner media" (or supper, if you prefer) would constitute the densest, most challenging content for regular consumption. It is the meat of a person's intellectual diet. Not only does it showcase images that are difficult to bear, but it offers strong advice for success in life. It deals with the network of twisted justification and manipulation that constitutes the struggles of the higher self. It is hard on both the mind and the spirit, with the aim of strengthening.

Dinner-media is necessary for growth, but I am finding that this seems to be the only form of media acceptable to those who profess the need for Liberal Arts. I agree that all people eventually need this meat in their diets. However, as with physical starvation, one whose mind is starving should be cautioned against launching headlong into regular dinner-media, which would actually have a negative effect despite its level of nutrition. This is a question of capacities, which can be expanded over time through the use of smaller meals. With time, any "savage" can be sophisticated to the high arts—with time.

"Lunch media" probably describes most of the media in circulation. It is not meant to be challenging, but sustaining. Its purpose is to remind people of things they already know and values they already possess. If it ever stirs anger, that anger is directed at the villain, who represents what the viewer hates. It relies on safe, agreeable ethics like not lying, not stealing, and not murdering—or a general sense of honor among criminals. It does not discuss dilemmas of when-and-if exceptions to these ethics might be made, nor does it delve into the spiritual questions of why a person would break these rules despite warning. It is for the mind, but not the spirit.

If I have a concern with media at this level, it would mostly revolve around the fact that it is too prevalent. If one is only presented what he already knows, then no growth is possible. That being said, if non-media factors (from a family tragedy to a great mentor) have the effect of stirring one's soul, then well-developed media which speaks to his purpose can be motivational—a launching pad for great things.

"Breakfast media" is simpler in nature still, mostly serving as children's media. The characters are not complex, but embody either hero or villain with minimal grey areas. While it might deal with political issues, its coverage of any subject is foundational (like breakfast), but not substantial (like lunch). As breakfast of the mind, this media is more about teaching the forms of media than it is about sharpening understanding or growing wisdom about life. Since many people are starved for variety in forms of media, it is important that such foundational media be available to everyone not just children.

Finally, this brings me back to "snack media," which can, in spirit, be like any of the above levels of media. The difference is in its scope and substance, which it is usually lacking. Snack-media can posit a deep question of the soul—but usually only one—and does not provide a path to the answer, merely the question. It can present a thought nugget that clarifies a personal philosophy, but it does not explore it, or provide a path to explore. It can cast light on forms many times revealing flaws, but it is not substantial enough to provide a solution.

Snack-media can be great when it is properly used, but by definition, it is devoid of much depth. It is media to get you through to the next meal, an appetizer before the main course. Without a certain measure of discussion, willingly pulled from other sources in response, snack-media can become junk media. It is very easy to cheat in your intellectual diet with a snack.

FEATURED MEDIA:
Dinner-Media: Schindler's List - Story of Holocaust profiteer, Oscar Schindler.
Lunch-Media: Pirates of the Caribbean - Action film about a pirate curse.
Breakfast-Media: Monster's, Inc. - Children's movie about bureaucracy.
Snack-Media: Sunshine - Sci-fi film about a mission to re-ignite the Sun.

The Origin [of Truth in Fiction]

[Reposted from CTIF.blogspot.com. Original post date: 9/20/08]

Why truth in fiction? It sounds like a bit of a contradiction in terms. Is it even possible to have truth in a story that is inherently false? I now believe it is, but the thought had never crossed my mind until recently. And even so, it was a long time in the making...

I've always been the analytical sort, passionate about determining why one film is better than other. This concept came about from three specific sources, which were connected by a principle I uncovered one day. I can't say how they came about chronologically, but one was a quote from a talk show, another a documentary, and the third, a TV Series. The principle was that in all things, we should seek to create value (that means value to others, not just ourselves), rather than seek to make money. Money is not the only thing of value, but anything of value can be traded for money.

I have tried to find the source of the quote, but cannot remember what talk show or what guest said it. I do, however, remember the gist of the conversation. I believe it was Oscar season, and the guest was talking (or perhaps complaining) about the old-school way that the Academy chooses movies to be nominated. From his point of view, he thought that the movies that made the most money should be the movies that won the awards.

I immediately felt there was something wrong with the statement, but wasn't quite sure what. For a while, I wrote it off, saying that the money was the reward for those movies, but GOOD movies needed to win awards to get noticed. Eventually, I thought it through, and came to the realization that entertaining films (such as summer blockbusters) make a lot of money by promoting an adequate film to a broad audience for one big weekend, while artistic films (i.e.: the Best Picture Oscar films) create a culturally relevant, valuable, film that makes its money over time by winning one fan at a time.

"The Lost Tomb of Jesus," was a TV documentary which sought answers to the question of whether Jesus' remains might actually have been found (contrary to scripture). Having been raised a christian, this was unsettling for me at the time. But what struck me was how irrelevant it seemed, whether Jesus actually rose from the dead. That was when I realized that the truth of the Gospel story was not necessarily in historical accuracy, but in the impact the story had on culture: it has given hope and purpose to people for 2000 years. It spread one "fan" at a time for a very long time.

The final piece came when I watched through David Chase's "The Sopranos." For those who haven't seen it, The Sopranos is unlike any organized crime story I've ever seen (though I don't profess to be an expert on the subject). It follows the life of fictitious New Jersey mobster, Tony Soprano, who, though very successful in his "trade," is having a sort of midlife crisis. He begins seeing a psychiatrist to deal with his stressful life. For those of you who are thinking of a particular movie along the same lines, bear with me.

Now, I find that most mob stories take sides. They either paint mobsters as honorable, men of respect, and law enforcement as insufficient or clueless; or they paint mobsters as thugs and murderers, destined to foolishly fall into the hands of keen detectives. From the very beginning, "The Sopranos" seemed to me to be what life in the mob would really be like. Though I've never been in the mob, or read anything about the mob, I was sold on its "accuracy." Why? Because it was truthful on a deeper level. Tony Soprano could have just as easily been a corporate manager, struggling with fairness and ethics in a legal business, or he could have been a dad struggling to keep his kids in line despite a messed up world. David Chase chose to create a mob story, and all the violence and sexual content speaks to the truth of the story. It neither glorified, nor patently criticized organized crime. And though no story is perfect, I believe "The Sopranos" presents one of the greatest examples of Truth in Fiction, and will, therefore, stand the test of time.

How does this all tie together? It goes like this: William Shakespeare took many, if not all, his stories from mythology. Those who've studied Greek and Roman myths know that the various gods and godesses fought and loved, betrayed and conspired amongst themselves. These tales portrayed interactions: those that work, those that don't, and why. Like may scriptures, including the Holy Bible, the stories always presented the consequences. The consequences of the feud between the Capulets and the Montagues was that their children, Romeo and Juliet, died tragically. "All are punished," quotes the Prince.

The point is this: we can't let short-sighted economists destroy the value of our art for the sake of making more money faster. To make money quickly, they must appeal to what most people want to hear right now, but most people are selfish right now, so the consequences of appealing to people's selfishness is that you enable them to be more selfish because you provide justification ("everybody's doing it"). Stories that portray the consequences of selfishness are inherently less popular, but because they are truthful, they remain relevant for longer AND they influence culture in a POSITIVE direction.

Fewer films made with quality will produce more value, and thus, more money than big business Hollywood over the long haul.

FEATURED MEDIA:
    "The Lost Tomb of Jesus" is recommended because it is well-made and the logic is sound. However, due to the insufficient evidence inherent to archeology and the natural tendency of people to form biased assumptions to fill in the gaps, I can't say this proves anything. The value of this documentary is in its ability to challenge your beliefs, whether you ultimately agree or not.
    "The Sopranos" is worth watching because of its reality. Viewer discretion is certainly advised.
   "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare" is one of many compilations and series of Shakespeare's work, all of which are worth reading. His works are among the Great Books of the Western World.