Top Gun: Maverick is about a weird kind of military pride

It’s been a while since I’ve posted, but sometimes the people are just begging you to comment on the latest movie (1). So here goes.

What is Top Gun: Maverick about (2)?

More specifically, what does the rousing “yeah America” chutzpah inducing ending of Top Gun: Maverick leave you pointing towards? I think sports.

In the Jacobin, Eileen Jones calls the movie “a very long, kinetic military recruiting ad”. I see what she means - with high-tech airplanes, cool action scenes, and American flags everywhere, it’s showing off all the slick trappings of military coolness (3).

But if you dig a little deeper, I don’t think TG:M comes across as very pro-military at all. The most striking thing about the movie is how it totally manages to avoid identifying the enemy forces. The whole plot is about a mission to destroy a Uranium enrichment plant, but we don’t know which enemy of the US this plant is located in. The only enemies we see are in head-to-toe protective gear so that we can’t tell what ethnicity they are.

So we have a surface-level pro-US-military movie that avoids identifying any enemies of freedom and democracy. I don’t think the words “defense”, “freedom”, or “democracy” were even mentioned in the movie. 

Also, I’m not in the military, but I get the sense that discipline and following orders is a big thing. This movie celebrates the fact that its protagonists disobey orders all the time - a classic American movie thing (4), but not an actual classic military thing in my impression (though I could be wrong - maybe selective disobedience  is an actual celebrated part of military culture).

No real threats, no military discipline. The main thing you’re left to be excited about is the bonding that comes with is doing difficult things to achieve a goal with a group of teammates. And maybe cool technology.

So if you’re inspired by Top Gun: Maverick, I think you’re better off just going out for a sports team. Or maybe working at NASA.

1. Editor’s note: Absolutely nobody is begging Luke to comment on this or any movie

2. Besides the fact that it itself is a sequel to a 1986 movie called Top Gun, a fact which the movie goes really out of its way to make sure you know through many flashbacks, photos sitting on desks, and music cues. And which fact it equally expects you to be very impressed with because either a) you have seen the movie Top Gun long ago and are nostalgic for it, or b) you have not seen the movie Top Gun (me) but you are swept up by second-hand nostalgia anyways in the burnt-orange sunsets and aforementioned music cues

3. And probably will increase interest in naval aviation roles - apparently the first drove a 500% increase in applicants

4. And, I mean, fair. You don’t go pay $15 to go watch Tom Cruise do as he is told

How Do You Live? - a 1930s Japanese YA book about progress

How Do You Live? by Genzaburo Yoshino is a novel aimed at young people released in Japan in 1937 (1). I read it over the past week, and was struck by how many themes in it relate directly to Progress Studies (2). I’d recommend it for people interested in how fiction can be used to inspire big-picture thinking about human progress, especially for ~8-14-year olds.

The vastness and importance of progress: The book explicitly deals with the “vast and marvelous prospect” of human progress across thousands of years. A major moment of growth for the main character is realizing how much he is dependent on the thousands and millions of other people in the world to bring him as simple of things as wool clothes and milk. He is encouraged by his uncle to be a producer, not just a consumer, and is taught by his uncle that the ancient Japanese learned from Greek, Persian, and Indian cultures, and then “the Japanese people, too, advanced the progress of the human race in their Japanese way.”

The difficulty of progress: There is an extended scene where his uncle explains to the main character that the inspiration Newton had in watching an apple fall was not enough - he then had to do the hard work of actually understanding what a falling apple has to do with planetary movement, and formalize it in math. “[T]he things that we call obvious are tricky. When you think about a thing as if it were self-evident and follow it wherever it may lead, soon enough you run into a thing that you can no longer call self-evident.”

The importance of using greatness to improve humanity: Human progress is visualized as a great river. Some people help push that river forward either on purpose or accident. But “there are more than a few who may be called great or heroic, but instead of advancing the flow, they work instead to try to reverse it.” Napoleon is given as an example of someone who, despite his brilliance and determination, “transformed into something harmful to the proper advancement of society.” The main character is admonished to become someone who is both able to achieve greatness, and then willing to channel that greatness into the advancement of humanity.

The beauty of science: The main character thinks of the all the people in the world as a molecules in a vast sea. Schoolkids have debates about the nature of electricity then look up the truth in their textbooks. Scientists like Newton and Copernicus are used as instructive examples for finding out about the world. Throughout, the book stresses the importance of building your own mental models  about how the world works, and then checking those models against reality and work already done by others (though Yoshino doesn’t use this language),

This book is great for understanding how people 90 years ago, in a different culture conceived of progress and communicated it to young people. I could imagine this book being great for American kids to think about progress (as well as character, ethics, and for exposure to literature from other cultures). And I think it serves as a good model for the type of communication that people involved in Progress Studies now could be engaged in (3).



1. I was introduced to the book because Hayao Miyazaki is currently making a movie of the same name, which is either an adaptation of this book, or features this book as a plot point

2. Progress Studies is a great, recently started intellectual movement aiming, in the words of Jason Crawford, “to understand the causes of human progress, so that we can keep it going and even accelerate it.”

3. Historical aside: The historical backdrop of Japan at the time is fascinating and important to understanding both the story itself and the context in which it was written. As the translator’s note at the end says:

During this time Japan was becoming increasingly militaristic and authoritarian. In 1925, Japan passed the Public Security Preservation Law, making it illegal for anyone to say or write things that were critical of the government. A special branch of the police was created—the Tokko, also known as the “Thought Police.” They spied on political groups and arrested thousands of people for their progressive ideas, especially those interested in socialism and communism.”

The characters in the book push back against this restriction of thought, and the book itself teaches to think for yourself and stand up for what you believe in.

What I’ve learned about different kinds of African music

tldr my recommendations are Zamrock, Zimbabwean mbira music, Afrobeat, and Sauti Sol. Of those, Sauti Sol is the catchiest and most approachable

My New Year’s Resolution for 2021 was to make it so that 1/3 of the music I listened to (as measured by last.fm which tracks Spotify listens) should be by African artists. It’s now mid-December, I’m on track to hit my goal, and I thought it would be interesting to track what I’ve learned so far.

Instead of having like a full coherent narrative for this post, I’ve decided to just slice up some of my learnings and opinions in different sections.

High level observations about music in Africa:

  • Kenyans (and most Africans, from what I gather) tend to listen to a lot of music from all over Africa, most of which is in languages they don’t know. As one Kenyan guy said when a group of Kenyans were singing a Lingala (DRC) song “We know all the words and don’t know what a damn thing means”

  • There are a few countries that seem to be musically closed off though. From what I’ve heard, specifically Angola and Ethiopia tend to be happy with their own music and listen to relatively little foreign music (African or otherwise)

  • Reggae is super popular, so much so that I decided to expand my New Year’s Resolution to be that 1/3 of the music I listen to should be African or Jamaican (since the goal was to immerse myself in African art, and reggae is such an important art in Africa)

  • Everyone loves ABBA. The same Kenyan guy as above said “you can play ABBA in any club in the world and people will start dancing”

Luke’s Top 10 favorite artists

  1. Stella Chiweshe - my favorite performer of Zimbabwean mbira music, which is my favorite genre I’ve discovered this year. The mbira sounds a little like a glockenspiel or a marimba, and sounds incredibly soothing. And when you have a bunch of mbiras going at once, it creates super interesting rhythms and melody lines. Huvhimi (YouTube) and Uchiseka (YouTube) are both great songs. I’m hoping to go to Zimbabwe sometime in the next year to see this kind of music performed live.

  2. Sauti Sol - the biggest and best band from Kenya. Everyone knows them. They just make great pop songs, lots of them sung largely in English, so very approachable. Start with Suzanna (YouTube) and Melanin (YouTube)

  3. Fela Kuti - maybe the most famous African musician of all time, he’s just really good. Basically invented Afrobeat in the 70s (sort of Nigerian jazz/funk), very influential on people like Talking Heads and Brian Eno. I love Water Get No Enemy (YouTube) and Everything Scatter (YouTube) but you can’t go wrong with him.

  4. Msafiri Zawose - Tanzanian bandleader makes largely instrumental music that mixes Gogo instruments with electronic production. Really cool textures. Kind of stereotypically what I would have imagined “arty African music” to sound like before coming here. Uhamiaji is one of my favorite African albums (Spotify) (YouTube). Have not met anyone here who listens to him - recommended by a friend from Iowa

  5. Soliman Gamil - traditional Egyptian instrumental musician. Great melody and great textures. If the opening notes of Melody Of Nile (YouTube) don’t get you excited then I can’t help you. Sufi Dialogue (YouTube) mixes Arab and Indian instruments and rules. Don’t know anyone who listens to him

  6. Francis Bebey - psychedelic and electronic music from 70s and 80s Cameroon. He makes two main kinds of music I like: The hypnotic rhythm of Psychedelic Sanza using electric bass, and the mbira-like sansa. And there’s the fun, almost corny electronic side of African Electronic Music (it’s nice how straightforward his album names are). He has way more music that I haven’t touched yet. Haven’t met anyone who knows of him except Win Butler. For songs try Sanza nocturne (YouTube) and The Coffee Cola Song (YouTube)

  7. Maia & the Big Sky - Kenyan funk/rock/R&B band. Very approachable from an American perspective - lots is sung in English. Pawa (YouTube music video) is great and Lola (YouTube music video) is my favorite.

  8. Bonga - one of the biggest musicians in Angola, recommended by my Angolan friend. Very Portuguese influenced - to me it sounds a lot like Bossa Nova. Mona Ki Ngi Xica (YouTube) and Kubangela (YouTube) are good

  9. Ike Slimster - Nigerian musician living in New York who makes ambient music. Reminds me a lot of Four Tet. Good background music for working (don’t mean that as a backhanded compliment - I love furniture music). MAASAI (YouTube) is a cool song (remixed traditional Maasai music. Also has a similar remix of Somali aunties singing), and EVERYTHING IS FINE is a fine album

  10. Toure Kunda - Senegalese band, have a cool mix of funk and more “traditional”-sounding music. Amadou Tilo (YouTube) sounds like the desert. Samala (YouTube) is more reggae-inspired. I just found them online, don’t know anyone else who listens to them

Honorable mention for Zamrock, an artist not a genre. Kids in Zambia in the 70s listened to Jimi Hendrix, James Brown, and the Rolling Stones, combined it with traditional rhythms and made fuzzy psychedelic rock and roll. A few songs are I’ve Been Losing by Chrissy Zebby Tembo and Ngozi Family (YouTube), Poverty by Cosmos Zani (YouTube), Sheebeen Queen by Musi-O-Tunya (YouTube)

Afrobeats and Congolese Rhumba (two genres the kids actually listen to):

If you want to know some African music that might be socially relevant in the US, Afrobeats is the place to go. It’s somewhat of a catchall term for “Nigerian-inspired African pop music” but most typically refers to chill, sparse, rhythmic hip hop (as far as I can tell). (Not to be confused with Afrobeat - older funkier Fela Kuti-style Nigerian music.) The biggest artists here are some of the biggest African artists generally: WizKid, Burna Boy, Omah Lay. WizKid and Burna Boy have both collaborated with huge Western artists (Drake and Beyonce for Wizkid, Chris Martin and Ed Sheeran for Burna Boy, Justin Bieber for both). You’ve probably heard Afrobeats inspired music in Drake’s One Dance which features WizKid.

Congolese Rhumba, usually called just Rhumba or Lingala in Kenya is super popular, guitar-driven dancing music from the Congo. Seems to be really popular all over Africa. I don’t listen that much, but Ultimatum (YouTube) is a pretty typical song, and Waah! (YouTube) is very popular.

Church music:

Even in English-language Catholic Masses, the songs are sill almost always in Swahili. Drum machines feature prominently - after the priest finishes saying a prayer, you’ll hear the “dum, ch, du-dum” of the drum machine kick in and know it’s about time for you to sing. There’s almost always a full choir, lots of clapping and swaying, an electric organ, and sometimes other percussion as well

1. Or don’t

Tenet rules

There’s a scene in the movie Tenet, where a scientist is explaining the (ridiculous) premise of the movie - reverse entropy. To demonstrate how it works, she plays a video of a reverse-entropy bullet (a bullet moving “backwards through time”) in reverse. In the reversed video, the reversed bullet looks normal.

In my freshman year college electromagnetism class the professor went a little outside the curriculum to teach us Noether’s Theorem (One of The Deepest and Most Beautiful Theorems in All of Physics) (1). I won’t bore you with the depth and beauty of the theorem here. All that’s relevant is this: He used the idea of a video playing backwards and forwards as a way to help us build our intuition about this deep and important physics theorem (2).

So I get excited when Christopher Nolan uses that same imagery to explain the silly rules of the world in Tenet.

For me this is an example of Nolan infusing the rules of the universe with emotional resonance. I think his movies often work better at achieving emotional impact with their rules than with their inter-character relationships.

The rules of a movie govern what the characters are and are not allowed to do. Sometimes these rules can be the same as laws of nature (relativity in Interstellar) but more often they are fun ideas for rules that are only loosely based on real-life (short-term memory loss in Memento, dream rules in Inception, reverse entropy in Tenet) (3).

Nolan uses the form of his movies to put us in the same position as his characters with respect to the rules of the movie. We are dropped into scenes in Inception without knowing how we got there, then learn they are dreams at the same time as the characters. If you see Interstellar on a big screen you are dwarfed by the enormity and silence of space. We watch Memento backwards, so we feel what it’s like to have to re-orient to each new scene. 

All of this means that when you watch a spinning top, or a spaceship takeoff delayed by 10 minutes, or someone taking all the pens and paper in a room, it hits you on an emotional level (4).

Nolan’s movies can sometimes be cold. But the rules we are governed by in real life - the strict passionless - laws of nature, are also cold (5). But those laws can still inspire strong feelings. And my guess is that the more you care about rules in real life - the more you get excited or awed by things like physics, math, and logic - the more Nolan’s movies work for you.

Or it could be just that I like videos playing backwards and forwards.


  1. I have never heard a professor introduce Noether’s Theorem without immediately afterwards making sure we understand that it is One of The Deepest and Most Beautiful Theorems in All of Physics

  2. The intuitive way to tell whether a system is losing energy is to think: “If I watched a video of this playing backwards, would I be able to tell if it was going backwards or forwards?” If the answer is “no” (as in a pendulum that swings back and forth without losing amplitude) then the system is not losing energy. If the answer is “yes” (as in a pendulum that swings back and forth with smaller and smaller arcs until it stops swinging) then you know the system is losing energy and contributing to entropy

    Also this professor, Alan Adams, was one of the coolest guys I’ve ever met and if you’ve ever been interested in quantum mechanics and have 74 minutes to kill you should watch his lecture here

  3. Dunkirk isn’t quite as rules-focused, but is still about the cruelty of time marching ever forwards. The Prestige follows the not-quite-so-hard-and-fast rules of magic tricks. Following, Insomnia, and the Batman movies aren’t really so rules-focused and don’t really fit the pattern I’m talking about here

  4. “You” being a word which here means “me, and anyone else who feels similarly to how I do when watching these movies”

  5. They can’t be reasoned or bargained with

Addendum (6 December 2021): The Author Cixin Liu also excels at imbuing natural laws with emotional resonance (from The New Yorker via Applied Divinity Studies):

“Liu had an epiphany about the concept of a light-year—the “terrifying distance” and “bone-chilling vastness” it implied. Concepts that seemed abstract to others took on, for him, concrete forms; they were like things he could touch, inducing a “druglike euphoria.” Compared with ordinary literature, he came to feel, “the stories of science are far more magnificent, grand, involved, profound, thrilling, strange, terrifying, mysterious, and even emotional.””

While I’m quoting, I ran across an essay on science fiction films by Susan Sontag. This part jumped out to me in relation to what I wrote above. She is talking here about the morality of technology rather than of “laws of the universe”. But the interest in focusing the emotional weight of the story as outside the characters is common with Nolan and Liu. And maybe the fact that Nolan and Liu shift the focus from technology to the very fabric of reality itself is what makes them interesting within the realm of sci-fi and sci-fi-adjacent narrative.

“Science fiction films invite a dispassionate, aesthetic view of destruction and violence—a technological view. Things, objects, machinery play a major role in these films. A greater range of ethical values is embodied in the décor of these films than in the people. Things, rather than the helpless humans, are the locus of values because we experience them, rather than people, as the sources of power. According to science fiction films, man is naked without his artifacts. They stand for different values, they are potent, they are what gets destroyed, and they are the indispensable tools for the repulse of the alien invaders or the repair of the damaged environment.”

A boy and girl transcend reality by falling with style

I’ve noticed a trope that shows up in a few anime movies that I haven’t heard people talk about much. I’ve tried to find writing online about it, but haven’t found much (1). So despite knowing relatively little about anime or Japanese culture generally, I figured I would give a shot at documenting this.

The trope is falling as a representation of transcending reality.

In its strong version the trope takes the following form: Towards the end of a movie, the a shift is made into a suspension of physical reality as a boy and girl fall/fly through the air and have a moment of emotional catharsis. This happens in the following four movies (sorry for the poor quality video links):

I find it curious that all four of these movies have such visually similar scenes, serving fairly similar functions in their movies (a boy and a girl are forging some connection while falling/flying, romantic or otherwise) (2).

What accounts for it?

One potential explanation: These scenes in Tale of Princess Kaguya, Mirai, and Weathering with You are all paying homage to Spirited Away, which was made first, is extremely influential, and has probably the most memorable falling-as-catharsis scene.

Another factor could be that there tendency in Japanese anime to depict characters crossing a bridge into non-reality in order to achieve an emotional effect. Perhaps falling is just a very visually striking and emotionally-resonant way of showing this transcendence (3). It’s possible that the reason this seems to show up more in anime than in American animation is because of a sense in Japanese culture that the barrier between the physical and spiritual world is pretty permeable. I’m really talking out of my depth here, but this would match with what the Japanese author Haruki Murakami says about leaving the physical world:

“I can’t always see the borderline between the unreal world and the realistic world…In Japan, I think that other world is very close to our real life, and if we decide to go to the other side it’s not so difficult. I get the impression that in the Western world it isn’t so easy to go to the other side; you have to go through some trials to get to the other world. But, in Japan, if you want to go there, you go there.”

If I think of American animated movies that have falling-through-the-sky scenes, the only one that has a similar sort of scene as the above four movies is Toy Story, where Buzz and Woody fall with style in a huge emotional payoff, but without the same sense of moving into an unreal world (4).

I don’t have the stats to prove that this type of thing happens more often in Japanese animated movies than others, but I do think it’s a very interesting pattern that at least these four movies share. There may some combination of Japanese culture and the medium of animation that leads to boys and girls falling being a recurring image. Or maybe they’re all just ripping of Pixar.


1. There are YouTube compilations of anime characters falling (mostly in TV shows - an area I am totally ignorant of), but they don’t give explanations for why this is a thing. It’s possible the reason for this being a trope is just super common knowledge among anime fans and I’m just out of the loop

2. A more general type of transcendent flying happens in a lot of Hayao Miyazaki movies: Castle in the Sky, Kiki’s Delivery Service, Howl’s Moving Castle, The Wind Rises, and the Miyazaki-written Whisper of the Heart all have important falling/flying scenes. But they don’t exactly fit the model described above, and it’s hard to count a bunch of movies by one creator as evidence for a general trend in anime: Miyazaki just likes flying.

3. Credit to a friend from whom I largely copied this explanation

4. I mean we don’t move into any more of an unreal world than the one we’ve been in all movie where toys are alive and immortal and children are cruel gods

Paul McCartney is Cool

Paul McCartney is probably the greatest living artist, of any kind.

I do think the value of art is totally subjective. But if you wanted to try to create a definition of what makes an artist “objectively great”, I think Paul would have to rank near the top on most metrics:

  • The level of greatness of his best work as judged by the most people

  • Quantity of his work that is good, as judged by the most people

  • Overall popularity

  • Artistic influence

  • Cultural influence

  • Level of technical “sophistication” of his best work

Who would even come close? Maybe Bob Dylan? I can’t think of any authors, or film-makers who would be close (I don’t know of any visual artists who would be in the running either, and I think that the popularity of music vs visual art among most people is also a point in Paul’s favor).

He released an album last year called McCartney III. It’s pretty good. Then, this month, he released McCartney III Imagined, which contains all the songs from McCartney III remixed by or featuring contemporary artists.

And his choice of artists to feature is what keyed me into the fact that, in addition to being the greatest, Paul is also the coolest. (In 2021 I was still on the fence about him being cool, because while Sgt. Pepper’s is cool, and Back in the USSR is cool, he also wrote a song about being handy and mending fuses, which while good is less cool).

For a project like this it would be easy to imagine him turning to old greats who he has collaborated with in the past: Stevie Wonder, Mick Jagger, Eric Clapton, Brian Wilson, maybe even Ringo. Or you could see him enlisting today’s biggest stars: Surely Taylor Swift or Lil Nas X would be happy to be featured on a Paul McCartney album.

But instead he (or maybe his manager, in which case he’s cool for having that manager) chose group of slightly outside-the-mainstream artists. Phoebe Bridgers. Anderson .Paak. Ed O’Brien of Radiohead. Beck. Popular enough that they might be recognizable (though it may take a Google to learn that Damon Albarn is the guy from Blur and Gorillaz). But fringe enough to be cool.

I was introduced to Fats Domino through music Paul released over half a century ago, and to Khruangbin through music he released 3 days ago. And that’s what makes Paul cool.

What I Think About When I Think About Music

I haven’t posted in two months mostly because of laziness, and partially because I haven’t been able to think of anything worth saying. 3 minutes ago I decided that I’ll write a post about something that doesn’t matter so that I stop using my lack of anything important to say to justify my laziness. I’ll just write about something that I like talking about anyways but that I suspect that people don’t want to hear me talk about. Then best case scenario, somebody reads this and actually does want to hear it. Worst case, nobody reads it (well I guess the real worst case scenario would be that this blog post somehow causes a chain of events leading to something so bad I can’t even imagine it. But the odds of that are probably less than 5%).

So here’s what I’m going to do: Write about the music I like that I imagine I have interesting opinions on. And then maybe ponder about why it is that I feel like my music tastes somehow give me identity as a person.

First things first: Klein Four was an A Capella group made up of Northwestern math grad students. I love everything their song “Finite Simple Group (of Order Two)” represents. It’s about love and math, which are contenders for the two most important things in the universe. It’s about multidisciplinarity — the dropping of math metaphor after math metaphor is only possible because the songwriter(s) really know(s) math in addition to being able to write great lyrics. It’s also a great example of a song where the lack of perfection in recording and performance only adds to the beauty of the song (a trait epitomized by The Mountain Goats near-perfect album All Hail West Texas, consisting only of single takes recorded on a tape recorder). It’s also mad catchy. Its opening line is “The path of love is never smooth/But mine's continuous for you” and it only gets better. They have an entire album called Musical Fruitcake that’s worth checking out if you like math.

Taylor Swift’s album folklore rules. It’s definitely too long for my taste, but cut out the 30% of songs that aren’t great and you’re left with an amazing 40-minute album. Songs like “seven”, “epiphany”, and “mirrorball” are unlike any we’ve gotten from her before, and “betty” is her best narrative storytelling since “Love Story”. Sometimes I think of how cool it would have been to be around when some of my favorite musicians were consistently at the top of their game creatively and also massively popular — Paul Simon releasing Graceland or Led Zeppelin releasing Houses of the Holy. it’s fun to feel like the art that affects you personally is also culturally and socially relevant. Taylor Swift and Kendrick Lamar I think are the two artists I love who are at that level right now, so I am truly grateful to be around at a time when T-Swift is writing music.

I’ve been listening to lots of Chicago hip-hop recently, and feel a strange connection to these rappers from the city I only moved to a year ago. They live in very different areas of the city than I do, and I don’t see much of my personal life experience reflected in their lyrics outside of the occasional mention of a part of the city I know. But rightly or wrongly, there is something powerful about just knowing that I live in the city they live in, that we are part of the same community in a large sense. This makes me somehow feel closer to Noname than to Ms. Lauryn Hill. And when a song like “PTSD” (G Herbo, Juice WRLD, non-Chicagoan Lil Uzi Vert (Philadelphia), and Chance the Rapper) discusses violence in the city, I feel like I get a perspective that is more valuable to me than when Kendrick raps about violence in Compton.

I want to say something about ambient music but don’t have the words right now. Songs like “Teenage Birdsong” by Four Tet and “Xtal” by Aphex Twin both capture emotions that no other music does for me, and I feel that music like this brings me to a part of myself that is deeply important to who I am.

So let me try to step back and analyze myself: Why do I want to talk about my music tastes? Why do I desire other people to know what music I listen to when I’m by myself? I think a lot of it is just wanting people to be impressed by my taste. It’s not an accident that the four types of music I wanted most to write about were so different. Because not only do I get to show off that I have diverse tastes (hear me scream “I’m a cultivated and complicated person!”), but each of them helps signal something different and positive. Obscure math A Capella group: I’m a nerd. Taylor Swift: I’m unafraid to be sentimental. Chicago Hip Hop: I’m hip and woke. Ambient: I’m weird and introspective. Whether any of those things for true is up for debate (metaphorically. I doubt anyone actually wants to debate anything related to my music taste — even any poor soul who’s made it this far in this post), but some part of me wants people to think of me in those ways based on the music I like.

To some extent, I at least define myself by the art I consume. I think this is common. I don’t know if it’s good or bad. I won’t try to answer that here though, because this post was supposed to be about something that didn’t matter. Looking back on it, it seems to be all about me. So let’s call it an unqualified success.

BlacKKKlansman’s use of “sarcastic” cross-cutting

When a movie cuts between two similar-looking images, the purpose is often to draw your attention to the similarity between the images shown. For example, Cloud Atlas uses technique to great effect to show how all human struggle is connected. In this post I’ll talk about how Spike Lee’s BlacKKKlansman uses this same technique “sarcastically” to dismantle any similarity you might have thought existed between two phrases in a particular context: “Black Power” and “White Power”. 

Towards the end of the movie, Lee cuts between two scenes: One of a group of black students listening to a recountation of the lynching of Jesse Washington by the KKK, and one of a group of Klan members watching The Birth of a Nation. The scene concludes with a cut between similar images. The Klan members gleefully give the Sig Heil salute while chanting “White Power”. This cuts directly to Harry Belafonte’s character concluding his account the lynching by saying “That’s why we’re here today in the name of black power”  which leads to the students chanting “Black Power” while giving the Black Power salute.

In a different context, cutting between these two images might imply a similarity between the two groups and the two chants, the implication being “I know that it’s bad for these white supremacists to chant ‘White Power’, so it must also be bad for these black people to chant ‘Black Power’”. That would be the typical use of this cinematic language of cross-cutting similar images. 

But Lee is using this cross-cutting language differently. Because we see what leads up to the two crowds’ respective chants, we can’t help but see that “White Power” is being used as an expression of hatred while “Black Power” is used as an expression of solidarity. The juxtaposition is “sarcastic” in that the cinematic “words” (similar imagery and cross-cutting) that are usually used to show similarity are instead used to show dissimilarity. 

There are logically rigorous ways to make the case that “Black Power” is not an equivalent expression of racial supremacy that “White Power” is in these circumstances. But Lee chooses to make this argument using the language of cinema. By intercutting between two chanting crowds, Lee uses similar images “sarcastically “ to show us that there is a world of difference between chanting “White Power” to express your hatred towards a group of people and chanting “Black Power” to express solidarity and resolve in the face of that hatred.

What are the moral teachings of The Good Place? Part II [spoilers abound]

This is a continuation of last week’s post about the moral arguments contained in the recently concluded NBC sitcom, The Good Place.

Argument #4: “Do no harm” should not always trump “do good”

This is kind of a complicated argument to articulate. In The Good Place the reason the afterlife points system is flawed is because a person’s score is overwhelmed by negative points due to the unintended consequences of their actions. The world is so interconnected that the simple act of me buying an apple means I’m implicitly supporting the exploitation of farm laborers, and contributing to greenhouse gas emissions because of the fuel that was required to transport the apple, and giving profits to the co-owner of the apple company who hates orphans. There are a bunch of negative externalities to my actions, so I get a bunch of negative points.

We might not initially have a problem with this (especially if we’re utilitarians) because there are also lots of positive externalities to my act of buying an apple. And these positive externalities are just as hard to predict as the negative ones. Maybe the trucker who transported this apple was having trouble holding down a job, but now has steady apple-trucking work. And maybe I’m also giving profits to the other co-owner of the apple company who loves orphans way more than the first co-owner hates orphans. So we might say “Sure, there are a lot of unintended side effects of any action we decide to take. Some of these actions will be good, and some will be bad, but on average they will cancel each other out. So what’s important to focus on is just the outcomes of your actions that you can reasonably predict.”

But we don’t see this “canceling-out” effect in the afterlife points system. If we did, we should still see some people making it into the Good Place. Maybe they would be people who just got lucky, because the apple they purchased happened to be the one apple that saved the company from going out of business and saved all the apple farmers in some community from losing their livelihood. But we don’t see anyone making it into the Good Place. The fact that we don’t means that in the afterlife points system, negative externalities are given more weight than positive externalities. And the characters reject this points system as unjust as a system of morality.

This can be seen as a kind of argument against the idea that the most important moral command is to do no harm. If you believe that in the trolley problem, it’s wrong to divert the train so that it kills one person instead of three people, then you probably believe that it is more important to avoid hurting people than to help people. You don’t want to divert the train because then you would have killed a person who would not have otherwise have been killed, which is bad. The fact that you saved 3 other people is good, but not good enough to make up for the bad thing that you did. You can’t just sum up all the harms and goods that you’ve done in order to decide what the right thing to do is, because somehow the moral need to avoid doing harm is more important than the moral need to do good.

You would need to believe in something like this in order to design the afterlife points system that is in place at the start of The Good Place You would have to believe that because people are doing accidental harms with their actions, then those harms will almost always outweigh the accidental goods they are doing. By rejecting this points system, the show can be understood as saying that we shouldn’t necessarily give these harms any kind of special weight, and that the accidental good and bad we do by our actions really do end up cancelling each other out.

Argument #5: Follow your conscience and be a better person

This is probably the most straightforward argument the show is making: We all ought to try to be a little better every day. Michael argues over and over again throughout the show that people have the capacity to improve. Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, and Jason all become better people throughout the course of the show, and are meant to serve as an inspiration to those of us watching the show.

Under this reading, The Good Place can be seen as a source of practical advice for how to live rather than a rigorous logical argument for what ought to be done and what ought not to be done. It is more like Confucius (offering different advice to his pupils based on their personalities and the context) than Kant (making a structured rigorous argument for a system of morality with defined rules). The show tells us it’s important to take morality seriously, but not so seriously that you have decision paralysis like Chidi. It’s important to think about the outcomes of your actions, but you can’t always predict all the harms your actions might do. Don’t be too self-centered. Forgive those who have hurt you.

None of these are not hard and fast rules for how to live, but they are moral guidelines that most people know at some level. The purpose of the show might just be to bring these ideas to the forefront of our minds, so that we are a little better tomorrow than we were today.

Argument #6: Your relationships with the people around you are of primary importance

This is the final argument I’ll explore here, and  I think it’s The Good Place’s biggest and boldest claim. This is the claim that my relationships with the people around me are what is most important from a moral standpoint. If we are to be good people, we should above all focus on caring for those around us as opposed to trying to maximize the good we do in the world or follow abstract moral or religious codes.

The show is far more concerned with how the main characters behave to the people around them than to how they follow abstract moral rules. At its core, the show is not as much about saving humanity as it is about 6 friends learning to care for, rely on, help, and forgive each other. The reasons each of them were bad in their first shot  at life was because they had terrible relationships with the people directly around them — Eleanor because of her unwillingness to form connections, Chidi because of his indecisiveness, Tahani because of her envy, and Jason because of his petty crimes. 

To the extent to which the show focuses on the ways we influence people far away from us (because of the interconnectedness of the global world), it actually argues that the way we affect these distant people is so hard to determine that it can’t be a basis for morality (see Argument #4). It’s significant that when Eleanor walks through the doorway at the very end of the show, the magical dust she turns into encourages someone to be good in a way that helps Michael. She doesn’t turn into an abstract force of morality that helps everybody in the world indiscriminately (or if she does, we don’t see that). The abstract force of morality she turns into helps a person she loves.

Of course, this is a very natural moral claim for an NBC sitcom to make. A sitcom is naturally about interpersonal relationships, because relationships are dramatic. And a relationship-focused morality is not going to offend anyone. It’s a comfortable kind of morality that a lot of people would like to believe in anyways. It feels nice to care for the people around me, doesn’t require too demanding of sacrifices or too much thinking about the externalities of my actions, and having loving relationships in my life will actually make me happier anyways. But I still say this is a big claim, because the idea that direct personal relationships are of primary moral importance is not what is taught by most major religions, or by most philosophers.

Throughout these two posts, I’ve tried to articulate 6 ways you can read what The Good Place says about morality. I’m not sure what exactly the creators of the show wished to say by making the show they did, but to some extent that doesn’t matter. What matters is the effect the show has on the viewers, and what lessons each of us draws from watching it. I think all of the above are reasonable lessons to draw from the show. But there are countless other lessons that you could just as reasonably draw, because the show is not didactic. It is an exploration in what it means to be a good person. And hopefully all of us who have watched it are now better people than we were before we watched it.

What are the moral teachings of The Good Place? Part I [spoilers abound]

“A story is a way to say something that can't be said any other way, and it takes every word in a story to say what the meaning is. You tell a story because a statement would be inadequate.” – Flannery O’Connor

“Oh dip” – Jason Mendoza

“What does it mean for art to mean something? How should we try to understand art? What makes a piece of art good? What is even the point of art? These are all big thorny questions that 1. Are not directly addressed in but are at the core of today’s blog post 2. I think I have the answers to, and 3. May be the subject of future blog posts” - Luke Eure

Trying to understand what arguments a work of art is an exercise I find very fun and insightful (“work of art” is a phrase which here means “basically any creative endeavor, ranging from NBC sitcoms, to haikus you wrote while bored in freshman bio, to philosophical sci-fi novels”). Some works of art make very clear arguments (Atlas Shrugged has a character give a 50+ page monologue where he tells you what the books is about). Some can be interpreted as making any number of arguments, many in direct contradiction to each other (talk to anybody about Parasite or try to untangle what Kanye’s message is in Gold Digger). And some works of art are more interested in raising questions or exploring emotions than in articulating specific arguments about those questions (e.g., Whiplash: Is the self-destructive pursuit of excellence worth it?).

So it’s not always the case that a work of art clearly makes a certain moral argument (i.e. a piece of art isn’t always telling you to act or feel a certain way). And even if it is making an argument, it’s not likely that you can exactly reproduce the argument with all its subtlety in words, because if you could then the piece of art would just be a philosophical argument and wouldn’t be interesting at all as a work of art. But trying to articulate all the different moral arguments a piece of art could be making is one fun and useful way to approach interpreting art, and one that can lead to understanding.

In this week and next week’s blog posts I’d like start to try to analyze what kind of arguments are made in NBC’s The Good Place. Take as a whole, what do the four seasons of the show tell us about how we ought to live our lives?

Disclaimer: I’m not an art critic or a serious philosopher, and don’t know that much about TV or art criticism or the nuanced history of philosophy. Lots of very smart critics and philosophers have written about this show I’m sure, but I don’t know who any of them are and haven’t read any of their work. But I like to think critically about things, and have read a good number of New Yorker articles in my time. And I have a blog which you’re inexplicably reading, so here we go.

There are 3 big moral arguments that The Good Place makes that I’d like to explore in this post. I will tackle a few more arguments in next week’s post, because the length of this post is already getting out of hand and I haven’t even started on the arguments.

1.     A meta-argument: Morality is important and worth talking about

2.     An argument for existentialism: Morality is what you make of it

3.     An argument for moral realism: “Justice” as a concept really exists

Argument #1: Morality is important and worth talking about

Any work of art can be said to be making at least one argument about its subject matter, and that is “this thing is important! Important enough that I’m making art about it!” In Little Women when Jo March writes a book about domestic matters, she’s implicitly saying that these domestic matters are important enough to write and be read about. The fact that the world is full of love songs can be interpreted as an argument that love is really important and ought to occupy roughly half of our singing time.

Similarly, when Michael Schur makes a TV show about moral philosophy, he’s saying that moral philosophy is important. And when that show is on NBC during primetime, and stars Kristen Bell and Ted Danson, and is designed to be broadly appealing, then that show’s existence is an argument that moral philosophy is important for everybody. Everybody, not just academics and pretentious teenagers, should be thinking about what it means to be a good person.

Argument # 2: Existentialism -- Morality is what you make of it (this is where the spoilers start)

My one-sentence summary of the plot of The Good Place is: “Some people and their demon friend discover that the universe’s system of morality is broken, and design their own system to replace it.” When confronted with a system of morality (the points system) that doesn’t reward and punish people the way our main characters think it ought to (because it sends everyone to the Bad Place), they take it upon themselves to reject this system of morality and replace it with their own (people are allowed to try and try again to improve themselves until they are good). The idea that morality is not fixed and each person must seek for themselves what is good and meaningful is a core idea in existentialism.

The Good Place rewards our main character for replacing the established moral system with their own version of morality. During the course of the show, we see that our main characters question the real metaphysical rules that govern the Good Place and the Bad Place – rules that have been in place for as long as humans have been giving rocks to each other and killing each other with those rocks. Our heroes come up with a version of morality that makes more sense to them than the established system, and then are rewarded for following their intuition about how morality should work over the established rules. If someone like Chidi comes along with an idea of what the rules of morality should be, then it’s fine for the whole universe’s system of morality to change in response. Morality is not a given, but can be molded to fix the preferences of those it affects.

If I’m to follow Chidi’s example, I should live my life searching for the version of morality that gives my life meaning and that makes sense to me and that will make me and the people I love happy. And then I should use that as my moral code. Moral codes are arbitrary and can be changed if they don’t work anymore – what’s important is my own interpretation of how the universe ought to work in this time and place.

Argument # 3: Moral realism – “Justice” as a concept really exists

“But wait”, you might say. “The self-improvement-simulation system of morality that we end up with in Season 4 of The Good Place isn’t depicted as being an improvement on the points system just because our main characters like it better than the old system. It’s really a more just system. The whole reason Michael convinces the Judge to replace the old system is because everyone can see that the existing points system is not a good system.” But this doesn’t make sense if we think that morality at its base really consists of the points system as enforced by the Judge. Because how can the ultimate moral system of the universe be “not good”? The “good” thing to do is defined as “the moral” thing to do. So in order for the points system to be a bad system, it must not be the true underlying morality that governs the universe.

The show can reasonably be interpreted under the view that there exists a fundamental moral law that exists at a higher level than the points system. This law escapes all of the main characters. None of the supernatural beings -- not the basic Judge, the petty Demons nor the ineffectual Good Place Committee -- really have a full grasp on what the rules of this fundamental morality are. But they can tell that something is going wrong when their point system is sending everyone to the Bad Place, really truly wrong and unjust. So they create a new system with the help of some humans. It’s clear that the self-improvement-simulation system that they create is more just than the points system, and the fact that everyone agrees that it’s more just is an indication that there exists some external sense of “justice” that they are measuring against.

If interpreted as arguing for moral realism in this way, then the message The Good Place to us is that we ought not to accept rules of morality or societal structures that are handed to us if they are unjust. We should search for what is truly good, and pursue that.

These are just three of the moral arguments that you can interpret The Good Place as making. Since I’m already way longer than any of my blog posts have been so far, I’m going to stop here for this week, and pick up next week with a few more moral arguments made by the show.

The Art of the Digitally Socialized

Terminology alert: I will use the term Digital socialization to mean the types of social interactions that digital technology enable like sharing memes, reaction GIFs, texting, social media

The song “Reflections On The Screen” by Superoganism is a certain type of art that up till now, we haven’t had very much of. As I read it, the song is about being the emotions of being separated from someone you were once very close to. What I find innovative about how much reference the song makes to technology, and taps into the emotions I’ve had while using technology, without being about technology.

There is plenty of art out there that deals with our relationship to technology (things that immediately come to mind are OK Computer, 8th Grade, Black Mirror). But I can’t think of any other pieces of art that explore the emotional relationships we have with each other as mediated by technology.

Most art that features technology has something to say about technology itself. My hypothesis is that this is largely because the people who make most art right now did not grow up with digital socialization as a prominent part of their lives. Their formative years were not filled with smartphones, Facebook, memes, Snapchat, and texting. They have an experiential reference point to a time when digital socialization, if existent at all, was not as prominent and widespread as it is today. Digital socialization is the not the norm to them in the same way it is to people who grew up with it. So when they make art about digital socialization, there is a tendency to say something about it – it’s bad, it’s isolating, it’s changing how we interact with each other.

I was born in 1996. I got my first cellphone when I was in 8th grade, and my first smartphone during my junior year of high school. In high school, friendships were built on sharing memes, romance was mediated largely through texting, and some of my funniest memories are of conversations that happened in GroupMe chats. Each of these types of interactions has certain types of emotions associated with them.

Digital socialization made up a significant part of my adolescent life, and I can’t really imagine what it would have been like to go through high school without it. But this part of my life and the emotions associated with it are not really addressed by most of the art I consume. Much of great art is about our relationships to others, but very little of it addresses how digital socialization makes us experience these relationships unless it is trying to make a statement about digital socialization itself.

Orono Noguchi is the lead singer -- and presumably lyricist -- for the band Superorganism. I imagine that digital socialization has played an even bigger role in her life than in mine, seeing as how she’s younger than me, makes a living by creating digital content, and has cited “sharing memes and all that” as helping her bond with her fellow members of Superorganism. The lyrics of “Reflections On The Screen” read to me as if they’re written by someone who takes digital socialization as a given. She is able to articulate the specific emotions of communicating with someone who is important to you via text and GIFs, but doesn’t view this kind of communication as something interesting to explore on its own. In the same way that the Marvelettes “Please Mr. Postman” is about the emotions of waiting for a letter without being caring about how the postal system has changed people’s relationships to each other, “Reflections On The Screen” explores the emotions of looking at your phone without being “about” how smartphones have changed our methods of interaction. The postal system and digital socialization are both just facts of life for those who grew up with them, and as a part of life have emotional dimensions that are worth exploring on their own terms.

I expect we will see more of this kind of art as people like Orono Noguchi, who grew up surrounded by digital socialization and taking it for granted, reach an age where they are creating emotionally insightful art.