Like many Ancient and Medieval cities, Basel at one time was surrounded by a city wall - or rather a series of city walls. There were a total of three walls built, one started in A.D. 1080, one starred in A.D. 1230, and one started in A.D. 1362 and finished in A.D. 1398. The latter two were built to accommodate the growing city.
Ingredients:
McKeown is, if nothing else, methodical. As he has walked us through Essentialism, he has taken us through:
- What Essentialism is (Essence)
- How we find our Essentials (Explore)
- How we make room for our Essentials (Eliminate)
Having done all of this, there remains one element: How do we ensure that we work on our Essentials every day?
McKeown goes back to his example of the overly full closet: Even after we have organized the closet and have done the initial sorting, closets are not static items. If we do not make an effort to maintain the organization by providing a methodology of things like regular sorting and donations and watching what we purchase, we will end up with the same issue:
"In other words, once you've figured out which activities and efforts to keep in your life, you have to have a system for executing them. You can't wait until that closet it bursting at the seams and then takes superhuman efforts to purge it. You need to have a system in place so that keeping it neat becomes routine and effortless."
Non-essentialists force execution, writes McKeown. Essentialists take the time they have saved by Eliminating the nonessentials and then invest it into designing a system to make execution a sustaining activity with minimal input from them.
We like to do easy things as humans. Execute is simply how Essentialists make things easy for themselves to do the Essential things.
---
The actual test of any system is not just "Does it work?", but "Does it work over time?"
You can see this in the success of Six Sigma/Lean projects. At one time I used to know the precise number, but well over half of those projects fail after 3-5 years. Why? Because the amount of time and effort to maintain them is too much for standard operations. The project champion moves on and no-one else sees the value in continuing the work. It just becomes "one more thing to do".
McKeown's closet metaphor works for me, if for no other reason than - having recently moved and had reorganize things - I see the practice of it daily. Even if I organized things in the house, things seem to keep showing up. If I do not keep on top of it, the apartment will begin to look like a hoarder's lair in short order.
It is not just enough to organize. Sustaining is where one realizes long term success.
28 November 20XX+1
My Dear Lucilius:
Once upon a time the day after Thanksgiving was known by the sobriquet “Black Friday”, that wild day of shopping madness that was intended to brings retailers from losses (“The Red”) to profit (“The Black”). In the space of my lifetime I saw it emerge from nothing to a virtual mosh pit of consumerism to a more restrained of leisurely shopping event, on par with going to the movies or other forms of entertainment.
The high water mark, as I recall, was sometimes in the mid-aughts, when things reached such a fever pitch point that people were camping out to get the deal of a lifetime. And who can forget the vigorous shoving matches that passed for shopping as individuals jabbed and thrust for the 50% off latest electronic thing or the latest rage in children’s toys.
I would almost wish for the problem of locating a “Tickle Me Elmo” again.
Today’s version of “Black Friday” found me out (at least there was no snow, although it was a clear day) scrounging.
Any day that is not completely wet and snowy here is a good day for it (the wet and snowy ones are less good for them, but it happens on those days as well). I have suggested – and was generally supported – in the idea that we should start working to mine out the resource that we have in town at this point.
Mind you, not that there are a great many to mine out here. The three or four remaining businesses have long been either stripped (our combination gas station/minimarket) or gone (The RV Park and Bar), and unless one needs store fittings, there is not much to be had there. Which leaves homes of course, homes of those who have not been here in almost two years and perhaps are never destined to return. I estimate that within two weeks we will have gotten all there is to have of any value.
This has troubled me greatly, Lucilius. No matter the circumstances (they are indeed grim), I cannot help feeling like I am engaging in some sort of thievery in doing this: these are not our houses, these are not our things. And yet they hold the potential for things that may help some of us get through the Winter into Spring.
At the back of my mind – an even less pleasant thought – is that if we do not get them, those in town that we do not see eye to eye with will get to them first.
The bargain I have had to strike with my conscience is to be as non-destructive as we can be and leave a note. The note does not matter of course I suppose; perhaps if there is ever a “return to civilization” there will be a force majeure put into place and past thievery forgiven.
I write the letters. I sign the letters. I send them off with Young Xerxes and he or one of his compatriots supervising the efforts leaves the letters.
I write “supervises” advisedly. I will not stand for reckless looting and have said as much. And to date, that I know of, nothing of the sort has happened, at least from our end of the table.
I know – likely you consider this sort of thing a bit of farce, a man of another era’s attempt to justify actions in his mind. To be fair, both Stateira and Young Xerxes looked oddly at me when I made the request. Pompeia Paulina, to my knowledge, has reserved all judgment – although she has been kind in selecting the stationary for me to use.
Perhaps there will come a day, even here, where such social niceties perish completely and we are nothing more than savages tearing at one another. That may happen – but with any luck, not during my time.
Your Obedient Servant, Seneca
One of the fascinating pieces of history from Medieval Europe, at least to me, were the Prince-Bishoprics. These were territorial areas in which the local Bishop (Catholic, given medieval Europe) was not only the ecclesiastical leader of a principality, but the political leader as well. Found within what was then the Holy Roman Empire, at one time there were 40 of these principalities. All had voting rights in the Imperial Diet. By A.D. 1810 all had been dissolved.
New Home 3.0 is a fascinating microstudy in changing a city's nature, building, and the future of home developments.
Located in a greater metropolitan area but somewhat separated from it, it had the good fortune to start out as its own city (instead of an incorporated suburb) and so has an identity all its own. One can find a small original downtown (which is well preserved and cared for), the inevitable next wave of growth of strip malls and big box stores, and the final expansion along the state highway which connects us to the larger urban area and is itself another zone for big box stores and major chains.
And yet, we are within 10 minutes of wide tracts of actively used agricultural land and small old agricultural towns that have not fully "made the transition" to a thriving city and so live with lesser well preserved downtowns and suburbs surrounding the historic town.
Add to this, then, the phenomena of large acreages being sold and housing developments being put in place.
To those that may not have seen them lately, housing developments are becoming less and less attractive. Even 20 years ago, within a development there was some element of difference between the homes; one had 3-5 models to choose from and these were alternated on the lots. Those days have passed: the new housing developments are packed in (the so called "Zero-lot line", where there is minimal or no room between one's self and one's neighbor), minimal yards front and back, and the houses all appear precisely the same with only a difference in home colour to show a difference. There are no trees in the back as you drive by, only yards and yards of fences with backs of houses staring at you as you drive by.
The building continues apace. And yet, I wonder how long and what worth these will have.
While the economy may be booming in some areas, it is arguably not booming in New Home 3.0. Some of the major employers have announced significant layoffs and given the state of what they make and the world, I scarcely think these are the last layoffs they will have. These are precisely the jobs that are required to purchase a home here where $500,000 is the current low level for a home for sale - e.g., the market seems primed to be dropping off and in a big way.
The other thing that makes me wonder is the long term value. Having at one time owned a house that was done by a commercial builder, I know quite well the quality of their construction, which can be "iffy' at best. After all, when is building houses like an assembly line, "quality" may not be the biggest concern. Speed in finishing them is.
Certainly it is not a problem now. But 20 years from now? There are going to be hundreds of homes that will have the same range of issues. Add to that a market which is seems to be changing, and I see the potential for whole areas of aging homes in states of disrepair and a limited buyers market as the "good" jobs disappear.
Is there a solution? It is easy enough to say "Build less homes" (and I, as someone who sees the value in land not built on would completely agree with), but that does negate the right of the individual to do what they will with what they own. Could cities also target their building towards already "built out" parts of town that need renewal? Yes, but then one runs the complaints of "gentrification". And all of this assumes an ever increasing populations with an income to afford them.
Likely this problem will not manifest directly for us; with some level of planning we will have a house in the not too distant future which will more or less be the one we keep until circumstances intervene. But it does make me wonder, as I drive by clone after clone behind newly raised fencing, what it will look like in 20 years.
I struggle with knowing when I am beyond my depth.
Many many years ago when I was a fledging undergraduate, my advisor commented that my methodology of debating was the equivalent of Blitzkreig: an overwhelming storm of words and thoughts followed by a sort of "And that is the way it is". He pointed out that this might not be the best way to engage in a debate, or really in life itself.
Among the things that lends itself to this sort of thing is sometimes the habit of thinking that a passing acquaintance with something equals a great knowledge of it. In some cases that works - but not many. This sort of thing can lead to "A Bridge Too Far", especially impactful if it is much beyond simple things like "How much to water the lawn" or "Which hay is best for my rabbit" (Timothy, if you were wondering, unless they are allergic to it).
What this combination of confident arguing in the face of any learning and assumption of greater depths of knowledge can lead to is personal and professional collapse. Part of the maturity that, in theory, should come with time is the knowledge that we are not, colloquially put, "all that", and acknowledge the fact that we may not be as skilled/expert/knowledgeable about a thing as others.
This is the point where, at least for me, pride gets in the way.
One could argue that this is similar to my post last week, which discussed the primacy of Scripture. It is true, but there is one additional aspect to it: too often, my own pride gets involved. After all, it is one thing to acknowledge that a document has the information that one lacks. Oftentimes it seems quite a different thing to acknowledge the same of a person.
It is pride, of course. It comes in different ways at different stages of our lives. When we are young, we think "old people" do not know better; when we are old, we sniff at "the young" that do not have our experience. Experts sniff at amateurs who may know far more about a thing than they; amateurs can disregard experts who lack "real world knowledge" and are lost in "ivory towers".
That is not to say that everyone is right all the time. It is to say that sometimes we can overlook our best interests by pushing aside knowledge because of who it may come from.
Is it hard when I have to backtrack on something that I did not know as much about as others? Yes. Far better, at least for me, to hold my tongue at the outset and listen and find out where the gaps in my own knowledge might be.
Perhaps even far better to admit that I simply do not know everything about everything. A little humility goes a long way towards learning.
Of the many things that I have written over the years, one of the most challenging has turned out to be the now-weekly serial The Collapse.
I use the word "challenging" rather than "difficult" advisedly. Writing has never been "hard" in that sense for me; while I try to plan out my writings more in advance to give some time for editing (e.g., actually improving my writing), I have been known to write up a post in 30 minute period. Part of that of course is inspiration: Sometimes the words and ideas are there, sometimes they are not.
The Collapse, as such, is fiction, and therefore has the challenges of any fictional work. One has to "invent" characters and geography. One has to write situations in such a way that they are somewhat believable.
The surprising thing - surprising in that I did not expect it to happen to me - is what other writers have noted: at some point the characters and situations take on a life of their own. Sometimes the situations are easy to write about. Sometimes they are incredibly hard, in that they deal with things that are either distasteful or downright jarring to the soul to write about.
There is no "overarching narrative" for the story as well - which seems to make it more difficult to write than perhaps a typical book with its "Act 1, Act 2, Act 3, Conclusion" mapping. If anything, the year and the seasons are as much of the narrative device as anything.
Imagine my shock to realize that for something without an overarching narrative, I have been writing this since 2018.
As has probably been clear if you have been reading for a while, this is not a "how-to" series on how to navigate societal collapse; there are far more elegant and practical works out there and I myself have almost no experience in that matter. In some ways, perhaps, that may explain why narrative devices appear and then fade into the background - although I suspect in a world where one is reduced to the basics, lots of good ideas fade as well.
Instead, it was intended as (and still remains, so far as I can tell) more of a personal memoir of one man as such an event occurs. Sometimes there are specific events (just like in real life), but sometimes there are simply random thoughts and observations, the sorts of things that come to one when gets home from any day of work; how often have I come home and pondered on events of the day, not thought about world changing ideas. I just as much wonder about the leave in my garage space and how they got there when I pull in as I do about perhaps more important events.
Is there an "end" to The Collapse? Frankly, I have no idea. I have taken at least two "breaks" in writing, but in both cases it appears that Seneca's story was not done.
For now, he continues to write from just over a horizon of possible, with I serving as his amanuensis. To be honest, I am always as interested as you are in what comes next.
TB! TB!
(Me, careening into a wall in the dark to get to the computer): What is it, HAL?
TODAY! TODAY IS THE DAY!
HAL, it is 0200 or a little after. Hardly the time to be raising an alarm unless there is some reason to, right? (Rubs sleep out of eyes, starts thinking of the likelihood I will make it back to sleep before I have to get up)
THE FORTY-FIVE TURNS TWENTY TODAY!
(Me, now trying to operate a keyboard, knowing that as I engage the higher brain functions I am definitely not getting back to sleep) Well, look at that. It really has been twenty years.
WE DID A GREAT JOB GETTING HERE!
If by "we", HAL, you mean me, then I have no idea how this happened.
MOSTLY BECAUSE OF ME!
Sure HAL, why not? You as much as anyone, I suppose. Any chance you can reach out to the coffee maker and start it? Looks like I will just be up for now.
YOU KNOW I AM NOT CONNECTED.
No, of course you are not. Why do you not just stay here then, and let me see which flavour of coffee suits my 0-way-too-early-in-the-morning mood...
---
Somewhat to my own shock, I see that (HAL aside) this is actually the 20th anniversary of this spot on the InterWeb.
To be fair, the first three years were not a lot to write home about. My first half of 2005 has a total of four, count them, four posts. And the total for those first three years was a whopping 79 posts. For reasons unknown to me, they seemed to have picked up after that.
According to the magical statistics that Blogger supplies we sit somewhere around 5500 posts, between 24,000 and 25,000 comments, and something over 2,000,000 views (a super strong "thank you" to the bots and spammers that made that number possible). How many words, I cannot begin to guess. Most likely, more than are necessary.
Thanks for being along for the ride. With any luck, another twenty years is not totally out of the question.
27 November 20XX+1
My Dear Lucilius:
Pompeia Paulina pointed out this morning that it was Thanksgiving Day.
I confess that such a thing had completely escaped me – November has been involved beyond measure and the calendar days have come to mean less and less, especially since there is no real time-frame anymore, other than the fact that it is Winter now and Spring will come at some point (but not soon enough).
Unlike the classic Thanksgiving Day postcards and pictures of long ago, with Pilgrims sitting under flaming Autumn foliage with the golden brown of withering grasses behind them, we are sitting under grey skies, cold to the point of not going out unless one must. We have had a new flurry of snow in the past two days and even now, the sky continues to insult us by putting out just enough snow to make it clear that this is just one more snow day.
Chores were done as quickly as possible. Given that it was, at least at one time, a public holiday, I gave myself the gift of an afternoon inside.
On a bit of a lark, I paged back to the entry from last year at Thanksgiving. It was quite a different event: The Collapse was still a relatively fresh thing and there remained in my mind some vague sense that this, too, would pass. It speaks of playing Vivaldi – ironic given the letter I had just sent you. Even as I write this, I consider playing him again – but no, the power draw would be too great, especially given the fact that it is Winter and the ability to recharge is so limited.
I showed my letter to Pompeia Paulina. She smiled when she read it, the dinner of dried fish and dried blueberries, that putting on a second piece on the fire and playing music were considered luxuries even then. I asked her what she and Stateira were doing last year.
She laughed. About the same, she replied. There was so much that was unknown at the time, they did similar things. Except, of course, have Young Xerxes over for dinner.
Should I run over and see if they want to come in, I said? I have no idea what we actually had, but surely there was enough for four.
No need, she said. She had checked in with Statiera yesterday – this was, after all, their first Thanksgiving together married and they thought they might take the day to themselves.
As, she pointed out, it was ours as well.
The Thanksgiving meal was quite similar this year to last, livened up a bit by two pieces of dark chocolate which, so far as I know, is the last of this substance West of anywhere. The drink, mint tea, was pulled from leaves dried earlier in the year. There was no music for ambiance and with the daylight fading so early, candles and the fire place had to do for lighting. The company, though, was exquisite.
Although much has changed, I still have a great deal to be thankful for. Including you, old friend.
Happiest of Thanksgivings. May we all remember that which we have had and that which we still have with gratitude, never with regret.
Your Obedient Servant, Seneca
The tomb of Gertrude Anne of Hohenberg (A.D. 1225-1281). In A.D. 1253-1254 she married Rudolf of Habsburg. By this marriage and by Rudolf's election to the office of King of the Romans, she became Queen Anne as well as the progenitor of the House of Habsburg. She was buried in Basel with the remains of her youngest son Charles; they were later transferred, first to Saint Blaise' Abbey in Baden-Württemburg Germany and then to Saint Paul's Abbey in Carnithia, Austria.
Basel Minster has some spectacular stained glass window:
In my industry of Biopharmaceutical/Medical Devices, we spend a great deal of time with documents.
The guiding documents for all of this industry is, of course, government regulations which specify what needs to be in place for the design, manufacture, testing, and distribution of drugs and devices, how one conducts trials in order verify safety and effectiveness, and how one registers and continues to update the regulatory authorities about the products. These regulations, promulgated by national and supranational government bodies, are the basis for how our business runs.
These regulations in turn get translated into documents at companies. The most recognized form of document - familiar in other industries as well - is the Standard Operating Procedure or SOP, The SOP tells a reader the who, what, where, how, and occasionally the why of what they are doing. The SOP is often supported by other documents - forms, logs, guidances, reference documents - all which support the the translation of the requirements into greater detail.
The purpose of the SOP is found, of course, in that first word: "Standard". The idea is that no matter who does a thing, every person will do the thing the same way. This makes sense when you think about in my industry: a small variation can have a greater or lesser impact on the final product, In the Biopharmaceutical/Medical Device industry, "variation" is not a welcome thing.
My challenge is that sometimes rather than take the time to look at the SOP, I think I know what it says or means and, rather than taking the time to actually look up the document, I tend to just act.
One of the things that we spend endless amounts of time doing in my line of work, Quality, is reminding people that they should always - always - be operating from the document directly rather than from what they remember; so in that sense in writing this I write this to myself: "Remove the log from your own eye" and so forth. But it does point to a larger issue.
In my industry, ultimately one has to be humble enough to take the time to open and read the documents as written, rather than try and remember or just "wing it". It is a tacit admission that no matter how much I "know" something, I am to be guided by the words on the page, not the words I think I remember on the page.
The fact that I have the tendency in all of my life, including in my relationship with God, should not be that surprising then.
In the case of God's word, it is slightly different. More often than not I "know" where the information is and even what it says to a greater or lesser extent. Much less often am I willing to humble myself to the text to do what it says.
In my mind of course, it is easy enough to justify: This was written for a different time. This was written to a different set of circumstances. This was intended for someone else - those "unbelievers" - and not for me. It is surprising to what lengths I will go in order to justify why I do not need to bring myself in line with the Christian's version of The Great SOP.
Ultimately of course, they remain the sorts of excuses that people have made throughout the ages about why The Word of God is not relevant and why they have a carve-out from its requirements. The difficulty though, is that much like the regulations and SOPS that support them in my industry, there is no "getting out" of such things.
I can take my time to "consult the document" now and do what it says, or go off on my own - and risk the consequences of decisions based on what I think I remember or doing what I think is best, not what is required.
A couple of weekends now passed, The Ravishing Mrs. TB and I got to talking about a passage in the book The World Beyond Your Head by Matthew B. Crawford. In the section I read out loud, the author was discussing the intricacies of motorcycle racing and comparing elements of this to Immanuel Kant's philosophy. I commented to her I wish I was smarter about such things; I can barely apprehend Plato, let alone any of the later philosophers. It was partially time and focus of course, which I pointed out. But I do feel somewhat non-intelligent at times.
Which brought up the actual story.
Somewhat on a lark based on a discussion, I had done a bit of research on Autism.
There has always been, in my adult mind, a question of whether or not I have some level of autism (or apparently "neurodivergence", as it is now called). One is from the fact that as a small child, I did not speak for the first two years of my life to the point that it concerned my family (the doctor at the time simply asked if I was able to communicate my needs; when that was affirmed, he said he was not worried and when I was ready to talk, I would). The other is simply the fact that I have what I would call "quirks" of my nature: repetitive behaviors, hyperfocus, etc. But it was not something that I had ever particularly pursued; life was life and one has to get through it.
This time, on a lark, I went out and found a list of behaviors which potentially indicate autism (the list I used is here; there are a great many out there as any search will show.
The results, as I read the list, were in my mind definitive.
As a child: Delayed speech, avoiding eye contact, trouble making friends, obsessive over hobbies or interests, toe walking (This is a big one; I went to a doctor once a year for years to overcome this), repetitive physical behaviors, trouble with fine motor skills, inability to sense danger or ulterior motives? Check.
As an adult: inability to maintain eye contact, anxiety in social situations, inability to assess social cues, easily overloaded by sensory input, trouble making decisions (have we seen this before?), adherence to strict routines, hyperfocus, impatience with small changes to routines, would prefer to listen rather than speak, awkward in social situations, may have perfectionism, prefers to work at home, may be perceived as overly concerned about one's self? Also check.
It is not a diagnosis of course, but I check 50% of each of the lists.
The fact this was not a surprise to The Ravishing Mrs. TB and it had been a topic of family discussion should not have shocked me at all.
---
Autism (I have used the word, but not necessarily the definition) is "a neurodevelopmental disorder characterized by differences or difficulties in social communication and interaction, a preference for predictability and routine, sensory processing differences, and repetitive behaviors..." (source). Like lots of other things, it has/is being re-defined, with some previously separate conditions such as Asperberger's Syndrome now being included in the general spectrum. Interestingly, males are three times as likely as females to have such a condition. Per the US CDC, approximately 1% of the world population falls on the spectrum, or about 75,000.000.
"High Functioning Autism" is simply "...people that have developed a series of coping mechanism and compensatory strategies over time that help "mask" the signs of autism, which can make it more difficult to determine autism severity. These individuals, especially if they were not diagnosed as children, may not realize they have autism and see their ASD behaviors and coping mechanisms in daily life as normal."
There is no cure.
---
Admittedly of course, this is a self-diagnosis, and just as a lawyer is a fool for having himself as a client, I suspect self-diagnosis runs the same risks. One could, I suppose, get a formal diagnosis - but at this point in my life what would the point be? I certainly have no intention of medicating at this point, and even if this is a partially true diagnosis, the fact remains that to a greater or lesser extent, I can function reasonably well on a day to day basis.
The real value to me is historical perspective.
Looking back at my life, this potential outcome gives me some context for certain portions of my past - how I have acted (and continue to act) in some cases, how I might seek to mitigate certain aspects of my behavior in the future - a simple one for example is simply understanding that multiple inputs are very overwhelming to me and to the extent that I can minimize them (analog versus digital, for example) the more likely I am to be able to focus.
It also raises some interesting materials for thought - like, for example, knowing that I have problem with eye contact (I have all my life), why is it even now that eye contact with some is easier than others? (Interesting footnote: It is much easier for me with women than men; is this indicative of the fact I have so many more good female friends than male friends?).
If a "diagnosis", it is more for self improvement at this point than treatment.
---
One of my blogging heroes is a FOTB (Friend Of This Blog) STxAR. One reason is that he is a mechanical genius and can discuss things with machining that I only can consider magic (he is that good). The other is that he has been challenged late in life, due to circumstances beyond his control, with a medical condition that has impacted his mental life.
Never once have I read of him lamenting this development. It is a thing that he has to deal with, and he has been open in his dealings with it. It directly and indirectly changed his life; rather than lament over what has changed or what cannot be gotten back to, he works with what he has been gifted with and carries on.
And that, if I have to remind myself of anything, is the important point here: even if this theoretical diagnosis is 100% spot on, it is simply something to account for, work on where needed, and continue to move forward. After all, people deal with much more grave issues than social awkwardness, hyperfocus, and closing their eyes when dealing with people.
(Editor's note: This represents year 9 of publishing this post annually. Every year it context, the world situation, and reading it makes it both slightly different and all the more meaningful. This year, that phrase seems to be "That whenever any form of government becomes destructive to these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness." Is there such a thing as a metric (if such a thing can be removed from emotion) that measures the destructive effects of government? Just because "we" happen to agree with the party in power does not mean that party is not as or more a "destructive government" as the party who is more opposed to our beliefs.)
When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
25 November 20XX+1
My Dear Lucilius:
One of the things I miss most is music.
Music is a thing that was ubiquitous in our culture and society of up to two years ago. It followed us almost everywhere: in every retail and commercial location, in the car, in our worship services. Many had listening devices (headphones and so on) that allowed one to listen to music wherever they were; in some cases, one saw people who almost never seemed to disassociate from them.
Now, there is virtually no music to be heard at all. I suspect it stems from two sources.
The first is simply that so much of our music was borrowed in the sense that it was “piped in” to us. We listened to it, the aural history of 2,000 years or more, performed by others. In more modern instances, the very instruments themselves were powered by electricity. If we sang out loud, it was only in particular settings: at church, in a concert, in the car at the top of our lungs. Only rarely did one hear anyone singing alone by themselves.
The second is that so many seem to have lost the interest or ability to play music.
At one time, learning of an instrument was de rigeur a right of passage growing up. Many – myself included – went through the inevitable piano lessons. For others it was recorders in class. Some “advanced” to some form of band or string instruments through middle school and high school, perhaps even into college.
And then for many, it simply stopped.
The reasons are as varied as people. For many, I suspect it was simply the fact that they got busy with the art and practice of living and thirty minutes to an hour a day of practice no longer fit into their schedules. For others, the camaraderie of the band or orchestra was what they enjoyed as much or more than making music remove that as an adult, and the interest quickly waned.
A few persevered of course, making music as a hobby or as a semi-profession. But these were inevitably those that did it out of love of the medium – in the world of the last 30 years, there was little enough money in music for the bulk of those that made it.
Now – I would say “suddenly” but we seem to be a little beyond that now – there is no music at all.
In my visits to others locally, I have seen a few instruments: more than a few guitars, mentions of a trumpet or saxophone which are brought out for inspection when I show any interest, even the odd piano or two. Occasionally there are music books around to go with them, but just as often there are none, just a set of notes or chords that seem to have embedded themselves in the brain.
This loss should not surprise me, of course. Literature contains multiple references to music of Ancient peoples for whom we have nothing but at best scanty notes or descriptions. What did the Romans bawl out in their tavernae? What was the sound of the Greek Paean before the hoplites started marching forward? What songs did the Vikings sing across the seas, or the courtiers of Heian Japan play to each other under the Autumn Moon?
I can hum the songs of my youth, Lucilius, and the soaring ballad chords and guitar riffs of the Power Rock of high school roar loudly - but only in my mind can I now here the actual music as it was played. It is secreted away now, in disks and on drives and other media that are locked down although nothing but dust lies on them.
In any crisis of civilization, the arts often seem the first to go.
Your Obedient Servant, Seneca
One of the neat things to me about Basel Minster was the tombs that were present.
The Basel Minster is a church (originally a Cathedral) located in Basel, built between A.D. 1019 and 1500.
