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There is a line among the fragments of the Greek poet Archilochus which says: "The fox knows many things, but the hedgehog knows one big thing." Taken figuratively, the words can mark one of the deepest differences which divide writers and thinkers, and it may be, human beings in general.
--Isaiah Berlin
I have personally found this philosophical dichotomy to be endlessly useful in explaining much of modern life. For example, if I were a fox I'd know many things, including how to permanently delete e-mail, which of my household appliances contribute to global warming, whether people with private jets get into hell right
away -- and whether it's totally worth it -- whether bicycle helmets are designed to always look too small, whether getting married on television is more vulgar than having marriage counseling on television, whether it's okay to notice that the color of Anderson Cooper's shirt highlights his eyes when he's discussing the future of Cuba, and whether those rolling, robot vacuums actually accomplish anything aside from looking like they can't find their parents. If I were a hedgehog, I'd only know one extremely important thing: that nothing on the above list is worth knowing.
So much essential philosophy can also be impressively addressed by show business. For example, the existence of God. God must exist, because evolution could never explain Ann Coulter. God is also constantly thanked by the winners of the People's Choice and daytime Emmy Awards, although the Almighty clearly has little input regarding their outfits. God also helps television personalities recover from various addictions, including alcohol, food and having acrobatic sex with someone they've only just met, without registering the presence of a nearby video camera on a tripod. God then helps these recovering addicts to help others, by allowing them to appear on afternoon talk shows to discuss the best-selling books which they've had ghostwritten about their journeys to wellness; sadly, God never has the time to edit these books.
Another fundamental philosophical query involves the existence of evil. As Aristotle once pondered, "Is Star Jones evil?" Let's think about it. Star lost an enormous amount of weight while refusing to publicly identify her method; she relentlessly publicized her own wedding, nabbing massive amounts of free goods and services in the process; and, perhaps most disturbingly, she made Barbara Walters visibly uncomfortable. Was any of this on a par with, say, serial murder or strip mining? No. Star was misguided, and wears far too much makeup before noon, but she's not evil. That blithe, twenty-something woman heading right toward you while all but inhaling her cell phone and toting a brimming, Big Gulp-size cup of
coffee -- she's evil. I wouldn't mind if a divine iron claw appeared from the sky and twisted that woman's head off, right before she doused you with the coffee and then glared at you like it was all your fault, because her call to her second-best friend, in which they were rating the latest tinted moisturizers, was really important.
A corollary question: Why does God allow evil? To test us, of course. God is saying, "I have placed a wealthy couple and their nanny, who's pushing the double stroller, laden with sacks of SpongeBob and organic baby cuisine, on the sidewalk directly in front of you." If you don't grab one of the couple's gurgling twin infants, and threaten to send it to public school, then you have passed God's test. Other such tests include war, terminal illnesses and tsunamis, but in comparison to the stroller incident these are quizzes.
1. Some quick responses to other pertinent philosophical quandaries: Is there life after death? Answer: Yes, but the real issue is, once you've arrived in heaven, will you still have to pretend to be nice?
2. Are people who attend the theater regularly, particularly as subscribers, both intellectually and spiritually superior to all other beings? Answer: Yes. With the possible exception of those audience members who insist on remarking, at full volume, during the performance, "Wait, so is the blond girl secretly retarded?" "Is socialism like communism, except some people still get to wear jewelry?" or "I loved
The History Boys, because by the end everyone got into
college."
3. Do American plays feature more nudity because American actors are just so much darn cuter? Answer: Yes. Are cute American actors the reason that democracy will ultimately prevail around the globe? Yes. Does the legacy of Ronald Reagan represent the possible moral danger of cute American actors? Discuss.
Philosophical issues, as explicated by superb playwrights like Tom Stoppard, are always fascinating, especially when accompanied by air-conditioning, comfortable seating, peanut M&M's and a smarter companion to explain everything. And perhaps this brings us back to that multidimensional fox and that more focused hedgehog. The fox goes to see all sorts of shows, from Stoppard to Greenberg to those downtown pieces where the narratives are more fragmented, like the restrooms. The hedgehog concentrates entirely on jukebox musicals, which provide the joys of familiarity, rhythmic clapping and a reprise of the show's entire score during the curtain call. Which critter is better off? Well, the fox does receive a more comprehensive aesthetic experience, but the hedgehog gets a lavish souvenir program, which boasts far more color photography than the one you're holding right now. In the words of Wittgenstein, who so often quoted my Aunt Lil, you tell me.
-- Paul Rudnick, Lincoln Center Theater Review
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