On Canadian and American. On Gravity and Boxes. On Dynamism.

Grant, from This Blog Sits At The, wonders after the wiliness and stance of two cultures

I have been thinking recently about the difference between Canada and the U.S., and especially their relative dynamism.

It’s as if the imagined Canadian center of gravity is lower. They like a low center of gravity because they believe it protects them from dynamism. It makes them, they suppose, less tippy. The wind may blow, the earth may quake, but this little house will stand. Having a low center of gravity puts them on good terms with stasis. Movement is expensive (in energy/effort) to achieve, and once you get going, the momentum effect can be formidable. You never know where you’re going to end up.

If, on the other hand, you have a high center of gravity, as I am beginning to think many Americans do, movement is the place of safety. This is because, to roll out the metaphor, the mechanics of motion allow the individual to correct against small perturbations that might become larger stability-threatening perturbations. Motion allows Americans to work perturbations out in transit. Canadians huddle, the better to make themselves, as an Elizabethan might say, “unconcussable.” With a low center of gravity, they are confident that small perturbations will not start or that they’ll “bounce off.” Americans accept perturbations as inevitable, and they keep the center of gravity high, the better to “work them out.”

Okay. I'll take your C/G metapahor and raise you: Box or Frame? A box offers shelter and anonymity, but the wind can blow over your box. What was once an opening at the top or sides is now your floor -- you're trapped. If that opening is at the top, a certain access or "ability" is required to jump in or make your way around to the opening (Only tall people may climb in; only people who live on the west side, where the opening may be pointed can get in.) And you're in or you're out, no two ways. A box is a box--it is complete. Any efforts to flex or torque its dimensions render it weaker, buckled, crumpled--a once proud box rent asunder.

Now, a framework: More flexy, more aerodynamically pure, it can withstand the wind but offers less simple protection. Or rather, it offers a different kid of protection with a higher threshhold of sturdiness demanded of its occupants. Why? Because a framework is what you latch onto during those high winds. Its stability is there to use, and far beyond that which a box would offer. Knock it over, roll it to and fro, hither and yon, and it is still a frame--you can pass through, or latch on. But it requires a certain understanding of its advantages and demands, otherwise your frame begins to appear dowdy--or dangerous.

Dowdy, because you want to dress the place up, make it feel more like home, more permanent. So you put up walls to hang pictures on. Maybe a porch would be nice too, so you point your frame toward a view you like and build the porch facing that way. Nice view. Such a nice view. We wouldn't want to lose it or not be able to enjoy it on windy days. So you build a roof. And a foundation. Dangerous.

I like Grant's analogy, but I'm not sure it isn't about 10-15 years out of date. America *was* indeed founded on unprecedented mobility and free will and that fact's appeal guaranteed it's gene pool. Currently though, there are some recessive genes slapping up siding, insisting on porches and doing everything possible to deny that Punctuated Equilibrium is attempting a strong peak. They've had enough of the kind of "windy" our Framers thought so much of. They're tired. They think the future doesn't want them. They may be right. Call it Frame-fatigue.

[edited from original in Grant's comments]