The Parable of the Dilettante Anarchist

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, “Teacher, with the fragmentation of the music industry in the digital age, does the Album of the Year Grammy have any relevance anymore?”

Josh spoke thus:

A dilettante anarchist was watching his piano being tuned.  He was not musical himself, but he knew the importance of being well stocked.

Not being musical, the dilettante anarchist felt unqualified to ask the piano tuner, “Are you sure that’s the right note?”  

He had heard what he thought had been the beginnings of a scale, but there was a note that didn’t seem to fit.

“I always play the correct note,” the piano tuner said.

The dilettante anarchist had no reason to doubt the piano tuner.  After all, the piano tuner tuned pianos for a living.  It would be impossible to make a living by tuning pianos without an intimate knowledge of pianos and of tuning them.  Still, the dilettante anarchist was sure the note was out of sequence.

Perhaps the string hadn’t been tuned yet?  The piano tuner was in the act of tuning the piano.

“The string is perfectly tuned,” the piano tuner said.

The dilettante anarchist reminded himself that this was a well recommended, expensive piano tuner.

“Are you a cubist?” the dilettante anarchist asked the piano tuner.  Perhaps the note had been a joke.

“Cubism is painting,” the piano tuner said.

The dilettante anarchist laughed at himself.  Of course cubism was painting.

“Is it atonal?” the dilettante anarchist asked the piano tuner.

“Atonality is for amateurs,” the piano tuner said.

“And you are a professional,” the dilettante anarchist said. 

“Study my bill when I am done,” the piano tuner said.

The dilettante anarchist was confident that the piano tuner was no amateur.

“But I don’t understand that note,” the dilettante anarchist said.

“That’s because you are dilettante,” the piano tuner said.

“If I were not a dilettante, what would I understand?” the dilettante anarchist asked.

“If you were not a dilettante you would play that note yourself,” the piano tuner said.

“Because I am a dilettante, you must play that note for me,” the dilettante anarchist said.

The piano tuner played the note again.  The dilettante anarchist laughed because he understood.

“What is it that pleases you so much?” the piano tuner asked.

The dilettante anarchist replied, “Anarchy.”