Actually, the source quote for the title is “It is
true that you can’t get from form to content, but it is also true that without
form, content cannot emerge.” The quote is from Stanley Fish’s book, How to Write a Sentence. It’s not the thought that counts; it’s the form. Without
form, the components of content are just items in a list. These items can be
grouped and labeled (i.e., parts of speech); but, without form, they are just
random items. Form provides the logical organization of relationships between the
items in the list. With form, the items are no longer random. They become a
sentence, from which meaning emerges. A “good” sentence is a sentence the
meaning of which is framed in the proper context and aimed at a particular
purpose. For some examples of “good” sentences, see this piece on Joan Didion.
Fish writes, “This, then, is my theology: You shall
tie yourself to forms and the forms shall set you free.” The sustained practice
of composing sentences according to form leads not to rigidity but naturalness.
The form of a sentence “is bounded, and because it is bounded, it can be the
generator of boundless meanings.”
In the martial arts, the practice of form (or kata) is foundational. “By practicing in a repetitive
manner, the learner develops the ability to execute those techniques and
movements in a natural, reflex-like manner. Systematic practice does not mean
permanently rigid. The goal is to internalize the movements and techniques of a
kata so they can be executed and adapted under different circumstances, without
thought or hesitation.” In the movie Karate Kid, the kid was told to polish
cars, paint fences, and sand the floor. Though the kid thought he was just
being used (abused?) to do chores around the house, he was actually gradually internalizing
the formal movements that would later enable him to naturally, reflexively
respond to competition or combat situations. From the forms that underlie
polishing cars (“wax on, wax off”), painting fences, and sanding floors, meaningful sequenced
actions emerge.
Form, of course, is also foundational in running. I’d
noted this in a previous post, Butterfly effect in running. Without form, the components of
running are also just random items in a list (e.g., speed, endurance, strength,
flexibility, cadence, stride length, foot strike pattern, breathing,
relaxation, posture). Form in running similarly provides the logical—perhaps,
in this context, a better word is coordinating—organization of relationships
between items. Running thus coordinated, its efficiency emerges. “Good” running
is running of which the efficiency is attuned to the proper context, i.e., environment
(roads, trails, etc.) and aimed at a particular purpose (e.g., intervals, hill
repeats, tempo runs, LSD runs, races).
Without form, running efficiency cannot emerge.
