Ancient Greek Philosophy and Perfect Landings

One of my students, Sebastian, has learned to land.  During the process of learning, it hasn't always been perfect or pretty, but as of Tuesday, he's been keeping them consistently safe.  The old "fly low and slow down the runway" trick is what did it for him.

But, the last landing that day ended with a slightly sideways bump, and it disappointed him.  Bringing it back to the ramp, I asked him to tell me how it went.

"I needed more right aileron, and more left rudder," he said.

And so, I was once again reminded of Aristotle's writings.

And now, you guys are thinking "Hmmn.  I'm pretty sure Aristotle didn't know anything about airplanes." And you're right.  But in his Ethics, he did have some pretty good ideas about the delicate art of getting things right.  The upshot of it is: "Doing the right thing, at the right time, the right way, and for the right reason."

So, the next question is: "How are we to know what the right thing, at the right time, the right way, and the right reason even IS?"  And the answer is: "Practice."

When you're landing an airplane, nothing is ever going to be exactly the same.  You'll be at all kinds of different weights, with different people in the plane with you, and at different points in the flight, as you burn fuel.  The air will be different temperatures and have different densities.  And the wind changes like... well, it changes like the wind.  Like many things in life, squeezing a great landing out of an airplane depends on a myriad of changing circumstances and timing.

 It took me a long time to realize this, because my first flight instructor, Jerry, wasn't an Aristotelian.  He, like many of my colleagues in this industry, was a Platonist.  In "The School Of Athens" by Raphael, the difference between the two is represented by the two central figures:

Plato, on our left, has his hand elevated with his index finger pointing up.  Aristotle, on our right, has his hand down and his palm level.  Both of these poses were meant to represent how each philosopher understood the ultimate nature of reality.  Both men are also, rather anachronistically, carrying what appear to be leather-bound copies of the books they wrote.

Plato (and Jerry) held that the physical world in which we live is merely a pale imitation of True Reality, which consists of  "ideal forms" of everything that has ever existed or might exist. Up there in some kind of heaven, where he's pointing, is the perfect idea of... (a table, a musical performance, a '67 Chevelle, a pretty girl, a crosswind landing).  The world we live in, being made of atoms, is at best a flawed representation of the divine ideas.

Aristotle's gesture means "No, no, you've got it all wrong, This Right Here is the real world."  Our ideas about things are made up from all the various examples of stuff we find lying around.  But those abstract ideas are not what's "real."  Anything with substance and essence is describable as a "This-Here-Thing."

I should probably note that when Jerry held up his finger like Plato, he meant "Listen Up," and when I hold my hand down like Aristotle, I usually mean "Keep your wings level," but neither of us are as profound.

When Jerry was teaching me to land, he (like many other instructors and pilots) took the position that there is such a thing as a Perfect-Ideal-Form of "landing" that we can never actually achieve, but to which we must always aspire.  The only way to come close to The Perfect Landing is by adopting a nearly religious adherence to certain "ideal" procedures and techniques, while despairing of the shabbiness inherent in this material world and our own sinful fallibility.

As an Aristotelian, I found this infuriating.  So, it took me an awfully long time to learn to land.  But, the FAA doesn't distinguish between Platonic and Aristotelian worldviews. So, a legitimate alternative is available for me and my student.  The quality of your landings is not merely a happy accident which follows a mechanical process- good landings, like Aristotelian Ethics, are an art, not easily quantifiable, display different qualities under different circumstances, and require skill and discernment born of practice.

Sebastian, thinking like a Platonist, evaluated his last landing on Tuesday as falling short of an Ideal, for the want of greater control inputs.  "I needed more right wing down, and more left rudder."  Alas!  If only he had followed procedure more closely, he would have come closer to the theoretical Form of a good landing!

Andy, thinking like an Aristotelian, replied "That's right.  You needed more right wing down, and more left rudder... this time.  But just seeing what went wrong this particular time isn't going to help you in the future.  There's three things I can point out that will."

1.  Doing touch-and-go landings is all very well and good, and it keeps you mentally flying.  But when you called for a full-stop, you were committed to the idea that you were putting the wheels down and keeping them down.  That made you "give up" flying the instant you felt the wheels touch.  Don't.  You are still flying until you've pulled off onto the taxiways.
2. Committing to the landing also got you thinking "up-and-down" instead of forward.  Remember, follow-through is important when you're swinging a golf club, karate-chopping through a board, or landing a plane.  When you fly as low as you can stand it, direct your attention to the far end of the runway.  Then, stay over the center line by tilting the wings, and point it straight with your feet.
3. Let the plane land itself.  Don't try to chop the power too quickly, or flare too hard, or too early, or try to plop it down at any particular point.  Do nothing to "force" the landing.  Slow down the way you always do- bring back the power, don't let the nose drop, and...  Slow.  Down.  And.  Wait. 

Sebastian went flying with me again yesterday.  Our lesson this time was on soft-field technique.  We touched down the mains and kept the nose up in a "wheelie" until we lifted off again.  We had a witness in the back seat who actually recorded several of his lovely landings with her camera. Good job, Sebastian.  And thank you, Aristotle.