Showing posts with label Satan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Satan. Show all posts

Monday, April 27, 2020

Giving the devil his due (and no more)

[In response to a reader's comment to this essay,
https://worldofdrjustice.blogspot.com/2020/04/coincidence-and-cosmos.html
we add this note.]


Two of my favorite Christian authors, G.K. Chesterton and C.S. Lewis,  offer antithetical depictions of the Devil.  Chesterton’s is more romantic and medieval:

Roses are redder  when you believe in the Devil.

Lewis’s, by contrast, in the Silent Planet trilogy, Screwtape and The Great Divorce, depicts what we might call the Trivial Devil (though no less dangerous for all that).  There is no romance to him; there is, we may say, Nothing to Recommend Him.  He is no Satanic Majesty, but more like a Satanic Misery,  a Satanic Minionism -- a Mere Mechanism.  And as a mechanism, he is given to chitter-chattery repe(titi)tition.

An example of what we could term a “diabolical” coincidence, in this Lewisian sense,  occurs in “The Matrix”, when a black cat (Satan in miniature, as it might be) passes, right to left, outside the doorway, and then, right after that, or sort of seguing into it, a -- a black cat passes, right to left, outside the doorway.   Neo remarks on the coincidence, merely curious, but his more seasoned team-mates are instantly more knowing and alarmed, for they recognize a revealing glitch in the diabolical master-program that (usually undetectably) runs the Matrix.   The faults and behaviors of the dark lords who run the place, are eminently mechanical, since they are, in fact, machines.

Saturday, April 25, 2020

COINCIDENCE AND COSMOS

[The following is from a letter sent to a friend, who had reported a troubling coincidence, some years ago.]

~


COINCIDENCE AND COSMOS

I don’t see those two coincidences – yours or mine – as particularly startling.  But neither my being unimpressed, nor your being impressed, should weigh particularly heavily in the epistemological balance-pan.  For mankind is notoriously incapable of estimating probabilities in most instances.

One of the side benefits of faith is supposed to be  that it tends to preserve us from superstitions that might otherwise get sucked in to the vacuum where faith should be. (Chesterton was fond of emphasizing, and dramatizing, this point.)  Actually I was never superstitiously inclined, even before baptism; but now there is a warrant to just wave these things off – things superficially much more suggestive.   For, I don’t believe that God communicates via such hole-in-corner monkey-tricks.

Such incidents, when they crop up, are undeniably intriguing.  The appeal seems to be  that they hint at a pattern on the other side of the carpet, which we see only wrong-side-on.  But then, as theists, we already know that; we don’t need the occasional odd chiming of chance, to tell us so.  What is worthy only of Las Vegas, should stay in Vegas.

*

One of the things  I’ve been doing with my new-found, fiber-furnished bandwidth, is watching free online episodes of a TV series, “Lost”.   The whole thing is predicated on Baader-Meinhof phenomena.   
The problem with that  as the basis for a multi-year series, is that it is all too easy to conjure up.  Just as magic tricks are yawners if performed on television, which can always resort to special effects, so spooky coincidences are startling only if they happen to you.   It’s a very lazy genre.   For comedy to work, it has to be funny; and even a decent car-chase demands artistry to stage.  But any footling apprentice can have a stranger say (after you meet him in an empty stadium in Australia, and then part company), “See you in another life”; and then a few minutes later, a world away on a mysterious island, in a bunker far below the earth, you run into the same guy, now wild-eyed and bearded, and stammer, “Y-y-y-you….!”   Still, “Lost” not a boring show.  The whole art consists in having an artfully selected Bridge-over-San-Luis-Rey set of castaways  -- the pert freckled girl, the doughty doctor whose stubble is never shorter nor longer than a four-day growth, the Black guy, the Fat guy, the this-and-that guy – and send them through a minuet of interactions, spiced by tingly synchronicities,  so that the coincidences become tonal, as in music.

Featuring prominently among the guiding coincidences of the show is a short sequence of small integers, arranged in order.  Fat Guy overhears a mental patient (whom the numbers have driven mad) muttering them over and over, and with them, wins the lottery!  Woo-ooo!  But then very bad things start happening to everyone he goes near!! Woo-oo-ooo!  And then they turn up engraved at the entrance to that bunker!  Woo-oo-ooo-oo-oooo!  The sequence, unremarkable upon inspection…
Actually, I must confess at this point, that I am loath to write the sequence down, though it is only the whim of a TV show.  It is not superstition exactly; more like, “Get thee behind me…”  For, although God does not communicate by such monkey-tricks, the Devil might…  Anyhow, it contains an old favorite “23”.   An otherwise highly intelligent (though atheist) friend of mine  was mesmerized by this number, whose spectral footprint seemed to be everywhere.  It turns out he is not alone in his obsession; an entire movie was made (unfortunately, not a good one), about the eerie qualities of this integer.

*

There is one place where startling coincidences really are intriguing; and it is as far from Old Pagan or New Age spookery as possible.  I mean:  math and science.  For, the same underlying structures keep popping up in a variety of guises; the wild kaleidoscope of the world  appears, upon analysis, to be dreamed up out of a few symmetries  and a few bits of colored glass.


Here too it is possible to go astray, seeing significance where there is none.The great Eddington was much taken with the fact, that the Fine Structure Constant of physics (a dimensionless number, of course, otherwise its numerical value would be arbitrary) is very very close to 1/137 (or whatever the figure was).  Odd he should have noticed, this, actually; did he carry around reciprocals of all the integers in his head?  Anyhow, he hypothesized that the FSC was exactly 1/137; and busied himself attempting to explain the discrepancy as measured.  Well, it turned out to be mere gematria.  The FSC is not the reciprocal of an integer, and there’s an end to it.

The smaller the integer, the more it is likely to play a role in disparate structures essentially by happenstance.  Two is the king of them all – duality, binarism – and thus is indeed a very significant number, but rather in the way that water is a significant compound – you don’t get goosebumps when you discover another example.   Much more troubling are huge numbers, such as the ratio of the strength of the Coulomb force to that of gravity – how do you construct a cosmos out of such ill-matched yoke-mates?   Or, to take a recent example from mathematics, consider such apparently unrelated fields as the study of j-functions, and that of finite simple groups.  The first nontrivial factor in one of the series of the former is 196,884; the smallest number of dimensions in which the largest of the latter can operate, is 196,883.   A connection, or close but no cigar? 
~

Foot-note (tail-note, butt-note) anent the Dark Prince.

Two of my favorite Christian authors, G.K. Chesterton and C.S. Lewis,  offer antithetical depictions of the Devil.  Chesterton’s is more romantic and medieval:

Roses are redder  when you believe in the Devil.

Lewis’s, by contrast, in the Silent Planet trilogy, in Screwtape, and in The Great Divorce, depicts what we might call the Trivial Devil (though no less dangerous for all that).  There is no romance to him; there is, we may say, Nothing to Recommend Him.  He is no Satanic Majesty, but more like a Satanic Misery,  a Satanic Minionism -- a Mere Mechanism.  And as a mechanism, he is given to chitter-chattery repe(titi)tition.

An example of what we could term a “diabolical” coincidence, in this Lewisian sense,  occurs in “The Matrix”, when a black cat (Satan in miniature, as it might be) passes, right to left, outside the doorway, and then, right after that, or sort of seguing into it, a -- a black cat passes, right to left, outside the doorway.   Neo remarks on the coincidence, merely curious, but his more seasoned team-mates are instantly more knowing and alarmed, for they recognize a revealing glitch in the diabolical master-program that runs the Matrix.   The faults and behaviors of the dark lords who run the place, are eminently mechanical, since they are, in fact, machines.


Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Patient Malice (bis)


Patient Malice  (Newtonian version)

Ferocious, tenacious
(ferox,       tenax)
Gravity simply will have
this delicate Dresden china figurine --
a milkmaid and her shepherd-swain.

Weeks, months pass   immobilely,
the sweethearts oblivious in chaste serenity,
while Gravity in its grotto
grimly grimaces and grins.

Then one day, an errant elbow, and --

There, I’ve got it!
-- And if I can’t purely have it
(growls Gravity  at the center of the Earth)
then neither shall you ever have it back
except in fragments.

~

Patient Malice  (Miltonian version)

For as grim Gravity  lowly lurks and lingers
in the depths of his potential-energy pit,
to pull our  each frail  cherished objects
to smash them all to fragments,

so too does Satan  watch and wait
in his fuliginous  and smoky pit,
for some         slip,         some
tilt or tip  of the moral compass,
to grab us  toppling, tumbling,
falling, fumbling
to the heart of his black embrace.

Sunday, May 7, 2017

A side-bet for “Pascal’s Wager”


For the most part, Pascal’s Wager gets little respect these days, whether among believers or agnostics.  But it turns out you can take Pascal’s logic quite seriously, and wind up … backing a horse of another color entirely.

Such are the Yazidis:  devil-worshippers by repute;  but not, it appears, Satanists.  Let us explain.

Historically, Satanists do not form any single actual church, apart from occasional aberrations:
http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/nationworld/ct-satanic-temple-monument-minnesota-20170506-story.html
Rather, they are individuals of a particular bent, who, like Faust or Aleister Crowley, out of diabolical Superbia, dabble in the dark arts.  They generally (like Faust or Crowley) formed part of some ambient mainstream faith, before defecting in service of the Prince of Lies.

As for what is really going on with the Yazidis, it is difficult to know, since they themselves -- a hermetically closed sect -- are mum on the subject, and their neighbors, being all of them detractors, cannot well be relied upon.  But roughly (and since we are dealing here with theological logic, and not with Mideast anthropology, that rough cut will do): 
(Not history, but rational reconstruction):
At some point around the dawn of the sect, its elders reasoned thus:

(1)  God the Father, maker of heaven and earth, is notoriously forgiving.  -- Here they reason with Heinrich Heine, whose reported last-words, trifling with God on his death-bed, were:
Bien sûr, il me pardonnera; c'est son métier.
(2)  Satan, on the other hand, has an evil reputation:  vicious and vindictive.  You don’t want to get on his Enemies List.
(3)  Ergo:  Placate Satan (in words, at least) in this life;  and hope for forgiveness in the next.

Such a prudentially propitiatory policy  may be compared with paying protection-money to Al Capone.  Doesn’t mean you like the guy;  it’s just an expense of doing business.


In summary:  Yazidis, in the old phrase, “hold a candle to the Devil”, but they do not actually (interiorly, in their heart of heartgs) worship hIM.


Se non è vero, è ben trovato;  think of it as a Gedankenexperiment.

The pros and cons of Pascal’s Wager  are reviewed here:

Thursday, April 28, 2016

GOP sez: Vote for Satan !


Exciting contest! Practice your logical chops on this classic syllogism!!

(Major premise)  Aiming to stop Trump at all costs, the GOP leadership is urging voters to vote for the non-Trump front-runner.
(Minor premise #1) Ted Cruz is the non-Trump front-runner.
(Minor premise #2) Ted Cruz is “Lucifer in the flesh” (as John Boener has just revealed.)
(Minor premise #3) Lucifer is Satan.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
(Conclusion) ……..

The People's choice !!


Mail in your answer and win fabulous prizes!   Entries must be received by midnight, Greenwich Mean Time.


~


In a widely-cited riposte,  Cruz dismissed the charge, claiming that he had “never exchanged more than fifty words” with Lucifer.
There are, however, credible reports of a certain document  drawn up in blood, of no more than that scant word-count;  however, the super-PAC “Diabolists 4 Truthitude” are demanding to see “the long form”.

~


We earlier remarked upon the extraordinary resemblance, both physical and moral between Ted Cruz and Mr Pecksniff, in Dickens’ novel Martin Chuzzlewitt.  And now we are put in mind of Martin’s assessment of that gentleman:


“In thought, and in deed, and in everything else:
A scoundrel 
from the topmost hair of his head,
to the nethermost atom of his heel.”


The fabric of fact and fiction  is thick with interconnections.

Friday, October 30, 2015

"We cannot play games with Satan…”


Worst idea for a TV show ever:

ST. LOUIS, Oct. 29 (UPI) -- The Catholic archdiocese of St. Louis spoke out Thursday against a live exorcism that will be broadcast on cable television, warning that the "dangerous" event has not been sanctioned by the church.

Destination America is broadcasting the event, titled Exorcism: Live!, on Friday. It will take place in the St. Louis home that was the site of a purported Satanic possession that inspired William Peter Blatty's book The Exorcist, made into an Oscar-winning film in 1973.

"No exorcism can take place without the authority of the local Roman Catholic ordinary," auxiliary bishop emeritus Robert Hermann said in a statement.

The program will exorcise the actual home, not any person, where a young boy known as "Roland Doe" was the reported subject of a possession in 1949. Catholic priests performed a series of exorcisms to free the child from Satanic grip in the notorious case.

"No one has ever attempted to rid the lurking spirits and demons that inhabit this home -- until now," Destination America said in promotional material for the program.

The exorcism is said to be the first ever broadcast live, but the St. Louis archdiocese said such an extreme measure should not be treated as mere entertainment.

"Any attempt to use the solemn Rite of Exorcism as entertainment exposes all participators to the danger of future hidden satanic attack," Hermann said. "We cannot play games with Satan and expect to win."

"Anyone involved in this production who claims to be a member of the Catholic clergy is not affiliated with the Archdiocese of St. Louis nor are they operating under the authority of the Vatican," Jones said. "Any purported exorcism ... for the purposes of entertainment trivializes this ancient rite of the Roman Catholic Church and the very real danger of evil."

http://www.upi.com/Top_News/US/2015/10/29/Catholic-archdiocese-warns-against-dangerous-exorcism-planned-for-live-TV/8541446150609/

~

It was towards the end of his career as a private detective, that Michael Murphy finally encountered a case  he knew he could not handle, and knew better than to try. And so he called in a Specialist:



Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Limbo Stick


The year was 1962;  America still had a year or so to go, in friendly frivolous teen and pre-teen revels, before the disaster at Dealey Plaza  drew the curtain across such carefree ways  for aye.    All the teenies and tweenies were wriggling and writhing to the beat:

Jack be limbo, Jack be quick
Jack go unda limbo stick
All around the limbo clock
Hey, let's do the limbo rock

Limbo lower now
Limbo lower now
How low can you go?

-- Chubby Checker, “Limbo Rock”

~

And now, in our own times (the moon, a ghastly leprous white, intermittently visible through slashes in the thunderclouds), we again are confronted with that question, though now in a different key.

How low can you go?

How low can you go??

How low can you go???

Answer:  Very low indeed; facilis descensus Averno.

Prominently featured in this morning’s French press:


Éloïse Bouton comparaît mercredi devant la justice pour «exhibition sexuelle». En décembre 2013, elle avait fait intrusion seins nus dans l'église de la Madeleine et simulé un avortement avant de souiller les lieux d'urine.
Elle termine son «happening» à la sauce Femen en urinant devant une assemblée interdite. Sur sa poitrine est inscrit un message en référence au «manifeste des 343 salopes», en faveur de l'avortement. «Noël est annulé! Du Vatican à Paris. Le relais international de Femen contre les campagnes anti-avortement menées par le lobby catholique continue, la sainte mère Éloïse vient d'avorter de l'embryon de Jésus sur l'autel de la Madeleine», communique alors le mouvement Femen sur les réseaux sociaux.
http://www.lefigaro.fr/actualite-france/2014/10/15/01016-20141015ARTFIG00015-une-ex-femen-devant-la-justice-apres-un-faux-avortement-dans-l-eglise-de-la-madeleine.php

The mealy-mouthed charges here are merely for “exhibitionism”;  but you can be certain that, had the perpetrators been from the milieu of the Manif pour tous, and the target of this vicious display been Judaism or Islam, they would already be in prison, denounced from all sides.

I tried looking up this story in Google News, but all it returned were French accounts:  the anglophone media are so far apparently mum (or else  for some reason  Google refuses to index the English media that do reference the story, content to return zero  rather than let them have their say.)



The group had earlier perpetrated an outrage against Notre-Dame de Paris.  In that case, the French legal system let them go scot-free.   Not that the courts can’t be tough when it suits their politics:

Le tribunal, dans une insulte au bon sens, a condamné à une amende les gardiens de la cathédrale jugés coupables d'un comportement trop brutal envers les activistes du groupe Femen.



(Weiteres zum Thema hier.)

Sunday, December 15, 2013

A covert comparison


In the novel Hard Times, Mr James Harthouse, a Lucifer-figure in the languid guise of a swell, invites Tom (his quarry) up to his rooms, to begin the course of moral seduction, and to continue the process of depravation so well-begun by the young man’s narrowly nominalist pedagogic antecedents.  He offers him a smoke, and then

a cooling drink adapted to the weather, but not so weak as cool.

Which is to say:  a stiff one.


This sentence is a gem of compression, and a wonder of indirection.  Even knowing its implicated meaning, you are not quite certain how the trick was done.   And here, moreover -- and what lifts this effect above the level of mere elegance -- the semantico-syntax perfectly mirrors the method of the Devil when first he approaches his prey (and before you have signed your soul away in blood):  smooth, suave, but always just a bit óff  in ways you can’t quite put your finger on.


I attempted such effects myself, with increasing brazenness, in a series of detective stories (I Don’t Do Divorce Cases and subsequent productions), in which the client who shows up at the detective’s door  has been effectively sent by the Devil, and who is later, ever more clearly, the Devil himself.

~

However, I am no credentialed theologian, but only an LPL  (Licensed Practical Linguist), and so must leave off such speculations and return, like some reverse Cincinnatus, to my own field, and attend to the furrow which is mine to plow:  to wit, the linguistics of the thing.

This “not so weak as cool” is an example of one type of qualitative comparison: rather than assessing two items quantitatively along a single dimension (as, “John is taller than Bill”), it assesses a single item in two contrasting dimensions, as:

longer than it is wide
more sinned-against than sinning
more clever than scrupulous
The more usual syntax in a case like ours, is “not so much X as Y”, but the abbreviated version may occasionally be found in writing that strives for elegance:

Van Dine, The Bishop Murder Case (1928):
"`Did you find [it] difficult?' -- `Not so  difficult  as tricky.'" (i.e., not so much...)
However, our two examples differ in the details of their semantics.  In the Van Dine quotation, it really means:  “I wouldn’t really describe it with your word difficult;  the word tricky, while semantically related, better meets the case”.    That is to say, we are still in a sense moving in a single dimension of assessment (albeit one qualitatively rather than quantitatively graded), and are groping for the mot juste.   In the Dickens mot, by contrast, there are genuinely two distinct dimensions of assessment -- the temperature vs. the alcoholic strength of the drink -- and both designations are juste;  the relative placement along these separate scales is indicated by the comparison.   The Dickensian case really does differ from the Van Dinean, and this is reflected in its syntactic possibilities:  the Van Dine example could equally well have been phrased “not so much `difficult’ as ‘tricky’ ”, whereas the one from Dickens could not be similarly rephrased -- “not so much ‘weak’ as ‘cool’”, which does mean something but means something quite different.

Saturday, November 23, 2013

“Hope You Guess My Name”


As part of the semicentennial commemoration of the assassination of JFK, the radio today, after playing Kennedy’s “Clear and Present Danger” speech about the missiles in Cuba, segued into a song I haven’t listened to in years:  the Rolling Stones classic “Sympathy for the Devil”, with its refrain

            Pleased to meet you -- Hope you guess my name!

The transition seemed jarring, until the song came to the verse

            I shouted out, ‘Who killed the Kennedys?”
            when after all, it was You - And - Me.

Now, ever since the very first time I heard it, that line has struck me as extremely lame, on several levels.  But there is no point critiquing it [*], since, after all, it is the Devil speaking:  The Prince of Lies.

[*] I’ll do so anyway.  Along with the line “For every cop is a criminal, / and allllll the sinners -- saints!”, it was well-calibrated to appeal to the sentiments of the layabout, shop-lifting hippies of the day.
One pictures the late-night rap sessions, amid the cannabis vapors --
            “Yeh-h, man -- we allll killed Kennedy!”
            “Far out, man …”    ]

~

Those unfamiliar with both the ecclesiastical and the folk take on the diabolistic tradition, will think nothing of that apparently pointless aside, “Hope you guess my name”.   But it is rooted in the nature of that master dissembler’s wiles and ways.  And that refrain, it now strikes me, likes at the back of the series of mystery stories I published awhile back, first in magazines and then collected in logical (indeed, theological) sequence,  as a book, I Don’t Do Divorce Cases.  They start of reasonably conventionally, but row progressively more strange, until one of them, a Miltonic memory, appears in the meter of Paradise Lost. 
In each, the detective, Michael Xavier Murphy, an outwardly lapsed or at least slovenly Catholic, must solve some little problem or other, assisted by his younger brother Joey, typically involving a purportedly missing person;  but each case is overspanned by a meta-problematic:  to guess the name of the Agent behind the client.  As the series progresses, the cloven hoof of Clootie projects ever more insolently out from beneath the hem of his sable mantle.  As, in the story, “The Temptation of Murphy”:

After he’s gone, Joey stares at me, something’s occurred to him.  ‘Hey Murphy -- we never even asked the name of our client!’
Bitterly:  “Whaddaya wann know ‘is name for, Joey?  You know who he is.

Anyhow, I commend them to your attention.  Further particulars here:

A subsequent story, published separately for Kindle and Nook, involving direct confrontation with His Satanic Majesty (a battle to which Murphy proves here unequal, since it involves another soul than his own, and must call in aid from a very special sort of specialist), can be sampled here:


Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Consciencectomy


Tales from the police blotter …  Woman shoplifts …. Man double-parks …. and then this:

T.J. Lane is guilty but not sorry for killing three high school classmates. His lack of remorse was printed on the shirt he wore to his sentencing in an Ohio court and conveyed by the middle finger he flipped to those he has hurt.
The 18-year-old Chardon, Ohio, student was sentenced to life in prison  for a February 2012 school shooting in which Lane killed three students and wounded three others with a .22-caliber handgun. Lane pleaded guilty last month.
He killed Demetrius Hewlin, 16, Russell King Jr., 17, and Daniel Parmertor, 16. Officials said Lane, an alternative-school student, fired 10 shots in the Chardon High School cafeteria.
Yet Lane was not so sorrowful.
Wearing a wrinkled white T-shirt with the word "killer" printed on it in big block letters -- revealed after Lane unbuttoned his shirt in court -- he smirked through the Tuesday proceedings, at one point turning to address the victims' families….

"All in a day's work ... "


Ahh…  And what did he say to the victims’ families -- “I’m not sorry”?/ “It was a blast?”/”I’d do it again” ????
No, nothing like that;  something quite surprising.

~~ “The hand that pulled the trigger that killed your sons
now masturbates to the memory," ~~

This is poetry.  -- Evil poetry, to be sure; but so was much of that of Baudelaire.  It goes beyond what any one of us could have invented.

~~ “The hand that pulled the trigger that killed your sons
now masturbates to the memory," ~~

-- No no, don’t worry;  I’m not about to drone on about Oh how awful, If only we had the death penalty, etc. etc., as hundreds of  readers have already done. ‘Twere pointless to add one more voice to the chorus.

Nor am I going to join with the cynical literati who abetted the likes of Jack Henry Abbott, Violette Nozières, or the Marquis de Sade, celebrating his ‘transgressive’ challenge to bourgeois society etc.
Rather -- I … stand in awe;  almost, as it were, a kind of respectful awe (tinged with fear, but for Him who is the rock of our defense): 
for here, it seems,  we may actually -- might actually be gazing upon the face of the Dark One, the Prince of Lies,
yea, Satan himself,  incarnate in a human frame.

This killer is not a victim.  He may well be (literally) possessed by the Devil:  but he invited the Devil in.  Our Father granted us Free Will, to be used for good or ill.

You might think it eccentric to notice the poetic (albeit diabolical) quality of the couplet highlighted above.   But others have noticed this aspect as well:
http://gayteen101.wordpress.com/2012/02/28/beautiful-poem-posting-by-thomas-t-j-lane/




~~ “The hand that pulled the trigger that killed your sons
now masturbates to the memory," ~~


This is serious stuff, folks -- serious in a deep way, beyond the actual murders.
The subject is touched-upon in the following story:

*
The detective versus an unnamed evil thing:
A tale of madness, and of the uncanny --
Murphy Calls-in a Specialist
Available for Kindle or Nook

*

[Update:  I have since viewed the tape of this segment of the trial, and  in light thereof, must revise my assessment.
The surprising thing is -- He steps all over the line.  He mumbles, he is withdrawn, he ruins it. He might actually be quoting -- that sort of line occurred again and again in fascist poetry after World War I.   It does not seem to be an actual devil speaking:  the Devil would be Prouder of that line.
To outward view, the young man is an obvious sociopath.   The question is whether, behind that persona or inside that hull, there dwells a devil;  a human pimple / frightened asshole;  or another, smaller sociopath, after the manner of Russian dolls.]



*
Pour d’autres friandises
de la confiserie 
du docteur Justice,
consultez:

*

Saturday, July 21, 2012

The Latest from Neuroscience


It would be unwarranted, unjustified, and a bit of a stretch, to so much as suggest, imply, or insinuate, that the Dark Knight shooter’s actions  could in any way have been influenced by his years-long concentration on Neuroscience -- that bastion of eliminative materialism -- and hence, I shall not suggest it.   Surely, wallowing in a deadening and corrupt philosophy, which views people as just so much worthless meat, pre-wired to emit this or that meaningless behavioreme, with neither free will nor soul (immortal or otherwise), rattling about pointlessly in a universe void and devoid of God, could in no wise affect anyone’s warm empathy for all creatures great and small, and one’s sunny outlook on life.  That hypothesis we can rule out from the outset.   Rather, his decision -- or rather (free will being an illusion) his whim -- materially to eliminate a few of his fellow-Earthlings -- who are, after all, no more than the bipedal equivalents of pithed frogs -- was probably intended as a kind of performance art, or experiment in film criticism.

(This is, it may be, a low blow:  yet if thine enemy be low -- cursed beyond all cattle -- and slither on his belly among the dust, whither-else art thou to aim it?)

~

You fancy I exaggerate?  During the course of his neuroscientific studies, the perp will have been exposed to such choice moral guidance as this (actual quotations from prominent proponents of neuroscience; for further particulars, click on the link):






Or (as the PoMos love to intone):
"Not that  there's any-thing  wrong   with that ... !!!"
~

More for your reading pleasure:
http://www.slate.com/articles/health_and_science/the_spectator/2011/09/does_evil_exist_neuroscientists_say_no_.single.html


For a more leisurely essay of ethical contemplation:
http://worldofdrjustice.blogspot.com/2011/10/parable-of-samaritain.html

A consulter aussi:  le palmarès de nos boutades contre les nihilistes du labo:


[Update 25 juillet 2012] Some inconclusive kibbitzing:


But one of the readers' comments was of interest:
Si ce tueur avait été endoctriné par l'islamisme, les psys seraient tous d'accord entre eux. Mais comme il a été endoctriné par l'athéisme, ils essaient de noyer le poisson avec des explications tarabiscotées.

[Further:]   Just as one cannot legitimately make toooo much of the neuroscience connection,  it would be wrong to focus overmuch upon the Batman angle:  principally, because this crime had been in the works, carefully prepared-for, months before "The Dark Knight Rises" hit the screens.
Nevertheless, a meditation...


July 25, 2012

A Studio With Violence in Its Bones

LOS ANGELES — Family films are in the DNA at Walt Disney.
Universal Pictures has a weakness for monsters.
And Warner Brothers? Its movies have often displayed a violent streak.
For decades Warner’s films have frequently put the studio in the middle of a perpetual and unresolved debate over violence in the cinema and in real life. That debate has been revived after the deadly shootings last Friday in an Aurora, Colo., movie theater at an opening night showing of “The Dark Knight Rises,” from Warner.
While the box-office success of “Dark Knight” seems assured — the opening weekend produced $160 million in North American sales — Warner executives have decided to delay the planned Sept. 7 release of another film, “Gangster Squad,” according to a person who was briefed on the studio’s plans on Tuesday and spoke anonymously because the change has not been officially announced. The film is a hard-edged cinematic portrayal of the police war on mobsters in mid-20th-century Los Angeles.
Trailers for the movie, which showed gunmen firing into a movie theater, were pulled after the shooting last week. Executives have further debated whether to go so far as to reshoot portions of “Gangster Squad,” according to published reports. Warner executives declined through a spokeswoman to discuss their plan or the studio’s posture in general toward screen violence.
To go forward with “Gangster Squad” as is might trigger revulsion at scenes that seem to recall the movie-theater slaughter in Colorado. But to change it substantially or delay it for long (no new date has been set) might seem to acknowledge an otherwise debatable link between movie violence and real events, breathing life into a discussion that is perhaps more familiar at Warner than at any of Hollywood’s major studios.
If Warner has been more daring, and often more masterly, in its handling of screen violence, that owes much to a tradition rooted in the 1930s, when brothers named Warner — Harry, Albert and Jack — were still a force at the studio. As musicals began to fade, the Warners joined their production chief, Darryl F. Zanuck, in producing a series of violent gangster films that claimed to be ripped from the headlines of newspapers that sometimes, in turn, blamed Warner for inciting the behavior it dramatized.
The best known of Warner’s early gangster titles were “Little Caesar,” “Public Enemy” and “I Am a Fugitive From a Chain Gang.”
A real-life chain-gang member was portrayed in “I Am a Fugitive,” which was released amid a public outcry over brutality in the name of law. A chain-gang warden sued Warner for defaming him in the film. And the studio had thus entered the fray.
Two Warner films, Arthur Penn’s “Bonnie and Clyde” and “The Wild Bunch,” by Sam Peckinpah, were at the heart of a social and critical debate in the 1960s over what A. O. Scott, writing more recently in The New York Times, called “the connoisseurship of violence.”
But it was “A Clockwork Orange,” which was directed by Stanley Kubrick and had its United States premiere on Dec. 19, 1971, that drew Warner deep into the controversy over movies and their presumed consequences.
A fantasy about violent young sociopaths in a skewed future, the movie was sold with a tag line that promised “rape, ultraviolence and Beethoven.” In one English town a woman was later reported in news accounts to have been raped by a gang who sang “Singin’ in the Rain,” imitating a character played by Malcolm McDowell in the movie. A fairground worker said to have been obsessed with the movie beat two women to death in incidents 13 years apart, it was also reported, and accounts said he had impersonated Mr. McDowell by wearing a bowler hat and playing the “William Tell” Overture on his rampages.
The veracity of these tie-ins to the film is uncertain. But Mr. Kubrick, said to be shaken by the movie’s reception, insisted that Warner pull “A Clockwork Orange” from release in Britain. And it was not shown there again until after his death in 1999.
But even as “A Clockwork Orange” was first being shown in the United States, Warner created a second set of shock waves, in December 1971, with the release of Don Siegel’s “Dirty Harry.” In it Clint Eastwood, as a San Francisco cop disgusted by the legal coddling of criminals, settled his scores with a .44 Magnum. “It has no pretensions to art; it is a simply told story of the Nietzschean superman and his sadomasochistic pleasures,” wrote an essayist for the Harvard Crimson, in an article that was reprinted in The Times on May 21, 1972.
By 1974 a writer for Variety had speculated on the movie’s supposed influence in a string of brutal incidents involving the San Francisco police. But Warner forged on, through five films in its “Dirty Harry” series with Mr. Eastwood and five more in its overlapping “Lethal Weapon” series, which cast Mel Gibson as a damaged Los Angeles cop who was portrayed as a danger to himself and others.
Early in the 1990s other studios and even stars as comfortable with screen violence as Arnold Schwarzenegger were backing away from an action genre that was believed by some to have gone too far. “The Last Action Hero,” released by Columbia Pictures in 1993 and starring Mr. Schwarzenegger, was actually conceived as a morality tale about a gun-crazed character who is persuaded to ease up when he perceives the corrosive effect of his craft on a real youth.
But that message was largely lost in the travails of script development at Columbia. And Warner, a powerful competitor, by then had successfully doubled down on violent genre films that, one after another, appeared to cross new thresholds.
Steven Seagal brought martial arts to the mix in a string of films that began with “Above the Law,” in 1988. Quentin Tarantino, the master of a new, more whimsical sort of violence, made his debut as a studio writer with “True Romance,” a drug-and-crime caper released by Warner in 1993.
“Natural Born Killers,” another film based on a story by Mr. Tarantino but directed by Oliver Stone and written by Mr. Stone and others, set up what may have been Warner’s most threatening encounter with real events, at least until the shooting last week.
That film, released in 1994, was about a pair of lovers, played by Woody Harrelson and Juliette Lewis, whose murderous spree was egged on by the media. Amid a flurry of crimes that were described as having copycat elements, Patsy Byers, a Louisiana store clerk, was shot and paralyzed by a couple, one of whom said she and her boyfriend had been influenced by the film.
Ms. Byers filed suit against Mr. Stone and Warner’s parent company, Time Warner. The United States Supreme Court, in a step that briefly shook the film industry, let stand a decision that allowed the lawsuit to proceed, on the theory that any movie designed to incite violence could indeed create liability. Eventually the case was dismissed in Louisiana on First Amendment grounds but not before Warner and Mr. Stone spent years in the legal system.
By the time the “Natural Born Killers” suit was ended, in 2002, “The Matrix,” again a Warner film, had already created a new kind of screen violence, by welding an elaborate fiction about hidden manipulators of the world as we know it to what had been a reliable formula in Burbank since the arrival of Steven Seagal — that is, the combination of big guns with frenetic martial arts.
With their intricacies and black-coated hero, played by Keanu Reeves, “The Matrix” and its two successors were, in a sense, antecedents to Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy, which began in 2005 with “Batman Begins” and ends with “The Dark Knight Rises.” Rated R, however, the three “Matrix” movies were deadlier than the “Dark Knight” series. And they were blamed, of course, for copycat crimes, sometimes by defendants who entered pleas of insanity, claiming that they had been trying to escape from the Matrix portrayed in the film.
Three decades earlier, however, a Newsweek writer, in a review that derided the “lethal ugliness” of “Dirty Harry,” also registered the futility of worrying about the bad effects of a movie. Good-hearted pictures, the magazine reasoned, rarely seemed to do much good. “There is little chance that this right-wing fantasy will change things where decades of humanist films have failed,” the review said.



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Again -- the connections are tenuous, insaisissable; yet there is a nagging sense here of What Goes Around, Comes Around.

Consider the fact that the Aurora Perp (I wish not to soil this page with his name) dressed up, precisely, as The Joker.

Director Nolan made an excellent movie with comparatively meager resources, Memento;  yet when The Dark Knight came out, I stayed away, having heard that Heath Ledger’s disturbing portrayal of the evil Joker  may have gone beyond ordinary acting prowess, and been literally diabolical.

Thus, this:


Heath Ledger thought landing the demanding role of the Joker was a dream come true - but now some think it was a nightmare that led to his tragic death.
Jack Nicholson, who played the Joker in 1989 - and who was furious he wasn't consulted about the creepy role - offered a cryptic comment when told Ledger was dead.
"Well," Nicholson told reporters in London early Wednesday, "I warned him."
Though the remark was ambiguous, there's no question the role in the movie earmarked as this summer's blockbuster took a frightening toll.
Ledger recently told reporters he "slept an average of two hours a night" while playing "a psychopathic, mass-murdering, schizophrenic clown with zero empathy ...
"I couldn't stop thinking. My body was exhausted, and my mind was still going."
Prescription drugs didn't help, he said.
Ledger's ghastly image as the Clown Prince of Crime in "Dark Knight" has been an Internet sensation since trailers were released in December, featuring Ledger in full death's-head mode.

And this:


As The Joker in next summer’s The Dark Knight, he will appear as a man severed from all connection. A ‘psychopathic, mass-murdering clown with zero empathy,’ is how he described it to the New York Times. On set, Michael Caine said the performance sometimes turned so frightening he forgot his own lines.

Seriously, people:  Satan is not to be played with.