Showing posts with label G.K. Chesterton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label G.K. Chesterton. Show all posts

Sunday, August 3, 2025

Wintry Light

 

It was one of those chilly and empty afternoons 

in early winter,

 

when the daylight is silver

  rather than gold,

and pewter    rather than silver.

-- G.K. Chesterton, “God of the Gongs” (1914)

 

~ ~ ~

 

People were wearing

lace shawls of snowflakes.

A low dark cloud was sitting there,

thinking of some way

to unload snow  over the city.

-- Len Deighton, Funeral in Berlin (1964)

 

Tuesday, April 28, 2020

Truth and Truthiness, anew


[an update to this essay:


There, the examples cited were mostly political and snarky, in line with the comic coinage “truthiness” itself.  But there are many genuine questions concerning the penumbra of truth.  Here are some examples, from the years before Stephen Colbert was in nappies. ]

~

“Is she mixed up with the Consular people?”
“Oh, no.  Her work lies among the poor.”
This was a side-slip into truth.  The mother of Adrian was employed in a laundry.
-- H. H. Munro, “Adrian” (1911), in The Short Stories of Saki (1904ff), p. 157

~

“That’s only true with reservations.  And the reservations are the most important part.”
--Aldous Huxley, Those Barren Leaves (1925), p. 377

~

Re Baroque art:

It is not real cloud or real sun, and does not pretend to be; but it does, as it were, pretend to pretend.  It is theatrical; but a theatrical performance is not a falsehood, for it does not profess to be a fact.
-- G.K. Chesterton, The Resurrection of Rome (1930)

Despite the paradoxical sound of the phrase, people do indeed often pretend to pretend.  As, when Daddy mimics a bear or a pirate, to amuse the children.

~

So much for pinchbeck truth.  As for the pure gold:

Something is really true; true in every aspect  and from every angle;  true from the four quarters of the sky;  true by the three dimensions of the Trinity.  We turn from it  and it does not vanish;  we analyze it  and it does not dissolve.
-- G.K. Chesterton, The Resurrection of Rome (1930)

Granted, the things he has in mind are such as people like Christopher Hitchens or Richard Dawkins  would actually hold to be false.

~

For further essays on truth, see:


For truth’s truthitudinal poor-relation, these posts:


(Those are the funny ones.)

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.


Wednesday, April 22, 2020

They’re Coming 4 U


The latest viral paranoia to arise in the globe’s social-media petri-dish, is the

5G Coronavirus Conspiracy !!

So far, the epicenter of this new infection is the UK and Western Europe, but no doubt it will reach our shores in time, just as the Wuhan virus did.  In the meantime, to limber up your mental faculties, read up on this earlier conspiracy,

The Vatican goes after the Lone Star State !

This craftly plot was first outed nearly a century ago.  As:

The plans of the Pope for the conquest of the planet  were not known in detail, except in some specially well-informed wooden villages of the Middle West;  but instant precautions were taken to prevent the celebrated Papal Galleys, rowed by thousands of slaves, from penetrating as far as Omaha or Kansas City.
-- G.K. Chesterton, The Resurrection of Rome (1930)

Sunday, February 16, 2020

Dispatches from the Buffyverse


(1) Precedent for the Hellmouth:

On an island in the west of Ireland,  an entrance to Purgatory was revealed to St Patrick, that he might overcome the obstinacy of those whom he was trying to convert.
-- The Oxford Companion to English Literature

More re antecedents for the Hellmouth:

http://worldofdrjustice.blogspot.com/2016/02/the-proto-buffy.html


(2) The vision of “Once More with Feeling” (“They Got the Mustard Out”):

If reapers sing while reaping, why should not auditors sing while auditing, and bankers while banking?
-- G.K. Chesterton, Tremendous Trifles (1909)

Saturday, March 2, 2019

A Chrestomathy of Monostichs


Thomas Wolfe’s writings are so consistently lyrical, that it might seem needless to seek out and cull small samples of “found poetry”.  But readers and critics have repeatedly complained of a too-muchness in Wolfe’s unending foaming flow.  So there is some value in presenting just a few appetizer-sized samples, tastefully arranged on a plate.
In similar fashion, G.K.Chesterton’s polemical writings, especially the lesser efforts like Sidelights (1932), can be cloying if read straight through all at once;  yet they all contain individual epigrammatic gems.
The following are all excerpted from Wolfe’s posthumous novel You Can’t Go Home Again (1940).


The vine, rich-weighted with its golden fruit

~

Each spring, in that one tree,  he found all April  and the earth.

~

Ten thousand points of light  prick out the cities.

~

the golden nimbus of other lights, fog-flowered

~

at night, the whistles wailing northward  toward the world

.

Wednesday, July 4, 2018

Chestertonian footnote

[an addendum to this essay:
http://worldofdrjustice.blogspot.com/2016/03/a-locked-room-mystery-inside-out.html ]


This (let us call it) sub-subgenre of the whodunit, in which it is the (amateur) detective who is “locked in”, and -- denied sight -- must judge by muffled sounds, is brought to the pitch of perfection, and indeed to spiritual depth, in G.K. Chesterton’s short story, “The Queer Feet” (1910; collected in The Innocence of Father Brown).  Here Father Brown is temporarily sequestered in a closed chamber off a back passageway;  and from this vantage, deduces all, both factual and spiritual, based simply upon the footfalls of an unnatural gait.  Indeed, the story is a kind of rhythmic pendant to the visual-geometrical masterpiece, "The Wrong Shape".

Saturday, March 31, 2018

Faith and Ceremony


G. K. Chesterton, originally Protestant, then a convert to Catholicism, defends his church against Iconoclasts;  his remarks do equally well in defense of Eastern Orthodoxy.

Though of course these shows and pageants  meant immeasurably much to me, and profoundly affected my emotions,  yet I do not base my belief on such emotions, still less on such pageants or shows.   I was myself received into the Catholic Church  in a small tin shed, painted brick-red, which stood among the sculleries and outhouses of a Railway Hotel.
-- G.K. Chesterton, The Resurrection of Rome (1930)

Thursday, March 29, 2018

Eschatological Monostich



The soul   does not die by sin,  but by impenitence.

-- G.K. Chesterton, The Resurrection of Rome (1930)





Wednesday, March 28, 2018

Tableau neige et lumière



… lifted into a clearer  and a colder air …
a phase where light has transcended colour,
as in the hueless dawn of creation 
when the first light     was as strange
as the first snow …

-- G.K. Chesterton, The Resurrection of Rome (1930)

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Italian lesson for the day



Santa   Maria

sopra

Minerva


[From: GKC, The Resurrection of Rome (1930).
Thus endeth today’s lesson.]

Sunday, March 12, 2017

Kahneman, Dyson; Freud and James; plus Pinker (expanded)


Daniel Kahneman is an intellectual grey-eminence of the past several decades.  If you read at all, you have met some of his ideas (usually written in conjunction with his trusty sidekick Tversky) , though generally at second-hand.  Now he has written his own lengthy and systematic account of his research, aimed at a lay audience.

Most reviews of Daniel Kahneman’s new book (Thinking:  Fast and Slow) simply choose a few from his wealth of anecdotes  and recount them.  Not a bad plan -- they are all worth hearing.  By contrast, Freeman Dyson, in a typically canny offering in the current New York Review of Books, goes beyond the usual review, offering some trenchant personal experiences that illustrate the cognitive case being made, and -- quite surprisingly in the current climate -- puts in a word for Freud:  not the Freud of Die Traumdeutung or the cigars, but of the seminal Psychopathologie des Alltaglebens.   He concludes: “The insights of Kahneman and Freud  are complementary rather than contradictory.”
Noting that neither Sigmund Freud nor William James comes in for mention in Kahneman’s long book, Dyson also outlines the present relevance of this giant of psychology (and one of the heroes of this blog).

Make no mistake -- Kahneman, like Steven Pinker, is one of psychology’s good-guys, plumbing the richness of human experience  though coming to mostly dry and deflating conclusions.   Unlike the eliminative materialists (which includes many of the tribe of neuroscientists), they do not take mere mechanism as a posit, rather than as an occasional result.  James and Dyson, unlike most of their scientific colleagues then and now, have thought deeply about religion and take it quite seriously;  our family had the benefit of Dyson’s teaching at the Presbyterian Church in Princeton.   His invariably broad and thoughtful perspective is ever welcome.



Footnote:  I subsequently borrowed an audiobook of Thinking:  Fast and Slow from the library, to listen through in stages along my commute.   Alas, it turns out not to be suitable for that medium, save perhaps for a beginner.   Far too much of it is platitudinous  -- boring to sit through, while the reader-aloud drones on.    With a printed work, your eyes rapidly scans past the overly familiar, and plucks the occasional novel niblet.
Part of the problem is adumbrated in this passage from America’s premier psychologist of the nineteenth century:

Philosophers long ago observed the remarkable fact that mere familiarity with things is able to produced a feeling of their rationality.
-- William James,  “The Sentiment of Rationality”, in The Will to Believe (1897).

Kahneman rediscovers that remarkable fact, with much spilling of ink, waving of hands, and conducting of unsurprising experiments. 

More interesting is what James writes immediately after that, showing that today’s postmodernist-style relativists  have also not brought forth something new under the sun:

The empiricist school has been so much struck by this circumstance  as to have laid it down that the feeling of rationality and the feeling of familiarity  are one and the same thing, and that no other kind of rationality than this exists.

(I have satirized that dreadful mindset  here.)
~

In an earlier essay, we examined the politics and natural selection of sex as reflected in the writings of Steven Pinker.   There is a Kahnemanian cognitive dimension here as well, of which we now give an example.

Pinker wades patiently through the swamps of Political Correctness;  we salute his perseverence.   It really is remarkable, the sort of emotionally-founded cognitive distortions he must contend with.

Thus, consider this thought-experiment:  Imagine that some researchers published a study suggesting that the higher crime rate for American Blacks is a consequence of innate criminality.  They would of course be denounced by Blacks and their champions;  but would scarcely be denounced as blaming White crime victims.  So much is obvious.

Yet now put in different substitutions for x and y, and though the logical structure has not changed, the political picture has changed entirely.   The Blank Slate, p. 161:

Even heavier bipartisan fire has recently been aimed at Randy Thornhill and Craig Palmer  for suggesting in their book A Natural History of Rape  that rape is a consequence of men’s sexuality.  A spokesperson from the Feminist Majority Foundation called the book “scary” and “regressive” because it “almost validates the crime and blames the victim.”

By contrast,  men as such  did not object.  We’re used to it.
The average zealot would be quite incapable of perceiving the logical parallelism between the two accounts.
Similarly Pinker, op. cit., p. 372, re the "Laws of Behavior Genetics":  "It is because the laws run roughshod over the Blank Slate, and the Blank Slate is so entrenched,  that many intellectuals cannot comprehend an alternative to it, let alone argue about whether it is right or wrong."  A depressing, accurate, and important observation.
~

Here and elsewhere, Pinker counters the Noble-Savage ideology that whatever is found in nature must be good.  P. 164

It is inherent to our value system that the interests of women should not be subordinated to those of men, and that control over one’s body is a fundamental right  that trumps other people’s desires.  So rape is not tolerated, regardless of any possible connection to the nature of men’s sexuality.

So far, the standard viewpoint, sensibly put.  But then Pinker, whose logical scalpel is sharp, cuts down another level to make a quite interesting philosophical point:

Note how this calculus requires a “deterministic” and “essentialist” claim about human nature:  that women abhor being raped.  Without that claim  we would have no way to choose between trying to deter rape  and trying to socialize women to accept it, which would be perfectly compatible with the supposedly progressive doctrine that we are malleable raw material.


*     *     *
~ Commercial break ~
Nook lovers are book lovers!
We now return you to your regularly scheduled essay.

*     *     *
For college psychology instructors:
Here is an experiment you can do with your class, if you don’t mind being denied tenure.

Divide your students randomly into two groups, and send them to separate rooms.  To the first group, present the sentence:

Men are hot;  women are cold.

(This is along the lines of such parlor-game titles as “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus”.)
To the other group, present this sentence:

Women are hot;  men are cold.

Assignment:  Discuss.
Prediction:  Both groups will denounce their respective sentence as sexist and anti-woman.

[Postscript]  Chesterton anticipated this sally:
Re G.B. Shaw:
He has pleased all the bohemians  by suggesting that women are equal to men;  but he has infuriated them by suggesting that men are equal to women.
-- G.K. Chesterton, Heretics (1905)
~

Kahneman, as Dyson points out, avoids discussing religion; this is probably just as well.  Pinker -- whose range of interests is extraordinarily broad -- to his credit  does not avoid it;  indeed he quotes (pp. 186-7) from the magnificent 1996 address by Pope John Paul II on the subject of Natural Selection and the “ontological  discontinuity” (we have treated of this subject here);    but analytically, in this arena, he is not at his best.  On page 189  he dishes up an absurd false-dichotomy:

Who says the doctrine of the soul is more humane than the understanding of the mind as a physical organ?

Already so much has gone wrong.  We do not adhere to the doctrine of the soul (or of free will) because it is “humane”, but because it is true, and we experience it as such.   Nor does such a doctrine impede or even impinge upon the understanding of the brain as a physical organ.  As for the mind as a physical organ, um, did you really mean to write that?  Are we back with Descartes and his lodgement of the soul in the pituitary or the pineal gland or wherever the hell he placed it?
It gets worse.  The consequences of the “doctrine” of the soul (though, in our view, this is rather like speaking of the “doctrine” of the existence of the physical world)  is “letting people die of hepatitis  or be ravaged by Parkinson’s disease  when a cure may lie in research on stem cells…”  Indeed a cure might be thus expedited, or it might not;  the soul is nothing to the issue.   The moral quandary is rather to what extent society is willing to go, to benefit group A at the expense of group B.   Effective but morally debateable maneuvers include:  harvesting stem cells from embroyos;  harvesting embryos; harvesting aborted fetuses; harvesting fetuses not yet aborted but which, for a fittybone, the unwed mother would be happy to sell you.  Plus harvesting organs from dead adults; from living but brain-dead adults; from criminals; from political prisoners; from the luckless, kidnapped for this very purpose.  Perhaps less effective from a flinty Western medical perspective, but quite real and effective to its practitioners, is harvesting such organs as genitals from living children (our group B, here rather at a disadvantage) for use in sorcery to benefit group A (which in their own estimation, includes all the best people).  All these practices may be found in the world today, though generally not in places where the influence of the Holy Mother Church is at its strongest.   John draws the line at one place, Mary at another; and if you were to do a statistical study, it might well be that churchgoers, on average, place it somewhat more towards the less-interventionist end  than do vivisectionists, grave-robbers or eliminative materialists.   That would be sociologically rather interesting, if true;  Pinker has however made no logical point.   Nor does his heroically rising to the defense of helpless Alzheimer’s patients, who apparently are being abused by nuns when these are not otherwise engaged in cackling over the sufferings of Parkinsonians,  contradict anything a theist would say (apart perhaps from heretics like Christian Scientists):  “Sources of immense misery” (notice the purely emotion-evoking addition of the adjective) “such as Alzheimer’s disease … will be alleviated   not by treating thought and emotion of manifestations of an immaterial soul  but by treating them as manifestations of physiology and genetics.”   Amen; hear, hear;  we can all of us drink to that.  Pinker’s lance has pierced a straw-man.


*     *     *
~ Commercial break ~
We now return you to your regularly scheduled essay.

*     *     *


Pinker touches bottom with this assertion:  “The doctrine of a soul that outlives the body  is anything but righteous, because it necessarily devalues the lives we live on earth.”   (Compare:  "The doctrine that we should become adults  is offensive, as it devalues childhood.")
Leave aside that outsider’s-assessment-word “righteous”, analogous to the skewed perspective of the word “humane” above (We believe, or disbelieve, or simply hope, as the case may be, in eternal life, from conviction or revelation or even logic or what have you, but not because such a belief -- true or false -- seems “righteous”).  Notice, though, that qualifier “necessarily”, which changes the assertion from a sociological generalization or barroom opinion  into one of logico-philosophical apodixis.  Yet the only evidence he offers for this extraordinary doctrine  is the self-serving rationalizations (or irrationalizations) of maniacs who kill their kids, and the rants of al-Qaeda suicide-bombers.  (Page 189 -- look it up if you can’t believe your eyes.)
Good - Heavens!  For all we know, some serial killer has excused his crime-spree by an allusion to the Riemann Hypothesis;  the effect of such grotesques upon number theory  will rightly be nil.
Beyond the logical point, Pinker’s assertion is psychologically absurd.   It may well be the case (though God forbid), that those who hope they may one day rest in the bosom of Abraham  are destined to be cruelly disabused;  but their doctrine does tend rather to distinguish this view of life  from that of scorpions in a bottle.

For a glimpse at the value placed upon human life  among a proud, free people  unpolluted by Christian superstitions, click here, and here.
[update 8 May 2012] And now here:
http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/world_now/2012/05/south-koreans-confiscated-pills-human-remains.html
South Korean customs said it had confiscated more than 17,000 “health” capsules smuggled from China that contain human flesh, most likely extracted from aborted fetuses or stillborn babies.



(Note, though:  these are quibbles;  just a turf thang, folks.  Pinker's book overall is broad, sound, and beautifully written.)

(For more along these lines: )

Friday, March 4, 2016

A Locked-Room Mystery -- Inside-Out!


Reading here and there, in America’s literary incunabula,  I happened upon an excellent tale by Mr Washington Irving:  “The Stout Gentleman:  a stage-coach romance” (1822).

The story, set at an inn, concerns a scant multiplicity (they are nothing so coherent as a group) of travellers, trapped by a day of rain.  It opens with abundant atmospherics: 

It was a rainy Sunday in the gloomy month of November. … The rain pattered against the casements …

That will put the modern cynic  immediately in mind of the “Bulwer-Lytton” awards for bad beginnings, after the classic “It was a dark and stormy night.”  That, however, for anyone who knows how to tell a tale, or to thrill to one, rather than to patronize, was an excellent beginning, worthy of imitation and expatiation.

A dark and dreary night; people nestling in their beds, or circling late about the fire….
-- Charles Dickens, Martin Chuzzlewit (1844), beginning of Ch. 15

It was a wild night.  The wind was howling outside, and the rain was beating and splashing against the windows.
-- Conan Doyle, "The Adventure of the Speckled Band" (part-way through)

At any event, “The Stout Gentleman” ultimately advances but little upon its promising opening.  It proves to be a writerly exercise, to show how many bricks  may be made, with how little straw.   It is an early, but inverted version, of a Locked Room mystery  -- yet in spirit, more like Paul Auster than like John Dickson Carr.

A locked room mystery  is narratively locked as well -- like a constructed chess-problem, walled off from the unpredictable rough-and-tumble of actual play.  At the center is a sort of black box, in which some untoward thing is thought to have happened;  but you cannot penetrate it directly (nothing so puerile as an auxiliary door hidden behind the cheval-glass), nor does it let its guarded secrets out.  The detective must use deduction.  He is like the scientist, deducing what may be inside the black-box, from its fitful and ambiguous meter-readings.

Yet, oddly for so early a work (prior to Poe), the tale seems almost post the locked-room subgenre. For although the stout gentleman of the title, whose likely or imagined or projected characteristics form the slender nub of the tale, does keep to his room in the inn, he is not locked off;  inn staff go in and out, the narrator is at liberty to look in on him if he so desired:  yet the narrator is as though paralyzed in will, keeping to the dreary common-room on this rainy day, and attempting to deduce from the distant sounds, or bits of overheard conversations of the servants, just what kind of gentleman  this unseen stout gentleman might be.  The story is more about the process of detection -- or rather, induction -- itself, than about the ‘mystery’ of the stout gentleman, which never rises above something wherewith to beguile the idle hours of a rained-in day.

This (let us call it) sub-subgenre of the whodunit, in which it is the (amateur) detective who is “locked in”, and -- denied sight -- must judge by muffled sounds, is brought to the pitch of perfection, and indeed to spiritual depth, in G.K. Chesterton’s short story, “The Queer Feet” (1910; collected in The Innocence of Father Brown).  Here Father Brown is temporarily sequestered in a closed chamber off a back passageway;  and from this vantage, deduces all, both factual and spiritual, based simply upon the footfalls of an unnatural gait.  Indeed, the story is a kind of rhythmic pendant to the visual-geometrical masterpiece, "The Wrong Shape".
~

Hawthorne’s American notebooks from the mid-1840s  contain many brief notes for possible future stories, most of which he never got around to writing.  The following struck us, in connection with Irving’s (already published!) tale:

A story, the principal personage of which  shall seem always on the point of entering the scene; but shall never appear.

Such, indeed, is the dénoument of Irving’s finger-exercise.  Only at the very end, as the stout gentleman is climbing into a coach to leave the inn (his secret safe for ever) does the feckless narrator get a glimpse, but only of his broad back.   The author leaves us le miel sur les lèvres  -- it has been a snack, and not a meal.

Later, this motif of a title character being ever awaited, but never quite seen, became familiar:  En attendant Godot; l’Arlesienne.   The prophetic underpinning, to which those are a sort of fey parody:  the Mahdi; the Second Coming.

~

A brief but interesting essay offers some ruminative reflections, going so far as bringing in God to Moses in Exodus 33: “thou shalt see my back parts: but my face shall not be seen.”

http://www.aestheticrealism.net/essays/Known&Unknown_WashingtonIrvings_StoutGentleman.html

To recur to our Chestertonian approximations, we may mention that mere rear-view of Sunday, in GKC’s The Man Who Was Thursday.

Sunday, June 7, 2015

Cultural Literacy without tears (expanded)


We all want to be … well, we all wish to seem, culturally literate.  It can even be crucial to your career.  Recall that, in Agatha Christie’s classic Thirteen at Dinner (which of course you do recall, don’t you), the schemes of the murderer come unraveled when, at a dinner party, she ignorantly assumes that “the Judgement of Paris” alludes to the capital of France.


Das Urteil des Paris
(so hard to choose …)


But as one wise philosopher observed here, that’s way 2 much work.
Accordingly, we offer, gratis (free-will offerings  gratefully accepted),

Dr J’s  Han-D Cultural Literacy Cheat-Sheet

Bullet-proof lines  for use in social gatherings.  If someone mentions the following subjects, here is how you reply:

Beyoncé / Jay-Z / Justin Bieber /Rihanna / …  :   (groan)  “That’s so-o-o-o last-week…”

The Riemann Hypothesis: (pause thoughtfully;  then say, as though weighing each word)  “Basically,  a kind of Thinking Man’s  Poincaré Conjecture.”

Thomas Pynchon :  (casually)  “I’ve read his upcoming blockbuster in galleys -- Deadly Penguins.  Makes all his previous efforts look like juvenilia.”

Karl Marx:  (Do not introduce this name into polite conversation.  However, if some rascal does, coolly reply:)
“MmmMarx,  mmmmyes.  Intermittently interesting.  Have you read his film criticism?”

Hegel:  “Wa-ay overrated.  Nothing but Karl Marx doing a headstand.”

Professor G.W.F. Hegel

[Note:  This one’s tricky.  Since the name is pronounced HAY-g’l , you’ll need to somehow make clear that you are not talking about the current Secretary of Defense.]

Aristotle:  (If no-one ever slyly slips this name into conversation, then you are attending the wrong parties.)  Personally, I prefer Plato.”

Plato:  (If someone angling for the attentions of the same girl or prospective employer drops “Plato” into the conversation as a sort of knight-to-bishop’s-three, you’ve got stiff competition.  Time to pull out all the stops.)
“ ‘Plato’;  realll-ly. -- Impossible to appreciate outside the context of the post-Heracliteans.”
(At that point, unmanned, your opponent will deflate and slink off.)

Of course, the best way to establish your up-to-the-minute literary-philosophical creds,  is to pipe up brightly:

Have you read the latest  from Dr Justice?
A wise-cracking two-fisted pre-Conciliar thriller,
Available in


Update 2015]

I often read the less well-known works of G.K. Chesterton, in the uniform Ignatius Press edition -- partly because they offer the nearly complete works;  partly because the physical production is exquisite -- crisp printing  and paper to die for;  partly because Ignatius is a Catholic press, which I am happy to support.  Indeed, further, I had rather hoped that their notational apparatus would be fuller and more scholarly than what is provided in by pop publishers:  but alas …

On page 119 of What I Saw in America (1922), GKC writes:

… he might be as wise as Socrates, and as splendid as Bayard, and yet be unfitted ….

Curious to see spicy arcana what the editor might add to the cursum vitae of that “chevalier sans peur et sans reproche” -- that preux (to use Bertie Wooster’s term) and parfit  gentle knight, whom you will have learned about  if only from reading Wodehouse, in case the thing was never whipped into you at Eton -- I checked the footnote.  In vain.

James Asheton Bayard (1767 - 1815) was an American politician and member of U.S. House of Representatives. …

.

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

A thought for Shrove Tuesday


From a Jesuit:

We cannot find anything that does not originate in God.   Each tiny thing that we encounter, especially each human person, is directly related to the Godhead in all its glory.
-- James Schall, S.J., The Order of Things (2007), p.188

Some decades earlier, G.K. Chesterton put a similar thought more epigrammatically:

Man cannot love mortal things.
He can only love  immortal things --
   for an instant.

Oddly, although that phrasing wears the badge of Chestertonian love of paradox, this fragment seems -- paradoxically -- more intuitively convincing.  Father Schall’s pensée is nice, is pious, but might well be met with doubt.  With Chesterton, you suddenly just see it.

Saturday, May 24, 2014

History of the Miranda Warning


Many Americans (particularly in the ornery mood that the country is in now) probably imagine that the right against self-incrimination as currently enshrined in the Miranda Warning was some kind of new-fangled liberalistic criminal-coddling innovation  dreamed up by the Warren Court, sparked by the case of some perp who was probably guilty as hell.   Of course, it is basically a pretty straightforward application of the Fifth Amendment to that Communist tract known as the Constitution of the United States.   But let all that lie.  Our purpose here is more along the lines of the literary.

Wikipedia, that invaluable über-solon, notes English precedent, citing evidence from, of all things, some classic novels (and two of my favorite, in fact):

Warnings regarding the right against self-incrimination may have originated in England and Wales. In 1912, the judges of the King's Bench issued the Judges' Rules. These provided that, when a police member had admissible evidence to suspect a person of an offence and wished to question that suspect about an offence, the officer should first caution the person that he was entitled to remain silent. However, the warning about the possibility of anything the suspect said being potentially used against him predates even that: it appears for example in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's novel The Sign of the Four, published in 1890 (Chapter 6: Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration"):

    "Mr. Sholto, it is my duty to inform you that anything which you may say will be used against you. I arrest you in the Queen’s name as being concerned in the death of your brother.”

as well as G. K. Chesterton's novel The Ball and the Cross, published in 1909 (Chapter X: "The Swords Rejoined"):

    "No, sir," said the sergeant; "though most of the people talk French. This is the island called St. Loup, sir, an island in the Channel. We've been sent down specially from London, as you were such specially distinguished criminals, if you'll allow me to say so. Which reminds me to warn you that anything you say may be used against you at your trial."

It is rare indeed that I can bring forward anything to correct or complement Wikipedia;  but in the spirit of an etymologist (which for a time was my day-job) bringing forward an Earliest Attestation,  let me present this one, from Bleak House, published in 1853:

“Now, George: duty, as you know very well, is one thing, and conversation is another.  It’s my duty to inform you that any observations you may make  will be liable to be used against you.  Therefore, George, be careful what you say.  You don’t happen to have heard of a murder?”
“Murder!”
“Now, George, bear in mind what I’ve said to you.  I ask you nothing.  I say, you don’t happen to have heard of a murder?”


The highlighted passage sounds as though it might be echoing some formal written text.  But a few chapters later, when the inspector gets his hands upon the actual murderess -- a Frenchwoman -- he addresses her in less formal terms:

“I’ll give you a piece of advice, and it’s this.  Don’t you talk too much.  You’re not expected to say anything here, and you can’t keep too quiet a tongue in your head.  In short, the less you Parlay, the better, you know.”

The limb of the law who utters these sterling words, is none other than Inspector Bucket, whom duty compels  to arrest a friend.  And here in Bleak House, we have another precedent as well, since Inspector Bucket is regularly cited as a forerunner of the fictional detective, thus helping to launch the whole illustrious genre of the whodunit, in which the island of England long outstripped every other race.  Indeed, the success of that stream of fiction, and the subtlety and decency of English criminal code, are not unrelated.  You would never have an Hercule Poirot in a dictatorship.

Mind what you say, now ...


~

Literary post-note:
The accused in this case, the old trooper George, himself takes a stoic, manly stance towards the warning he has been given:

“I must come off clear and full  or not at all.  Therefore, when I hear stated against me  what is true, I say it’s true;  and when they tell me, ‘whatever you say will be used,’ I tell them I don’t mind that;  I mean it to be used.  If they can’t make me innocent out of the whole truth, they are not likely to do it out of anything less, or anything else.  And if they are, it’s worth nothing to me.”
-- Bleak House, chapter LII

Moreover, he refuses a lawyer:  “I don’t take kindly to the breed.”

Altogether, the old trooper George is one of Dickens’ most admirable creations (or evocations).  And he is brought stunningly to life in the audiobook reading by David Case (a.k.a. Frederick Davidson), who likewise did a memorable job with the related (but still distinct) character of Major Bagstock in in audiobook of Dombey and Son.

~
 For more on Bleak House:

      A scholium ad "A Lost Fragment of 'Our Mutual Friend'"

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