"Let's to it pell-mell..."

 

According to dictionaries I've seen, to do something pell-mell is to do it in a confused, disorderly manner.  Pictured above is a copy of a painting by William Trego called The Pell-Mell Charge.  I'm uncertain whether it's intended to portray the charge depicted as being confused and disorderly, or to indicate that the result of the charge is a confused, disorderly fight.  One would think an effort would be made to avoid a confused, disorderly charge.

The title of this post is a portion of a sentence appearing in Shakespeare's Richard III.  It's from a speech given by the character Richard to his troops prior to the final battle of his kingship.  The full quote is: "Let's to it pell-mell; if not to heaven, then hand in hand in hell."  In this context I think going to battle "pell-mell" means rushing to it defiantly and recklessly, without care but with wild fury.

On a silly note before indulging in grim reflection, I note that "pell-mell" is not to be confused with Pall Malls cigarettes, renowned by ad writers in days past for their "natural mildness."  Pall Mall cigarette packs were emblazoned, inexplicably I think, with the motto In hoc signo vinces (in this sign, conquer) which is said to have appeared along with a cross in a vision granted to Constantine the Great before the battle of the Milvian Bridge.  It's a kind of curse to be saddled with a memory which recalls such trivia.

I find myself thinking that voting in the forthcoming election for president is something best done pell-mell.  If we don't find ourselves in heaven after it takes place, then at least we should be hand in hand in hell.  Voting in this case is a kind of expression of defiance; defiance of the misinformation, deceit, venality, malice, pomposity, dithering, group-thinking and ignorance which has typified the campaigning and media coverage of this freak show, 24/7 as we like to say.  It's clear to me that one of the candidates is despicable, a horror inflicted on the nation, but how to explain or even understand the fact that a significant number of people favor him without condemning them as dupes or evil actors, something which should be avoided in characterizing one's countrymen or countrywomen (or whatever they think themselves to be)?

But in these times, is it possible or prudent to believe what we hear, read or see regarding the election or, indeed, anything else transpiring as related in the media or in social media?  So much of what is communicated can be manipulated now.  Lying is ubiquitous, unsurprisingly as most of us are exceedingly gullible--why bother learning or speaking what is true in this climate, where so many are compelled to believe whatever they think satisfying, or whatever is repeated endlessly?  We must vote our conscience no matter how confused and disorderly our politics has become.

Ultimately, it may be that now all we can rely on in making a judgment is the character of the candidates as presented.  Not that character cannot be faked; it can.  But one of the candidates hasn't tried to hide his nature and his plans.  He may be incapable of doing so, being so perfect in his self-regard, so convinced of his own superiority and the homage of his followers, and the craven nature of those who are members of the political party he has corrupted.  And the character displayed is that of someone who shouldn't be trusted with power over others.

So, let's to it pell-mell.  We'll get the president we deserve; and let's hope we're not undeserving of a good one.

Let's Kill all the Pundits

Shakespeare's line "Let's kill all the lawyers" has attained a certain popularity, due to the fact that lawyers are, surprisingly, unpopular.  So many things and people are these days, of course, so perhaps this is a suggestion applicable to others as well.  

In fact, Shakespeare was writing of a plan to establish an autocracy.  It was recommended that the lawyers be killed as a first step of the plan.  Perhaps lawyers were actually being praised, then, as protectors of the freedom and rights of the people.  If so, I doubt whether that conception is very widespread now, though the recommendation still is.

I propose that this sentiment is more properly applicable to political pundits.  They infest the media.  They're omnipresent, and I can't understand why.

If news consists of the reporting of events of importance, it no longer exists, if indeed it ever did.  It would be refreshing if that actually took place.  More significantly, it would be useful without being merely the expression of opinions and speculation.  Imagine if what was reported in the media were merely events and actions.  For example, it would be noted that so-and-so gave a speech somewhere, at some time.  The content of the speech wouldn't be described.  In most cases, the content may be inferred in any event, as political speeches are largely repetitive.  The speech itself wouldn't be broadcasted.  What joy!

We would no longer be subjected to the ponderings and speculations of those deemed experts.  Several of them are now produced whenever anything happens.  Questions are asked of them by whomever it is that's supposedly reporting the news, and they respond.  Sometimes those selected disagree, but in most cases they agree.  We're told they know what they're talking about.

For me, the inherent fault of this manner of reporting the news is that for the most part, the news itself isn't reported, or is at best merely noted as fodder for an extended discussion.  Instead, what some person or other thinks about the news and their interpretation of it and its consequences is reported, and in detail.

My difficulty is that I don't particularly care what that person thinks.  They're entitled to their opinions, of course, but if I wanted to know them, I'd seek them out in some fashion.  That they're foisted on me by media lackeys is something I resent.

Then one must recognize that these experts may be stupid, ignorant, in someone's pocket or prejudiced.  They may not in fact be experts. In simple words, their opinions and statements may be wrong.  Why, then, are they presented as news?  Why dignify them?  Why give them influence?  Why foster the belief that what they say is factual...is in fact news?

It may be too late now to stop the ascension of punditry.  It must have become a kind of trade or industry by now.  People no doubt hold themselves out as experts willing to squawk obligingly and winningly on the various "news" networks and make a good deal of money for doing so.  It's no longer the news that's important; it's what a select group of people think about the news.

 

The Quality of Mercilessness

Who better represents the quality of mercilessness than Ming the Merciless?  The quality is even a part of his name.  Seen here is Ming as played by Charles Middleton, who was the Emperor in the three Flash Gordon series cranked out in the late 30s, early 40s of the last century.  Flash (played by Buster Crabbe) flew about in spark-emitting spaceships suspended by wires, foiling Ming's plans.  I don't remember Ming as twirling his mustache like Snidley Whiplash, but he clearly could have done so if he wished.  Perhaps those younger than I am (an increasingly large group) will remember Ming as played by Max von Sydow in the 1980 movie.  He had enormous fun with the role, it seemed to me, though the movie was predictably characterized as discriminatory in later years, like so much else.  Like us, in fact.

All, or most at least, know the part of Act IV of Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice in which the quality of mercy is extolled by Portia, or at least its first line: "The quality of mercy is not strained."  Portia is "disguised" as a lawyer, as indeed are some who call themselves such.  The quality of mercy may be an "attribute of God himself" as the disguised Portia says.  The quality of mercilessness, though, is an attribute of we his creatures, if indeed we are his creation, in which case one must wonder regarding the implications of the claim that we are made in his image.

But rather than speculate on God and God's attributes, let's instead consider the undoubted mercilessness of we humans.  

It's interesting that the "quality of mercy" speech is directed to Shylock, the Jewish merchant of Venice.  Jews, then as at other times, weren't extended mercy as a rule.  Shylock himself, as portrayed, certainly has none.  That a Jew is chided for being merciless by those Christians typically merciless towards Jews is an oddity.  There are those who believe Shakespeare was really expressing sympathy for Jews in this play, but I think that's a hard case to make.  I think it more likely he was indulging a Christian conceit that the Jews' obsession with the language of the Law above all else demonstrates that their religion is inferior to Christianity, which encourages love and mercy.

But, our curious history supports the view that we're merciless far more often than we're merciful, whether we profess to be Christians or something else.  In fact, we seldom have mercy for anyone or anything--unless it's to our own benefit, or at least does us no harm or requires no significant effort.  We're an inordinately selfish species.  It's not possible to claim otherwise with any degree of reasonableness.

It's been said that we're at our best when things are at the worst.  It's been pointed out that in times of crises we act unselfishly.  That may be the case.  But consider how infrequently these mercy-motivating crises take place.  Hurricanes, tornados, fires, earthquakes--natural disasters--certainly occur, and it would be incorrect to say they're so unusual as to be of no account.  However, when we take into account the time we live and have lived without them, our method of responding to them can hardly be said to be representative of our nature.  Crises are crises precisely because they're infrequent.  In most cases, in the usual course of our lives, we're indifferent to the plight of others at most times at best.

At other times, we seem to actually take satisfaction in the misfortune of others.  This may simply be the kind of satisfaction which we feel due to the fact that their misfortune is not ours.  Or it may be the satisfaction we feel when we believe that their misfortune is caused by their own misconduct, or by their failure to do what's appropriate, or what we would do or have done in their place.  We're smug.  

Sometimes, of course, we're actually responsible for the misfortune of others, by intent or without intent.  When we intend harm we're not inclined to be merciful to those we harm.  When we don't intend to harm, we look on the harm we do as being justified as we're looking out for ourselves.

I've felt and may have expressed for some time that philosophies and religions that espouse love and mercy don't actually motivate us in any important respect.  That is to say, though we pay them lip service, we don't truly love our neighbors as ourselves, nor are we charitable if it requires us to take any more than casual action, nor are we merciful unless shamed into being merciful or overwhelmed by sudden, extreme fellow-feeling we experience in moments of crisis when directly confronted with misery of the kind we cannot ignore.   Those we love are few in number, and are our intimates.  It's disingenuous and hypocritical to maintain otherwise, and in urging us to love one another and be merciful to all these philosophies and religions betray a spectacular misconception of human nature.

A more honest and effective stab at being moral and merciful would be one that encourages not love, but respect, and discourages selfishness and self-regard.  It would not raise as a standard or ideal a conception of human nature based on the occasional moral highs we experience in remarkable circumstances or our feelings normally limited to those close to us.

I've made no attempt to disguise the fact I have a high regard for Stoicism, so it won't come as a great surprise that I think that a more reasonable ethics is found in the first few paragraphs of the Enchiridion of Epictetus (or if you prefer of his student Arrian modeled on the teachings of Epictetus).  It is simple and easily understood, and doesn't require that we be saints or heroes.  It's a common sense guide to limiting our selfishness and desire for things and power over others which is at the basis of our misdeeds.  

We can't be merciless when we don't concern or disturb ourselves with things which are not in our control, as we'll not in that case act in a way which will harm others.  

 

Of Cupidity and Stupidity

The quote above is from one of Shakespeare's lesser-known (to me, at least) plays, Troilus and Cressida, and is brought to mind by...what should it be called?  A tsunami, an avalanche?  In any case, the continuous claims of sexual harassment being made on what seems a daily basis here in our Great Republic against quite a few people, that is to say, against various men, by both men and women.

It seems rather remarkable even to me; a lawyer and therefore someone accustomed to and perhaps even dependent on wrongdoing of one kind or another (by others, of course).  But even those of us who thrive on the misdeeds of humanity must admit to surprise at what seems to be a unique moment in tawdry history.

The law of sexual harassment has been around for quite some time, in the U.S. at least.  It's something I've known of professionally and have had cause in my practice to become to be acquainted with, now and then, over the past several decades.  One would think that employers and employees, in particular, would be aware of it and fear its application given the litigation and claims through state and federal administrative agencies which have taken place and the stern warnings lawyers and human resources types have issued for many years now.

So in one sense I find it puzzling that sexual misconduct of this kind is so apparently widespread.  How can anyone be so blithely unconcerned by it?  How can so many men indulge in it, that is to say, without fear of the consequences?

I also find it puzzling that there are those who feel that sexual harassment is, at least in some cases, something which shouldn't be of great concern, or can be excused as "boys being boys" or harmless play.  The law is the law.  It doesn't matter whether one agrees or disagrees with it, or whether it's thought of as too much or too little.  It's foolish to be anything but prudent and so to respect it even if one doesn't respect those it's intended to protect.

But fools we tend to be, particularly where sex is concerned.  I think that any more than casual observer of human conduct must acknowledge that lust, lechery, sexual desire--whatever it should be called--can render us extremely stupid.  I think that particularly in the case of men it makes great, gaping idiots of us all unless we take steps to control our own desire.  And, it's such a completely selfish, narrow and powerful desire or impulse that the consequences to ourselves and others are disregarded.

This isn't to justify sexual harassment let alone explain it, but to recognize that the urge behind it is there almost always and must be restrained.  If it isn't, we do stupid, harmful, cruel, immoral things and should pay for it in one way or another.

Add to this the understandable concern victims have that making claims of sexual harassment will subject them to shame and ridicule and even have financial consequences if the perpetrator is powerful and influential, and it isn't so surprising that it goes unchecked in too many cases.  It seems that could be changing, though.

Unfortunately, as Shakespeare or his character noted, lechery like war is always in fashion among us, and tolerated by us.  It must remain to be seen whether sexual harassment will diminish as a result of the rising intolerance towards it or whether our remarkable lack of sense and control in this area will continue.  I think it's a good sign that even those who have previously been given a pass, most ignominiously, in this area (yes, that former president for example) are being recognized and condemned as predators.

Given those accused, though, I wonder if older men are particularly prone to this behavior.  Do older men act in this fashion because they know their failing looks and powers make it less and less likely anyone will want to have sex with them?  It's been well said that there's no fool like an old fool.

"Let Be Be Finale of Seem"

These are famous words from a famous poem.  No doubt they've been explained already by many, or at least analyzed; perhaps even by the poet himself.  Wallace Stevens was a poet who wrote of poetry.  Perhaps the lawyer in him, or the student of Santayana that he was, still within him, compelled him to be a critic as well as an artist.  I will give them my own interpretation, though.

The sunset is a kind of finale, though not one as final as death.  It's the finale of a day, which may indeed be remorseful as A.E. Housman wrote but need not be.  Remorse is understandable at the end of a day, or a life, to one who is thinking at the end of one or the other, because it's not uncommon to feel remorse for what was done or was not done which could have or should have been done.  Humans being what they are chances are excellent that they should have or could have done something and that something they did was wrong.

What seems to be isn't necessarily what is.  To be is to exist.  What exists may seem not to exist.  You get the picture (or at least you get what the picture seems to be).

"Let be be finale of seem."  Let the end of our efforts to determine what seems to be, be?  Let what seems to be, to us, be?  Or, let it be, in the sense of give it up, forget about it?  Give it up, this tendency we have to distinguish appearance from reality, to insist on a thing-in-itself that we cannot know?  Give up the belief that what seems to be reality isn't really reality (the really real)?

I'm impatient with metaphysical and ontological concerns, i.e. the issue of Being and, that other favorite, Nothingness.  That may be a failing on my part.  I'm unconcerned with questions regarding what it is, in all cases, to be or not to be (was Shakespeare having a bit of fun with philosophers when he wrote this speech of Hamlet?  I find myself hoping so).  The fact that we make mistakes sometimes leaves me unimpressed.  It hardly seems grounds on which to question all we interact with naturally, by living, with considerable success, much less envision some kind of place apart from the world on which all truth and beauty depends.

So, I would interpret Stevens as saying that what is, is in the end what seems to us to be.  In the end of the day, in the end of us, you and me.  Let it be so.

"Things Merely Are" is the title of a book by Simon Critchley about philosophy in the poems of Wallace Stevens.  It seems a less than hopeful phrase, but it's an assertion that renders a good deal of speculative philosophy superfluous.  And, if that was what Stevens was attempting to say, in his poetry, it's something few other poets have said, I think.  Yet there's unquestionably beauty in his poetry, just as there is unquestionably beauty in things of all kinds.

Consider sunset, especially as pictured above.  The sunset merely is, of course, but though we don't cause the Earth to revolve or the sun to exist it is what it seems to be to us, the end of a day, and though it can seem to be, to us, a splendid end or a dismal, dull one, it's nonetheless an end of something.

We're edging into Autumn, now, and in that part of our Great Republic in which I live the leaves will turn glorious and then wither and fall.  Crops will be harvested, vegetation of all kinds will stop growing, weather will turn cold.  As we've known since ancient times, we wither and die like other things in the world do.  But some of the most striking sunsets I've ever see have been winter sunsets, when the world seems, and is, dead.  Those sunsets merely are as our deaths merely are.

Of Job and Flies

It seems boys tore the wings off of flies in the 16th century just as some likely do now.  Do the gods (still?) kill us for their sport?  So thought the Duke of Gloucester in Shakespeare's King Lear, a kind of response, or riposte I sometimes think, to the Book of Job--or perhaps merely a parry.


It sometimes seems they do, life and our grotesquely selfish propensities given what they are, and one can see why someone believing in a personal, oddly Earth-bound or human-bound god or gods might think so.  Except of course for Job.  Much has been made of his faith, his trust, in God while writhing in the "fell clutch of circumstance" at which we lesser sorts wince and cry aloud.  Lesser sorts than Job, in any case, and it appears the Victorian William Henley or his narrator in his poem Invictus.

Someone, somewhere, sometime, must have considered whether Job may be called a Stoic, and (who knows?) whether Henley was one or was trying to portray a Stoic point of view in his poem.  That poem is, unfortunately, forever associated with mass murderer Timothy McVeigh, and his infatuation with it seems to me to disqualify it from being Stoic and to emphasize that it cannot have been written by a Stoic.  McVeigh certainly was not one, as he could never have killed and maimed all those he did if he was a Stoic, and the characterization of the world as a darkness black as the pit, full of wrath and tears, and circumstances as fell, is not at all Stoic, either.


And Job?  Job's not a Stoic, I think; not a Stoic Sage, in any case.  Nor is his God one that a Stoic could believe in. 


A Stoic would find it impossible to believe in a God who tests his creatures by setting Satan loose on them.  That's a very personal God indeed and one that intervenes in life and the world, in this case to wreck havoc.  The Stoic God, I think, is life and the world or perhaps better thought of as the soul or intelligence of life and the world.


The Book of Job properly notes that we humans do not think from the perspective of the cosmos, and may "explain" that what we believe to be evil is not such from the cosmic perspective (I say "may" because it's unclear, the God of Job not being inclined to explain why Satan was allowed to heap misfortune upon him).  But that doesn't quite do the trick either.  Job doesn't seek to consider things from the cosmic perspective.  How can he, and believe in the God he believes in?  His God apparently doesn't see things from the cosmic perspective either.  If he did, he wouldn't tell Satan to torment Job, nor would he honor Job and rain blessings and material goods upon him after he passed the "test" and repented for questioning God if not failing to worship him.


Once again, I'll write to say that I think what most distinguishes Stoicism is the perception that we should not concern ourselves with things not in our control.  What happens to Job is the result of things undoubtedly outside of his control.  He seems to have understood this superficially, but had he been a Stoic Sage, if not an aspiring Stoic, he not only would have resigned himself to them he would not have attributed to them any particular meaning as he wouldn't have thought of them as being peculiarly directed towards him.  There are no victims in Stoicism.  There simply is what there is, and our part is to do the best we can with what is in our power.  This is Stoicism regardless of whether Nature or Providence or God is thought good or bad, regardless of whether there is evil or good.


Evil or good is something we do, not the universe.  We do evil when we desire or are disturbed by things beyond our control.  The things we desire (which include people) or are disturbed by exist, as we do, as part of the universe, but our desire for them or fear of them is within our control, and it's that desire or fear which in turn generate evil in the form of our greed, hate, violence, cruelty, and all our passions. 

Our likes and dislikes aren't the concern of the cosmos, nor are our needs.  Those are defined by our interaction with the universe of which we're a part.  The "test" we're subject to is this interaction, but it isn't a test put to us by some deity or demon.  It's what it is to be a living part of the living universe.  Do we live intelligently or do we not?  Do we seek to have or avoid what isn't in our control or do we not, instead acting reasonably with what is in our power?


Stoics aren't as flies to wanton boys, nor are they Jobs.

Sound and Fury and Life as a Reality Show

Perhaps little has changed since Shakespeare's time, or even that of Macbeth.  But it's difficult not to recall his words about life in these times, particularly that it is a tale told by an idiot.  Or is it rather a tale told about idiots?

A tale, of course. is something told.  It's generally something that is "made up" as well.  Stories are told.  Stories are typically distinguished from life, however unreal life appears.  Stories are told by someone to someone else.  It's not clear, then, just what Shakespeare (or we) intend when we speak of life as a tale.  Do we ascribe life to God, as a tale he's telling, or do we claim to be telling a tale to him or some other observer?

It may be that we describe life as a tale only when we think of it as a story, either a good one or a bad one.  "My life is like a fairytale."  Or, alternatively, a tragedy, or a comedy, or a farce.  Ideally, I suppose, we might envision ourselves as observing our own lives as a play or story.  That may be the healthiest alternative.  But I suspect we more likely are inclined to think of our lives as if they were being performed for others and for their benefit, one way or another.  As object lessons, or to be admired.  That would be fitting given our self-regard.

No wonder, then, that we are (or so it seems) so inclined to watch what we call with a telling lack of irony "reality shows."  No wonder either that we seem now more and more inclined to behave as if we are participants in one or see each other as participants in one.

It strikes me as characteristic of reality shows that the idea behind them is to put on display as much as possible the more dramatic of our conduct and emotions.  That's to be expected, I would think, as I suspect their producers believe, perhaps rightly, that is what makes them attractive; that is what makes people want to watch them.  Thus situations are contrived to pit people against one another or put them in circumstances where they're most likely to experience stress, which is to say competitive circumstances or dangerous circumstances..   Contrive the scene, insert "normal" people, and see what happens.

In the end, of course, not much does that isn't common, or that is unexpected.  What happens is pretty much what we expect will happen, but is made more pronounced because it is encouraged.  There are the silly little interviews inserted, where each participant gets to vent--I suspect in response to questions which promote venting.  Then, something else happens to disappoint or gladden one or another person on display, giving way to more venting.

Vanitas vanitatum, et Omnia vanitas.  Naturally, this is all to please our sense of self-worth, or to gratify us in one way or another.  The vanity of the participants in the shows is of course unquestionable.  Why else put oneself on display so shamelessly?   But the viewer's vanity is invoked as well, as the viewer is inclined to self-congratulation.  Either the participant viewed is what we think we would be or we're gratified by the fact that they are so pathetic we must be better.

More and more those we observe because they are newsworthy or in the public eye for one reason or another tend to be emotional in one way or another; bombastic, angry, stupidly happy, accusatory, self-righteous, maudlin.  It seems less and less the case that our ideal is a calm, reasonable, impartial person.  Such people are no fun at all, of course.  Nor are they likely to be known or thought of for any purpose.

Instead we see and, it would seem, expect and want to see caricatures, cartoonish versions of ourselves strutting and fretting.  And we do.  And there are more and more of them all the time.

As Flies to Wanton Boys

The belief in a loving deity, one that created the universe and we humans, one that is good, one that responds to prayers, intervenes in the universe and our lives, has always posed a certain difficulty to any thinking person.  The difficulty arises from the fact that a thinking person cannot help but feel that the universe is in some respects, perhaps in many respects, not good at all.  Bad things happen.

Most importantly as far as we're concerned, bad things happen to us.  Those bad things are not necessarily caused by other people, and so it can't be said that some person or persons are to blame.  The blame for natural disasters, if it's appropriate to speak of blame in connection with them, clearly must lie with something more than human, or at least other than human.

The "Problem of Evil" as it has been called necessarily arises in regard to this belief.  Why would such a God allow evil things to exist, to happen?  There have been several responses to this problem.  One has been to respond as does Shakespeare's Duke of Gloucester in King Lear, and to maintain that there is no such God, and there is instead a God or gods for which we are nothing more than flies are to wanton boys, and who kill us for their sport.

Another response is to ascribe the evil of the world to a supernatural being such as the devil.  This doesn't do much to address the issue, though, if that being is subject to God; a lesser being.  Then the question simply becomes why does God let the devil cause evil?  If such a being is claimed to be an equal--a kind of rival--to a loving God, God isn't necessarily responsible for evil directly or indirectly.  However, in that case God isn't all-powerful, either, and God's omnipotence is something most believers revel in; so, this Manichean approach isn't favored by most.

Then there is the option which posits that we are the cause of evil.  Perhaps we brought it into the world, or Adam and Eve did, and we are tainted by their Original Sin.  This approach isn't entirely satisfactory, though, as it doesn't account for the evil (suffering) which results from natural disasters.  But there are some, of course, who think we cause those as well, usually by being bad in some fashion.  Sexual misconduct seems preferred as a cause for hurricanes and fire from the sky, but in any event we act wrongly in some sense and God punishes us through manipulation of natural forces, and such punishment is just.

A kind of catch-all or what perhaps may be called a default response is that what we perceive as evil isn't evil in fact.  It is actually good for some reason we're too dense or limited to comprehend, but is manifest to God.  Thus there is no "Problem of Evil" as there is no evil.  There is merely the working of God which will eventually, perhaps in a time so far distant as to be beyond the insight of humanity, result in good.

There is a problem even with this latter response, though, and that is probably a consequence of the fact that what we tend to think of as "good" is what would be good for us humans, i.e. what we perceive to be good.  What good, so to speak, would what God may have determined is a good result for the universe do us if it is millennia or millions of years in the future, when we may not even be around as a species?

Perhaps we can get around that problem by believing the universe was made just for us or with us being utmost in God's mind.  In that case, what is ultimately good must be good as far as we are concerned.  Or perhaps we can claim that once dead, we become immortal, and will experience and benefit from the ultimately good outcome of the universe.

Clearly, the belief in a personal God possessing human characteristics or concerns regarding fate, good and evil, results in complications of this kind.  The more speculations and arguments are required to explain or justify what happens in life from such a perspective, the less justifiable such a belief becomes, it would seem.  Or the more mysterious life and the deity become.

Perhaps the recent popularity of Stoicism as a quasi-religious view is in reaction to the manifold machinations required to make sense of the universe given belief in a personal, human though superhuman God.  A God immanent in the universe wouldn't necessarily create the universe for a particular purpose or end.  Being immanent in a universe of unimaginable size, such a God wouldn't have peculiarly human concerns or desires and wouldn't be concerned in any particular sense with humanity.  But as a part of the universe ourselves, we participate in God and by exercising our reason, our peculiar ability, we act in accord with our nature and that of the universe.

Such a belief at least prohibits us from thinking ourselves flies to wanton boys, and other things.

Shakespeare, Genius and Anachronism

When in high school, I wrote a little paper on The Merchant of Venice, something we were required to read (the quality of what we were required to read was uneven, but Shakespeare is generally worth reading).  The question addressed was whether Shakespeare was anti-Semitic.  Motivated, perhaps, by a continuing tendency to provoke, and a certain cynicism, I argued he was indeed an anti-Semite.  My teacher, a kind man, told me I made some good points and gently said he thought I was wrong.

One of my arguments as I recall (it may have been my only argument) was that it was absurd to think that Shakespeare had overcome the overwhelming prejudice of his time and was, in effect, writing a satire about anti-Semitism, because he was Shakespeare.  To me, that was the only basis on which he was--or could be--defended from the charge.  It was to many unthinkable that a genius of his magnitude would succumb to vulgar prejudice.  How could someone who wrote so well of human nature, with such empathy, be in this respect so like the people of his time?

Well, easily enough, I think.  Anti-Semitism seems to be a most peculiar and ubiquitous affectation; an ancient and abiding prejudice.  Genius provides no immunity to it.  We've seen that to be the case by now.  I no longer claim that this play in itself establishes his anti-Semitism, however.  I merely think that he was not necessarily extraordinary in all respects, and that he shared the prejudices of his time, as there is no reason to believe otherwise.  The Merchant of Venice is evidence of that fact but is not conclusive.

Shylock may give the "Hath not a Jew" speech, but in all other respects is a loathsome character, demanding his absurd pound of flesh, hateful of Christians.  He is in many respects a caricature, a stereotype, along the lines of Marlowe's Barabbas (nice naming, Chris).  Shakespeare was a professional playwright; he should be expected to have wanted to please his audience, to sell tickets, at the least.  Granted, the trial portrayed in the play is ludicrous, but his audience would want to see the Jew bested and would have enjoyed him being bested in this fashion.  Shylock loses all, in the end, including his daughter.  He is utterly humiliated.

Shakespeare's defenders do something we lawyers are taught not to do to the law.  That is, to read words into the law that are not in the law, or to treat the language of the law as superfluous.  [Was I a lawyer even in high school, to write such a paper? A sad thought.]  But Shakespeare's defenders are not just indulging in an instance of wildly inappropriate interpretation.  They purport to disregard the text, and the times.  It is an example of the stubborn, unreasoning imposition of a desired attribute onto an admired figure.

We tend to do this sort of thing when it comes to birds of paradise; to heroes.  We makes excuses for them, we make assumptions, regardless of the facts, even in spite of the facts.  This is one of the dangers of having heroes (and we say we have so many among us, now).  We stop thinking when we think of them.  We are so invested in their courage, wisdom, genius, that to find fault in them renders us indignant.

Revisionists are rightly viewed with skepticism.  Particularly these days, we're infested with those who delight in finding flaws in those public figures of the present and the past.  We should beware of taking literature literally, certainly, and should avoid making grand inferences from few statements.  But we should also beware of disregarding entire works.  Shakespeare's Merchant contains statements that are not made casually or en passant.  Shakespeare wrote the play to be performed before the people of his time and in the hope it would be popular and make money.  He was not out to teach everybody a lesson in the ill-effects and unreasonableness of a vicious prejudice.