Tag Archives: literature

Sartre, Gaza, and the power of doing nothing

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Jean-Paul Sartre was a Catholic who did not believe in God or external morality, but believed in socialism and being true to ones self without having to do anything for anyone. His most famous work, “Being and Nothingness” was written in France in 1943, during the Nazi occupation. The last 200 pages of the book deal with freedom and its limitations. Sartre points out that there are always limitations (prison guards, Nazis, your own body, etc.) It is dangerous and impractical to oppose these guards, or or to oppose your own body. Sartre’s advice is to go along in body, but oppose them in your mind. Thus, he believed, he was being true to himself to the extent of rational choice. He was totally free because he was free in his mind and in his reactions to the limitations. “Freedom is what we do with what is done to us.” This was his version of existentialism, and many Frenchmen agreed that this was the right way to behave under the circumstances. Many Nazis agreed and enjoyed his writing and plays. If they didn’t totally like what Sartre had to say, they didn’t object enough to send him to a concentration camp. In practical terms, he thus survived better than Jews and oppositional Frenchmen.

Sartre had eyes that pointed in different directions. Some try to claim this related to his philosophy

Although there is a stink of cowardice and collaboration hanging over Sartre and his outlook, it could be worse. A Sartre Joke: Sartre had just finished talk at a restaurant, and sat down. A waitress who understood the talk better than most, asked if she could get him something. Sartre said, “please bring me a coffee, no sugar, no milk.” The waitress came back and said, “we’re out of milk. I can get you coffee with no sugar and no cream.” The point of the joke being that Sartre’s freedom of choice can only be among the choices he could reasonably make. If he’d asked for milk, it’s irrational to expect that the restauranteur would run out and buy some, so it was pointless to ask for no milk.

As the Germans were leaving, Sartre took French antisemites to task in a short book, “Antisemite and Jew” (1944) where he discusses the inauthentic logic of French antisemites and the motivations behind their behavior and beliefs. He claimed the motivation was a sort of mob empowerment where the antisemite, by oppressing Jews sees himself as noble, and comes to feel himself as the heir of all France, its history and its culture. They the thus imagine themselves empowered and enriched by their hatred of he-who-isn’t-them. This motivation he inferred in the liberal Frenchman as much as in the thug; the liberal objects to the yellow star, not out of sympathy for the Jew or justice, but for an inauthentic reason. It makes him feel small by his inaction, and it crates, in the Jew, an identity that is beyond the essence they prefer; he’s more than just ‘not-them’. As I read him, the main character in “Catcher in the Rye”, Holden Caulfield, is a Sartre stand in, a privileged kid bothered by the “phoniness” around him, Like Sartre, he complains and does nothing for anyone, but he does no harm either.

Sartre didn’t join the resistance, even after the Germans were losing, nor did he hide Jews or gentles, or help anyone but himself. After the war, he pushed for the execution of those who were insufficiently anti Nazi, like Tintin author, Hergé. Hergé survived, many of those he attacked were killed in post war purges. Sartre’s philosophy actually works for prisoners in extreme circumstances. Similar philosophies were created by Victor Frankl and Primo Levi during their stays in Auschwitz. It helped them survive and stay sane. Frankl’s “Man’s search for meaning”, was alternately titled, “From concentration camp to existentialism,” a lot concerns the importance of keeping your mind clear – of not becoming an animal.

Simone de Beauvoir & Jean-Paul Sartre with Che Guevara, a favorite Communist murderer, in Havana, Cuba, 1960 (photo by Alberto Korda).

After the war, Frankl became a successful psychologist helping people by helping them to see that they had a reason to exist. This is a more positive version of Sartre’s existentialism, where there was no reason. Primo Levi seems to have followed Sartre’s line more and become ever more depressed; eventually he committed suicide. Eventually, Sartre found a reason to exist in socialism. He believed that, while life was a cruel joke, socialism was pure. People could die in the millions, and he acknowledged that, the leaders were brutal thugs who did murder millions, but he believed that socialism and communism must live on. He tried to keep the bad truths hidden. So what of the killing and torture. So what if writers were imprisoned or shot — in Russia all the Jewish ones were shot in the same day — Sartre said they should have written better books, more pro-communist. Sartre would never have willingly lived in communist Russia, China, or Cuba — he stayed safe in France, and championed the oppression.

Gays for Gaza are not interested in a queer state of Palestine; they attack Jews to make themselves feel generous and powerful — it gives their lives meaning.

This brings me to the pro-Palestinian authors of today, and of 1973. Fifty years ago on Yom Kippur, Iraq, Syria, and Egypt attacked Israel by surprise simultaneously with aid from Russia. Communists and socialists supported the Arabs. Among them was Sartre, though he knew these states to be brutal dictatorships. Pretty soon Sartre discovered that his friends motivation was that they liked attacking Jews, a phony motivation, said Sartre in an interview, and he found he could not join them

I detect the same phony motivation in today’s demonstrations. The loud feminists for Palestine, the Gays for Gaza, those attacking Jews for complicity. Very few of them would willingly live in these countries or among Hamas or ISIS, and fewer of those would survive. Their love of Palestine is an excuse to hit Jews. The better version is Sartre’s he did nothing then, and would likely have done nothing today. You have to have authentic thoughts, at least.

Robert Buxbaum, November 13, 2023

Ron Weasley plays great chess, better than Voldemort.

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Every now and again a book or movie includes a chess game. Generally, it’s in a story where death is on the line. It’s a literary device used to indicate high mental acumen of the people involved, particularly the one who wins. As an example, in “Sherlock Holmes, A Game of Shadows”, 2011, Holmes plays Moriarty, each calling out moves far advanced for the 1800s. It emphasizes these individuals’ super-smarts. Holmes wins at the end, of course. The Ingrid Berman film, “The Seventh Seal” is similar, with the chess game played against death himself. The knight shows himself a more-than-worth opponent. And that brings us to Ron Weasley in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, book 1 of the series, and movie, Ron Weasley is presented as a sort-of fool throughout the series. He’s mostly as source of background information about wizarding, but in one episode standout, he plays brilliantly with giant-size chess men against a magical intelligence, and wins. After the game, one that is described as one of the best ever, Ron goes back to being the goof-ball he was throughout. His chess skills don’t come up again, or do they. It’s a well written series, so what’s the point of including the game?

Position of pieces in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s stone (movie).

To see how brilliant Ron’s play is, recall that Ron is eleven years old in book 1. He, Harry, and Hermione enter a mysterious room filled with menacing statues. Ron immediately realizes it’s a chess board, and infers that they must win as black to pass through. He further infers that the piece representing Harry must make the checkmate. Two or three pieces are missing, and Ron infers that Harry’s character must replace one of these and become the mating piece. If you’ve ever played a decent computer, you know it’s very hard to win as white (in the 90s you could still win). This ghost intelligence plays quite well, and it’s almost impossible to win if you need to have a particular minor piece make the mate. In the movie, Ron plays as black and reaches the position shown with Harry as the king’s bishop and Hermione as a rook. He is down in material, but has laid a very good trap. The white queen captures the “free pawn” on d3, violently threatening the Harry-bishop. Ron interposes the rook to c3 forcing the white queen to take the rook. At this point, Ron could win by B-c5+, QxB, N-h3 mate, but that would sacrifice Harry and leave Ron as the winning piece. Both Ron and Hermione realize this, and Ron causes Harry to make the checkmate by N-h3+, QxN, B-c5+, Q-f3, BxQ mate. Ron is injured when QxN — a sacrifice in both senses of the word.

Death plays chess, painting by Albertus Pictor, 1480

It’s an impressive display of chess skill, and Dumbledore is right in saying it’s one of the best games. No normal player could manage a game like that, certainly no eleven year old. Normally such a display would be used to present Ron as the group brain, or at least as a very deep thinker. If so, why does the author have Ron revert to his care-free, stupid persona with chess never showing up.

We see that Voldemort, the arch villain, won his game too, and only lost a few pieces doing it. That Voldemort is good at chess is no surprise; it goes with his deep-thinking persona. We don’t see Voldemort’s game, but I can infer that he won via the Trailer gambit. It’s a fairly tricky win, but the only way that I know where you win as black losing only a kings bishop, a rook, and a knight, the pieces that Ron and his friends replaced. The Queen is the winning piece, though, and that’s a lot simpler than winning with a bishop. Ron’s win is far more sophisticated, a surprise given Ron’s behavior and how he is treated.

Perhaps it’s just bad writing, or an effort to show Ron is good at something, but I thought to do a quick re-read of Ron’s early appearance in book 2. Here I find that Ron is bright and motivated, but overshadowed. Early in the book, we find 12 year old Ron picking a lock using a hat pin, and driving a flying car reasonably well. We don’t think this is exceptional because his brothers do all this first, but it is exceptional: imagine tryin to drive a regular car with no instruction at 12. Later we find that Ron learns the fine points of Quidditch without native skill or a coach, just using a book, and we find that Dumbledore picks him to prefect, instead of Harry, a job he does well. Finally, we find that Hermione prefers Ron to Harry. It’s a somewhat surprising turn because she’s supposed to be the brains of the trio. How could she stand to be with Ron? Perhaps she is one of the few people who sees that Ron is bright. Dumbledore is too.

Viewed this way, the chess game becomes the first of the examples of Ron’s brainpower, and becomes an important foreshadowing to a surprise at the end of the last book/movie, to the final battle against Voldemort. In that battle, while everyone else is throwing hexes, Ron is the one who realizes that, to win the war, he must go to the basement chamber and collect basilisk teeth. It’s chess thinking: he’s focused on the king, on Voldemort, while everyone else is dealing with side threats. In a sense, it’s Ron who defeats Voldemort. The chess game is a foreshadowing, and fits with Hermione’s choice of Ron over Harry.

Robert Buxbaum, August 26, 2022. If you like chess puzzles, find some here. And in “Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey,” 1991, the brilliance idea is sort-of reversed. Bill and Ted play against death in battleship, twister, and clue, and win. It’s used to show that death is sort of random, and sort of stupid.

Dark Academia, the new mood.

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Old libraries and old books play a big part in the aesthetic.

For years academia the movie version of academia was trees and deep intellectual discussions. It was the bright city on the hill, the happy paradise where the young and talented bloom to greatness (after first convincing their well-meaning, buddy-duddy teachers), or where the oppressed middle-ager goes returns to, to complete their journey of self -discovery. But there is a new mood in town, one where academia is a darker, more dangerous place, both for the body and for the soul. The last few years have seen movies and books that follow a talented person without any particular view or direction. The person arrives, looking to make friends or looking to become special. This literature of “Dark Academia”, the students end up damaged or killed, and the friendships they get are fairly sinister, and often exploitive.

An early dark academia movie was Hitchcock’s “Rope,” based on the Leopold Loeb case of the 1920s. Several students get excited by ideas of Nietzsche and kill one of their fellows because they feel special, and come to decide that he isn’t, quite. Another early version was Frankenstein, a book whose early chapters are filled with imagery of crazed collegians pushing the limits in a dark laboratory and library settings. Still, in these earlier versions, the crushing pressure was from inside the student, not so much from ill intent of the the institution, the faculty, or the classmates, and there is no discussion of drugs, sex, architecture, or fashion.

Harry Potter and friends in dark academic garb. Casual, clean, active, hip-academic.

The modern versions begin, in my opinion, with Harry Potter, the books and the movies. From the beginning, the main character finds that the school itself is both helpful and hurtful. The building tries to trip you, but provides slave labor, several professors are sadists, and a few turn out to be murderers or “death eaters.” There are friends too, and fire-whiskey, or butter-beer, and an intense desire to excel at ones craft, in this case magic. Harry Potter’s round glasses and the school neckties became classics too, but Potter is still pretty chaste where sex is concerned.

In the most recent examples alcohol and sex play a more central role, along with murder and clothes. A popular book, “The Secret History” by Donna Tartt has a cultish professor, named morrow, and students who dress in tweeds, for the most part. All of them wear round glasses, like Harry Potter’s, but in this case with metal rims. All are rich. As in rope, they conspire to murder the least special of the group in the goal of understanding the ancient Greeks. Unlike in Rope, they get away with it.

Another recent example is “Kill your darlings”. It takes place in Columbia University in 1943-46 and stars Daniel Radcliffe who played Harry Potter of the movies. He plays the young Alan Ginsberg. He enters school not quite knowing what sort of poetry he’d like to write, or if he’ll write poetry. In the movie, as in real life, he meets Jack Kerouac, William Burrows and a few others who introduce him into gay sex, wanton destruction Benzedrine and Heroin (no bad effects). He tries suicide and one of his group goes on to murder another — the one who is least special. and he gets away with it. The end is that the others become special. Ginsberg writes a great “absurdist” essay that even his professors admire and goes on to become.a great poet.

Danna Tartt, author models the Dark Academic look. Notice the cigarette.

The mood of dark academia is a mix of repressed anger and innocence. People stare into space like Oscar Wilde with heartburn, or a longshoreman on break. The architecture includes vast dining halls, gothic bell towers and forbidding libraries (see picture at top). The devoted student searches here for hidden light but finds only darkness. Murder follows.

The clothes of Dark Academic novels are important. Browns, black or grays mostly. Clothes are casual and active, but clean. The look says, “I’m sexually active and criminally active; I do drugs and don’t do my homework, and I might perhaps murder, but I plan to submit a killer final project. Murder is a sign of really getting into it. “Genuine beauty is always quite alarming.” It’s a line from “The secret History,” but the same line, nearly, appears in Hitchcock’s “Rope.” It’s part of the tremendous desire to be special, great, and in the race for greatness there must be a destruction of the ordinary. That’s the dark academic mood: an aesthetic where murder is a creative act.

Robert Buxbaum, April 2-5, 2021.

Shakespeare’s plays, organized.

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One remarkable thing about Shakespeare’s plays is how varied they are. There are comedies and tragedies; histories of England, and of Rome, musings on religion, and on drink, and lots of cross-dressing. He wrote at least thirty seven plays between 1590 and 1613, alone or as a major collaborator, and the chart below gives a sense of the scope. I have seen less than half of these plays, so I find the chart below both useful and humorous. The humor of the chart is partly that it presents the common man (us) access to the godly (Shakespeare). That access is the root of the best comedy, in my opinion. Shakespeare also has a comic dog, some total idiots, comic violence to women, and a few other cringeworthy laugh-getters, but we’ll not mention those; it’s low comedy. You’ll notice that Merchant of Venice is listed here as a comedy; I think it was seen that way by Shakespeare. The hero of the play in my opinion, is a woman, Portia, who outsmarts all others by her legal genius at the end. Tragedy is when the great individual can not access great things. At least that’s how I see it. As for History; it’s been said, that it starts as tragedy, and ends as comedy. Shakespeare’s histories include some of each. And as for our, US history, Lincoln was tragedy, like LBJ; Truman was comedy, and Andrew Jackson too. And, as for Trump, who knows?

By Myra Gosling, www.goodticklebrain.com
A Shakespeare collaboration. The collaborator, Fletcher, is cited by name.

Ms Gosling’s graphic, wonderful as it is, lists some but not all of Shakespeare’s collaborations. Two listed ones, “Henry VIII,” and “The Two Noble Kinsmen” were with John Fletcher. The cover shown at right, shows Fletcher named as first author. Since Fletcher outlived Shakespeare and took over the company after his death, I’ll assume these are later plays.

“Henry IV, part 1” is thought to be from Shakespeare’s early career, and seems to have been a mass collaboration: something written by a team the way situation comedies are written today. And “Pericles, Prince of Tyre,” listed near the bottom right, seems to have been a mid-career collaboration with George Wilkins. At least four of Shakespeare’s collaborations don’t appear at all in the graphic. “Edward III” and “The Spanish Tragedy”, appear to have been written with Thomas Kyd, likely early in Shakespeare’s career. Perhaps Gosling felt they don’t represent the real Shakespeare, or perhaps she left them off because they are not performed often. Another collaboration, “Sir Thomas More” (an intentional misspelling of Moore?), is well regarded today, and still put on. An existing manuscript includes 300+ lines written in Shakespeare’s hand. Still, Shakespeare’s main contribution seems to have been editing the play to get it past the censors. Finally, “Cardenio,” is a lost play, likely another collaboration with Fletcher. It got good reviews.

The cool thing about Shakespeare’s play writing, in my opinion, is his willingness to let the characters speak for themselves. Even characters who Shakespeare doesn’t like have their say. They speak with passion and clarity; without interruption or mockery. Writing this way is difficult, and most writers can’t avoid putting themselves and their opinions in the forefront. I applaud Ms Gosling for making Shakespeare accessible. Here’s this month’s issue of her blog, GoodTickleBrain.

Robert Buxbaum, June 26, 2019. As a side note, Shakespeare appears to have been born and died on the same date, April 23; in 1564 and 1616, respectively.

A prison tale (fiction) by R. E. Buxbaum

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I’m writing from the Michigan Department of Corrections; Mail-stop 5678 E, Jackson, MI, awaiting trial on auto-related charges. So, legally speaking, I’m still innocent, if not quite free. So, here’s my  story, and my bargain. The whole situation, it seems, is more comical than criminal. At its source, at bottom, all I was trying to do was take care of some left over issues from unofficial jobs I was doing for the city. For his honor, the mayor. That’s K.K., Kwamie Kilpatrick, the ex-mayor to you, but always his honor to me; great guy. Anyway, cars that fall in the river aren’t that unusual in this town, and it’s not like I planned to smuggle anything to Canada. You’ll notice my case doesn’t involve theft, or injuring anyone but myself. Just trespass, though I wouldn’t mind a short prison stay if it can be arranged. Sort of like Shawshank redemption.

Anyway, my minor crime was committed a week ago, Thursday, and involved a Dodge Viper. One that I own, straight-up, with a partner and the bank: a yellow, convertible viper costing some $220,000 when new. Beautiful machine; tinted glass, and capable of doing 180 mph without breaking a sweat. I use it, or did, to take care of errands for his honor. He tips nice, and helps out when I’m in a jam, so I did get paid for the work, but for the most part, it’s like I’m like a patriot-servant to the city. I’m using my own car for city business. In better days, those errands included taking judges for the occasional joy ride, to the airport or lunch, plus other deliveries. Not generally on the water, like last Thursday, and yes that’s me, waving in the photo. Shame about the car.

As to how I got the viper, I got it at the dealer on Woodward, just over the 8 mile bridge, and paid for it mostly myself, with a loan from First Federal. At the time I had a good job running errands for his honor, as I mentioned. Now I’m so of unemployed. What sort of errands? The sort of ones you’d want to run in a viper, Duh. Aside from driving judges to meetings, there were girl errands; some boy errands; some money errands. Occasionally a disposal — nothing illegal, but embarrassing maybe. When you’re disposing of city property, you don’t look too carefully at the item. When you’re carrying something big, or someone’s wife or girlfriend, or a lot of money, it’s nice to be able to move quickly. Judges and senators like to move fast too, behind tinted windows. They still do.

Anyway, after his honor goes to prison (real shame, that), and my job becomes near-ended. There’s still some errands to to, but not so many, and I’ll grant that the viper has become more of a liability than an asset. Not that there’s insurance fraud behind me ending up in the river, just good-ole fun, and maybe a little reckless driving. I’m owing like 165k still on the machine, and my brother and I came up with this great plan for a movie — no fraud intended. There’s this great spot that we know by Zug Island, where the Rouge meets the Detroit river. It’s pretty well deserted, with a pier and a boat ramp. We used it all the time, back in the day for meetings and such. No-one goes there because of the smells. There’s always an oil slick and the water there will dissolve most anything metal. The Zug Island folks make sure of there are no cameras or loiterers either — just so no-one steals their secrets. Anyway, my brother and I figured that, if I got the viper up to about 30- 40 mph on the pier we could sail it out over the rocks and garbage into the river, land softly in the water, and make for a great movie. We never planned to file an insurance claim like we’d lost the car or it was stolen. Anyway, the water’s only about 8′ below the end of the pier, so it’s sort of like a high-dive. I figured I’d get out of the sinking car swim up to the boat ramp, and walk to my brother’s car on the street. The car would dissolve to rust in a week; the water’s pretty nasty there. He’d film the whole thing. I’d dry off; we’d drive home, have a beer or two, then sell the film. Probably pull the rust out of the river in a week, just to keep everything in it’s pure, pristine state. Though, now that I think of it, insurance might still cover most of the value of the car. You never know.

So the first part goes OK. We drive to the pier about 9:00 PM, Thursday, just as the sun’s setting. There’s that good, reddish light over the Windsor skyline, and the pier is empty. There are two winos off far from my intended route. My brother and I take down the top and line up the vehicle so I avoid unwanted bumps and garbage as I sail out on my way to glory. And, with a shot of Jack, and a wave to my brother (It’s on the film), I go shooting out down the pier and over the water. Fine. No bumps, no rocks. Nice flight. No soft landing, though. The car hits water like a pumpkin on concrete. Ouch! The thing bends in the middle sealing the door shut and me inside. There’s hardly any spring to the seats anyway, and what little there once was is lost. My back gets twisted into the steering wheel. I can barely turn and I can’t quite get out. Then, about 5 minutes later, the air bag goes off. Guess they didn’t design for this accident. My back, is now twisted into the sat-back, and I’m in pain.

I think it’s some sort of Sprite Healey fracture like Kevin Everett got last year. I can walk, thanks, but it needs medical attention that I’m not likely to get on Medicaid. Anyway, like I said, I’m trapped inside the vehicle, and suppose I’d be dead if the car sank like we planned, bit it don’t sink. The thing floats. Like, forever. The car weighs like two tons and it floats! Who knew. I’m carried by my momentum and by some random Rouge current out past Zug Island into the main channel between Detroit and Windsor where I’m almost run down by an ore boat. Anyway, the yellow metal Viper-dingy I’m in gets noticed by the boat lookout and by some fishermen, but no one helps. Everyone’s seems to think it’s really funny. They’re all taking pictures, and texting, and calling their friends. And everyone is laughing but me. It’s funny, like a fart in a space suit. Meanwhile my brother’s been driving along by the river, filming everything and hoping I get out and can somehow swim to safety, and I keep floating off to Canada. Finally, someone calls the coast guard, but when the come, it turns out I’m in Canadian waters. So the Canadians come, and they’re all think it’s a boot. I’m a celebrity with pictures of me in my car floating all over the internet. And well, here I am, a relatively innocent man, with a junked car and a bad back. And I’m ready to make a deal. I’ll admit it looks like I was planning to defraud someone, but there’s no evidence. I’ll admit to trespass if you like, but not fraud or endangerment. There was no one there to endange, and no one endangered, except of me. And I won’t press charges (little joke).

What with all the publicity, I figure you want to press more than just trespass, and what I was thinking of is reckless driving. I’ll admit to that with no contest. Looked at the right way, that’s like a 60 day sentence, maybe 90 days, and that’s just fine with me. I don’t have the cleanest record, but it’s not like I’ve done this before. I think it would be fair if I got 60 to 90-days of incarceration with medical benefits and job rehabilitation. I’d like to learn a new trade, like auto repair. That’s a win-win for everyone. You close the case, and I get cured and put my job skills to work just as soon as I get out. But I really need the medical though. My health insurance doesn’t cover injury-in-performance-of-a-crime — it’s right there on page 28. And Medicare is garbage. Next time you get insurance, your honor, make sure to read the contract.

Anyway, you have the tape and the pictures, and can check with my brother. We have plenty of people who will testify for us, even folks in congress and in the police department. They’ll all tell you, we’re just a couple of good fellows, somewhat down on our luck, waiting to get out and go straight. Thanks for your help, and God-bless.

R. E. Buxbaum. Sept 30, 2015. Some weeks ago, I wrote an essay, “What is comedy.” So I thought I’d try writing one. Tell me how you think I did. No one in the story is meant to be anyone real, except for “his honor,’ who’s meant to be a fictional version of His Honor.

Comedy: what is comedy?

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It’s a mistake, I think, to expect that comedy will be funny; the Devine comedy isn’t, nor are Shakespeare’s comedies. It seems, rather, that comedy is the result of mistakes, fakes, and drunks stumbling along to a (typically) unexpected outcome. That’s sometimes funny, as often not. Our expectation is that mistakes and fools will fail in whatever the try, but that’s hardly ever the outcome in literature. Or in life. As often as not, the idiot ends up as king with the intelligent man working for him. It’s as if God is a comic writer and we are his creation. Perhaps God keeps us around for our amusement value, and drops us when we get stale.

It’s not uncommon to have laughs in a comedy; a Shakespearian comedy has some, as does life. But my sense is that you find more jokes in a tragedy, e.g. Romeo and Juliet, or Julius Caesar. What makes these tragedies, as best I can tell, is the great number of honorable people behaving honorably. Unlike what Aristotle claims, tragedy doesn’t have to deal with particularly great people (Romeo and Juliet aren’t) but they must behave honorably. If Romeo were to say “Oh well, she’s dead, I’ll find another,” it would be a comedy. When the lovers choose honorable death over separation, that’s tragedy.

hell viewed as a layer cake. Here is where suicides end up.

Dante’s hell viewed as a layer cake. The “you” label is where suicides end up; it’s from an anti-suicide blog.

Fortunately for us, in real life most people behave dishonorably most of the time, and the result is usually a happy ending. In literature and plays too, dishonorable behavior usually leads to a happy ending. In literature, I think it’s important for the happy ending to come about semi-naturally with some foreshadowing. God may protect fools, but He keeps to certain patterns, and I think a good comic writer should too. In one of my favorite musicals, the Music Man, the main character, a lovable con man is selling his non-teaching of music in an Iowa town. In the end, he escapes prison because, while the kids can’t play at all, the parents think they sound great. It’s one of the great Ah hah moments, I think. Similarly at the end of Gilbert and Sullivan’s Mikado, it’s not really surprising that the king (Mikado) commutes the death sentence of his son’s friends on the thinnest of presence: he’s the king; those are his son’s friends, and one of them has married a horrible lady who’s been a thorn in the king’s side. Of course he commutes the sentence: he’s got no honor. And everyone lives happily.

Even in the Divine Comedy (Dante), the happy ending (salvation) comes about with a degree of foreshadowing. While you meet a lot of suffering fools in hell and purgatory, it’s not totally unexpected to find some fools and sinners in heaven too. Despite the statement at the entrance of hell, “give up all hope”, you expect and find there is Devine grace. It shows up in a sudden break-out from hell, where a horde of the damned are seen to fly past those in purgatory for being too pious. And you even find foolish sinning at the highest levels of heaven. The (prepared) happy ending is what makes it a good comedy, I imagine.

There is such a thing as a bad comedy, or a tragic-comedy. I suspect that “The merchant of Venice” is not a tragedy at all, but a poorly written, bad comedy. There are fools aplenty in merchant, but too many honorable folks as well. And the happy ending is too improbable: The disguised woman lawyer wins the case. The Jew loses his money and converts, everyone marries, and the missing ships reappear, as if by magic. A tragic-comedy, like Dr Horrible’s sing along blog; is something else. There are fools and mistakes, but not totally unexpected ending is unhappy. It happens in life too, but I prefer it when God writes it otherwise.

It seems to me that the battle of Bunker Hill was one of God’s comedies, or tragic-comedies depending on which side you look. Drunken Colonials build a bad fort on the wrong hill in the middle of the night. Four top British generals agree to attack the worthless fort with their best troops just to show them, and the result is the greatest British loss of life of the Revolutionary war — plus the British in charge of the worthless spit of land. It’s comic, despite the loss of life, and despite that these are not inferior people. There is a happy ending from the American perspective, but none from the British.

I can also imagine happy tragedies: tales where honorable people battle and produce a happy result. It happens rarely in life, and the only literature example I can think of is  1776 (the musical). You see the cream of the colonies, singing, dancing, and battling with each other with honorable commitment. And the result is a happy one, at least from the American perspective.

Robert E. Buxbaum, September 17-24, 2015. I borrowed some ideas here from Nietzsche: Human, All too Human, and Birth of Tragedy, and added some ideas of my own, e.g. re; God. Nietzsche is quite good on the arts, I find, but anti-good on moral issues (That’s my own, little Nietzsche joke, and my general sense). The original Nietzsche is rather hard to read, including insights like: “A joke is an epigram on the death of a feeling.”

Pelham G. Wodehouse would like to acknowledge

Here is the acknowledgement page of P. G. Wodehouse’s autobiography, “Over Seventy”, published 1957. Wouldn’t we all like to be able to write an acknowledgement like this (and have enough of an oeuvre to make it funny)?

Wouldn't we all like to write one like this.

You have to have a lot of hits — or an imaginary Frisby –to get away with an acknowledgement like this.

For those who don’t know, P.G. Wodehouse (1881-1975)  was the author of some 150 books and plays, plus a hundred or so short stories, radio-sketches and songs. He is best known as the creator of one of the great bromance relationships: carefree Bertram Wooster and his super-competent valet, Jeeves. Wodehouse collaborated on two dozen Broadway musicals including with Jerome Kern (Showboat), Cole Porter (Anything Goes), Guy Bolton, and George Gershwin, and once had 5 running simultaneously. But, to my knowledge, he has never sold an eel, jellied or otherwise.

Robert E. Buxbaum, September 1, 2015. “It was one of those cases where you approve the broad, general principle of an idea but can’t help being in a bit of a twitter at the prospect of putting it into practical effect. I explained this to Jeeves, and he said much the same thing had bothered Hamlet.”  (Jeeves in the Morning).

Of Scrooge and rising wheat production

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The Christmas Carol tells a tale that, for all the magic and fantasy, presents as true an economic picture of a man and his times as any in real-life history. Scrooge is a miserable character at the beginning of the tale, he lives alone in a dark house, without a wife or children, disliked by those around him. Scrooge has an office with a single employee (Bob Cratchit) in a tank-like office heated by a single lump of coal. He doesn’t associate much with friends or family, and one senses that he has few customers. He is poor by any life measure, and is likely poor relative to other bankers. At the end, through giving, he finds he enjoys life, is liked more, and (one has the sense) he may even get more business, and more money.

Scrooge (as best I can read him) believes in Malthus’s economic error of zero-sum wealth: That there is a limited amount of food, clothing, jobs, etc. and therefore Scrooge uses only the minimum, employs only the minimum, and spends only the minimum. Having more people would only mean more mouths to feed. As Scrooge says, “I can’t afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the establishments I have mentioned [the workhouses]. They cost enough, and … If they [the poor] would rather die,” said Scrooge, “they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.”

Scrooge, the poor rich man.

Scrooge, the poor rich man with a tiny carbon footprint.

The teaching of the spirits is the opposite, and neither that of the Democrats or Republicans. Neither that a big government is needed to redistribute the wealth, nor that the free market will do everything. But, as I read it, the spirits bring a spiritual message of personal charity and happiness. That one enriches ones-self when one give of and by ones-self — just from the desire to be good and do good. The spirit of Christmas Present assures Scrooge that no famine will result from the excess population, but tells him of his 1800 brothers and shows him the unending cornucopia of food in the marketplace: spanish onions, oranges, fat chestnuts, grapes, and squab. Christmas future then shows him his funeral, and Tim’s: the dismal end of all men, rich and not:  “Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die? It may be, that in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless and less fit to live.” And Scrooge reforms, learns: gives a smile and a laugh, and employs a young runner to get Cratchit a fat goose. He visits his nephew Fred, a cheerful businessman for dinner, and laughs while watching Tom Topper court Fred’s plump sister-in-law.

The spirits do not redistribute Scrooge’s wealth for him, and certainly don’t present a formula for how much to give whom. Instead they present a picture of the value of joy and societal fellowship (as I read it). The spirits help Scrooge out of his mental rut so he’s sees worthy endeavors everywhere. Both hoarding and redistribution are Malthusian-Scroogian messages, as I read them. Both are based on the idea that there is only so much that the world can provide.

World wheet production

World wheat production tripled from 1960 to 2012 (faostat.fao.org), but acreage remained constant. More and more wheat from the same number of acres.

The history of food production suggests the spirits are right. The population is now three times what it was in Dickens’s day and mass starvation is not here. Instead we live among an “apoplectic opulence” of food. In a sense these are the product of new fertilizers, new tractors, and GMOs (Genetically modified organisms), but I would say it’s more the influence of better people. Plus, perhaps some extra CO2 in the air. Britons now complain about being too fat — and blame free markets for making them so. Over the last 50 years, wheat production has tripled, while the world population doubled, and the production of delicacies, like meat has expanded even faster. Unexpectedly, one sees that the opulence does not come from bringing new fields on-line — a process that would have to stop — but instead from increased production by the same tilled acres.

The opulence is not uniformly distributed, I should note. Countries that believe in Malthus and resort to hoarding or redistribution have been rewarded to see their grim prophesies fulfilled, as was Scrooge. Under Stalin, The Soviet Union redistributed grain from the unworthy farmer to the worth factory worker. The result was famine and Stalin felt vindicated by it. Even after Stalin, production never really grew under Soviet oversight, but remained at 75 Mtons/year from 1960 until the soviet collapse in 1990. Tellingly, nearly half of Soviet production was from the 3% of land under private cultivation. An unintended benefit: it appears the lack of Soviet grain was a major motivation for détente.  England had famine problems too when they enacted Malthusian “corn acts” and when they prevented worker migration Irish ownership during the potato famine. They saw starvation again under Attlee’s managed redistribution. In the US, it’s possible that behaviors like FDR scattering the bonus army may have helped prolong the depression. My sense is that the modern-day Scrooges are those against immigration “the foreigners will take our jobs,” and those who oppose paying folks on time, or nuclear and coal for fear that we will warm the planet. Their vision of America-yet-to-be matches Scrooge’s: a one-man work-force in a tank office heated by a single piece of coal.

Now I must admit that I have no simple formula for the correct charity standard. How does a nation provide enough, but not so much that it removes motivation– and the joy of success. Perhaps all I can say is that there is a best path between hoarding and false generosity. Those pushing the extremes are not helping, but creating a Dickensian world of sadness and gloom. Rejoice with me then, and with the reformed Scrooge. God bless us all, each and every one.

Robert Buxbaum, January 7, 2015. Some ideas here from Jerry Bowyer in last year’s Forbes.