Prospero's Books

It's called literature

From John Horgan's response to a letter in the May-June 2008 issue of Science and Spirit:

Many so-called emergent phenomena can be understood, at least partially, through conventional reductionist methods. Particle physics has yielded extraordinary insights into the origin, composition, and evolution of the entire cosmos. Molecular biology has illuminated once opaque mysteries such as conception, heredity, and speciation. But some emergent phenomena, notably that of the human mind, stubbornly resist reductionist analysis. Fortunately we do have a "different methodology" for understanding ourselves. It's called literature (6).

Whence came you?

On XM Radio's vintage radio channel, I stumbled on an old series that I'd never heard of: Quiet, Please. In the episode being played is an exchange that will interest my Masonic readers. The narrator, Austin, an Indiana Jones prototype working in Egypt, is showing his friend Abe around a dig site:

ABE FELDMAN: Oh.  What does this say?

AUSTIN: What?

ABE FELDMAN: Uh, this slab here.

AUSTIN: Let's see. Uh... (reads and slowly translates) 'Here was I... Ho-Tep,
presented with a...' I guess you'd say, 'invested with... the working tools of
those who... build.  In my hand, I, Ho-Tep, did take' -- uh -- 'took... the
tools of the second...' -- uh -- 'grade... of workmen in stone, the,' -- uh -- 
'plumb, the square, and the...'

ABE FELDMAN: The level, huh? 

AUSTIN: How'd you know?

ABE FELDMAN (amazed): There were Masons in those days.

AUSTIN: Well, sure.  How do you think they built all this stone stuff?

The series, which aired from 1947 to 1949, was the creation of writer Wyllis Cooper, an active Freemason. So my Masonic readers, knowing well the language of Masonic ritual, will not be surprised that this episode, titled "Whence Came You," begins with the line "I came from Jerusalem."

(Audio and text files of this episode [number 37] and others are available on the fan site Quiet, Please.)

Alas, poor Yorick

Perhaps the most recognizable image from all of Shakespeare's plays is that of Hamlet contemplating a skull--the skull of Yorick, the court jester.

Why Yorick? While rereading Hamlet for my current "Shakespeare, Systems, and Intertextuality" course, I've come to understand one possible reason. The court of Claudius, the elder Hamlet's murderer and usurper, is a court without a jester--a court without anyone who can (to quote an old Quaker phrase) "speak truth to power."

One of the ways that Claudius's Denmark is corrupt is that information flow--essential to the continued existence of any system--has been distorted or blocked. (I count at least seven instances in the play of an attempt to gather information through deceit.)

I'll bet that after Yorick's death, the elder Hamlet's court continued to include jesters. But Claudius's court does not--until young Hamlet comes home. Hamlet's "Mousetrap" play can be seen as a replacement for the jests of a court fool. When this play-within-a-play restores some information flow, showing Claudius as he really is, Claudius panics and stops the show.

Something is rotten in the state--the system--of Denmark. Hamlet tries to restore that system to health by opening communication channels again. But he's too late, and the system collapses. Systems are often defined by contrasting them with mere heaps. The heap of bodies at the end of Act V provides a perfect illustration of the difference.

A twenty-first-century Shakespeare?

Scott Malia, at The Shakespeare Blog, writes:

While Shakespeare appreciation might be near universal among writers, it begs the question of comparison. Who among today’s writers is what might be considered the twenty first century answer to him?

His initial suggestion: TV and film writer Aaron Sorkin--a great candidate. Over at The Shakespeare Teacher, Bill and his readers suggest others.

In my Conversations with Shakespeare course, I lead students through half a dozen of Shakespeare's plays, as well as later works in explicit "conversation" with them: Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, Smiley's A Thousand Acres, Cesaire's A Tempest, Gaiman's Sandman treatment of A Midsummer Night's Dream, and others. The course ends with a play that I find the most "Shakespearean" of recent dramas: Tony Kushner's Angels in America. My students always find lots of ways that Angels is in implicit, if not explicit, conversation with the Bard.

So Kushner's my candidate--not in the quantity of his output, but in his almost unique ability (among many others) to give his subjects both cosmic and fractal dimensions. If you haven't read or seen the play, do so (especially the amazing HBO film of it), and see if you agree.

To dream all the time

Writer's Blog has posted this photo of a window display at New York's Henri Bendel. (Click the picture for a larger image.) The display is said to be inspired by a quotation from the French novelist Marcel Proust:

If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time.

Book of the Year

The second annual Prospero's Books Book of the Year is Cosmic Jackpot: Why Our Universe Is Just Right for Life, by physicist and cosmologist Paul Davies.

A few sentences from the first pages of the book (especially when read alongside this blog's description, at the top left of each page) may suggest why it was chosen:

About 350 years ago, the greatest magician who ever lived finally stumbled on the key to the universe--a cosmic code that would open the floodgates of knowledge. This was Isaac Newton--mystic, theologian, and alchemist--and in spite of his mystical leanings, he did more than anyone to change the age of magic into the age of science . . . .

The word science is derived from the Latin scientia, simply meaning "knowledge." Originally it was just one of many arcane methods used to probe beyond the limitations of our senses in the hope of accessing an unseen reality. The particular brand of "magic" employed by the early scientists involved hitherto unfamiliar and specialized procedures, such as manipulating mathematical symbols on pieces of paper and coaxing matter to behave in strange ways. . . .

The ancients were right: beneath the surface complexity of nature lies a hidden subtext, written a subtle mathematical code. This cosmic code contains contains the secret rules on which the universe runs (4).

(The 2006 Book of the Year was The Museum of Lost Wonder.)

The broad, yet common patterns of human life

"Living in a society with increasingly complex patterns can be quite difficult," writes scientist/artist Karmen Franklin, of Chaotic Utopia, in an article, "The Empath Meets the Skeptic: Tarot in the 21st Century." She continues:

Many inventions have been tools to ease the necessary adaptations to such a pace. Humans need a way to sort out the puzzles. The broad, yet common patterns of human life all appear in the Tarot, reflected as repeating cycles and symbolic representations. Indeed, what better tool could there be for reading the patterns of events so complex no single science or discipline can cover their whole?"

And later:

Storytelling, not occultist devil-worship, is the purpose of the Tarot. Like the veiled lessons in fairy tales or bedtime stories, the Tarot contains warnings and cautions. Unlike these children's tales, however, the listener is the character in the stories described by the cards. This is true storytelling. The Tarot and the stories it tells are offering pure reflections of our perceptions, which are simply reflections in themselves. Certainly, the message of the tarot is strange, obscure, and veiled, but so are all lessons in the best stories... or in the best moments and most cherished memories of real life. In either case, one simply interprets what they see by associating events with familiar symbols, and then forming those symbols into patterns.

Thanks, Karmen. Nothing I've read recently captures so well the big-picture thinking--from signs, stories, systems, spirit--that I try to note in Prospero's Books.

Dreaming the author's dream

Bob Thompson, at the Washington Post, reports the speech given this past Tuesday, at Georgetown University, by the Turkish novelist Orhan Pamuk, winner of the 2006 Nobel Prize for Literature. Thompson writes:

Pamuk thinks novels are our best hope to understand the unique history of other peoples.

"Obviously we cannot hope to come to grips with matters this deep merely by reading newspapers and magazines or by watching television," he said.

Near the end of his talk, the novelist spoke of "a vision that I entertain from time to time." Sometimes, he said, he tries to "conjure up one by one a multitude of readers hidden away in corners, nestled in their armchairs with their novels."

Then, before his eyes, "thousands, tens of thousands of readers will take shape, stretching far and wide, across the streets of the city, and as they read, they dream the author's dream, imagine his heroes into being and see his world. So now these readers, like the author himself, try to imagine 'the other' -- they are putting themselves in another's place."

By the end of this vision, Pamuk said, he sees his novel readers as "an entire nation . . . imagining itself into being."

(Thanks to my friend Hrothgar for the tip.)

An organism with a life history of its own

A new addition to the Sacred Text library is the 1908 book The Grateful Dead, by Gordon Hall Gerould, from which Jerry Garcia may have taken the name for his band.

Deadheads (fans of the band) will doubtless agree with one of Gerould's conclusions:

The Grateful Dead is an organism with a life history of its own.

Rest in peace, Jerry.

The only eternal bridge

Patricia, at BookLust, quotes from The World To Come by Dara Horn:

"Remember the story you learned as a child: When the hour arrives for us to proceed to the next world, there will be two bridges to it, one made of iron and one made of paper," Peretz intoned. His words were heavy, but his voice floated on rings of smoke, a breath of fire and ash waiting to descend and consume them. Der Nister swallowed, breathing in the master's air. "The wicked will run to the iron bridge, but it will collapse under their weight. The righteous will cross the paper bridge, and it will support them all. Paper is the only eternal bridge. Your purpose as a writer is to achieve one task, and one task only: to build a paper bridge to the world to come."

(Thanks to Changing Places for the link.)