{"product_id":"the-hall-of-uselessness-isbn-9781590176207","title":"The Hall of Uselessness","description":"An NYRB Classics Original\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSimon Leys is a Renaissance man for the  era of globalization. A distinguished scholar of classical Chinese art  and literature and one of the first Westerners to recognize the  appalling toll of Mao’s Cultural Revolution, Leys also writes with  unfailing intelligence, seriousness, and bite about European art,  literature, history, and politics and is an unflinching observer of the  way we live now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Hall of Uselessness\u003c\/i\u003e is the most  extensive collection of Leys’s essays to be published to date. In it, he  addresses subjects ranging from the Chinese attitude to the past to the  mysteries of Belgium and Belgitude; offers portraits of André Gide and  Zhou Enlai; takes on Roland Barthes and Christopher Hitchens; broods on  the Cambodian genocide; reflects on the spell of the sea; and writes  with keen appreciation about writers as different as Victor Hugo, Evelyn  Waugh, and Georges Simenon. Throughout, \u003ci\u003eThe Hall of Uselessness\u003c\/i\u003e is marked with the deep knowledge, skeptical intelligence, and passionate conviction that have made Simon Leys one of the most powerful essayists of our time.\"What made Leys most remarkable was his depth, his continuous effort to try to get to the bottom of things, to understand them, and to render them with the great simplicity proper of the people who really worked through them.\" —Francesco Sisci, \u003ci\u003eAsia Times Online\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"He was a literary scholar in the Chinese literati tradition, that is to say, his scholarship was a form of literature.\" —Ian Buruma \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“That early on I developed a critical distance from the ideologies of the epoch I owe to writers like Simon Leys and Guy Debord. They kept me from being a dupe.”\u003cbr\u003e—Olivier Assayas\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The message these pieces drive home with wit and uncommon clarity is this: there is a central truth that may—no, must!—be spoken. There is a manner by which life may be lived fully and well. And there is a richer, deeper, grander conception of human nature than we are currently given to understand. To see Leys’s essays assembled is to appreciate, if you haven’t already, the range of philosophical, artistic and literary interests that sustain even his slightest productions.”\u003cbr\u003e—Geordie Williamson, \u003ci\u003eThe Australian\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No one in the China field has combined profound erudition and stiletto insight as well as Leys. For me he has been the North Star of China watching—equally as constant, and just as brilliant.\"\u003cbr\u003e —Perry Link, Professor Emeritus of East Asian Studies at Princeton University\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eSimon Leys\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e(1935 - 2014) is the pen name of Pierre Ryckmans, who was  born in Belgium and settled in Australia in 1970. He taught Chinese  literature at the Australian National University and was Professor of  Chinese Studies at the University of Sydney from 1987 to 1993. Leys’s  writing has appeared in T\u003ci\u003ehe New York Review of Books\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eLe Monde\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eLe Figaro Littéraire\u003c\/i\u003e, and other periodicals. Among his books are \u003ci\u003eChinese Shadows\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Death of Napoleon \u003c\/i\u003e(forthcoming from NYRB Classics), \u003ci\u003eOther People’s Thoughts\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Wreck of the Batavia \u0026amp; Prosper\u003c\/i\u003e.  In 1996 he delivered the Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s Boyer  lectures. He won many awards, including the Prix Renaudot, the Prix Femina,  the Prix Guizot, and the Christina Stead Prize for Fiction.\u003cb\u003eLies That Tell the Truth\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e            In art truth is suggested by false means.\u003cbr\u003e                                    —\u003ci\u003eEDGAR DEGAS\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e            Truth is only believed when someone has invented it well.\u003cbr\u003e                                    —\u003ci\u003eGEORGE SANTAYANA\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e            To think clearly in human terms you have to be impelled by a poem.\u003cbr\u003e                                    —\u003ci\u003eLES MURRAY\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eTHIS ESSAY WAS ORIGINALLY an address to the annual conference\u003cbr\u003eof the Supreme Court of New South Wales. where its title, at the\u003cbr\u003erequest of the organizers, was changed to 'Historical and Other Truths'\u003cbr\u003e– which was deemed more appropriate for such a serious audience. For\u003cbr\u003ejudges Me supposed to be serious; indeed. don't they wear wigs and\u003cbr\u003egowns to convince us - and remind themselves - of their seriousness?\u003cbr\u003eSerious people have little time for any form of fiction. With such a flippant\u003cbr\u003etitle, my talk was not likely to attract many listeners. Still, the\u003cbr\u003echange left me slightly uneasy – since, strictly speaking, I am not a historian\u003cbr\u003e– and I am glad to be able now to relinquish the false advertisement\u003cbr\u003eof which I was somehow guilty.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eMy article carries three epigraphs. Most lectures, addresses – and\u003cbr\u003eessays – are usually forgettable. Epigraphs should be memorable. My\u003cbr\u003ereaders will naturally forget this article, but they should remember the\u003cbr\u003eepigraphs. The first one is by a painter, the second one by a philosopher.\u003cbr\u003ethe third one by a poet.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePainters, philosophers, poets, creative writers – and also inventors\u003cbr\u003eand scientists – all reach truth by taking imaginative short-cuts. Let us\u003cbr\u003econsider some of these.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePlato's dialogues remain the cornerstone of all Western philosophy.\u003cbr\u003eVery often what we find at their core is not discursive reasoning but various\u003cbr\u003emyths - short philosophical parables. Myth is the oldest and richest\u003cbr\u003eform of fiction. It performs an essential function: 'what myth\u003cbr\u003ecommunicates is not truth but reality; truth is always about something—\u003cbr\u003ereality is what truth is about' (C.S. Lewis).\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eAt roughly the same time as Plato in the West, ancient Daoist thinkers\u003cbr\u003ein China also expressed their ideas in imaginative form. On the subject\u003cbr\u003ethat occupies us here – how do our minds reach truth – there is one\u003cbr\u003etale in Lie Zi that seems illuminating and fundamental.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eIn the time of the Warring States, horses were very important for\u003cbr\u003emilitary reasons. The feudal lords employed the services of experts to\u003cbr\u003efind good ones. Best of all was the super-horse (\u003ci\u003eqian-li ma\u003c\/i\u003e), an animal\u003cbr\u003ewhich could run a thousand miles a day without leaving tracks and without\u003cbr\u003eraising dust. Super-horses were most sought after, but they were\u003cbr\u003ealso very rare and hard to detect. Hence the need for highly specialized\u003cbr\u003eexperts; most famous among these was a man called Bole. Eventually\u003cbr\u003eBole became too old to pursue his field trips prospecting for super-horses.\u003cbr\u003eThus his employer, the Duke of Qin, asked him if he could recommend\u003cbr\u003eanother expert to carry on with this task. 'Yes,' said Bole. 'I\u003cbr\u003ehave a friend, a pedlar of firewood in the market, who is quite a connoisseur\u003cbr\u003eof horses. ' Following Bole's advice. the duke dispatched this man\u003cbr\u003eon a mission to find a super-horse. Three months later, the man\u003cbr\u003ereturned and reported to the duke: 'I have found one; it is in such-and-such\u003cbr\u003ea place; it's a brown mare.' The duke sent his people to fetch the\u003cbr\u003eanimal, which proved to be a black stallion. The duke was not happy and\u003cbr\u003esummoned Bole: That friend of yours – he does not seem to be much\u003cbr\u003eof an expert: he could not even get the animal's sex and colour right!'\u003cbr\u003eOn hearing this, Bole was amazed: \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Fantastic! He is even better than myself, a hundred, a thousand\u003cbr\u003etimes better than myself! What he perceives is the innermost nature\u003cbr\u003eof the animal. He looks for and sees what he needs to see. He ignores\u003cbr\u003ewhat he does not need to see. Not distracted by external appearances,\u003cbr\u003ehe goes straight to the inner essence. The way he judges\u003cbr\u003ehorses shows that he should be judge of more important things than\u003cbr\u003ehorses.”\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eAnd, needless to say, this particular animal proved to be a super-horse\u003cbr\u003eindeed, a horse that could run a thousand miles a day without leaving\u003cbr\u003etracks and without raising dust.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eIn reflecting on the ways by which our minds apprehend truth, you\u003cbr\u003emay feel that a 2300-year-old Chinese parable is of only limited relevance.\u003cbr\u003eBut if so, let us consider something closer to hand: the mental\u003cbr\u003eprocesses followed by modern Western science.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eClaude Bernard, the great pathologist whose research and discoveries\u003cbr\u003ewere of momentous importance in the development of modern\u003cbr\u003emedical science, one day entered the lecture hall where he was going to\u003cbr\u003eteach and noticed something peculiar: various trays were on a table,\u003cbr\u003econtaining different human organs; on one of these trays, flies had gathered.\u003cbr\u003eA common mind would have made a common observation, perhaps\u003cbr\u003edeploring a lack of cleanliness in the room or instructing the\u003cbr\u003ejanitor to keep the windows shut. But Bernard's was not a common\u003cbr\u003emind: he observed that the flies had gathered on the tray which contained\u003cbr\u003elivers – and he thought, There must be sugar there. And he discovered\u003cbr\u003ethe glycogenic function of the liver – a discovery that proved\u003cbr\u003edecisive for the understanding and treatment of diabetes.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eI found this anecdote not in any history of medical science, but in\u003cbr\u003ethe diaries of the greatest modern French poet, Paul Claudel. And\u003cbr\u003eClaudel commented: 'This mental process is identical to that of poetical\u003cbr\u003ewriting ... The impelling motion is the same. Which shows that the primary\u003cbr\u003esource of scientific thought is not reasoning, but the precise verification\u003cbr\u003eof an association \u003ci\u003eoriginally\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003esupplied by the imagination\u003c\/i\u003e.'\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eNote that when I refer to 'poetry', I am taking this word in its most\u003cbr\u003efundamental sense. Samuel Johnson, in his monumental dictionary of\u003cbr\u003ethe English language, assigns three definitions to the word ' poet', in\u003cbr\u003edecreasing order of importance: first, 'an inventor'; second, 'an author\u003cbr\u003eof fiction'; and last, 'a writer of poems.'\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eTruth is grasped by an imaginative leap. This applies not only to\u003cbr\u003escientific thinking but also to philosophical thought. When I was a\u003cbr\u003enaive young student in the first year of university, our Arts course\u003cbr\u003eincluded the study of philosophy - a prospect that excited me much at\u003cbr\u003efirst, though I was soon disappointed by the mediocrity of our lecturer.\u003cbr\u003eHowever, through family acquaintances I had the good fortune to\u003cbr\u003eknow personally an eminent philosopher of our time, who happened to\u003cbr\u003ebe also a kind and generous man. On my request, he drafted for me a\u003cbr\u003elist of basic readings: one handwritten page with bibliographic references\u003cbr\u003eof a selection of classic texts, modern works, histories of philosophy\u003cbr\u003eand introductions to philosophy. I treasured this document; yet,\u003cbr\u003eover the years, wandering round the world, I misplaced it and, like\u003cbr\u003emany other treasures, eventually lost it. Now, half a century later, I\u003cbr\u003ehave long forgotten the actual items on the list. What I still remember\u003cbr\u003eis the postscript the great philosopher had inscribed at the bottom of\u003cbr\u003ethat page - I remember it vividly because, at the time, I did not understand\u003cbr\u003eit and it puzzled me. The postscript said (underlined), 'Most\u003cbr\u003eimportant of all, don't forget: do read a lot of novels.' When I first read\u003cbr\u003ethis note, as an immature student, it shocked me. Somehow it did not\u003cbr\u003esound serious enough. For, naively, we tend to confuse what is serious\u003cbr\u003ewith what is deep. (In the editorial pages of our newspapers, leading\u003cbr\u003earticles are serious, while cartoons are funny; yet quite often the cartoon\u003cbr\u003eis deep and the leader is vapid.) It took me a long time to appreciate\u003cbr\u003ethe full wisdom of my philosopher's advice; now I frequently\u003cbr\u003eencounter echoes of it. And to the observation I have already quoted\u003cbr\u003eelsewhere, that one should prefer a medical practitioner who reads\u003cbr\u003eChekhov, I would add that, if I commit a crime, I hope to be judged by\u003cbr\u003ea judge who has read Simenon.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eMen of action - people who are totally involved in tackling what\u003cbr\u003ethey believe to be real life - tend to dismiss poetry and all forms of\u003cbr\u003ecreative writing as a frivolous distraction. Our great Polar explorer\u003cbr\u003eMawson wrote in a letter to his wife some instructions concerning\u003cbr\u003etheir children's education. He insisted that they should not waste their\u003cbr\u003etime reading novels, but should instead acquire factual information\u003cbr\u003efrom books of history and biography.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThis view - quite prevalent, actually - that there is an essential difference\u003cbr\u003ebetween works of imagination on the one hand, and records of\u003cbr\u003efacts and events on the other, is very naive. At a certain depth or a certain\u003cbr\u003elevel of quality, all writings tend to be creative writing, for they all\u003cbr\u003epartake of the same essence: poetry.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHistory (contrary to the common view) does not record events. It\u003cbr\u003emerely records echoes of events - which is a very different thing - and,\u003cbr\u003ein doing this, it must rely on imagination as much as on memory. Memory\u003cbr\u003eby itself can only accumulate data, pointlessly and meaninglessly.\u003cbr\u003eRemember Jorge Luis Borges' philosophical parable 'Funes the Memorious'. \u003cbr\u003eFunes is a young man who, falling on his head from a horse\u003cbr\u003ebecomes strangely crippled: his memory hyper-develops, he is deprived\u003cbr\u003eof any ability to forget, he remembers everything; his mind becomes a\u003cbr\u003emonstrous garbage dump cluttered and clogged with irrelevant data, a\u003cbr\u003egigantic heap of unrelated images and disconnected instants; he cannot\u003cbr\u003eevacuate any fragment of past experiences, however trifling. This relentless\u003cbr\u003ecapacity for absolute and continuous recollection is a curse; it\u003cbr\u003eexcludes all possibility of thought. For thinking requires space m which\u003cbr\u003eto forget, to select, to delete and to isolate what is significant. If you cannot\u003cbr\u003ediscard any item from the memory store, you cannot \u003ci\u003eabstract\u003c\/i\u003e and\u003cbr\u003egeneralize. But without abstraction and generalization, there can be no\u003cbr\u003ethought. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe historian does not merely record; he edits, he omits, he judges,\u003cbr\u003ehe interprets, he reorganizes, he composes. His mission is nothing less\u003cbr\u003ethan 'to render the highest kind of justice to the visible universe, by\u003cbr\u003ebringing to light the truth, manifold and one, underlying its every\u003cbr\u003easpect'. Yet this quote is not from a historian discussing history writing;\u003cbr\u003eit is from a novelist on the art of fiction: it is the famous beginning of\u003cbr\u003eJoseph Conrad's preface to \u003ci\u003eThe Nigger of the 'Narcissus'\u003c\/i\u003e, a true manifesto of\u003cbr\u003ethe novelist's mission.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe fact is, these two arts - history writing and fiction writing -\u003cbr\u003eoriginating both in poetry, involve similar activities and mobilize the\u003cbr\u003esame faculties: memory and imagination; and this is why it could rightly\u003cbr\u003ebe said that the novelist is the historian of the present and the historian of\u003cbr\u003ethe novelist of the past. Both must invent the truth. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eOf course, accuracy of data is the pre-condition of any historical\u003cbr\u003ework. But in the end, what determines the quality of a historian is the\u003cbr\u003equality of his judgment. Two historians may be in possession of the\u003cbr\u003esame data; what distinguishes them is what they make of their common\u003cbr\u003einformation. For example, on the subject of convict Australia, Robert\u003cbr\u003eHughes gathered a wealth of material which he presented in his \u003ci\u003eFatal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eShore\u003c\/i\u003e in a vivid and highly readable style. On the basis of that same\u003cbr\u003einformation, however, Geoffrey Blainey drew a conclusion that is radically\u003cbr\u003edifferent – and much more convincing. Hughes had likened convict\u003cbr\u003eAustralia to the 'Gulag Archipelago' of the Soviet Union, but Blamey\u003cbr\u003epointed out that whereas the Soviet Gulag was a totally sterile machine\u003cbr\u003edesigned solely to crush and destroy its inmates, in Australia, out of a\u003cbr\u003econvict system that was also brutal and ferocious, a number of individuals\u003cbr\u003eemerged full of vigour and ambition, who rose to become some of\u003cbr\u003etheir country's richest citizens. In turn, they soon generated a dynamic\u003cbr\u003esociety and, eventually, a vibrant young democracy What matters most\u003cbr\u003ein the end is how the historian reads events - and this is where his judgment\u003cbr\u003eis put to the test.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eTo reach the truth of the past, historians must overcome specific\u003cbr\u003eobstacles: they have to gather information that is not always readily\u003cbr\u003eavailable. In this sense, they must master the methods of a specialized\u003cbr\u003ediscipline. But to understand the truth of the present time, right in\u003cbr\u003efront of us, is not the preserve of historians; it is our common task. How\u003cbr\u003edo we usually cope with it? Not too well, it seems.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eLet us consider just two examples - still quite close to us, and of\u003cbr\u003ecolossal dimensions. The twentieth century was a hideous century\u003cbr\u003efilled with horrors on a gigantic scale. In sheer magnitude, the terror\u003cbr\u003eperpetrated by modern totalitarianisms was unprecedented. It developed\u003cbr\u003eessentially in two varieties: Stalinist and Hitlerian.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWhen we read the writings of Soviet and East European dissidents\u003cbr\u003eand exiles, we are struck by one recurrent theme: their amazement,\u003cbr\u003eindignation and anger in the face of the stupidity, ignorance and indifference\u003cbr\u003eof Western opinion and especially of the Western intelligentsia,\u003cbr\u003ewhich remained largely incapable of registering the reality of their predicament.\u003cbr\u003eAnd yet the Western countries were spending huge resources,\u003cbr\u003eboth to gather intelligence and to develop scholarly research on the\u003cbr\u003ecommunist world - all to very little avail. Robert Conquest, one of the\u003cbr\u003every few Sovietologists who was clear-sighted from the start, experienced\u003cbr\u003eacute frustration in his attempts to share and communicate his\u003cbr\u003eknowledge. After the disintegration of the Soviet Union, his publisher\u003cbr\u003eproposed to reissue a collection of his earlier essays and asked him what\u003cbr\u003etitle he would suggest. Conquest thought for one second and said, 'How\u003cbr\u003eabout \u003ci\u003eI Told You So, You Fucking Fools?’\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eInterestingly enough, the name of one writer appears again and\u003cbr\u003eagain in the writings of the dissidents from the communist world – they\u003cbr\u003epay homage to him as the only author who fully perceived the concrete\u003cbr\u003ereality of their condition, down to its very sounds and smells – and this\u003cbr\u003eis George Orwell. Aleksandr Nekrich summed up this view: 'Orwell is \u003cbr\u003ethe only Western writer who really understood the essential nature of\u003cbr\u003ethe Soviet world: Czeslaw Milosz and many others made similar assessments.\u003cbr\u003eAnd yet, \u003ci\u003eNineteen Eighty-Four\u003c\/i\u003e is a work of fiction - an imaginary\u003cbr\u003eprojection set in the future of England.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe Western incapacity to grasp the Soviet reality and all its Asian\u003cbr\u003evariants was not a failure of information (which was always plentiful); it\u003cbr\u003ewas a \u003ci\u003efailure of imagination\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe horrors of the Nazi regime have long been fully documented: the\u003cbr\u003ecriminals have been defeated and sentenced; the victims, survivors, witnesses\u003cbr\u003ehave spoken; the historians have gathered evidence and passed\u003cbr\u003ejudgment. Full light has been cast upon this entire era. The records fill\u003cbr\u003eentire libraries.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eIn all this huge literature, however, I would wish to single out one\u003cbr\u003esmall book, extraordinary because of its very ordinariness: the pre-war\u003cbr\u003ememoir of a young Berliner, Raimund Pretzel, who chose to leave his\u003cbr\u003ecountry in 1938 on purely moral grounds. Written under the pen-name\u003cbr\u003eof Sebastian Haffner, it carries a fittingly modest and unassuming title:\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eGeschichte eines Deutschen\u003c\/i\u003e (Story of a German), which was badly translated\u003cbr\u003efor the English edition as \u003ci\u003eDefying Hitler\u003c\/i\u003e. It was published posthumously\u003cbr\u003eonly a few years ago by the author's son, who discovered the manuscript\u003cbr\u003ein his father's papers. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe author was a well-educated young man; the son of a magistrate,\u003cbr\u003ehe himself was entering that same career; his future prospects were\u003cbr\u003esecure; he loved his friends, his city, his culture, his language. Yet, like\u003cbr\u003eall his compatriots, he witnessed Hitler's ascent. He had no privileged\u003cbr\u003einformation; simply, like any other intellectual, he read the newspapers,\u003cbr\u003efollowed the news, discussed current affairs with friends and colleagues.\u003cbr\u003eHe clearly felt that, together with the rest of the country, he\u003cbr\u003ewas being progressively sucked into a poisonous swamp. To ensure a\u003cbr\u003ereasonably smooth and trouble-free existence, small compromises\u003cbr\u003ewere constantly required – nothing difficult nor particularly dramatic;\u003cbr\u003eeveryone else, to a various extent, was similarly involved. Yet the sum\u003cbr\u003etotal of these fairly banal, daily surrenders eroded the integrity of each\u003cbr\u003eindividual. Haffner himself was never forced into participating in any\u003cbr\u003eextreme situation, was never confronted with atrocities, never personally\u003cbr\u003ewitnessed dramatic events or political crimes. Simply, he found\u003cbr\u003ehimself softly enveloped into the all-pervasive moral degradation of an\u003cbr\u003eentire society. Experiencing nothing more than what all his compatriots\u003cbr\u003ewere experiencing, he faced the inescapable truth. Since he was\u003cbr\u003elucky enough to have no family responsibilities, he was free to abandon\u003cbr\u003ehis beloved surroundings and to forsake the chance of a brilliant career:\u003cbr\u003ehe went into voluntary exile, first to France and then England - \u003ci\u003eto save\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ehis soul\u003c\/i\u003e. His short (unfinished), clear-sighted and sober memoir raises\u003cbr\u003eone terrifying question: all that Haffner knew at the time, many millions\u003cbr\u003eof people around him knew equally well. Why was there only one\u003cbr\u003eHaffner?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eEarlier on, I suggested that artists and creative writers actually\u003cbr\u003edevelop alternative modes of access to truth – all the short-cuts afforded\u003cbr\u003eby inspired imagination. Please do not misunderstand me: if I suggest\u003cbr\u003ethat there are alternative approaches to truth, I do not mean that there\u003cbr\u003eare alternative truths. Truth is not relative; by nature it is within the\u003cbr\u003ereach of everyone, it is plain and obvious – sometimes even painfully so.\u003cbr\u003eHaffner's example illustrates it well.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eAt the time of the Dreyfus Affair - the most shameful miscarriage of\u003cbr\u003ejustice in French modern history - one of the eminent personalities\u003cbr\u003ewho came to Dreyfus's defense was a most unlikely figure. Marechal\u003cbr\u003eLyautey, being an aristocrat, monarchist, Catholic, third-generation\u003cbr\u003emilitary man, seemed naturally to belong to the other side – the side of\u003cbr\u003erightist, anti-Semitic, clerical, militaro-chauvinistic bigots. He became\u003cbr\u003ea supporter of Dreyfus (who was falsely convicted of the crime of treason)\u003cbr\u003efor only one reason: he himself had integrity. The pro-Dreyfus\u003cbr\u003ecommittee gathered to discuss what to call itself; most members suggested\u003cbr\u003ethe name Alliance for Justice. 'No,’ said Lyauter 'We must call it\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eAlliance for Truth.\u003c\/i\u003e’ And he was right, for one can honestly hesitate on what\u003cbr\u003eis \u003ci\u003ejust\u003c\/i\u003e (since justice must always take into account complex and contradictory\u003cbr\u003efactors), but one cannot hesitate on what is \u003ci\u003etrue\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWhich brings me to my conclusion. My conclusion is in fact my\u003cbr\u003eunspoken starting point. When I was first invited to speak on the subject\u003cbr\u003eof truth, it was a few days before Easter. During the successive days\u003cbr\u003eof the Christian Holy Week, we read in church the four Gospel narratives\u003cbr\u003eof the last two days in the life of Christ. These narratives each contain\u003cbr\u003ea passage on the trial of Jesus in front of the Roman governor,\u003cbr\u003ePontius Pilate; the concept of truth appears there in a brief dialogue\u003cbr\u003ebetween judge and accused. It is a well-known passage; at that time, it\u003cbr\u003estruck me in a very special way.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe high priests and the Sanhedrin had arrested Jesus, and they\u003cbr\u003einterrogated him. In conclusion, they decided that he should be put to\u003cbr\u003edeath for blasphemy. But they were now colonial subjects of the Roman\u003cbr\u003eempire; they had lost the power to pronounce and carry out death sentences.\u003cbr\u003eOnly the Roman governor possessed such authority.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThus they bring Jesus to Pilate. Pilate finds himself in a predicament.\u003cbr\u003eFirst, there is the problem inherent to his position: he is both head of\u003cbr\u003ethe executive and head of the judiciary As supreme ruler, he is concerned\u003cbr\u003ewith issues of public order and security; as supreme judge, he\u003cbr\u003eshould ensure that the demands of justice are being met. Then there is\u003cbr\u003ehis own personal situation: the Jews naturally see him for what he is –\u003cbr\u003ean odious foreign oppressor. And he distrusts and dislikes these quarrelsome\u003cbr\u003eand incomprehensible natives who give him endless trouble.\u003cbr\u003eDuring his tenure, twice already there have been severe disturbances;\u003cbr\u003ethe governor handled them badly - he was even denounced in Rome.\u003cbr\u003eHe cannot afford another incident. And this time, he fears a trap.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe Jewish leaders present themselves as loyal subjects of Caesar.\u003cbr\u003eThey accuse Jesus of being a rebel, a political agitator who tells the people\u003cbr\u003enot to pay taxes and who challenges Caesar's authority by claiming\u003cbr\u003ethat he himself is a king. Now, if Pilate does not condemn him, Pilate\u003cbr\u003ehimself would be disloyal to Caesar.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePilate interrogates Jesus. Naturally, he finds Jesus' notion of a spiritual\u003cbr\u003ekingdom quite fanciful, but it seems also harmless enough. The\u003cbr\u003eaccused appears to be neither violent nor fanatic; he has poise; he is\u003cbr\u003earticulate. Pilate is impressed by his calm dignity, and it quickly becomes\u003cbr\u003eobvious to him that Jesus is entirely innocent of all the crimes of which\u003cbr\u003ehe has been accused. Pilate repeats it several times: '1 can find no fault\u003cbr\u003ein this man.' But the mob demands his death, and the Gospel adds that,\u003cbr\u003ehearing their shouts, 'Pilate was more afraid than ever.' Pilate is scared:\u003cbr\u003ehe does not want to have, once again, a riot on his hands. Should this\u003cbr\u003ehappen, it would be the end of his career.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eIn the course of his interrogation, as Pilate questions Jesus on his\u003cbr\u003eactivities, Jesus replies: 'What I came into the world for, is to bear witness\u003cbr\u003eof the truth. Whoever belongs to the truth, listens to my voice.'\u003cbr\u003eTo which Pilate retorts: 'The truth! But what is the truth?' He is an\u003cbr\u003eeducated and sophisticated Roman; he has seen the world and read the\u003cbr\u003ephilosophers; unlike this simple man, this provincial carpenter from\u003cbr\u003eGalilee, he knows that there are many gods and many creeds under the\u003cbr\u003esun …\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHowever, beware! Whenever people wonder 'What is the truth?' usually\u003cbr\u003eit is because the truth is just under their noses – but it would be very\u003cbr\u003einconvenient to acknowledge it. And thus, against his own better judgment,\u003cbr\u003ePilate yields to the will of the crowd and lets Jesus be crucified.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePilate's problem was not how to ascertain Jesus' innocence. This was\u003cbr\u003eeasy enough: It was obvious. No, the real problem was that, in the end -\u003cbr\u003elike all of us, most of the time – he found it more expedient to wash his\u003cbr\u003ehands of the truth.","brand":"NYRB Classics","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302131683557,"sku":"NP9781590176207","price":22.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781590176207.jpg?v=1767739696","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-hall-of-uselessness-isbn-9781590176207","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}