The star lot was The Golden Calf, a bull in a large gold-plated formaldehyde fish tank-a symbol of the worship of a false god. It went for ?10m, bang in the middle of the range. The Kingdom-yet another Hirst shark-went for ?9.6m, well above the ?4m-?6m estimate. This was an incredible, gravity-defying feat. As the sale started, one of America’s largest investment banks went bankrupt, and a giant insurance company, AIG, was saved only by nationalisation just as the auction ended. The shares of even solid, boring banks were crashing in London and New York. The art market was sending a confusing message. Could it really be that a dead bull floating in a tank was a safer home for your cash than a deposit at the Halifax?

_ Ben Lewis in Prospect.

One of those collocations around which ironies spin, a little planetary system of cool. But all, I think, to be resisted. True, it reads like a sketch for an episode in Rushdie. But also like the chapter opening of a future book about the decadence of capitalism.

Elephant stamp to the reader who can spot the source of the entry title.

 

This blog has complained before about the vogue for mixing fact and fiction so as to blur the distinction between them. On this as on so much else, Johnson has something to contribute.

Talking of an acquaintance of ours, whose narratives, which abounded in curious and interesting topicks, were unhappily found to be very fabulous; I mentioned Lord Mansfield’s having said to me, “Suppose we believe one half of what he tells?” JOHNSON. “Ay; but we don’t know which half to believe. By his lying we lose all reverence for him, but also all comfort in his conversation.” BOSWELL. “May we not take it as amusing fiction?” JOHNSON. “Sir, the misfortune is, that you will insensibly believe as much of it as you incline to believe.”

 

In 1776, Boswell inveigled Johnson, a Church and King man all his life, a Whig-hater, into meeting someone worse even than a Whig, the famous radical, John Wilkes. (The way Boswell entraps his lion and gets him into the ring makes very good reading: in the Everyman edition of the Life it’s Vol II 46-56. ) Wilkes had done almost everything possible to offend a Tory like Johnson, finagling a parliamentary career, joining the Hellfire Club, speaking up for the American colonists, even writing a pornographic parody of Pope’s Essay on Man. Six years earlier, he had been imprisoned for ‘sedition and impiety’, charges which depended to some extent on that pornographic poem. When by virtue of imprisonment he was prevented from taking his seat as the member for Middlesex, there was a popular agitation: liberty was imperilled cried Wilkes’ supporters.

Johnson was stirred by this case to write a pamphlet (‘The False Alarm‘) in the course of which he says of Wilkes:

The character of the man I have no purpose to delineate. Lampoon itself would disdain to speak ill of him, of whom no man speaks well.

But six years on, these opposites meet over dinner and get on well.

What do the great Tory and the famous radical find in common? Wilkes, renowned for his charm, helps Johnson to the good things on the table (“Allow me to recommend a squeeze of this orange; – or the lemon, perhaps, may have more zest.”) They discuss and compare the actors Foote and Garrick. Wilkes makes two jokes about Scotland, one involving a quotation from Shakespeare, the other from Milton, with a little wry self-deprecation thrown in. Then they move on to discuss the correct translation of a line in Horace’s Art of Poetry.

What they have in common is literature. Time and again in the Life literature serves to bring people together, to allow them to form estimates of one another, to learn from one another and to make communication both precise and pleasurable. It’s the integument that binds together writer, scholar, clergyman, soldier, actor, painter, politician, landed gentleman and those few women like Anna Seward and Mary Knowles who gained a seat at the table

I am struck by the way in which literary conversation was a means of promoting and preserving a value which Johnson held high – civility. For us, that tends to translate as ‘manners’ and those are often thought superficial. But for Johnson, a breach of civility could and did have serious moral consequences. This is clear from an episode in the following year, in which Boswell plans another meeting of opposites, but bungles and blurts it out.

. . . at breakfast, I unguardedly said to Dr Johnson, “I wish I saw you and Mrs Macaulay together.” He grew very angry; and after a pause, while a cloud gathered on his brow, he burst out, “No, Sir; you would not see us quarrel, to make you sport. Don’t you know it is very uncivil to pit two people against one another? . . . No man has a right to engage two people in a dispute by which their passions may be enflamed, and they may part with bitter resentment against each other.”

Catharine Macaulay was another like Wilkes, A Whig too liberal for the orthodox Whigs, author of a multi-volume History of England and a brilliant conversationalist. Who knows what might have happened? At any rate, this time Boswell finds himself in the moral soup. Johnson is like everyone chockful of contradictions. His imperiousness and bullying are notorious. But so is his ‘kindness’, not only acts of benevolence but a social quality which regulates and checks hostile emotions. There’s the famous reply when Boswell asks him why, when he complains how little he gets out of social meetings, he continues to attend them: “Kindness must be kept up.” A man so intensely aware of the danger and darkness in human life will reach for its alleviations – civility, which promotes kindness, and which flourishes when readers discuss literature.

 

The admirers and followers of the Alcoran insist on the excellent moral precepts interspersed through that wild and absurd performance. But would we know, whether the pretended prophet had really attained a just sentiment of morals? Let us attend to his narration; and we shall soon find, that he bestows praise on such instances of treachery, inhumanity, cruelty, revenge, bigotry, as are utterly incompatible with civilized society. No steady rule of right seems there to be attended to; and every action is blamed or praised, so far only as it is beneficial or hurtful to the true believers.

_ David Hume, ‘Of the Standard of Taste’, 1760.

The Jewel of Medina was written by a journalist called Sherry Jones. It recounts the life of Aisha, a girl who was married off at the age of six to a 50-year-old man called Mohamed ibn Abdallah. On her wedding day, Aisha was playing on a see-saw outside her home. Inside, she was being betrothed. The first she knew of it was when she was banned from playing out in the street with the other children. When she was nine, she was taken to live with her husband, now 53. He had sex with her. When she was 14, she was accused of adultery with a man closer to her own age. Not long after, Mohamed decreed that his wives must cover their faces and bodies, even though no other women in Arabia did.

You cannot read this story today – except in the Koran and the Hadith. The man Mohamed ibn Abdallah became known to Muslims as “the Prophet Mohamed”, so our ability to explore this story is stunted. The Jewel of Medina was bought by Random House and primed to be a best-seller before a University of Texas teacher saw proofs and declared it “a national security issue”. Random House had visions of a re-run of the Rushdie or the Danish cartoons affairs. Sherry Jones’s publisher has pulped the book. It’s gone.

In Europe, we are finally abolishing the lingering blasphemy laws that hinder criticism of Christianity. But they are being succeeded by a new blasphemy law preventing criticism of Islam.

Johann Hari, ‘We Should Never Pulp Books out of Fear of Fanatics” August 2008

 

Apologies have become feel-good gestures that play to the banal sentimentality of mass audiences that otherwise show little consideration to others in their rush through life. The idea, and virtue, of apologising is being leached of significance and meaning.

If apologies still have any value it is that they can focus attention on those who never say that they are sorry. The Chinese do not apologise for their brutality in Tibet; the Russians do not apologise for the war in Chechnia

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