There is the notion that the true author of the extraordinary plays of Shakespeare was not Shakespeare at all, but that these works were falsely attributed to the famous bearded actor. The theory goes that the actual author was an infinite number of monkeys banging away on typewriters in some hidden part of London; a scientific experiment conducted by some deranged Svengali to satisfy his lust for literary masterpieces & animal cruelty, though perhaps not in that order. Presumably, knowing the works of greatness produced by the monkeys would be simply ignored &/or ridiculed if their true authorship were known, he paid this William Shakespeare actor to pretend to their creation.
The main problem with this ludicrous hypothesis is, of course, the inconvenient truth that typewriters were not in existence at this point in history. One could also attack the argument from the side of logistics; acquiring the monkeys, feeding the monkeys, hygiene, analysing their output, etc... but valid though such an approach would be, it is rendered superfluous by the howitzer blow of the typewriter point.
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5 comments:
Well spotted, Andrew. Now, how about you apply your inestimable intellect to that other vexed question: why does dropped toast always land buttered-side down yet people still go to mass and I can't give up smoking?
You seem to be irrevocably pointing towards a Manichaean worldview, Neil; that this universe is the creation of a malevolent demiurge, designed to trap our souls in nefarious matter. I'm not sure I agree with your standpoint here, though, & indeed I believe your very Manichaeanism acts as a self-fulfilling prophecy; your disturbed psyche exerting a negaive force upon events.
Word to the wise: don't butter toast before you drop it.
A thinker! A real thinker! Where the hell are those three- and four-letter words? This is great. Thank you. I shall return.
And thank you, Trailbee.
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