Tradition gone off the deep end....
OutOfBreath
Posts: 1,804
Here is an example of how mindless adherence to tradition can get a bit weird and very funny. The excerpt is of a discworld novel by Terry Pratchett called "The Last Continent". It describes the ceremony of the keys, at the Unseen University, home of the wizards. Enjoy!
Hopefully it will spread some laughs among otherwise grim topics, and a tongue in cheek criticism of mindless tradition...
Snow, thick and wet, tumbled on the lawns and roofs of Unseen University, the Discworld’s premier college of magic. It was sticky snow, which made the place look like some sort of expensive yet tasteless ornament, and it caked around the boots of McAbre, the Head Bledlow, as he trudged through the cold, wild night. Two other bledlows* stepped out of the lee of a buttress and fell in behind him on a solemn march towards the main gates.
It was an old custom, centuries old, and in the summer a few tourists would hang around to watch it, but the Ceremony of the Keys went on every night in every season. Mere ice, wind and snow had never stopped it. Bledlows in times gone past had clambered over tentacled monstrosities to do the Ceremony; they’d waded through floodwater, flailed with their bowler hats at errant pigeons, harpies and dragons, and ignored mere faculty members who’d thrown open their bedroom windows and screamed imprecations on the lines of “Stop that damn racket, will you? What’s the point?” They’d never stopped, or even thought of stopping. You couldn’t stop Tradition. You could only add to it.
The three men reached the shadows by the main gate, almost blotted out in the whirling snow. The bledlow on duty was waiting for them.
“Halt, Who Goes There?” he shouted.
McAbre saluted. “The Archchancellor’s Keys!”
“Pass, the Archchancellor’s Keys!”
The Head Bledlow took a step forward, extended both arms in front of him with the palms bent back towards him, and patted his chest where some bledlow long buried had had two breast pockets. Pat, pat. Then he extended his arms by his sides and stiffly patted the sides of his jacket. Pat, pat.
“Damn, Could Have Sworn I Had Them A Moment Ago!” he bellowed, enunciating each word with a sort of bulldog carefulness.
The gatekeeper saluted. McAbre saluted.
“Have You Looked In All Your Pockets?”
McAbre saluted. The gatekeeper saluted. A small pyramid of snow was building up on his bowler hat.
“I Think I Must Have Left Them On The Dresser. It’s Always The Same Isn’t It?”
“You Should Remember Where You Put Them Down!”
“Hang On, Perhaps They Are In My Other Jacket!”
The young bledlow who was this weeks keeper of the Other Jacket stepped forward. Each man saluted the other two. The youngest cleared his throat and managed to say:
“No, I Looked In … There This … Morning!”
McAbre gave him a slight nod to acknowledge a difficult job done well, and patted his pockets again.
“Hold On, Stone The Crows, They Were In This Pocket After All! What A Muggins I Am!”
“Don’t Worry, I Do The Same Myself!”
“Is My Face Red! Forget My Own Head Next!”
Somewhere in the darkness a window creaked up.
“Er, excuse me gentlemen-“
“Here’s The Keys, Then!” said McAbre, raising his voice.
“Much Obliged!”
“I wonder if you could-“ the querulous voice went on, apologizing for even thinking of complaining.
“All Safe And Secure!” shouted the gatekeeper, handing the keys back.
“-perhaps keep it down a little-“
“God Bless All Present!” screamed McAbre, veins standing out on his thick crimson neck.
“Careful Where You Put Them This Time. Ha! Ha! Ha!”
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” yelled McAbre, beside himself with fury. He saluted stiffly, went About Turn with an unnecessarily large amount of foot stamping and, the ancient exchange completed, marched back to the bledlows’ lodge muttering under his breath. The window of the University’s little sanatarium shut again.
*A cross between a porter and a proctor. A bledlow is not chosen for his imagination, because he usually doesn’t have any.
Peace
Dan
Hopefully it will spread some laughs among otherwise grim topics, and a tongue in cheek criticism of mindless tradition...
Snow, thick and wet, tumbled on the lawns and roofs of Unseen University, the Discworld’s premier college of magic. It was sticky snow, which made the place look like some sort of expensive yet tasteless ornament, and it caked around the boots of McAbre, the Head Bledlow, as he trudged through the cold, wild night. Two other bledlows* stepped out of the lee of a buttress and fell in behind him on a solemn march towards the main gates.
It was an old custom, centuries old, and in the summer a few tourists would hang around to watch it, but the Ceremony of the Keys went on every night in every season. Mere ice, wind and snow had never stopped it. Bledlows in times gone past had clambered over tentacled monstrosities to do the Ceremony; they’d waded through floodwater, flailed with their bowler hats at errant pigeons, harpies and dragons, and ignored mere faculty members who’d thrown open their bedroom windows and screamed imprecations on the lines of “Stop that damn racket, will you? What’s the point?” They’d never stopped, or even thought of stopping. You couldn’t stop Tradition. You could only add to it.
The three men reached the shadows by the main gate, almost blotted out in the whirling snow. The bledlow on duty was waiting for them.
“Halt, Who Goes There?” he shouted.
McAbre saluted. “The Archchancellor’s Keys!”
“Pass, the Archchancellor’s Keys!”
The Head Bledlow took a step forward, extended both arms in front of him with the palms bent back towards him, and patted his chest where some bledlow long buried had had two breast pockets. Pat, pat. Then he extended his arms by his sides and stiffly patted the sides of his jacket. Pat, pat.
“Damn, Could Have Sworn I Had Them A Moment Ago!” he bellowed, enunciating each word with a sort of bulldog carefulness.
The gatekeeper saluted. McAbre saluted.
“Have You Looked In All Your Pockets?”
McAbre saluted. The gatekeeper saluted. A small pyramid of snow was building up on his bowler hat.
“I Think I Must Have Left Them On The Dresser. It’s Always The Same Isn’t It?”
“You Should Remember Where You Put Them Down!”
“Hang On, Perhaps They Are In My Other Jacket!”
The young bledlow who was this weeks keeper of the Other Jacket stepped forward. Each man saluted the other two. The youngest cleared his throat and managed to say:
“No, I Looked In … There This … Morning!”
McAbre gave him a slight nod to acknowledge a difficult job done well, and patted his pockets again.
“Hold On, Stone The Crows, They Were In This Pocket After All! What A Muggins I Am!”
“Don’t Worry, I Do The Same Myself!”
“Is My Face Red! Forget My Own Head Next!”
Somewhere in the darkness a window creaked up.
“Er, excuse me gentlemen-“
“Here’s The Keys, Then!” said McAbre, raising his voice.
“Much Obliged!”
“I wonder if you could-“ the querulous voice went on, apologizing for even thinking of complaining.
“All Safe And Secure!” shouted the gatekeeper, handing the keys back.
“-perhaps keep it down a little-“
“God Bless All Present!” screamed McAbre, veins standing out on his thick crimson neck.
“Careful Where You Put Them This Time. Ha! Ha! Ha!”
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” yelled McAbre, beside himself with fury. He saluted stiffly, went About Turn with an unnecessarily large amount of foot stamping and, the ancient exchange completed, marched back to the bledlows’ lodge muttering under his breath. The window of the University’s little sanatarium shut again.
*A cross between a porter and a proctor. A bledlow is not chosen for his imagination, because he usually doesn’t have any.
Peace
Dan
"YOU [humans] NEED TO BELIEVE IN THINGS THAT AREN'T TRUE. HOW ELSE CAN THEY BECOME?" - Death
"Every judgment teeters on the brink of error. To claim absolute knowledge is to become monstrous. Knowledge is an unending adventure at the edge of uncertainty." - Frank Herbert, Dune, 1965
"Every judgment teeters on the brink of error. To claim absolute knowledge is to become monstrous. Knowledge is an unending adventure at the edge of uncertainty." - Frank Herbert, Dune, 1965
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Peace
Dan
"Every judgment teeters on the brink of error. To claim absolute knowledge is to become monstrous. Knowledge is an unending adventure at the edge of uncertainty." - Frank Herbert, Dune, 1965
My favourite bit!
Not normally much of a Pratchett fan, but this excerpt was much appreciated
I'm discarding all thought
I'll dry up, leaving puddles on the ground
I'm like an opening band for the sun
I am a huge Pratchett fan, read a lot by him, but already back ten years ago or even longer... so I forgot most.
...but not Good Omens.
isn't it nice how he always sees the positive aspect in the craziness of our culture? I think this is best shown in the disc world novels.
but he never forgets, by all his humor, to reflect our lifes in a mirror of self- awareness... a kinda ugly reflection so to say and as far as I remember.
but that was needed and a great shortcut,
thanks for the thread.
...the world is come undone, I like to change it everyday but change don't come at once, it's a wave, building before it breaks.
Replace lighter with keys and you have a few of us standing outside the bar with a doobie in our mouths and no light to be had.
Yeah, I see Pratchett as a great commentary to the human condition, in a playful and loving kind of way, highlighting the absurdities we are prone to indulge in. Most of all, he's just plain hilarious, in the good old english tradition. But there is a more serious truth underlying the humour most of the time. I have read most of the books myself, including good omens.
He's good at painting character types in broad strokes, and give them plenty of absurd characteristics, while they at the same time are sort of reasonable in their own way. The wizard bickering is always a highlight.
Anyway, looks like some of you enjoyed it at least. That comforts me, as it took a while to type the damn thing
Peace
Dan
"Every judgment teeters on the brink of error. To claim absolute knowledge is to become monstrous. Knowledge is an unending adventure at the edge of uncertainty." - Frank Herbert, Dune, 1965
Tradition is a very grim topic
How about some blanket absolutes that you can shoot down? Would that make you happy?
Tradition has a singular purpose: the performance of rote behavior such that thoughtful behavior may be avoided.
Tradition "works" when its performer enjoys the benefits of avoiding such thought.
Tradition "fails" when its performer requires thought to enjoy such a performance.
E.g. "The Traditional Family" describes one man, one woman and some children. This kind of family has only existed for a few generations, the further in history we go back, the more wives men had and the more infidelity we see.
"Manners" something that has changed drastically throughout history. Merely 100 years ago a person would spit in your face because he felt like it. Only 50 years ago people would openly urinate in the street.
"Halloween" was originally a pegan holiday. All saints day was the catholic religious holiday, however all the "traditions" of halloween are pegan.
"Christmas" has been admitted by the catholic church to have actually happened on a different day. However, in an attempt to crush the pegan holiday of that same day, they moved christmas. Most of the "traditions" of chrismas, such as holly are pegan.
The Lottery
Dude, don't mock pagan "traditions". Pagan traditions are meant to be co-opted.
Well thanks for indulging me.
And I wouldn't necessarily agree with that statement, although I recognize that an element of it may be present. I'd say the purpose of tradition is predictability for the people adhering to it. Following tradition gives us a sort of predictive power over the world, as we know what comes next throughout the ordeal. It gives a sense of security and adds meaning to our lives.
However, as outlined here, it can go way too far, and become resistance against anything other than status quo. A mere anti-change attitude (although things constantly change), and reliance upon "the old ways" (which often are far more recent than one would think).
And yes, tradition can be seen as a "grim" topic, but constant arguing and reporting from slaughtering in the middle east is frankly more grim. Besides, I used humour to get it across.
Peace
Dan
"Every judgment teeters on the brink of error. To claim absolute knowledge is to become monstrous. Knowledge is an unending adventure at the edge of uncertainty." - Frank Herbert, Dune, 1965
It looked really silly, the way that only army drill can look silly. Silly but with accurate execution. Strange world eh?
Peace
Dan
"Every judgment teeters on the brink of error. To claim absolute knowledge is to become monstrous. Knowledge is an unending adventure at the edge of uncertainty." - Frank Herbert, Dune, 1965