Perhaps the greatest of the forgeries of Denis Lollardy was his Laughing Christ of Creophylus which he had done only short months ago. The original Laughing Christ had disappeared from a villa North-by-East of Rome in the year of the Lord 453. And this one had been dug out of the storied Italian marl-and-loam very near to that place. Was this indeed the original Laughing Christ? people asked.
This was better than the original. Howin was it better? It worked miracles, and there was no tradition of the original statue working them.
What miracles did it work? It cured the melancholy of people who gazed on it. But miracles of that sort are only subjective miracles. It changed the horrible nose of a Roman lady and made it a thing of joy instead of a thing of horror. But really, it had changed the configuration less than a millimetre. And it happened that such was enough to make it into a good-natured and pleasant member instead of a horrible member. It was still not a beautiful nose, but the lady accepted it with pleasure and glee.
Thunderation! The statue did work genuine miracles. And it terrified one man. Denis Lollardy had never been a pious man. He had only been a borderline believing man. But he knew miracles when he saw them, and he was terrified (Oh, but there was joy mixed with the terror also) by the miracles worked by the Laughing Christ that he himself had carved.
Episode 1: The Pipe-Smoking Casual English Intellectuals Fight for Seven Sinecures
‘The casual English Intellectuals had begun to gather. Each of them had just happened to be strolling on the hills of East Sussex in the dawn hours, and each of them just thought that he might drop by the Evenrood Manor House. Each of them knocked the fire out of his-or-her pipe and then filled it again with aromatic shag. The men and the lady casual English Intellectuals used a slightly different set of gestures in knocking out and refilling their pipes, but that is a job for the sociological-behaviorists, not for ourselves.
‘Myrtle Mobley was a simple woman easily impressed by casual English Intellectuals, so she quickly set forty-two more places at breakfast and said that the people need not wait till seven o’clock to begin their breakfasts, that the seven o’clock rule was a silly one anyhow. She served them all hock, or perhaps some cheaper Rhine wine, and asked them how they wanted their eggs.
‘These casual English Intellectuals came from the Royal Observatory at Edinburgh, Dunsink Observatory in Dublin, the University Observatory at Oxford, the Cambridge University Observatory, the Royal Military College at Sandhurst, from Peterhouse and Corpus Christi and Magdalene of Cambridge, from Balliol and Merton and All Souls and Somerville of Oxford, and from Manchester University of the Arts. They came from all the literary circles and from all the technology circles, and from the all-powerful Futuristic Institute.
‘This is an article by Mr. Delany in the Dublin Docket that the Mayor of Port Erin read out loud to the citizens of the three towns as they breakfasted on Old Cow Stew.
‘“The world is being strangled by lack of input.It’s as simple as that.The silliest (but at the same time the only) explanation for the world being in such straits is that the input, till the last day or two, was funnelled by a group of mythological creatures (Seven Scribbling Giants), and that now it is failing.The silliest (but at the same time the only) seriously proposed remedy so far, is that we should provide surrogate mythological figures (neo-scribbling giants, perhaps) to begin generating input again.
‘“It has been stated (falsely) that it is the business of science to get answers to the static question What?, but this is not correct.It is the business of science to answer the kinetic question:What seems to be going on anyhow?This requires science carefully to analyze the several subjective wrappers that enclose every what in the world.If the subjective wrapper is a mythological one, why should we take exception to it?If a giant named Atrox Fabulinus and six fellow giants are felt to have been writing the world heretofore, then let us at least examine the Atrox legend.
‘“Atrox Fabulinas was a fifth century Irish Giant who sailed with pirates in his youth.He was captured by Roman-Goths in a salt-water scuffle off the coast of Spain, and he was handed on from slave market to slave market.Then a Pannonian Gothic Kinglet (Flavius Placidius Valentinianus) sent out his seneschal to buy two specified slaves for him, the sweetest-tempered giant who could be found, and the most imaginative scribe who could be found.The seneschal was surprised to find, at the very first slave-market, not only a giant who could write, but also one who was both sweet-tempered and outstandingly imaginative.The Gothic Kinglet was delighted, and he told Atrox to sit down and write the history of he world.‘It has already been done several times,’ Atrox said.‘I didn’t know that,’ the Kinglet answered, ‘the history of the world from its beginning until doomsday has already been written?’‘Not so,’ Atrox admitted, ‘only from the beginning of the world until now.’‘Then sit down and write the history of the world from now until doomsday,’ the Kinglet said, ‘and how long will it take you?’‘Till doomsday,’ Atrox answered.So then the world began to receive futuristic input.And now it cannot get along without.
‘“Why am I, the renowned Daniel Delany, top scientist and scholar, jabbering such nonsense as this in print?For this reason:When we wade into the treacherous waters of reality, science serves us remarkably well at first.When we wade out where the waters of survival are ankle-deep, science is our staunch friend.When we wade out where the waters of survival are more than arse-deep, forget your science!Latch onto something more aerated, something with more flotation to it.And we are suddenly, without knowing how it happened, chin-deep in the waters of survival, and the cross-currents are quite tricky.We must find New Giants, or we must drown.”’
-R. A. Lafferty, East of Laughter (1988), pp.112-113
