Seek full translation of <love is a fallacy>

I am a person with a cool head and a strong capacity for logical thinking. Sharp, prudent, intelligent, profound, witty - these are my characteristics. My brain is as developed as a dynamo, as accurate as a chemist's balance, and as sharp as a scalpel. You know what? I'm only eighteen. It's not often you get a person with such extraordinary intelligence at such a young age. Take Petey Birch, who I shared a room with at the University of Minnesota. He was my age and had the same experience, but he was dumb as a mule. The boy was young and pretty, but his mind was empty. He's excitable, erratic and easily influenced by others. Worst of all, he's fashionable. In my opinion, being fashionable is the most irrational thing you can do. To see something new and to follow it, to think that everyone else is doing it and to get involved in it - this seems to me to be the height of stupidity, but Petey does not think so. One afternoon I saw Petey lying in bed with a look of agony on his face, and I immediately concluded that he had appendicitis. "Hold still," I said, "and don't take any laxatives, and I'll call the doctor." "Raccoon," he grunted. "Raccoon?" I asked, stopping. "I want a raccoon skin coat," he cried in agony. I realized that he wasn't physically ill, but not quite mentally. "Why do you want a coonskin coat?" "I ought to have known," he cried, pounding his temples with his fists, "I ought to have known that when Charleston dances came back into vogue, coonskin coats would be in vogue too. It was silly of me to spend all my money on textbooks, but now I can't buy a coonskin coat." With a skeptical look, I asked, "Are you saying people are really going to wear raccoon skin coats again?" "What person with status on campus doesn't wear one? Where did you just come from?" "The library," I said, referring to a place not frequented by respectable people. He leapt up from the bed and paced the room. "I must get a coonskin coat," he said excitedly, "I must!" "Pitty, what's the matter with you? Think it over calmly; a coonskin coat is unhygienic, loses its hair, smells bad, is bulky and unattractive, and ...... "You don't understand," he interrupted impatiently. "It's called fashionable. Don't you want to be fashionable?" "Don't want to," I answered frankly. "Well, I can think about it!" He affirmed. "I'll give you anything you want from me, anything, as long as you have a coonskin coat!" My brain-one this sophisticated instrument-was instantly in motion. I looked him over carefully and asked, "Anything?" "Anything!" He said firmly. I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. Great, I knew where I could get a raccoon skin coat. My father had worn one when he was a college student, and it was still sitting in a box on the top floor of the house. It just so happened that Petey had what I needed as well. Even though he hadn't gotten it yet, at least he had priority. I'm talking about his girlfriend, Polly. Espy. I've long been in love with Polly Espy. And let me be clear, I'm not driven by sentimentality to get my hands on this wonderful young woman. She's an easy girl to fall in love with. But I'm not the kind of person who lets his feelings rule over his reason. My desire to have Polly was carefully considered, and it was for purely rational reasons. I was a first-year student in law school, and in a few years I was going to be licensed as a lawyer. It was clear to me that a suitable wife was very important to a lawyer's future. I've found that accomplished lawyers by and large are almost always married to beautiful, well-mannered, intelligent women. Polly was only one thing away from meeting these qualifications perfectly. She was beautiful. Though she wasn't quite as slim as the pictures of beautiful women that hung on the walls, I was sure that time would make up for that. She's already roughly not bad. She's gentle - and by that I mean she's poised. She was graceful, generous, comfortable, and you could tell at a glance that she was well-bred. When she ate, her movements were so graceful. I have seen her eat her famous dish in the "cozy corner of the campus"-a sandwich with a few slices of juicy stew and crushed walnuts, and a small cup of pickles-without getting her fingers wet. without getting her fingers wet. She's not smart, quite the opposite in fact. But I'm sure with my guidance she'll get smart. Try it anyway; it's easier, after all, to make a pretty dumb girl smart than it is to make a smart ugly girl pretty. "Pitty," I said, "you're in love with Polly, aren't you?" "I think she's a delightful girl," he replied, "but I don't know if that's what love is called. Why do you ask?" "Do you have any formal arrangements with her? I mean do you guys date a lot or anything like that?" I asked. "No, we see each other a lot. But we each have other dates. Why do you ask?" "Is there anyone else that she particularly likes?" I asked. "I don't know. Why do you ask?" I nodded in satisfaction and said, "That is to say. If you're not there, the grounds are empty. Wouldn't you say so?" "I think so. What do you mean by that?" "Nothing, nothing," I said as if nothing had happened, and proceeded to take my suitcase out of the closet. "Where are you going?" Petey asked. "Home for the weekend." I threw a couple of clothes into the carry-on suitcase. "Listen," he said, grabbing my arm anxiously, "when you get home, get some money from your father to loan me a raccoon-skin coat, okay?" "Maybe it's more than that." I said with a mysterious wink, then closed the suitcase and left. When I got back to school Monday morning I said to Petey, "Look!" I jerked open the suitcase and the fat, furry, odd-smelling thing was revealed to be the same raccoon-skin coat my father had worn in the Stutzbierkat car in 1925. "Great!" Petey said respectfully. He plunged both hands into that leather coat and then buried his head in it as well. "Too good!" He kept repeating it one or twenty times. "Do you like it?" I asked. "Oh, love it!" He exclaimed, clutching the grease-covered fur tightly in his arms. Then he got a witty look in his eyes and spoke, "What do you want in exchange?" "Your girlfriend," I said unapologetically. "Polly?" Surprised, he stammered, "You want Polly?" "Yes." He tossed his leather coat aside and said uncompromisingly, "That's not good enough." I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Well, if you don't want to be trendy, then whatever." I took a seat in one of the chairs and pretended to read, glancing darkly at Petey. He looked uneasy, gazed at the leather coat with the kind of gluttonous look of a stray child at a bakery window, then turned his head away and clenched his teeth firmly. After a moment, he turned his eyes back to the leather coat again, an even more eager look on his face. By the time he turned his head again, he was less determined. He looked at it again and again, loving it more and more, and slowly his resolve waned. Finally he never turned his head again, but just stood there, staring greedily at the leather coat. "Polly and I don't seem to be in a relationship," he said vaguely. "Can't say we've been dating a lot or anything like that." "Okay," I whispered. "What's Polly to me? What am I to Polly?" "Just a moment's pleasure ----- but a joke, that's all." "Try on the coat." I said "He did so. The collar covered his ears, and the hem went down to his heels. He looked like a raccoon carcass. He said happily, "It fits." "I got up from my chair. "Is it a deal?" I said, offering him my hand. He took it easily. "Counts..." He said and shook my hand. The next night, I went on my first date with Polly. This one was actually my scouting of her. I wanted to find out how much effort it would take to bring her mind up to my level. I started by inviting her to dinner. "Ha, that was a great meal," she said as she left the restaurant. Then I invited her to a movie. "Hey, that was a good movie," she said as she walked out of the theater. At the end of the day, I gave her a ride home. As she said goodbye to me, she said, "Hey, I had a great time tonight." I went back to my room with little pain. I had underestimated the enormity of the task. The girl's knowledge was shockingly small. It was not enough just to add to her knowledge; first she had to be taught to think. This was no easy task, and at the time I was tempted to give her back to Petey. But when I thought of her attractive figure, the way she looked when she came into the house, the way she held her knife and fork, I decided to make another effort. Just as I did everything else, I began to do it systematically. I started giving her editing lessons. Luckily, I was a law student and I was studying logic myself, so I was familiar with what I had to teach. When I picked her up for her second appointment, I said to her, "Let's go to 'Little Mountain' tonight and talk." "Ah, great," she replied. I should add to this girl that it's not often that someone is as negotiable as she is. We went to "The Hill," a place on campus where people go to hang out. We sat under an old oak tree and she looked at me with expectant eyes. "What are we going to talk about?" She asked. She thought about it for a moment, thought it was good, and said, "Great." "Logic," I cleared my throat, "is the science of thinking. Before we can think correctly, we must first learn to recognize common fallacies in logic. We're going to talk about those tonight." "Wow!" She shrieked, clapping her hands in delight. I winced, but mustered up the courage to speak, "First we'll examine the fallacy known as absolute judgment." "Yeah!" She winked, urging. "Absolute judgment refers to an assertion based on an unconditional premise. For example, exercise is beneficial, therefore everyone should exercise." "Good," said Polly earnestly, "Exercise is very beneficial, it strengthens the body, there are so many benefits!" "Polly," I said gently, "this argument is fallacious. That exercise is beneficial is an unconditional premise. Suppose, for instance, that you have a heart disease, and that exercise is not only not beneficial, but harmful, and there are a number of people whose doctors forbid them to exercise. You have to put a limit on that premise. You should say that exercise is generally beneficial. Or rather, it is beneficial for most people. To say otherwise is to commit the error of absolute judgment, understand?" "Don't get it," she said frankly. "This is so interesting, tell it! Tell it down!" "You'd better stop pulling on my sleeve," I told her. When she let go, I continued, "Here we speak of a fallacy known as hasty conclusion. Listen carefully: you don't speak French, I don't speak French, and Pitty doesn't speak French. Therefore I will conclude that no one at the University of Minnesota speaks French." "Really?" Polly asked curiously, "No one?" I suppressed my anger. "Polly, that's a fallacy, that's a hasty conclusion. There are so few examples that would make such a conclusion valid." "Do you know of any other fallacies?" She gasped, "This is so much more fun than dancing!" I tried desperately not to be discouraged. There was nothing I could do for the girl, nothing indeed. But I would have been useless if I had not persisted. Therefore, I went on speaking. "Now listen to me on the fallacy of 'far-fetchedness.' Listen: let's not take Bill out for a picnic. Every time we take him along, it rains." "I've seen people like that," she exclaimed. "We had a girl back home named Eula Pecker. Never an exception, and every time we took her on a picnic ......" "Polly," I said sternly, "that is a fallacy. The rain was not caused by Eula Bekker; it had nothing to do with her. If you blame Eula Pecker, you are guilty of a far-fetched error." "I'll never do it again," she said with remorseful assurance. "Are you angry with me?" I sighed y, "No, Polly, I'm not mad." "Then give me some more fallacies!" "Okay, let's look at contradictory premises." "Okay, okay," she chirped, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. I frowned, but went on. "Here's an example of a contradictory premise: If God is omnipotent, can he make a boulder that even he can't move?" "Of course he could," she answered without hesitation. "But if He's omnipotent, He could move that rock ahoy," I reminded her. "Well!" She said thoughtfully, "Well, I don't think he could build a rock like that." "But he's omnipotent," I reminded her further. She scratched her pretty, empty head with her hand. "I'm all confused," she admitted. "You are indeed confused. Because an argument cannot stand if its premises contradict each other. If there is an irresistible force... There cannot be an immovable object; and if there is an immovable object, there cannot be an irresistible force. Understand?" "Tell me some more of these novelties," she said earnestly. I looked at my watch and said, "I think that's all we've talked about tonight. It is time for me to send you back now. You review what you have learned, and we will have another lesson tomorrow night." I sent her to the girls' dormitory, where she assured me that she had had a very painful evening. I returned sullenly to my room, where Pitty was snoring soundly in bed. The raccoon skin coat was picking at his feet like a hairy beast. I was tempted to wake him up and tell him he could have his girlfriend back. It looked like my plans would be going down the drain. The girl simply had no clue about logic. But then I looked back and figured that since I'd already wasted one night, I might as well spend another one looking around. God knows, maybe there are some sparks still shooting out of the mouth of the dead volcano in her mind somewhere. Maybe I'll have a way to fan those sparks into a roaring fire. Of course, there was little hope of success, but I decided to try again anyway. The next night we were sitting under that oak tree again, and I said, "The first fallacy we're going to talk about tonight is called the illiteracy." She was shaking with delight. "Pay attention," I said. "A man applied for a job, and when the boss asked him what he had, he replied that he had a wife and six children in his family. The wife was completely crippled, the children had nothing to eat, nothing to wear, no bed to sleep in, no coal to make a fire, and it looked as if winter was coming." Two tears rolled down Polly's pink cheeks. "Ah, it's terrible! It's awful!" She sobbed. "Yes, it is awful," I said agreeably. "But that doesn't make it a reason to apply for a job. The man didn't even answer the boss's interstitial questions about his condition; instead, he prayed for sympathy from the boss. He's made the mistake of being illiterate. Do you understand!" "Did you bring your handkerchief?" She cried. I handed her the handkerchief. As she wiped her tears, I tried desperately to control my fire. "Next," I said, carefully lowering my voice, "we're going to discuss false analogies. Here's an example: students should be allowed to read their textbooks during exams. If a surgeon can look at x-rays while performing an operation, a lawyer can look at the cause of a case while trying it, and a carpenter can look at blueprints while building a house, why shouldn't a student be able to look at a textbook while taking a test?" "That," she said with enthusiasm, "is the best idea I've heard in years." "Polly," I said angrily, "that argument is all wrong. Doctors, lawyers and carpenters don't test what they've learned by taking exams. It's the students who do. The situations are completely different, and you can't draw analogies between different situations." "I still think it's a good idea," said Polly. "Ahem!" I muttered, but I persisted and went on, "Let's try the opposite hypothesis from the truth next." Polly's response was, "Rather good." "Listen: if Madame Curie hadn't happened to put a photographic negative in a drawer containing a piece of leached uranium ore, the world wouldn't know about radium today." "Right, right," Polly nodded. "Have you seen that movie? Oh, it's so good. Walter Pidgeon was so good in it. I mean he fascinated me." "If you'll forget about Mr. Pidgeon for a moment," I said coldly, "I'd be willing to point out that that statement is false. Perhaps Madame Curie will discover radium later, perhaps by someone else, perhaps something else will happen. You can't start from an unrealistic assumption and draw any tenable conclusions from it." "One really ought to have Walter Pidgeon photographed more often," said Polly; "I hardly ever see him any more." I decided to try again, but only once. There is, after all, a limit to one's patience. I said, "The next fallacy is called poisoning the well." "How clever!" She giggled. "There were two men having a debate. The first man stood up and said, 'My argumentative opponent is a notorious liar. Nothing he says can be trusted.' ...... Polly, now think about that for a moment. What's wrong with that statement?" She frowned tightly, and I watched her intently. Suddenly, a gleam of wisdom - one that I had never seen before one by one - flashed in her eyes. "It's not fair," she said exasperatedly, "not fair at all. If the first man calls the second man a liar without waiting for him to open his mouth, what has the second man got to say?" "Right!" I exclaimed happily, "One hundred percent right, it's unfair. The first man didn't wait for the others to drink from the well before he poisoned it. He's already hurt his opponent before he even waits for him to open his mouth. ...... Polly, I'm so proud of you." She gave a soft "humph" and blushed with pleasure. "You see, my dear, these problems are not so deep that they can be dealt with by concentration. Think-analyze-judge. Come on, let's go over what we've learned." "Come on," she said. Swinging her hand upward. Seeing that Polly wasn't so stupid got my energy up. So I began to go over everything I had told her, long and patiently. One by one, I gave her examples, pointed out the errors in them, and on and on. It was like digging a tunnel; at first there was only labor, sweat, and darkness, and I didn't know when I would see the light, or even if I would see the light at all. But I persisted, chiseling, digging, scraping, and finally I was rewarded. I saw a ray of light, which grew and grew, and at last the sun poured in and all was clear. It took me five nights of hard work, but it wasn't in vain after all, I had made Polly into a logician, I had taught her to think. My task was accomplished, and she was finally worthy of me. She would make a fine wife for me, an excellent hostess in one of my luxurious public houses. A worthy mother to my well-bred children. Don't think I don't love the girl. On the contrary. Just as Pygmalion cherished his own perfect maiden statue, I love my Polly very much. I decided to pour out my feelings to her at our next meeting. It was time to transform our teacher-student type relationship into love. "Polly," I said as we sat under our oak tree again. "We're not going to discuss fallacies anymore tonight." "What?" She asked, disappointed. "Darling," I smiled at her kindly, "we've spent five evenings together, and we get along very well. Apparently we're both very compatible." "Hasty conclusions," Polly said eloquently. "You mean...?" I asked. "Hasty conclusions," she repeated. "How can you say we're compatible based on the only five dates we've had?" I giggled, finding it quite amusing. The cute little guy had learned his homework really well. "Honey," I said patiently patting her hand, "five dates would be quite a lot; after all, you don't have to eat the whole cake to realize how sweet it is." "False analogy," said Polly snappily. "I'm not a cake, I'm a girl." I smiled slightly, but this time it didn't feel so funny. The cute kid was probably learning too much from her homework. I decided to change tactics. Obviously, the best thing to do would be to be clear and direct in my attitude and show her love. I was silent for a while, picking out the right words with my extraordinarily well-developed brain. Then I began, "Polly, I love you. To me, you are the whole world, the moon, the stars, the whole universe. My darling, please say you love me. If you don't, my life will lose its meaning. I will shrivel up, not drink my tea, not eat my food, and wander around as a hobbled shell with sunken eyes." I stood there with my arms crossed, thinking that this had struck her. "The text doesn't add up," Polly said. I grit my teeth. I'm not Pygmalion, I'm Frankenstein, and my throat seemed to get the devil stuck in it all at once. I tried desperately to control the paroxysm of pain that surged through my heart. No matter what, I elect to remain calm. "Well, Polly," I said, forcing a smile, "you have indeed learned these fallacies at home." "That's quite true," she said, nodding vigorously. "But Polly, who taught you all this?" "You did." "Yes, and you have me to thank for it. Don't you, dear? If I had not been with you, you would never have learned these fallacies." "Assumptions contrary to fact," Polly said without thinking. I dropped the beads of sweat on my forehead. "Polly," I said in a hoarse voice, "you don't accept these things rigidly. I mean that's just what's taught in class. You know what you learn in school has nothing to do with real life." "Absolutely judgmental," she said, playfully shaking her finger at me. This one annoyed me. I jumped up and roared like a bull, "Do you want to fall in love with me or not?" "I don't want to," she replied. "Why don't you want to?" I pressed. "Because this afternoon I promised Pitty Birch that I would fall in love with him." I was so dazed with anger at this impudent act of Pitty's that I could not help stepping backward. Pitty had promised me, made love to me, and shaken my hand! "That shameful fellow!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, kicking up chunks of turf. "You can't stay with him, Polly. He's a liar, a cheat, a shameful fellow!" "Poisoning the well," said Polly. "Don't yell; I think it's a fallacy to yell out loud." With a great effort of will I moderated my tone. "All right," I said, "you're a logician. Then let us analyze the matter logically. How is it that you can favor Petey and despise me? You see me as a brilliant student, a marvelous intellectual, a man of great promise; and Pitti - a fool, a capricious man, a man who eats his first meal and knows not whether there is a next. Can you give me a logical reason why you should get on with Peaty?" "Sure I can," affirmed Polly. "He has a coonskin coat."