the New Pantagruel

On Being Contrary for its Own Sake

by James V. Schall, S. J.

“The mind of man is never satisfied with the objects immediately before it….”

–Samuel Johnson, The Rambler, March 24, 1750

HE INITIAL choice that each of us has to make in life is whether we think the world and ourselves already exist with some intelligible content to define what we are or whether there is nothing there but what we put there. The former position, it would seem, is rather demanding on us. It suggests that we are not our own self-creators, that what we are is something for us to discover, not make out of our own imaginary resources. But we are seemingly freer if there is nothing there in the first place, if we are solely responsible for our world and our own being. The trouble with being so absolutely free that nothing is presupposed, however, is that what is finally put there is also only ourselves. In such a view, everyone’s world is identical, full of only themselves, with their own laws enforced by no one but themselves. On this premise, no reason can be found not to be something else tomorrow. A world full of nothing but Schall, it strikes me, as utterly boring. A world in which Schall is never the same is even worse.

“Adolescent Love #4” by Scott Kolbo
Polyester Plate Lithography

A student recently sent me a copy of Being a Dog Is a Full-Time Job (Andrews and McMeel, 1994). Charlie Brown and Linus are on a teeter-totter. As he rises to its height, Charlie, rather panic-stricken, yells, “It’s her!” A confused Linus responds, “Her who?” Up again, Charlie, smitten, explains, “Look, it’s the little red-haired girl!” They both get off the teeter-totter. Charlie makes a deal with Linus, “Do me a favor. Go over and talk to her. Say you know me. Try to find out if she likes me.” This is the great question – “Does someone else like us?” Do they “know that we exist or care?” We next see Linus determinedly walking towards the girl as Charlie cunningly tells him, “I’ll hide here behind this trash thing and listen.”

In the next scene, we see a pleased Charlie duly hidden but listening. “Hi there. My name is Linus. I believe we have a friend in common.” Charlie’s mood suddenly becomes more sober as Linus tries to describe him to the little red-haired girl, who evidently has never heard of him. “His name is Charlie Brown. He sits across the room from you in school…. No, by the windows, near the pencil sharpener. No, in the last row.” Charlie’s face droops even lower as Linus continues his description of him. “Well, kind of blond, I guess. No, you’re thinking of Mike. No, not as tall.”

By this time Charlie has slumped down into a kind of stupor, but he still hopelessly listens for some spark of encouragement. “A shirt with sort of a jagged stripe. No, not John, John is a lot bigger.” Finally, Charlie is flat on his back as he helplessly hears the final words that prove that the little red-haired girl has no clue about who he is, has never so much as noticed him, and does not “like” him.

“Sort of a round face,” Linus continues. “Doesn’t ring a bell, huh? No, Brown. Like in town. Just doesn’t ring a bell, huh? Nothing, huh?” In the end, we only hear Charlie, now reduced to “nothing,” muttering forlornly to himself, “I can’t stand it!”

That may be the saddest piece of modern literature I ever read. I cannot stand it either.

No one has to love us, not even the little red-haired girl. Love does not really use the form “has to” but “wants to,” “chooses to.” And because of this undetermined freedom, because Charlie is not even noticed, there can be romance and risk and excitement in the world. Some day she might choose to notice. The story of Charlie Brown and the red-haired girl would be even more poignant if the girl did not exist. But Charlie did not give her being. She is just there, in the school room. Created being does not cause itself to be. It is seen, encountered, across crowded rooms, even school rooms.

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