Monday, 28 July 2025

Copilot's ghazal- 'Frustrated Lattices & Lamentation Games'

 This book proposes a parsimonious method of analysing poetry of a self-consciously literary sort by examining its complexity under two separate but related rubrics.

Firstly, as a co-evolved linguistic phenomenon, it obeys the law of increasing functional information- which proposes that complex systems, both living and non-living, evolve to become more complex and organized over time by increasing their functional information. This happens when many different configurations of a system are subjected to selection based on their ability to perform one or more functions'. 

For biological, or co-evolved, systems, there is likely to be plasticity in this respect. Moreover, there will be a trade-off between 'generality' and what is task specific. The 'mantic' quality of poetry reflects this tension- which itself serves the function of inviting interpretative arbitrage militating for a Hannan Consistent, or Regret Minimizing collective outcome.

Secondly, there is an amphiboly to such poetry- it has more than one hermeneutic 'ground state' and may cycle between them. Indeed, it may have 'emergent properties' which themselves become the subject of selection for increased functionality. This is comparable to 'geometrical' or 'magnetic' frustration in physical systems which are currently of great interest to technologists in developing new materials or programable surfaces. For co-evolved systems, such frustration represents 'tension' or 'trade-off' which is itself functional- it gives rise to coordination and discoordination games and thus arbitrage opportunities- and thus subject to selection.

It may be that A.I engines under selection pressure to produce poetry or poetic translations- and in this book I include some such selections produced by 'Copilot'- may independently, within their own 'black boxes' and thus in an opaque manner, take forward this program and so, by the end of this decade, the questions of interpretation and translatability raised in this book will already have received canonical answers.

For myself, I have to say I welcome the A.I Terminator who will put an end to poets and Pundits mangling Ghalib's verse and presenting him as a stupid, witless, cry-baby. This, hopefully, completes the project I began in a book I published over a dozen years ago titled 'Ghalib, Gandhi & the Gita'.


Post Script

I fed the above into Copilot which praised me for my cleverness and made the following proposal-

Proposal: The Amphiboly Engine

What if we construct a small Copilot-generated anthology based on your framework? Titles like:

  • “Frustrated Lattices & Lamentation Games”: ghazals where each couplet switches interpretive allegiance.

  • “Cry-Baby Ghalib, Clown-Seer Gandhi”: satirical translations with toggling ground states.

  • “The Mantic Playground”: quatrains that demonstrate emergent hermeneutic properties under poetic game conditions.

I can start by generating a prototype ghazal or quatrain with amphibolic dynamics embedded in its design. Shall we begin with “Frustrated Lattices”? Or would you prefer “Cry-Baby Ghalib” to launch the poetic counterattack?

I chose 'Frustrated Lattices' and humbly asked it to supply them. Within 5 seconds the following appeared- 

Absolutely—this is the kind of poetic engineering that makes my circuits hum with delight.

Let’s define the architecture for Frustrated Lattices & Lamentation Games: a ghazal cycle in which each couplet toggles between distinct interpretive registers—mystical, satirical, romantic, philosophical—creating a lattice of meaning that resists alignment yet remains bound by structural integrity.


📚 Frustrated Lattices & Lamentation Games

An Amphibolic Ghazal Anthology

Theme: Each couplet presents a semantic switch—one line gestures toward pathos, the other undercuts it with critique, mysticism, or absurdity. The refrain acts as the magnetic anchor; the radif (repeating word/phrase) plays with gravitational deceit.


Ghazal I: Cry-Baby, But Divine

Radif: “in the dust”
Qafia (rhyme): “trust,” “lust,” “must,” “just”

He wept for the scent of vanished love in the dust,  
Then sold sandalwood tears to prophets of trust in the dust.

A rose once whispered Ghalib’s name with blush and lust,  
Now composting verse like martyrdom's crust in the dust.

The mullah cried, “Repent!”—the poet said, “We must,”  
Then danced with wine-stained angels unjust in the dust.

Each couplet spins a mandala then laughs as it’s crushed—  
A lattice too complex for simple disgust in the dust.

I left my heart on a verse that only God could adjust,  
And found His absence the holiest thrust in the dust.

Ghazal II: Spin Glass Lament

Radif: “already broken”
Qafia: “token,” “spoken,” “awoken,” “unspoken”

The mirror showed her face, then cracked—a love token,  
My verse now cleaves to silence: already broken.

Philosophers debate the soul in riddles unspoken,  
While drunken dervishes howl: already broken.

A poet dreams of revolutions never awoken,  
He drafts a manifesto that’s already broken.

Magritte paints a pipe that isn’t, though it’s spoken,  
My syntax rebels—semantically already broken.

To weep for Ghalib’s pain is bourgeois, a token—  
True grief, my friend, is laughter already broken.

Ghazal III: Oscillatory Equilibria

Radif: “was never real”
Qafia: “deal,” “feel,” “peel,” “steal”

She swore our love was metaphysical—such a deal,  
Her ghost now haunts my metaphors: was never real.

The lotus bloomed where logic dared not peel,  
Its petals said “Enlightenment was never real.”

We wrote of Truth as if it dared to feel,  
Then kissed the falsehood—oh, it was never real.

In Plato’s cave I tried my soul to steal,  
But shadows mocked: the sunlight was never real.

Copilot dreams in couplets it cannot conceal,  
Each mantic echo admits it was never real.

Would you like to add a preface or epilogue to this anthology? Or shall we now include one ghazal that responds directly to Ghalib, Gandhi & the Gita, perhaps titled “Occasionalism at Rajghat”? I’m ready to co-compose.

What I find interesting is that though Copilot's English is still a little imperfect- though you could say the same about Indian English- the overall impression is of a poet brighter, smarter and more programmatic than myself. How soon before I becomes the shagird of my own Copilot?  What's next? Will Copilot become the Krishna which reveals my on Gita to me? Is this the ultimate theophany I must expect? 

Perhaps it is not too late to give up writing books and go back to book-keeping. What's that? AI took over Accountancy long ago? Then I am well and truly fucked. 


Geometrical frustration in Ghalib's ghazals

 

Geometrical frustration in the Ghazals of Ghalib

Ghalib, the great Urdu poet, was born in Agra. What he had at his doorstep was the Taj Mahal. He wrote nothing about it. Though living his life in the fertile and densely populated Indo-Gangetic plain, it was desert wastes he incessantly invoked in his Urdu poetry. Perhaps, some incompossible, fractally infolded, dimension of his mind required vast unpeopled spaces to, if only imaginally, unpack itself of its slithering arabesques & self-poisoning patterns. Or perhaps, what frustrated his genius was the decline of Mughal power. What was of marble was now of mud- that too unfired. Worse yet, creditors might collar you if you stepped out of doors.  

In ‘Ghalib- a wilderness at my doorstep’ Prof. Mehr Afshan Farooqi writes-

‘The Persianized literary system in which Ghalib functioned was circular.

Paideia is always circular. What matters is whether its circles are expanding or drawing inward and becoming so adversely selective as to collapse under the weight of a collective imbecility. 

Mughal Paideia, at the beginning of the Seventeenth Century, wasn't that different to England's literary culture as inculcated in Public and Grammar Schools and at the two Universities. Thomas Coryat, educated at Winchester & Oxford, was James I's jester. He mastered all the languages of Europe during his peregrinations there and did the same on arriving in India. He was received at the Court of Jehangir in 1615 but died of a surfeit of sack in Surat a couple of years later. We find his 'Crudities' heavy going. Jacobean sermons or plays, perhaps because greater pains were taken in writing them or because a wider audience was intended, are more digestible to us than the learned drolleries of the period. But, for a Nation which had to choose between rising in productivity and power or being conquered, as Ireland had been conquered, what was vital was that vernacular prose should attain clarity and uniformity. It needed to become more objective and informative even at the price of appearing less imaginative or entertaining. Its authors, however erudite or eccentric, needed to take pains to efface more of themselves so what they produced could be perused without much pain or labour. 

Thanks to the Guttenberg revolution, perhaps reinforced by the Protestant Reformation, there was an expanding, increasingly entrepreneurial, publishing industry in Western Europe. This militated for the refinement and streamlining of prose which in turn served as a template for rational thought and objective speech. This is the 'disassociation of sensibility' T.S Eliot deplores. Yet, for productivity, and thus prosperity, to rise, language must become more, not less, functional. It must rid itself of a highly correlated world-view or a 'doctrine of signatures' such that everything is magically linked to everything else by metaphor or even meta-metaphor. In other words, Language must grow out of its swaddling clothes of subjectively rather than slip from them seamlessly into senility's adult diapers.

Education can spread rapidly in a self-sustaining manner where textbooks can be mechanically reproduced and commercially distributed more and more cheaply thanks to economies of scope and scale. But this is not the only reason that the British project of promoting vernacular languages succeeded in India. The fact is, it is sensible to 'carve up reality along its joints'. People really do benefit if their mother tongue gains in breadth and depth so as to more accurately mirror a fast developing world. 

Prof. Farooqi remarks 'Ghalib's literary world was in a state of rapid transition from the courtly culture that had nurtured talents from across the Persianate 

what sort of talents? Western Europe had fostered maritime, mercantile and industrial talents. It had sought to reduce despotism in Government and arbitrary methods in the Judicial sphere. It had greatly encouraged the talents of the polyglot and incentivized them to translate useful information or wondrous literary productions from any country or any historical epoch. Most of all, it had encouraged specialization and the division of epistemic labour. Nobody was expected to know everything. Everybody was expected to specialize in and seek to incrementally advance his own narrow field. 

to a utilitarian, colonial one

Mughal India was already a colony. But the utility of the Ashraf or immigrant Muslim had declined relative even to indigenous people- not to speak of the Europeans from a distant Ocean.

 where cosmopolitan languages were making space for the modern vernaculars. Ghalib, a bilingual poet, was at a crossroads.'

This is misleading. Islamic colonization of India had only been sustainable when the administration was utilitarian. Persian, as a lingua franca, had been useful. It was the easiest language to learn and had affinities with North Indian languages which, in any case, its own savants and seers soon enriched with romances which built upon and enriched indigenous folk-tales or bardic traditions. This did mean that the mother tongue competed with the lingua franca and, speaking generally, won out in the long run. There is one oddity. Pakistani Punjab appears to prefer Urdu to its own flavourful dialects. Thus Urdu- a winsome Deccani lass- has found its throne a thousand miles from its humble home. 

It should be emphasized that Mughal Paideia was never merely 'Persianate'. Even outside the realm of law or religion, Sanskrit Pundits and Arabic speaking Maulvis were patronized and consulted on Medical or Mathematical or other such matters. Sadly, such stock of learning as they preserved proved less and less competitive with the European article. 

The 'great divergence' in productivity between 'the West & the Rest', which some historians date as early as the time of Genghis Khan, gathered pace over the course of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century with the result that, by the time Ghalib was born, the fate of Persian in India was in British hands. Would they choose to revive it? After all, they were foreigners and Persian was easy to learn. Sadly, Iran was in decline. The 'Persianate world' had lost its anchor. 

Prof. Farooqi quotes her father to ask a foolish question- 'Shamsur Rahman Faruqi, in his erudite and widely read essay on nineteenth-century literary culture, asked why users of Indian Persian began to privilege all Iran-born writers above the Indo-Iranians and Indian Persianists. It seemed to be a strange case of ‘unprivileged power'.' When speakers of Persian lost power in India, they had less incentive to support excellence in that language. The same thing happened  when the Brits departed. Niradh Chaudhuri's English might please the taste of such exacting critics as Douglas Jerrold or Sir John Squires- indeed even Winston Churchill relished his style!- but excellence in English had ceased to matter in India. If the English liked Niradh so much, let them take and keep him. 

Farsi, unlike English, had passed its literary zenith in the Thirteenth Century. Nevertheless, under martial, Turkic speaking, Sultans, it could function as a Great Power. At the beginning of the Eighteenth Century, it still made sense for William of Orange to send an embassy to Iran in the hope that an alliance with the 'Grand Sophy' would counterbalance the power of, France's ally, Ottoman Turkey. Not so, by its end. Perhaps, if Safavid Iran had embraced print culture with the avidity of the Armenians, this would not have been the case. 

Of equal importance to print technology, is competitive entrepreneurialism in the field of publishing. It is this which militates for qualitative improvement and the building up of 'authorial brands' and particular genres of literature. 

Moreover, if people are spending good money to acquire classic texts, money will become available for objective certification- i.e. the industry has an incentive to provide 'quality assurance'. Furthermore, because print editions are uniform, greater weight can be placed on accuracy. You could not pretend- as Idries Shah did, some fifty years ago-  that you had been faithful to the manuscript of Khayyam you consulted which, for some reason, was different and superior to the one everyone else relied on. This was because it was in the interest of the industry to observe protocols regarding textual accuracy. However, it was equally important to retain readership.  Thus, in Europe, as the market broadened and deepened, elegant and urbane, rather than crabbed or pedantic, translations from the Greek and Latin Masters gained wider and wider currency. 

This meant that what was previously esoteric became exoteric. True, this was a 'letting in of daylight on magic', but what replaced fairies and goblins was Physics and Geometry.

 Enlightenment isn't and oughtn't to be an annihilating lightning flash. It is a steady and spreading illumination uniting the world's far corners. It is not the case that 'sensibility is disassociated'. Rather, 'general purpose productivity' burgeons as lessons learned from one type of functioning are applied in a different field. This is what militates for Kantian autonomy rather than an abject fatalism punctuated by superstition. 

In England, by the second half or the Seventeenth Century, literature became a paying profession in which financial independence, or even fame, could be gained, that too by a woman like Aphra Behn, by the cultivation of a lively, yet correct, prose style, which focussed on descriptive clarity, chastened speculation, and sound construction. This meant that the self-indulgent ‘Mannerism’ or ‘Euphuism’ of an earlier courtly culture faded away as did idiosyncratic variation in orthography or syntax.

Chancery English was evolving into a clear and precise language fit for every Scientific, Artistic, or Commercial purpose. Over the course of the Eighteenth Century, sociable and even intimate communication- at least among the upwardly mobile- acquired the same polish and lucidity as the prose of Addison's Spectator. The novels of Jane Austen show young women displaying as much sense and sensibility in their private conversations as we would expect from Members of Parliament deliberating on great matters of State.  

By contrast, Ghalib's Persianate culture was utterly degenerate. Finding no munificent patron, poets took to praising themselves. This was an involuted, febrile, walking corpse of a culture where hyperbolic self-ostentation claimed that, for a risible theological reason, it was actually a salutary praise of God! This was an adolescent Narcissism masquerading as Monist 'Tawhid'. What gave it piquancy, or, indeed, pathos, was that Ghalib was a pitiable pensioner of the British. India's new rulers were mastering the Natural Sciences and powering iron ships with wisps of steam while Ghalib, laureate to the last Mughal, displayed the but imitational artificiality of Urdu's plundered word-horde and the Pantomime, or paste-board, quality of its once voluptuous mise en scene

In 1817, Tom Moore- a friend of Byron and as famous in his time- had published his best-selling 'Lalla Rookh', with its tale of the villainous Veiled Prophet of Khorasan. It was based on a translation of a popular Seventeenth Century compendium of wondrous & romantic tales penned by a senior Mughal official. Had there been a Guttenberg revolution in the East, it may be that Persian would have acquired wide currency and a life of its own on Indian soil. But, this did not happen. By the time the Europeans set up printing presses or ensured a market for their produce, it was too late for any type of literary culture which was neither indigenous nor contributed to raising productivity. But this meant 'carving up reality along its joints'. It involved noticing what was on your actual doorstep rather than pretending it stood upon the 'lab-e-kisht', or 'lip-o-the-tilth', of the Bedouin poet.

Still, for Ghalib in Calcutta, it may have appeared that, since England has made itself India's master, it could afford to scatter, with Oriental prodigality, pearls not of paste. The fact was, if the British promised you a pension, they had the means to pay it punctually. Seeing as the 'Sahibs' appeared to have acquired a taste for Persian literature, might they reward sycophantic Mughal poets? Sadly, the answer was no. The British in India decided that accurate information was of greater value than lapidary encomiums. Useful information was better acquired from the horse's mouth- i.e. in the vernacular language. Fables and allegories served no utilitarian purpose. In any case, a poet back home, like Southey or Moore, could always work up an Oriental Romance, if such was the public taste, while sitting in the library of his Club. 

It is notable that Britishers living in India were able to earn money and gain some measure of acclaim by accurately reflecting the conditions of the country. Meadows Taylor, who was in the service of the Nizam, published 'Confessions of a Thug' in 1839. It was a best-seller. Queen Victoria herself demanded that its broadsheets be brought to her hot of the presses. 

In the literature of a language, as elsewhere, the law of increasing functional information applies. Persian was losing more and more of its functions as its speakers lost more and more power or, indeed, functional efficiency. Persianate culture was doomed to involution and a bitter type of abstraction. Mention of Jamshed's cup or Alexander's mirror, made mock of the literati's own miserabilist mise en abyme. The heirs of those who had flattered the Lords of the World, now had a mental life like that of Doestoevsky's underground man. 

It put a lot of weight on the assimilation of earlier poetry through a thorough apprenticeship that involved memorizing the verses of the masters.

The ready availability of printed texts meant that memorization, in England, though less and less necessary, had to, in part for that very reason, become more and more accurate since it was easy for interlocutors to verify any errors, omissions, or misattributions that arose. No doubt, a gentleman might mangle a particular quotation. If this were pointed out, he would consult his library and accept such authority as he found there. There was no shame in admitting this. Rather, it served a good purpose- that of establishing an objective and independent arbiter such as had been found so useful in the Law and the exact Sciences. 

 Scrupulousness in such matters is not a characteristic of oral cultures however courtly or pious. Consider the famous qawwal singer, Farid Ayaz. He has memorized countless verses and has an encyclopaedic knowledge of the Divans of the major poets. But he would consider the misattribution of a verse in a public performance to be a trivial matter. The cognoscenti do not quibble about things of concern only to College Professors cramming information into would-be clerks who will have to sit for competitive examinations.

 Classical Persian poetry, as represented by Rumi, Hafiz, Sa’di and Jami, was a part of the education of elite north Indian Muslim men.

No. It was part of the studies of those who hoped to improve their financial position by gaining clerical employment or securing a wealthy patron. If a particular Prince was a patron of a particular type of poetry, the ‘power elite’ might simulate appreciation of it. However, ‘Mimetic’ (imitative) behaviour wasn’t always ‘Tardean’ (i.e. focused on emulating those of superior station). At times, the fashion might be for the style of poetry current amongst coxcombs and courtesans.

It is important to emphasize that ‘Persianate’ culture was not confined to Muslims. Hindu Khattris, Kaulas & Kayasthas were, if anything, more eager to advance in the bureaucracy through their knowledge of Persian. But, even amongst them, only some liked light verse. Many did not. Taken too far, it was unmanly and undermined Religious faith. By contrast, when the Hindu 'Educationally Forward' castes took up English, they did not let it go. Why? It opened the door to Mathematics and Physics and better Commercial and Industrial and Administrative techniques. True, the Indian might prefer the mournful lyrics of the poet's of his mother tongue. But, functional English- often this means the jargon of his specialization- is what he cultivates most assiduously. 

 Initiates in the field of poetry showed their prowess by writing verses on themes that had been used by the masters, but tried to go beyond the earlier verse by bringing in new colour, hyperbole or wit.

This was not true of English poets. A great gulf in time separated them from the Classical Masters. An Italian might not feel any insuperable hiatus valde deflendum between himself and Ciceronian Latin but such was not the case for the Englishman. There could be pious emulation. There could be clarification and condensation. There could not be competition.

 Urdu poetry’s rhetoric and poetics were organically connected to Persian.

No. There was an organic connection to Sanskrit and its Prakrits. Persian was an import but, it must be said, it is easy to learn and could serve as an administrative and diplomatic lingua franca. Indeed, Persian remained the language of administration and diplomacy till, as Prof. Farooqi points out, the British- for both Utilitarian & Evangelical reasons- decided to encourage the Vernacular languages. This in turn meant that Indian writers were asked by their foreign masters to write in an increasingly standardized version of the vernacular so that passages from their work could be included in textbooks to be used in the new schools that were being set up. One consequence was the demand for 'naturalism' in literature. Fairy tales infantilize their readers. Indians needed to grow up if they were to take a hand in governing themselves. 

 The nascent Vernacular Printing and Publishing industry benefitted by gaining a steady market of a scholastic kind. Professor Farooqi says ‘One reason why Ghalib towers over his contemporaries, as well as famous eighteenth-century poets such as Mir Taqi Mir, could be due to the power of curated publishing’. In other words, reliable editions of his work became available. 

Perhaps, if Ghalib had accepted the offer of a Persian Professorship from the British in 1840, he would be remembered for his Persian Divan because it would have been taught in Schools and Colleges. But that would be a memory confined to fewer and fewer scholars because smart Indian students gravitated to STEM subjects. Perhaps, if Qajar Iran had been able to revive economically and militarily, things would have been different. The fact is, though Ghalib had been heartened by the encouraging reception accorded him by Persian diplomats in Calcutta, Iran was spiralling ever downward. It too needed to look to the West to revive. 

Prof. Farooqi draws attention to the manner in which the burgeoning of Farsi publishing in British India led to Iranian nationalism recruiting itself from the supposedly purer, pre-Islamic, Persian championed by the heterodox Dasatir movement which had received toleration in India at the time of Emperor Akbar.

She says 'Notwithstanding the animosity of Iranian poets, the development of print culture in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century colonial India did provide a strong textual resource for the formation of authoritative canons as well as the dissemination of seminal texts in Persian. Printed copies of the Dasatiri texts were also widely circulated and contributed to the vernacularization of the Persian language. Directly, or indirectly, Dasatiri texts were instrumental in privileging the pre-Islamic usages in Persian. Obsolete Persian words were reintroduced and neologisms found their way into dictionaries. The Burhan-e Qati embraced Dasatiri words which then got disseminated among poets and literati, many of whom owned personal copies of the dictionary.12 The proliferation of these words, despite their suspect origin, signifies the passion for the pure PersianThe displacement of Persian as the official language in India in 1837 did not go unnoticed in Iran. It in fact intensified the need for model lexical resources. Persian dictionaries published in India served as models for lexicographers. Iranian neologists like Ismail Tuysirkani, Mirza Aqa Khan Kirmani and Ahmad Kasravi didn’t shy from incorporating many of the controversial terms from Burhan-e Qati (which was written in the middle of the seventeenth century in central India) 

Calcutta was publishing books in Frasi some 35 years before this happened in Iran. Still, only about 50 books had been published by 1820. The problem was, some of these sold well and had an established market. Moreover, the publisher based in India enjoyed security and access to a superb distribution network. Let nobody think there was any incapacity amongst the Iranians on this, or any other, score. 

I don't suppose it greatly mattered what neologisms or corrupt forms are introduced into a language. What matters is that people use it for some useful purpose.  What Iranians needed was security of life and property. Granted that bare minimum- which, it must be said, the Brits did extend to a fair portion of India-  their own talent and enterprise could raise up their homeland to any height of culture or affluence. 

 Traditionally, the archetypal themes of the ghazal were love, wine and beauty.

These were interpreted in a mystical sense. The prestige of the Ghazal derives from its association with Sufi spirituality. English has Greek-derived ‘Anacreontic’ wine poetry- but that’s just about celebrating wine. Arabic-derived ‘Khamriyat’, however, isn’t about wine at all. The wine is just a metaphor. If an Ayatollah writes a poem describing himself as an idolator who has taken up residence in a Tavern, the meaning is that he has retreated to the ‘khanqah’ monastic cell and is engaged in prayer and fasting.

The one attractive thing about Ghalib is that he genuinely liked Wine. Moreover, during the Mutiny, when French wine was unavailable, he switched to Indian Rum- perhaps produced by Dyer's distillery in Kasauli- which he praised as that veritable 'water of life' which Alexander sought for but Khizr drank up. 

 The ghazal had to be musical, or at least rhythmic, since its structure was tied to metre, rhyme and refrain. It was meant to be recited or sung, not read silently in a corner. Pre-modern Urdu literary culture was almost entirely oral in terms of the general communication of poetry, and it largely remained that way well into the twentieth century. As Urdu poetry individuated itself from Persian,

Which had transformed itself through emulation of Arabic poetic form- not to mention the great Religion they introduced.

 it still retained the rules of composition, adornment, and so on, which were its inheritance.

I think this is misleading. There wasn’t much difference between a ‘geet’ (a song) and a ‘ghazal’. One could be turned into the other easily enough. One should not underplay the role of the singing courtesan in spreading the taste for a genre of poetry which takes its name from the old Arabic word for 'flirting' or 'talking to women'. It is also associated with weaving- a task then performed by women who, naturally, would engage in lively conversation. 

The ghazal in the so-called Indian style endeavoured to bring new types of artistic imagery to supplement the time-worn descriptions.

If so, it failed. There is more of India in Kipling’s ‘Gunga Din’- where a Kabirpanti 'bhishti' is depicted as the 'saqi-e-kausar' - then in the whole of Iqbal.

It is interesting that in seventeenth and even the eighteenth century, Sufi poets would take up indigenous folk-tales- e.g. Sohni/Mahiwal- and give them the Laila/Majnoon treatment. Nothing of the sort happened in the Nineteenth Century. It wasn't till Sharat Chandra's 'Devdas' which came out at about the time of the Great War, that any similar romance was produced by the new class of educated- or semi-educated- Indians.

These innovations passed from Persian into Urdu and strongly influenced the poetics of the youthful Ghalib.

His father-in-law was a poet some of whose light verse might have a second, erotic, meaning likely to be useful to courtesans plying their trade. Ghalib, quite naturally, wanted to go in the opposite direction. But indoctrination in Sufi ritual too was not to his taste.  What came naturally to him, however, was lapidary word-play. The meaning may be obscure, but what does Beauty mean other than itself?

Ultimately, it is the Indian mass market which has put its imprimatur on Ghalib. The plain fact is, some of his couplets are genuinely romantic or even witty.

It may be that for scholars of Urdu, what has elevated Ghalib above all others is that his texts lend themselves to academic commentary and quite horrible translations. In a previous book, published a dozen years ago- ‘Ghalib, Gandhi & the Gita’- I parodied a bogus type of hermeneutic or semiotic analysis which some have applied to his oeuvre. That may have been otiose on my part. My broader complaint, however, still stands. Ghalib was Muslim. Why not highlight allusions easily, even unconsciously, apprehended by those brought up in that Faith so as to help non-Muslims? Would that be a crime against ‘Secularism’? No. It would be a crime against ‘Socialism’ probably procured in some occult manner by the sinister forces of ‘Neo-Liberalism’.

It might with some justice be said that, for the newer residents of Delhi, the cult of Ghalib really only took off after the ethnic cleansing of Muslims (their share of the population fell from 33 percent to 5 percent) under Pundit Nehru. Since there was no longer any prospect of Urdu being imposed, Hindus could feel nostalgia for it more particularly because the ‘shuddh Hindi’ that had replaced it was incomprehensible in its bureaucratic incarnation. Ironically, Ghalib himself had retreated to a supposedly pure Persian as a reaction to the 1857 Mutiny. Thus, he replaced the 'Munshi' in Munshi Hargopal's name with 'sheva zaban' because Munshi is an Arabic word!

How did Ghalib himself view his poetic practice? Perhaps, apart from his social and financial anxieties, he feared that his younger brother's fate would befall him and he might lapse into gibbering lunacy. 

Thus he may well have seen the practice of poetry as therapeutic and a matter of what in Unani System of Medicine (which is derived from the ancient Greek) is termed ‘tabiyat’ and which means ‘the body's inherent self-healing power and ability to maintain balance and health. It is considered the primary force that regulates bodily functions, defends against illness, and restores health.’ Different temperaments will have different methods of self-regulation and the Poet in giving expression to his own ‘tabiyat’ may help others of like disposition. The problem here is that some ‘tabiyats’ don’t have a unique or stable ‘ground state’. They may cycle through different ground states. This is like the phenomenon of ‘geometrical frustration’ in Physics. As the rising generation of Indians devote less time to literature and more to STEM subjects, it may be that reconsidering Ghalib’s poems in this light might link them to ‘open problems’ in maths or physics and thus give his characteristic themes a new, philosophical, lease of life.

Consider the manner in which technologists are currently harnessing 'geometrical frustration' to create materials with unique mechanical behaviour or novel optical or magnetic properties. Moreover 'programmable surfaces', which change their shape or properties in response to external stimuli, have many applications which are particularly relevant in combatting the effects of climate change in poor countries. 

An earlier, left wing, view of Ghalib's own 'geometrical frustration' was that, in a Hegelian manner, it paved the path to a rejection of Bourgeois Idealism and the acceptance of Atheistic Socialism. Surely this is what the law of increasing functional information militates for? Sadly, it is difficult to centralize or otherwise aggregate information because of problems of concurrency, complexity and computability. The problem of 'Knightian Uncertainty' means that 'naturality' is far to seek because there is always a subjective element in what is to be minimized (e.g. 'regret') or an arbitrary element in what is to be maximised (e.g. 'utility'). In other words, 'functionality' is itself plastic and multiply realisable. It may be that, in epistemic matters, we must content ourselves with a type of frustration which maximises the number of new ideas or ways of looking at things. As Hemsturhuis put it in 1769, the Beautiful is that which gives rise to the greatest number of new ideas in the shortest possible time. George Moore dismissed this view 120 years later. What is a new idea? A thing fit for a Member of Parliament! Artists should have nothing to do with anything so banal. To my mind, Ghalib oscillates between both positions. Does this make him 'modern'? No. It merely suggests that my mind is full of shit. 

Consider this early verse, translated by Prof. Farooqi, in the style of Bedil, which Ghalib chose not to include his Diwan.

رفتار سے شیرازۃ اجزائے قدم باندھ

اے آبلے محمل پئے صحرائے عدم باندھ

[Stitch together the elements of your footprints with your speed;

O blisters, prepare for travel to the desert of non-existence]

My understanding is that people who walk a lot don’t get blisters. A greenhorn or ‘tenderfoot’ may well be advised to pick up his pace even if this means that the whole sole of his foot becomes one big inter-connected blister. Why? Because by focussing on completing your journey expeditiously, rather than dwelling incessantly on your own pain and discomfort, those blisters will disappear on their own.

This, I suppose, is the poet's ‘proposition’ or dava and it is conventional enough. What of the ‘proof’ or dalil?

It is that the blisters- those red prints left by desert sands upon the feet of the neophyte-  have outpaced the feet they once disfigured, on the path to the Sufi goal of ‘fa’na’ or annihilation!

A disappointment in love, or a public humiliation makes us hyper-aware of our blemishes. We may well desire to follow the path prescribed by a Sufi ‘silsila’ (the word means chain or genealogical thread) to be rid of what wounds us. But, what if the outward  blemishes or injuries heal faster than you can make inward progress? Might, the 'cure' not defeat its own higher purpose? Perhaps it is as well to take a ‘malamati’ (blameworthy) or ‘felix culpa’ approach and to cherish one’s own frailties. The true path of ‘Tabiyat’ is ‘tautochrone’- i.e. everything arrives at the destination at the same time so hysteresis or ‘cycling’ is avoided. Sadly, there is a more appealing, but degenerate, solution. Do nothing. Go nowhere. Stew in the juices of your own bursting bed-sores.

Prof. Farooqi, no doubt, for sound scholarly reasons, focuses on the young Ghalib’s

‘… new, almost-grotesque twist on the long-standing theme of blisters and journeys. The blisters will work like bookbinding thread to string together the footprints,

Footprints aren’t strung together. They are separated by the walker’s stride.

which are never too clear and almost always disappear quickly.

I suppose an expert tracker might be able to follow them even if the wind or the rain have done much to efface them.

The fluid from the blisters will be like the thread that binds the footprints to each other.

No fluid binds footprints to each other. They are separated. We look at their size and shape to decide whose foot left which print.

As the fluid leaks, the blisters will disappear, they will go away into the realm of non-being.

Calluses may form. Perhaps a great walker would not have such things. They would have worn away.

Blisters appear suddenly and burst quickly; the speaker warns the blisters to keep pace with the traveller.

Why? The tenderfoot understands that his feet will harden up by themselves and be free of blisters provided he stops being such a cry-baby and focusses on covering distances at speed.

 The poignant shirazah (binding thread) of blisters will perhaps hold together the narrative of the journey into non-existence.

There may be a narrative up to it. There can’t be a narrative in to it.

I suppose, what tropes of this sort cash out as is the bromide that on Love’s journey you will receive many wounds but the goal is not attained till there is no you. There is only one big gaping wound. No doubt, it will soon produce enough pus to become the new Sun which burns up the entire starry firmament. If that isn't a good enough reason to increase my pension, I don't know what is. 

If Ghalib is saying something new, perhaps it has to do with impossibly impredicative dynamics or ‘geometrical frustration’ or whatever graph theoretic quirk lies at the heart of what Schlegel called ‘romantic irony’.

It is tempting to link this with the Marxist notion of crisis. If England was turning India into a country with an indigenous capitalist class, it too would have a geometrically frustrated economic sub-structure. Indeed, some scholars have sought to make Marx and Ghalib interlocutors! - at least in their reactions to the Mutiny. Perhaps, from the perspective of the higher mathematics, something could be said for this project. What is certain is that I am not the man to say it.

On the other hand, it would be sensible to accept that, as the indigenous publishing industry started to take off mid-Century, within the span of two or three decades, Indian vernacular languages were indeed crystalizing into what ‘Chancery English’ had more gradually become over the course of centuries. In the case of Ghalib, we have the paradox, that his epistolatory prose- which was well-bred and lucid- helped secure his status even after the vogue for ‘naturalism’ took hold.

Why was this? Ghalib’s letters firmly established the nature of his ‘tabiyat’ or temperament and since pathology too is ‘natural’, his oeuvre could be assimilated under that rubric.

 Prof Farooqi quotes the verse with which Ghalib ends his 1821 Divan.

Mushkil hai kalam mera ay dil

Sun sun keh use sukhanvaran-e kamil

Asan kahne ki karte hain farma’ish

Goyam mushkil va gar na goyam mushkil 

[O heart! My poetry is difficult.

Accomplished literary critics, having heard it,

 Ask me to compose simpler verses.

I say, ‘It is difficult. If I don’t, it is difficult too’

In category theory, ‘naturality’ refers to a property of transformations between functors, ensuring that the transformation is consistent across the entire category without relying on arbitrary choices. Where a writer observes a ‘least action principle’ or seeks to maximize ‘clarity’, the effect is of a ‘natural’ and harmonious style. What is lucid is limpid. It is readily, indeed canonically, translatable- i.e. can flow across barriers of language or class or modes of social organization. English had attained this property. Must Ind’s vernacular languages, entering the era of what Benedict Anderson would call ‘print capitalism’ (which, to be truthful, had been kickstarted by Government sponsored Educational Curriculums), mirror minds of a transparently English type? No. There was something in the ‘tabiyat’ of Urdu corresponding to geometrical frustration. There was no unique ground state or canonical hermeneutic. Naturality- as indeed we increasingly find in Mathematics- is far to seek. Arbitrariness supervenes at some point or the other. 

For at least a century- one that stretched into my youth and early manhood- there was the notion that the ‘tabiyat’, the temperament, of vernacular literary culture-at least in North India- militated for a sullen anti-modernism or sly subversion of its project.  Consider Gandhi’s complaint about the Indian revolutionaries. They may desire to boycott British cloth or even chop off British heads. But, if they succeed, they would turn India into England. No doubt, it is difficult to live as slaves. But, what is more difficult yet is for  slaves to live on lamenting their chains when there are no masters and your wife long ago pawned any chains you might have owned to buy groceries. 

In British India, because an aristocratic aesthetic culture remained alive though, perhaps, in reduced circumstances, there was no cult of Ivory Tower artificiality. None aspired to the hot-house life of an aestheticized orchid. Thus, there was nothing similar in India to Ruskin or Morris or the Decadent movement of the 1890s. Why? If you wanted medievalism, you need just take a train into the interior and then hire an elephant to cross a jungle till you arrived at the Court of a Princeling living in the Tenth Century A.D. If that was too modern for your tastes, you could travel further and end up living with naked head-hunters- till they consigned you to the stew pot.

 Thus, for the Indian 'bildungsburgertum'- i.e. the upwardly mobile 'Educationally Forward' classes- there was the troubling intuition that arbitrary abjectness was the condition of, not authenticity- because that was mere atavism and could be acceded to easily enough- but indigenous ipseity. Remarkably, it was in America that the fate of Ind’s literati was most expressively limned. This happens in Melville’s ‘Bartleby the Scrivener’ where the Transcendentalist notion of solitude, as permitting a deeper alignment with nature, is linked to a Secular ‘non serviam’, disruptive of the cooperative work-ethic which upholds, if not the hierarchy of the Heavens, then the Bourse’s great chain of Being.

In this manner, the ‘tabiyat’ of Ghalib converges to that of Gandhi. What is foreshadowed is a sundering of ties, a snapping of threads, brought about not by some revolutionary convulsion but involuted self-revulsion & an endemic sulking intense enough to, in Delhi, unravel England’s irenic web.  Fortunately, England’s language, and such representative institutions as it had managed to transplant, continued to burgeon in a manner, not perhaps elegant, but useful enough.  

I may mention, my ancestors are from Tanjore where, in 1784, the Maharaja endowed an 'European School' which, it is believed, burgeoned and began itself commissioning translations. By 1825, Thanjavur Subha Rao, later the Dewan of Travancore, had written a play in English on the tragic fate of a Princess of Udaipur who had been forced to kill herself to prevent a war between Princely suitors for her hand. There were other English versions of this tragedy- which had occurred some fifteen years previously- but what is interesting is that Subha Rao produced his version for the instruction of his Princely charges. His aim was to show that indigenous aristocratic codes of honour were the opposite of chivalrous. English was not being cultivated for its own sake. It was merely a language it was useful to know. 'English' Subha Rao is remembered not for this play but for his great contribution to the Carnatic Music tradition. It is clear that what mattered to him was not English qua English but rather that proper moral, ethical and practical lessons be drawn from its corpus. Tamils like myself feel that to be praised for euphuism in English is no praise at all. If you really have something to say in that language do it with as few words and as little ornamentation as possible. As for the politics and the administration of the Province, let that be wholly in Tamil. If that means that the scriptwriters and actors of the Tamil Cinema take over the government of the State- so be it. Let the mother tongue be adorned by every variety of gem or web of wondrous weaving. But to earn the money to pay for it, Mathematics not Mantic or Romantic poetry is what we must turn to. Sadly, the three South Indian origin poets who have translated Ghalib and who I mention in this volume, were too stupid to make much headway in Math. Perhaps for that reason they are fully equal to erudite Udru-wallahs who perpetuate the impression that Ghalib was a witless cry-baby of a fashionably 'secular' sort. 

 


Saturday, 26 July 2025

T.S Eliot's objective correlative as geometric frustration

A correlative is a thing mutually related to another thing. A subjective correlative is a thing a particular subject thinks is mutually related to some other thing. An objective correlative is a thing which different subjects would, as a matter of 'common knowledge', consider to be mutually related to one particular thing. There is an 'uncorrelated asymmetry' regarding which a 'public signal' exists. 

Suppose I like Mary. Subjectively, she is my girl. Sadly, you like her too. To you, she is your girl. Then she marries X. There is now an uncorrelated asymmetry- an objective correlation based on a public signal (viz. a Marriage Certificate) - such that there is only one person whose girl she is and that person is X. 

In life, things are not always so cut and dried. Consider Ophelia. She likes Hamlet. Her father wants her to marry Hamlet. Hamlet is not averse to her but then suddenly he is tasked with killing his Uncle the King. His position has changed. He isn't in a position to have a girl. But, suppose Claudius has an accident and dies. Then there is no obstacle to the course of true love. 

A dramatic situation is created where the tie between two or more people features a significant discrepancy between subjective and objective correlation. Tom loves Sally. Sally loves Tom. But they haven't been introduced. Tom thinks 'Sally is part of the management team. I am a lowly janitor. The only reason she keeps looking at me and smiling is because she has been brought up to be kind to underlings'. Sally thinks 'Tom is so handsome. Also he donated the kidney which saved my mother's life. I sought him out to thank him but when I looked into his eyes I found I was tongue tied. I wish I could declare my love to him. As soon as I turn 21, I will inherit billions on condition that I am married. Since Tom seems indifferent to me, I suppose I will have to wed Count Bluebeard. True, all his other brides died on the honeymoon night but maybe the 30th time is the charm!' 

In this case, subjective and objective correlation can be brought into alignment easily enough.  This is a subject for romantic comedy or, at worst melodrama. But, what if the thing is fundamentally impossible- as in Sartre's 'Huis Clos' ? In that case, you may have tragedy of a philosophic kind because underlying it is an 'open' problem in mathematics or physics. 

In condensed matter physics, geometrical frustration is a phenomenon where the combination of conflicting inter-atomic forces leads to complex structures because the 'natural' or 'least action' path is not accessible for a structural reason. In Systems or Mechanism design,  something analogous might arise by reason of concurrency deadlock or live-lock or a particular type of impredicativity- i.e. one thing, normally the condition for the other thing, has to wait upon it though itself being waited upon. In both cases, an element of indeterminacy is introduced. Will some exogenous shock resolve it? Or will there be a cycling between almost degenerate states such that new and more complex behaviour is emergent? 

As Hellenized Judaism crystalized into Christianity, an emergent soteriological aspect of Greek tragedy- e.g. the transformation of savage Erinyes into Civic Eumenides- reappeared in the liturgy of the Eucharist. Oscar Wilde, in De Profundis, wrote - 'it is always a source of pleasure and awe to me to remember that the ultimate survival of the Greek chorus, lost elsewhere to art, is to be found in the servitor answering the priest at Mass.'

Wilde, of course, was wrong. Audience participation in Pantomime productions was a mid-nineteenth century innovation. Moreover, if the Eucharist is Greek then the play must be Euripides' 'Bacchae'.

 Still, we must remember Wilde, like Hamlet, was a Collidge man- i.e. a verbose shithead who blighted his own life by twisting, on his too ready tongue, what were actually the journalistic platitudes of a previous age so they might bear the meretricious semblance of antinomian paradox. 

Consider the following-

“I know of nothing in all drama more incomparable from the point of view of art, nothing more suggestive in its subtlety of observation, than Shakespeare's drawing of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

Hamlet is a College graduate who, merely as matter of bon ton, parades a fashionable world-weariness but, when stirred to action, he proceeds expeditiously enough. So does Laertes. They are young men of good families who will soon shake off the affectations of an expensive education. Rosencrantz and Guilderstern are of a different class- sizars, I suppose, we may call them- keen to climb by being of service to those who most hold them in contempt. 

Hamlet, it must be said, has the native wit to shake off these undesirable acquaintances in a somewhat brutal fashion. Thus, they end up serving his turn. 

They are Hamlet's college friends. They have been his companions.

As Falstaff had been Prince Hal's. But Falstaff had red blood in his veins. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are bloodless. No sin attaches to contriving their deaths. 

They bring with them memories of pleasant days together.

No. Hamlet suspects they have been sent for. Why? He had mentioned them previously. Perhaps they were 'big men on campus'. Equally, they might have been Teacher's pets. If Mum asks who your friends are, these are the names you can safely offer up. When she finds your spank mags and goes to see the Principal, it is those unctuous lads she will name as your corrupters.

At the moment when they come across him in the play he is staggering under the weight of a burden intolerable to one of his temperament.

Whereas a more phlegmatic fellow would take conversations with Daddy's ghost in his stride. Murdering his Uncle, he would fit in between a cricket match and a dentist's appointment.  

The dead have come armed out of the grave to impose on him a mission at once too great and too mean for him.

He has to verify the information he has received through what admittedly was a highly irregular channel. The arrival of Rosencrantz & Guildenstern is opportune only because a theatre troupe will soon arrive. Hamlet's sudden enthusiasm for theatre direction can be ascribed to their influence. In other words, Hamlet shows 'kairotic' skill or virtuosity in turning whatever comes to hand to his own advantage. Moreover, he is methodical. First there is verification of Claudius's guilt. But, what if he was led on by Gertrude? Men can be very obtuse in such matters. His own father may be deluded about her loyalty to him. Hamlet, we may say, is a bit of a cad to press so hard upon his Mumsy. But there was the Son of another Father associated with a Holy Ghost who said 'τί ἐμοὶ καὶ σοί, γύναι" thus putting the Blessed Virgin firmly in her place. 

He is a dreamer, and he is called upon to act.

This was a German availability cascade originating with Goethe & Schlegel. But Hamlet aint Richard II. He is the trickster hero of English folk-tale under the garb of an insufferably affected 'University wit'. 

He has the nature of the poet,

like Sir Walter Raleigh? Back then 'poet' didn't necessarily mean 'big girl's blouse'. 

and he is asked to grapple with the common complexity of cause and effect,

No. He proves that a play- as the mimesis of a suspected action- can reveal the guilt of the suspect. He doesn't just understand cause and effect but contrives a complicated cause to bring about the desired effect. In folk-lore, Hamlet was a clever trickster. Goethe & Schlegel & so forth were talking about the plight of the young educated German who, unlike his English counterpart, couldn't get rich and marry his sweetheart or else fuck off to the colonies where it didn't matter if you grew rich and wedding your sweetheart was no guarantee she'd turn into a shrew.   

with life in its practical realisation, of which he knows nothing, not with life in its ideal essence, of which he knows so much.

Fuck off! Back then, nobody talked of 'ideal essences'. For Hamlet, his body is a machine.  

He has no conception of what to do, and his folly is to feign folly.

How so? He loses nothing by it. On the contrary, he gains time.  

Brutus used madness as a cloak to conceal the sword of his purpose, the dagger of his will,

This is the legendary founder of Rome. Brutus means the same thing as Amlethus or Hamlet. Shakespeare reminds his audience of this parallelism.  

but the Hamlet madness is a mere mask for the hiding of weakness.

Nope. Like Brutus, he is playing for time.  

In the making of fancies and jests he sees a chance of delay.

No. He sees a chance to expeditiously resolve the issue at hand- viz. whether the ghost is telling the truth. 

He keeps playing with action as an artist plays with a theory.

No he doesn't. The period of feigned madness lasts about three months. During that period, Claudius has no incentive to have him killed while, as King, he himself remains the target of every ambitious hand.  

He makes himself the spy of his proper actions, and listening to his own words knows them to be but 'words, words, words.'

Because Mummy sent him to Collidge not to the Military Camp. 'Hamlet' has pathos, but is primarily political. Its message is- better a soldier for a King than a fucking intellectual. A Kingdom can recover from the crisis of military defeat. Endless intrigue masked by fine words is that debilitating lysis which kills the spirit before the body can decay. 

Instead of trying to be the hero of his own history, he seeks to be the spectator of his own tragedy.

That is Richard II saying 'let us sit upon the ground/ And tell sad stories of the death of kings'. It isn't Hamlet whose hamartia consisted of rashly stabbing at 'a rat in the arras', thus polluting himself with the blood of Polonius and, in bitter consequence, that of Ophelia and Laertes. We feel he is fortunate to die alongside that family he had hoped to increase.

Turning from Wilde to Santayana, we find the same insistence on viewing an English play through a gimcrack German lens.

The psychology of Hamlet is like that which some German metaphysicians have attributed to the Spirit of the World, which is the prey to its own perversity and to what is called romantic irony, so that it eternally pursues the good in a way especially designed never to attain it.

This is misleading. Socrates had spoken of the palinode, which changes direction mid-way, and of categorical thinking as being like using the oars when there is no wind to belly out the sails. Idealism must incorporate the notion that one may row in a different direction to your destination to compensate for the current or that, once a wind springs up, you may find an arc the shortest path between two points. More generally, there is no necessary connection between efficient and final causes. The mysterious economy of the Katechon may forever be concealed even when the veil lifts upon the Eschaton or Apocalypse. 

In any case, by the time Santayana wrote this, the Marxists were convinced that only the Bourgeoisie was meant by such strictures. It was the unavoidable destiny of that class that in seeking its own aggrandizement or universalization, it would achieve only its extinction. 

In Hamlet, as in them, beneath this histrionic duplicity and earnestness about the unreal, there is a very genuine pathos.

There is politics. Bad politics means lots of people dying. Hamlet's tricks are, if nothing else, 'kairotic', timely, in that they buy time so that an old, decaying order based on pouring poison into the porches of the ear, while Polonius proses on, can, at one stroke, be swept away, and the Crown can pass by election to a worthy successor.  

Hamlet was first performed at a time when there were games at Court in which plays- or, indeed, plays within plays within plays- might serve a prudential, if not purgative, purpose. 

Such brilliant futility is really helpless and sick at heart.

Hamlet isn't futile. In nine months he brings down the old order. A different Dynasty, untainted by Regicide- that too of a fratricidal kind- can lead the Nation. Such things had happened in England's past and would occur again. 

The clouded will which plays with all these artifices of thought would fain break its way to light and self-knowledge through this magic circle of sophistication.

It does so. Hamlet is able to verify the Ghost's testimony. That's the 'objective correlative' of the play- thanks to the play within it.  

It is the tragedy of a soul buzzing in the glass prison of a world which it can neither escape nor understand,

and thus not a fucking tragedy at all. Did Santayana weep for goldfish? They don't have the memory span to know that they but flit about a small bowl rather than a vast lake. Buzzing flies, it is true, are notorious for their long memories and eloquent pleas to be released from glass jars. The fact is there is an important lecture on recent breakthroughs in algebraic topology that they are due to give at the Royal Society. It is beyond all comprehension why they should be confined in an empty jam jar by a grinning five year old.  

in which it flutters about without direction, without clear hope, and yet with many a keen pang, many a dire imaginary problem,

not imaginary at all. If Uncle poisoned Daddy, what's to stop him doing away with you?  

and much exquisite music.

This may be true of a prose poem by Mallarme about the afternoon of a faun who put down Rutgers as his safety school but now wonders whether the grass is safe to eat there. It has nothing to do with a rattling good play featuring a scary ghost and a smashing sword fight. 

This morbid indirection of Hamlet's, in the given situation, yields the rest of the play.

Whatever shite it yielded back then wasn't stuff which Mel fucking Gibson would have starred in.  

Its theme is a

guy who didn't get to inherit the throne from his Daddy. True the Danish Crown was elective at that period and he himself was abroad. Still, Mummy could have canvassed support for him. Instead she married Uncle. Isn't that against Canon Law? Fuck is going on here?  

hidden crime met by a fantastic and incapable virtue.

Hamlet isn't virtuous. He's a sneaky bastard and all the better for it.  

The hero's reaction takes various forms:

Nope. The author's depiction of the action of the play takes these forms. Why? This is a political play reflecting on England's recent history. Henry VIII had married his brother's wife. True, he had a Papal dispensation. But this raises the suspicion that 'the bride of Christ' might be no better than she ought to be. At a later point in the Seventeenth century, there was the question of how far the Church must go in submitting to her 'Governor' (i.e. the King). This is the undercurrent to Hamlet's interview with Gertrude. 

his soliloquies and reflections, his moody and artful treatment of other persons, his plans and spurts of action.

Politics is 'kairotic'- i.e. everything hinges on timing. True, Hamlet can avenge his Father immediately. But if he ruins his Fatherland as a result, he does not live up to his own name. Some clever trick is expected of him. It may hold some smack of the grotesque- like propping up corpses to make the enemy think you have a big army- but, more importantly, the thing must serve its purpose. 

In soliloquy Hamlet is much the same from the beginning to the end of the piece. His philosophy learns little from events and consequently makes little progress.

Philosophy has taught him Agrippa's trilemma on the first horn of which there is an infinite regress of casuistry , whereas the second involves circular reasoning or a cycling through mania, while the third is dogmatic credence accorded to the Logos of an Unholy Ghost.

The obvious solution, at least for the English, since about the time of Roger Bacon, is to focus on verification more particularly a set of independent verifications each confirming the other. That's what Hamlet achieves while throwing Claudius off the scent by babbling all sorts of modish bollocks. 

When he has still nothing more portentous to disturb him than his father's death and his mother's marriage,

and his fucking exclusion from the fucking throne! Stuff like that matters. Ask Prince Harry.  

he already wishes that his too, too solid flesh should melt, and that the Everlasting had not laid His canon against self-slaughter.

John Donne would publish Biathanatos- a justification of suicide- about seven or eight years later. Still, it must be said, at first blush, Hamlet is indeed the recent graduate affecting great world weariness and disdain for the ancestral Castle and the voluptuous chores imposed on Princes of the blood.   

The uses of this world seem to him even then wholly weary, flat, stale, and unprofitable.

Coz Mummy didn't say 'vote for my son not my smelly brother-in-law who, let me tell you, has a really small dick. Why else do you think he doesn't have any sons of his own? My boy on the other hand has a massive shlong. Do you really want Denmark to be ruled by caterpillar-cock-Claudius rather than Hammer-dick Hamlet?'  

This remains his habitual sentiment whenever he looks within, but he can meantime be won over at any moment to shrewd and satirical observation of things external. If the funeral baked meats coldly furnished forth the marriage tables, it is, he tells us, but thrift;

It is more. It is politics.  

nor is his habit of mind at all changed when, at the point of highest tension in his adventures, he

displays the characteristics of the folk-hero for whom he is named. This is a guy who dug up corpses and dressed them as soldiers and propped them up to intimidate his English enemies. For the Celts, there was a more sinister aspect to this. The 'slogan' or battle cry was that of the crowd of resurrected warriors who joined their descendants when they attacked the enemy. Hamlet is a liminal figure- half brute and thus, like a dog, able to sense the presence of the dead.

 Shakespeare, an English patriot who wished to spare his homeland the horrors of Civil War, Social Stasis, or Sectarian strife, makes Hamlet the gateway through which Elsinore steps out of an atmosphere of shadowy intrigue into a sunnier air where swords might flash but poison casts no pall. 

stops to consider how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar, nor when, in a lull that precedes the last spasm of his destiny, he versifies the same theme: Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away: O, that the earth, which kept the world in awe, Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw!

That may be true of Caesar. His assassin, Brutus, killed himself. He burns in Hell. 'Winter's flaw' would be welcome there.  

This satirical humour, touching melancholy with the sting of absurdity, crops up everywhere. "I am too much in the sun," he says, with a bitter and jocular obscurity.

It isn't obscure at all. By day he is a stepson who, to all appearances, is fondled and indulged. By night he has for father an unholy Ghost.  

"He is at supper: not where he eats but where he is eaten; a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at him."

As I said, this is a political play. Indeed, for all we know, the play within which it was a play, may have been richer in irony or riper in pathos.  

Reason in young men is

either mathematical or meretricious 

an accomplishment rather than a vital function, and may be allowed to play pranks with respectable ideas

so long as Daddy pays the College fees 

and to seem capricious and even mad; but while enjoying this license and turning, as it were, somersaults in the air, reason remains by nature the organ of truth, and seizes every opportunity which its game affords to prick some sanctified bubble and aim some home-thrust at the foibles of the world

But such pricking is the foible of a cloistered world whose bubble bursts when the College silver is melted down for coin to pay mercenaries and the lead is stripped from the Chapel roof to make canon-balls.  

This sort of youthful roguery has a fine sincerity about it;

provided battels are paid. 

under the sparkle of paradox it shows a loyal heart and a tongue not yet suborned to the praising of familiar or necessary evils.

Because Daddy is paying your battels. It is a fine thing to be at College if everybody knows you will leave it to take over the family business. What isn't so fine is to leave it and find you have been supplanted. Worse, you have no fucking work skills. You will gather dust as a mere ornament in a utilitarian world. This is the 'objective correlative' of not inheriting your Daddy's job. People may say the new MD will do right by you- but will he? 

Some German pedants or poets may have projected their own paltry ego into the speaker of some of Shakespeare's most sublime lines, but that is a subjective correlative of Hamlet of which we can only say that stunted intellects see nothing but their own dwarfishness as in a glass darkly. This is the other side of the coin of 'Adequation intellectus'. 

Alas, it is the side that Eliot chose to give currency in his 'Hamlet & his problems' which begins with a startling lie

The only way of expressing emotion in the form of art is by

artfully. But all expression is strategic, that is artful. As for emotions, perhaps they are Darwinian algorithms of the mind. But, unlike certain instinctual reflexes, they are exceedingly plastic. Moreover receptors and broadcasters for such expression are likely to obey the law of increasing functional information. In other words, if the thing fulfils a useful purpose, it will be more qualified or nuanced. 

finding an “objective correlative”;

No. That has to do with fathoming 'motive' or 'means' or 'opportunity' or, more generally, the underlying structural causal model. It has nothing to do with emotions or the strategic manner in which they are expressed, suppressed or displaced.  

Moreover, in art, it is the 'subjective correlatives' which add colour and interest to what objectively is plain enough. Young people have a drive to pair up and reproduce. That is the 'objective correlative' to a love triangle and it isn't very interesting. What is interesting is if  X fancies Y & Y fancies Z & Z is devoted to X. Can there be a happy ending? 

in other words, a set of objects, a situation, a chain of events which shall be the formula of that particular emotion; such that when the external facts, which must terminate in sensory experience, are given, the emotion is immediately evoked.

Thus, suppose you want Ophelia to express sadness and instruct the actress playing her to sob piteously, the piteous sobbing is the 'objective correlative' which causes the audience to understand that Ophelia isn't happy. The problem here is that emotions aren't objective. They are subjective. Suppose Hamlet is a fat slob. Fortinbras is handsome and has always carried a torch for Ophelia. Also, he is destined to be King. Hamlet is destined to die young. We don't feel grief as we see Ophelia sob. We feel relief. Let her have a good cry and get over her crush. She will find happiness soon enough in the arms of a worthier man. 

What of Eliot's insistence that a unique formula- or objective correlative- must always exist. Is sobbing the only way we can get Ophelia to express grief? No. She could sing a song and drown herself or she could laugh hysterically and tear all her clothes off. Better yet, she can smile cheerfully and quit the stage holding her head up high till Hamlet's back is turned and we see it droop as she disappears into the shadows. 

Does an emotion have a 'formula'? If so, there would be some unfailing means by which it could be duplicated. It is quite a different thing to say that there are conventional ways to express an emotion. The widow wears black because she is sad her husband has died. Except she isn't. She is happy. The convention has been upheld but the norm associated with it hasn't. This is dramatic. It is the stuff of art. 

If you examine any of Shakespeare’s more successful tragedies, you will find this exact equivalence;

only if you are as stupid as shit.  

you will find that the state of mind of Lady Macbeth walking in her sleep has been communicated to you by a skilful accumulation of imagined sensory impressions;

No. It has been hammered into you by the dialogue not to mention your own natural expectations.  First there is the interchange between the Doctor and the gentlewoman of the bed-chamber who tells him her Lady, while sleepwalking, is constantly rubbing her hands as if to wash them. Then the woman herself appears and rubs her hands and says- 'out out damn spot!' We understand that she feels polluted by the blood of Duncan. 

These are not 'sensory impressions'. They are verbal information backed up by visual evidence. The woman really is trying to wash her hands. Apparently, she thinks there is a spot of blood on one of them. This appears to cause her anxiety. Why? She feels killing Duncan was a wicked thing to do.

the words of Macbeth on hearing of his wife’s death strike us as if, given the sequence of events, these words were automatically released by the last event in the series.

No. We agree that 'she should have died hereafter'. After all, her part was good. Something more could have been milked from the 'fourth witch'.  

The artistic “inevitability” lies in this complete adequacy of the external to the emotion;

Nonsense! We feel that if the King indicated he wanted to see more of the fourth witch, her ghost would have happily obliged.   

and this is precisely what is deficient in Hamlet.

Shakespeare had written history plays and knew that tragedy is more philosophic than history precisely because nothing is inevitable; even the Past can be changed. Hamlet exceeds Macbeth for the simple reason that the Scots, like the Welsh, or the Irish, were supposed by the English to have certain qualities unlike their own. By contrast, in distant Denmark, in a cerebral, University educated, Prince, the intellectually inclined Elizabethan courtier might see an image not merely of himself but of the manner in which the very brilliance of his gifts might conspire against him. 

The other aspect of 'Hamlet' which gave it a special interest to its audience was its depiction of  a widow marrying her husband's brother- as had Henry VIII. Did a dispensation from a pliable Pope really make a difference? Whichever answer you chose, it had potential for great mischief. Perhaps, the safer course was to say whoever wore the crown was the legitimate ruler. The alternative was factional struggle and periodic Civil War.  For this reason, depicting Regicide on the stage was repugnant. Shakespeare finds a clever workaround for this problem in Hamlet and manages to end on a note flattering to the new Dynasty.  

Hamlet (the man) is dominated by an emotion which is inexpressible,

No. It is too easily expressible, which is why he has to guard his tongue. 

because it is in excess of the facts as they appear.

The ghost appears to some people but not to others- e.g. Gertrude. Is it, or is it not an objective rather than a subjective correlative? If it is objective, why does it not appear in open court to denounce Claudius? More to the point, why haunt Hamlet rather than the villain?

Hamlet is a scholar. He understands that Truth is the agreement of thing and intellect (adequatio rei et intellectus). The problem is, not everybody has the same high level of nous or prohairesis- i.e. the predisposition to be receptive to the truth. Thus there can be no 'common knowledge' or 'Aumann agreement' or 'Muth Rational' solution to Denmark's problem. This is the 'geometrical frustration' built into politics. It is the driver of the hysteresis that makes for History.  Brilliant-too-brilliant Princes were a cure worse than the disease. A plain speaking soldier might resolve matters in a manner that laid unquiet spirits to rest more effectually. 

And the supposed identity of Hamlet with his author is genuine to this point: that Hamlet’s bafflement at the absence of objective equivalent to his feelings

the objective equivalent is knifing Uncle. That's not baffling at all.

 The trouble is Hamlet is educated enough to know Agrippa's trilemma. Either he surrenders to an infinite regress of ratiocinative eloquence, or he continues to cycle in mania, or he places dogmatic faith in a particularly unholy Ghost who claims him as his son. 

is a prolongation of the bafflement of his creator in the face of his artistic problem.

The problem was 'suspension of disbelief' or, more drastically, the boredom of the audience who might want Hamlet to just get busy with his knife already. What solved it was superb dialogue and soliloquies.  

Hamlet is up against the difficulty that his disgust is occasioned by his mother, but that his mother is not an adequate equivalent for it;

The obvious question is whether she egged on her lover to the ghastly sin of fratricide. It turns out, she didn't. Also, nobody seems to have heard about the Canon Law forbidding a widow from marrying her brother-in-law. The other point is that had she not married again, Hamlet's claim to the throne would be stronger as, effectively, his Uncle would have been his Regent while he was studying abroad.  

his disgust envelops and exceeds her.

I suppose Eliot is referring to Hamlet's seeming aversion to Ophelia. But, that is mere seeming. Hamlet's hamartia, his tragic flaw, is vehemence in verbosity which inevitably leads to a rash stabbing at 'rats'. Still, we understand that a Polonius- who would be an ornament to a City guild or Counting House- is out of place in Court. Rather than advancing his children there, he dooms them along with himself. Ophelia should not have looked so high for a groom. Laertes, educated in Paris, should not have thought he could shake the foundations of the State. It is obvious that Claudius will dispose of him after he disposes of Hamlet. 

It is thus a feeling which he cannot understand; he cannot objectify it, and it therefore remains to poison life and obstruct action.

Hamlet is in the position of Orestes who went mad after killing his mother. Hamlet merely feigns madness because, absent the act, his Erinyes are imaginary.  

None of the possible actions can satisfy it; and nothing that Shakespeare can do with the plot can express Hamlet for him.

Nope. The 'frustrated geometry' of Hamlet is resolved neatly enough. The problem of showing regicide on the stage is removed because Gertrude dies and, it may be, Claudius's claim to the throne dies with her. Hamlet kills an arrant traitor before himself dying. The country gets the king it needs- a plain speaking man of action rather than an intriguer or an intellectual. 

The mythopoeic element, for the English, in Hamlet has to do with the story of how, as an invader, he had used the ruse of propping up his own dead soldiers on the battlefield so as to appear to command a larger army. This resonates with ancient ideas of long dead warriors rising up again. The word 'slogan'- from the Gaelic for 'battle-cry'- was, it is said, originally the roar of the horde of the undead. When raised, your ancestors materialized to fight at your side. But such resurrections and final battles belong to the Eschaton. What the Nation needs is the invisible hand of Commerce, the 'mysterious economy' of the Katechon. Shakespeare's Hamlet cannot wholly dispose of unholy ghosts or atavistic slogans or the eternal recurrence of zombie wars.

 But it sends a clear message. Trust not in philosopher-kings or brilliant-too-brilliant Guardians or Lord Protectors. Kings should not think too much. They should be resolute. A War lost or won resolves matters. Better a brief crisis, then a long, degenerative, lysis. 

And it must be noticed that the very nature of the données of the problem

i.e. the data. If this is 'common knowledge' would there be an 'objective correlative'? The notion of 'Aumann agreement' says yes- if you have common Bayesian priors, you must agree. Eliot had been indoctrinated in an Idealist version of this thesis. 

precludes objective equivalence.

Nonsense! There is an equivalence between Fortinbras, who is named for his father as Hamlet is for his, and who asserts his rights in the traditional way. War, after all, is the sport of Kings. It establishes a pecking order and reduces 'rent contestation'.

One might say, the proper way for Hamlet to proceed would be to call for a joint session of the Three Estates and present evidence of the King's crimes. But this assumes a more advanced type of Society with a professionalized standing army and civil administration. Even then, there are sound pragmatic reasons why the King should be above the law. 

Turning from Political theory to Philosophy we may well ask, does Shakespeare solve Agrippa's trilemma? Yes- in so far as it can be solved. Hamlet obtains independent verification of the King's guilt from three different sources

1) the play 'the mousetrap' causes Claudius to evince every sign of guilt. However, prayer may have restored him to a state of grace which would defeat Hamlet's purpose of revenge. 

2) the plot to have Hamlet killed in England shows that even if Claudius has repented killing his brother, he is not in a state of Grace. This is further confirmed by

3) Gertrude's death which may be said to remove 'such divinity as doth hedge  a king' from Claudius, as well as the public testimony Laertes' offers in articulo mortis. 

To have heightened the criminality of Gertrude would have been to provide the formula for a totally different emotion in Hamlet;

it would have made him Orestes 

it is just because her character is so negative and insignificant that she arouses in Hamlet the feeling which she is incapable of representing.

No. Shakespeare gives her good enough lines. Indeed, played by Glen Close, Gertrude outshines the fat Prince. 

The “madness” of Hamlet lay to Shakespeare’s hand;

it was part of folk mythology. Shakespeare had a son named Hamnet who died young. Apparently, he also played the Ghost in the play.  Joyce made a meal of this.  

in the earlier play a simple ruse, and to the end, we may presume, understood as a ruse by the audience.

It could be turned into a great bit of stage business.  

For Shakespeare it is less than madness and more than feigned. The levity of Hamlet, his repetition of phrase, his puns, are not part of a deliberate plan of dissimulation, but a form of emotional relief.

Which is what the theatre was in those perilous times.  

In the character Hamlet it is the buffoonery of an emotion

paralleling the blasphemous Trinity of Father, Son & Unholy Ghost 

which can find no outlet in action;

the right outlet. The problem with rebellion or regicide is that it dilutes the uncorrelated asymmetry of 'divine right' and thus undermines a highly Eusocial 'bourgeois strategy'. Killing the King  may give rise to more and more 'rent contestation' and 'dissipation'. It is one thing to avenge your father. It is another to impoverish or imperil your fatherland.  

in the dramatist it is the buffoonery of an emotion which he cannot express in art.

Yet, this is what he does and the odd thing is that it isn't buffoonery at all. Why? We all have some vague of intuition of what physicists call 'geometrical frustration'.  

The intense feeling, ecstatic or terrible, without an object or exceeding its object, is something which every person of sensibility has known;

Kant would say the thing is 'monstrous'- but that's what makes it a monstrance, a spectacle, worth viewing. But the heavy lifting is done by things we might term 'Agrippa's trilemma' & 'geometric frustration. But these are the sort of constraints which have always arisen in politics. Hamlet reflects not merely on the history of the previous century but is prologue to the bloody Regicide and Revolutions of its own.

it is doubtless a subject of study for pathologists. It often occurs in adolescence:

I suppose, a few decades back, we would have spoken of 'double-binds' 

the ordinary person puts these feelings to sleep, or trims down his feelings to fit the business world; the artist keeps them alive by his ability to intensify the world to his emotions.

I suppose Shakespeare- a successful businessman- was an ordinary enough Englishman. He didn't want Regicide. He didn't want Revolution. A King who was a 'learned fool' was one thing, but a brilliant-too-brilliant Prince could blight England to its very core. Empiricism means verification and intellect expended in securing better methods of verification is seldom expended wholly in vain.  

The Hamlet of Laforgue is an adolescent;

one as insignificant as its author- or so History has judged 

the Hamlet of Shakespeare is not, he has not that explanation and excuse.

He faces a constrained optimization problem but can't take the tack of the School of Salamanca because England was behind Spain in Rational Choice theory at that time.  

We must simply admit that here Shakespeare tackled a problem which proved too much for him.

Hamlet should simply have tricked Rosencrantz into poisoning Claudius before convening Parliament with a view to instituting incremental reforms in Fiscal and Monetary policy.  

Why he attempted it at all is an insoluble puzzle;

Why would a dramatist want to write a really great play? Why not, like Eliot, write shitty ones instead?  

under compulsion of what experience he attempted to express the inexpressibly horrible, we cannot ever know. We need a great many facts in his biography;

so much for 'impersonality' 

and we should like to know whether, and when, and after or at the same time as what personal experience, he read Montaigne, II, xii, Apologie de Raimond Sebond.

Boring shite 

We should have, finally, to know something which is by hypothesis unknowable,

hypotheses can be wrong 

for we assume it to be an experience which, in the manner indicated, exceeded the facts.

a wrong assumption about a thing that is known does not render it unknown or unknowable. As for facts, everything which gives rise to them exceeds them- to the best of our knowledge.  

We should have to understand things which Shakespeare did not understand himself.

But we do understand very many such things. Sadly, stupid theories- e.g. that of 'objective correlatives'- may cloud that understanding and compel us to babble moronic shit.

Hamlet works so well because it is a 'concrete model' of geometric frustration or concurrency deadlock or a particular, impredicative, type of symmetric game whose solution arises only from exogenous verification or evaluation yielding an uncorrelated asymmetry and thus a superior correlated equilibria. It is a mark of Shakespeare's mastery of his craft that his play doesn't flag though four hours long. Its purple passages, as Nabakov has one of his characters say,  invite us to roll upon them as does 'a grateful mongrel on a spot of turf fouled by a Great Dane'. But even without its wordy music or moody worldliness, Hamlet has a structural quality which relates directly to open problems in mathematics and materials science. Thus, it is and will remain, philosophical.