This week's featured science quote: Henri Poincaré (Science and Hypothesis, 1905)

Science is built up of facts as a house is built up of stones; but an accumulation of facts is no more science than a heap of stones is a house.

The Tale of a Secretary, Interlude III: The Death of General Decency

Prerequisites:
Committee report
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter I: Scenery of Salvation
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter II: Introduction to a Diligent Task
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter III: The Smiling Man
The Tale of a Secretary, Interlude: Mr. Reed's Everyday Life
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter IV: Trahison D'être
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter V: Reaching the Rubicon
The Tale of a Secretary, Interlude II: Existential Angst
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter VI: Eschatology Blues
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter VII: That Which Hath No Name
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter VIII: Affirming The Shadows


"Sloth is an affront to general decency," the note read. "You have been given generous leeway in your official undertakings, yet your procrastination runs the risk of becoming detrimental to our cause. Though we may be lenient in matters of discipline, it lies in your self-interest to note that the people are not."
The young scribe chuckled and said quietly to himself: "General Decency is dead. He saw it fit to off himself before that last desperate cavalry charge against indifference."
The writer's quarters were in disarray, with various items of clothing lying on the floor mixed with heaps of animal hair of unknown origin. The room seemed to defy the second law of thermodynamics. Were he to enter the kitchenette, he would surely meet his demise under a mountain of dirty dishes.
Fighting his way through his ramshackle living space to throw this thinly veiled threat in the rubbish bin, he stopped at the window. On the street outside, five storeys down, he noticed his companion talking to another man. The man looked up to reveal his face, and shot off a smile that sent the adrenaline pumping through the writer's veins.
"No... no... it can't be!", the writer thought, horrified.
"Honey! Get away from that man!", he screamed at the top of his lungs. "I will be right down!"
He darted against the door, unluckily enough tripping on a pile of clothes, and was sent flying against an open drawer of the couple's wardrobe, busting his underlip open. Quickly getting up and bursting through the door and down the staircase, he cursed under his breath:
"No... not him..."
As it would turn out, The Smiling Man rarely made mistakes, and the abduction of the writer's spouse was not one of those occasions. When the writer crashed out into the busy streets, there was no sign of his sweetheart.
"Honey?"
He grabbed a passerby by the collar and inquired, rather rudely:
"Have you seen a woman in a red dress? She was standing right here talking to someone just a moment ago. Answer, gods dammit!"
"I beg your pardon? Please let go of me, and no, I haven't seen anyone.", the man answered and was quickly on his way.
The writer sank down to his knees, burying his face in his hands.
"No... not him..."
In many works of contemporary fiction, a disturbing young girl, more often than not dressed in a nightgown, serves the role of the bearer of bad tidings or a harbinger of worse things to come. The girl who was now approaching the crouching writer was, however, dressed in a Victorian fashion.
"Do you realize now?" her soft high-pitched voiced declared. "You can't run from them."
The writer slowly parted his fingers and beheld the girl through the cracks between his fingers. He was quiet.
"You know what to do if you want to see her again." the girl continued.
As she turned around to walk away, the writer grabbed her wrist rather violently.
"Who?", the writer exclaimed.
"Let go of her before I call the City Guard, you awful man!", a woman yelled from across the street.
He let go and collapsed on the street. The tempest that had been brewing for the last couple of days swept in over the city. As the rain emptied the street, the writer laid on his back and stared at the tenebrous sky.

Excerpts from The Little Red Book (Quotations from Chairman James Libel)

The book Quotations from Chairman James Libel (colloquially: The Little Red Book) will be published by Juicergy™ Press by late October this year. As a treat to our loyal readers, we publish a short selection of the aphorisms contained therein:

James R. Libel on...

... the existence of extraterrestrials: "All evidence seemed to converge to a sole possible conclusion: abduction by alien life forms."

... bosom: "Most of us know that when presented with a clear view of cleavage, one ends up handing over the conscious control of the eyes' motor functions to something deeply hidden within the cerebellum."

... surveillance: "It's a delicate balance act to walk the Orwellian tightrope."

... writing: "I firmly believe that in order to write successfully for the Web, the text needs to be concise, witty, and link elsewhere."

... J.P. Reed: "I never thought I'd see the day when the libelist became the libelee. Granted, I may have had it coming for quite some time now, but listen, boy. You have a long travel ahead of you on the road of slander if you are ever to be deemed apt."

... The Club: "We will do everything within our power to ensure the integrity of The Club. Hail Reed! Hail Libel! Long live the uprising!"

... self-delusion: "Let's face it. Life is a bitch, and we seldom get what we want. That's a good starting point."

... fandom: "In these situations, what alternative does one have apart from granting the ladies that which they seek? Apropos, I really do have nothing against our feline stalkers."

Pre-order your copy now!

This message was brought to you in cooperation with the friendly people at the Juicergy™ Corporation.
Juicergy™ - Empowering you through affirmative psychology since 2007.

The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter VIII: Affirming The Shadows

Prerequisites:
Committee report
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter I: Scenery of Salvation
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter II: Introduction to a Diligent Task
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter III: The Smiling Man
The Tale of a Secretary, Interlude: Mr. Reed's Everyday Life
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter IV: Trahison D'être
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter V: Reaching the Rubicon
The Tale of a Secretary, Interlude II: Existential Angst
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter VI: Eschatology Blues
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter VII: That Which Hath No Name


The uneasy dance of bare feet on limestone floor tiles smoothly promulgated James's trepidation through the unilluminated hallway and along its walls. It seemed to penetrate every nook and cranny of this Gothic style edifice, coldly and with callous indifference advertising his dread to anyone within earshot. In his ears his throbbing heart overpowered the voice of reason, now a subdued whisper cowering in the overwhelming shadows.

Pantingly he forced himself to continue to stagger forward looking to the left-hand wall for the support that his legs no longer granted him. His world continued to spin out of control, leaving James nauseated and forcing him to lean his back against the wall, lest he lose his bearings completely. He slid down to the cold floor, back still against the wall. He hated to feel this way. He hated spiraling down like this. And, the more he thought about it, he hated his feelings of powerlessness getting the best of him.
"Get a fucking grip, James!" he commanded himself. All the feelings passed over and through him. He permitted them to do so and as they trickled away he gradually regained a controlled breathing. Not before long, he was sitting quietly, arms folded over his belly, staring blankly into the opposite wall and listening to the reverberating silence. His blood froze as a chill ran down his spine.

"James..." a hoarse whisper rippled through the hallway. Turning his head little by little, he noticed a brass door at the end of the corridor. It was a well-crafted piece, the panel astonishingly adorned with a motif depicting a hawk and a raven, each perched nearby opposite stiles on the sides of the intimidatingly large hinged barrier. James's heart thumped uneasily.
The doorknob was, insofar James could surmise, made of brownish shining ivory. It emitted a strange glow, playfully begging to be at the center of attention. A warm luminous glow escaped from under the door, reflecting on the polished sill spreading the light in all directions.

A mere score paces away James could for the life of him not understand how he'd failed to notice the door - the very thing providing the biggest contrast to the darkness of the hallway. The door had an alluring quality, and as it beckoned, James unflinchingly rose to his feet. Eight determined steps later the susurrus once again swept through the corridor, only this time with more intensity: "James..." He stopped in his tracks. This time, however, the sudden terror had evaporated and was to James's contentment being replaced by two not too unfamiliar feelings.
The increased illumination was causing his pupils to constrict as if they were coiling up around an imaginary prey. He pushed onwards without squinting and after half a dozen steps he was overcome by an eerie sensation of finality. "Once I walk through that door there's no going back." he thought. "But then again, what are doors for if not to be opened, save being kicked in?"

The remaining half a dozen steps literally disappeared as he found himself standing a foot away from the imposing gate. The excitement and apprehension were causing his limbs to move jittery and his eyes were searing from the intense light. The wheezing voice, this time forcefully affirmatory: "James." He drew a deep breath and reached for the doorknob. Heart pounding in his ears anew and with sweat dripping from his forehead, he slowly turned the knob. The metallic creaking drowned out all other noises. He kept on pulling using both hands, and with the door finally ajar, James was engulfed by the brilliant light.

James simultaneously gasped for air and sat up in his sweat-drenched bed. It had come to him again. The dream. Though the details varied from time to time, the core never changed: Darkened corridor, terror, voice, door and light were all present. The first couple of times had been truly horrifying experiences, but as the nights passed, he gained more control over the dream. He knew the trepidation no longer carried any weight, for the simple reason the allure of finding out what hid behind that door now was more powerful than ever. Not quite ready to let go of the image of the door, he closed his eyes and visualized the light, trying to steady his trembling body.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the upper bunk bed, he scanned the dormitory for movement, finding none. With a gentle push he departed his bed, landing soundlessly on the floor below. "Not quite morning yet." he thought. The sleeping sounds of the nineteen other pupils affirmed this sentiment. He sneaked out of the room, carefully closing the door behind him.

The washroom lay a mere fistful steps down the corridor. James entered the room, flicked the ornamented light switch and proceeded to an elevated black stone slab into which a row of sinks were embedded. James reached for the faucet while using his other hand to rub his left eye. His eye spied an envelope resting solemnly against the gray wall. "To James", it read in large, cordial letters. "James..." the voice from his dreams echoed. His heart, having finally become tranquil, started pounding his chest like how a madman might pound on the doors of his cushiony confine. His heart pricked him when he turned his gaze upward at the unclean mirror and beheld an stony, paradoxically smiling face.
It was a spruce man in his mid-twenties who could easily have been mistaken for a businessman, had he not had such a brawny build. Though the sum total of his face was emotionlessness, there was a glow of fierce determination in his eyes that betrayed the intellectual dragon within. This was a dangerous man, James gathered. Neither man nor boy budged. After seemingly countless rounds of respiration, James swung around, taking his eyes off the man's smiling face at the last possible instant, and found that no one was there. He retreated a step, grabbed the letter and opened it discreetly, almost reverently.

"James" it read. "We proffer hope and opportunities abound. We offer an epistemology superior to that of revelation, authority and testimony - a way of acquiring reliable knowledge that is, in theory and practice, dependent upon reason alone. We offer truth, albeit with a minuscule T. However, it is not without admission. To reach the light you must leave at the door any pretenses you have come by during your youth, any [expletive deleted] wishful thinking, and, though tentatively, any metaphysical certitude. If you find this proposition fair, we will assist your embarkment on this lifelong journey."
It was signed only "The Elders." James stared blankly at the words, struggling to comprehend their full sense. "How did they know about the door?" was the only thought running through his head. James knew that he wanted through that door. Everything else was unimportant.
Unbeknownst to him sweat was running down his temples, dripping to the tiles and slowly adding up to a small puddle. He took a swift step forward, slipped and spun around. "How did they know about the-" he thought as he was knocked out cold against the edge of the sink.

A restless fortnight had passed without anything out of the ordinary. The dreams were gone, but what good did that do, when in their stead vivid daydreams intruded upon his consciousness? His absence of mind had not gone unnoticed by his teachers, who were already giving him a hard time as it was. The disconnect between dream and reality grew to the point that James feared that they soon might be ripped apart permanently. This afternoon however, James spent in the real world - for he had a mission.
To fill his need for cash and extracurricular activities, James had taken a side job running errands for various shady characters. The assignments were mostly of the benign kind: delivering a piece of information across town (as was the case today), vandalizing a piece property or relieving someone of a particularly heavy purse. He had no moral quandries about the whole business - everyone did what they could to survive, and as long as he followed the instructions, he was certain no harm would befall him.
James's jaw dropped. Panting from the many steps that had transported him across The City, he realized he already knew of this building in two ways. Firstly, it served as his Gothic house of bad dreams. Secondly, his memory connected it with a great fire. "Yes, now I remember! This is the... the... Shamb-, no... Shay-, no, darnit, I can't remember!" James thought quite loudly. What he could remember were the rumors about this place being an orphanage, an asylum, or perhaps both. Either way not a house of pleasant dreams.

Without conscious effort James soon found himself picking the lock to the basement generator room. When the lock resigned with a familiar click, James slowly pushed the door open, feeling the welcoming damp against his face. He quickly advanced through the mazelike passages until his feet hit the familiar limestone floor tiles. He raised his head and fixated the familiar door at the end of the corridor. This was the moment of truth. He walked forward in a steady pace. All the same feelings flowed over and through him, and once again he let them do so. Determinedly, he reached for the ornamented doorknob and started turning it slowly. The metallic creaking drowned out every other sensation. He pulled frantically, and with the door finally ajar, he simply squeezed through and walked in.

The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter VII: That Which Hath No Name

Prerequisites:
Committee report
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter I: Scenery of Salvation
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter II: Introduction to a Diligent Task
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter III: The Smiling Man
The Tale of a Secretary, Interlude: Mr. Reed's Everyday Life
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter IV: Trahison D'être
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter V: Reaching the Rubicon
The Tale of a Secretary, Interlude II: Existential Angst
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter VI: Eschatology Blues


The last crescendo of the eschatology blues died out as the dust settled upon the now scarred Cathedral Street. The massive building that once had borne the clock tower was reduced to debris. The tower itself had fallen neatly, its imposing structure now lying across several streets. It had retained most of its structural integrity - a telling sign of the superior workmanship that had constructed it - but much of the surrounding stonework had been pulverized into fine dust that made breathing agonizing.
Libel, being unencumbered and all, had increased the distance between himself and the explosion at a higher rate than John and Amanda and was now franticly trying to clear the rubble away from them. The dust was thick and made his eyes water. He could hear sirens in the distance and knew that a lot of people, including the watch, would soon arrive. Few things passed unnoticed in the City and surely this explosion would attract more than a mild interest from the law.
“Pesky watchmen! Always interfering...”, Libel muttered to himself as he pushed a blackened brick off Reed's back, at last freeing the man and helping him to his feet. As a true gentleman Reed had shielded the unconscious Amanda with his body. The pressure from the explosion had dislodged Reed's hat, but that was not the only reason for his concerned expression.
“You didn't hit her too hard, did you?”, he asked Libel, motioning at Amanda.
“Heh, considering her that thick head of hers I don't think I could have caused much damage.”, Libel replied. “Let's move. We better put some distance between ourselves and this mess.”
“Agreed.”, Reed said and picked up the motionless form of the woman.
Then they ran.

The City has many alleys and dark places, as surely has been mentioned before, and it was by means of the shadows that the troupe avoided being seen by curious eyes as they made their way back to the docks and to safety. Amanda remained unconscious for the entire ordeal so the men placed her on a makeshift bed. She hadn't contracted any serious injuries and apart from her inability to wake up the men weren't overly concerned with her condition.
An unfamiliar sense of relief filled them. To finally have their lost deciple back under their roof brought back bittersweet memories of sun-filled days and laughter. They were bittersweet because they were lost and never to return. Some things are final and Amanda's betrayal had created an event horizon from which there were no going back. By her actions she had erected a seemingly irrevocable barrier of deceit. But her last words and conduct in front of the clock tower cast a ray of doubt on the finality of the matter. It had seemed to the men like she had been trying to warn them, that the destruction of the clock tower was meant to be their demise and that Amanda, at the last moment, had decided to turn on them and save the duo.
The two men both had the same question in mind: Had Amanda realized her mistake? Had her mind cleared, so to speak?
Suffice to say, they were both anxious for her awakening.

An eerie stillness possessed the warehouse. The atmosphere was full of anticipation, discordant feelings at the very edge of consciousness assaulted the men. Their pride in being men of reason helped little to stave off the turmoil within. Reed and Libel needn't look at each other to sense that one was just as eager as the other to confront the betrayer. Silently they wondered whether this would mark a beginning or an end. Either way, a bargain had to be struck, a decision had to be made. There was only one direction to move: Forward. They were both oh so familiar with this, their resolution firm, both knowing that those dwelling in the self pity of the past are always doomed to be left behind.

Opening her eyes was a painful experience to Amanda. Not only did her head feel like it was about to explode, but she also found herself face to face with her worst nightmare. In confronting Reed and Libel she was also confronting herself, and that was the one single thing the feared the most. Not that she consciously thought that, for such things too often lie beneath the surface of the mind. Her fears had always manifested themselves in fierce denial. Only at the very last second, at the moment the clock tower was to take both her and her saviors, did she let her guard down. What she saw in herself hadn't been pretty, but she had forced herself not to recoil with disgust. She had held the mirror and seen herself in all her human glory. Needless to say, the experience had left her spent.

“I understand now.”, Amanda said quietly, looking into the eyes of the men leaning over her. “I finally understand what you meant.”
Libel drew a breath and cleared his throat.
“What do you mean?”, he asked.
“That one needs to look at the world with eyes unclouded by fear. That one needs to be aware. Not only of the world around, but also of the world within. I finally understand.”
“I care little for those who wax poetic. Speak plainly, woman, or not at all!”, Reed snarled. The anger in his voice was apparent and Amanda cringed under his scorching gaze.
“Calm yourself.”, Libel urged.
“Why? This woman, this snake, have herself relinquished all rights to be counted among those who deserve respect! Her crime is that she willingly let herself descend. She chose her path!”
“Calm yourself.”, Libel repeated. “Living comes easier for some than for others. Do not chastise her for being weaker than you. Instead, be glad that you are able to withstand things which others are not. Have... sympathy.”
“Sympathy?”, Reed mocked. “She deserves none.”
“I think that you would agree that the worst that could ever happen from her point of view would be for her to see clearly. To truly understand what she has brought upon herself. Regardless of whether she deserves anything or not, she has taken one more step towards liberation.”
“Yes...”, Amanda whispered. “I wish I were dead...”

Interview with Ira Banks, Ph.D., affirmative psychologist and member of the Board of Directors of The Juicergy™ Corporation

Libel: First and foremost, Mr. Banks, I would like to extend to you our readership's enormous gratitude for granting us this interview. You have been a sought after interviewee. We know that you are a very busy man, Sir, considering how your company has just entered into an establishment phase on the hot, dare I say overly hyped, Chinese market.

Banks: Thanks, James, and I assure you that we at the Juicergy™ Corporation always will find the time to have a chat with men working to promote the good cause. What you alluded to about the Chinese market - it yet being unripe - may be of some truth, but we've spent the last 5 years trying to get our foot in the door, and I'll be damned if we were to miss the Chinese bandwagon.

Libel: Secondly, Sir, I would like to thank your wondrously friendly corporation for all the support it has shown of this interviewer's own research in the newly emerged field of affirmative psychology, and I know that Mr. Reed feels the same way about the interest shown in his research. You know we have reviewed your affirmative psychology tome on this treatise, but could you, Sir, please explain to the uninitiated the core ideas of affirmative thought?

Banks: Certainly. First I'd like to clarify what affirmative psychology isn't. It is in no way associated with the New Age positive thinking movement, whose stupidity and naiveté in my opinion defies description. Take Byrne's book for example (The Secret - Editor's note): Her premise is, presented as such for brevity's sake, that you can wish things into existence. Now if that doesn't show a mind-boggling lack of scientific understanding then I don't know what does.
Another thing that affirmative psychology isn't is a scam. It has been suggested, and in various discussion forums around the Internet often passionately argued, that affirmative psychology is merely a marketing ploy created by Juicergy™ for the exclusive purpose of selling our products by means of psychobabble!

Libel: I know that isn't the only allegation that has been leveled against your organization, but we will get to those later on. How would you respond to those arguing that affirmative psychology be labeled a pseudoscience?

Banks: It's a preposterous accusation. Anyone can check the science. If my critics had the integrity to do so, they would find that the science is sound and my argumentation flawless.

Libel: Yes, we mentioned your book "Foundations of Affirmative Psychology" earlier. You have done a heavy portion of the research yourself, much of it funded by an organization none other than Juicergy™ Multinational! Can you not recognize why some might see a conflict of interest here, aside form the fact that you on several places in your book heap praise upon Juicergy™ and strongly encourage the reader to donate money to said organization, whose causes, to put it mildly, seem to be veiled in a shroud of secrecy.

Banks: Of course I can acknowledge that some people lack the critical faculties required for understanding any truth. As for this supposed conflict of interest, I will not even dignify it with an answer longer than one word: Nuts! Me and my team of hardworking and dedicated researchers have worked decades to break through the rigid and reactionary establishment views in the psychological sciences. Though, this is science after all, and I am struggling to come to grips with the fact that I most likely will have to be vindicated by posterity. It's all so unnecessary, since all that the science of affirmative psychology would need in order to achieve a total paradigm shift (à la Kuhn) are a few open establishment minds. I guess we were asking too much from Big Science...

Libel: Some mainstream scientists would find such reasoning - that the proverbial door of psychological science is about to be blown off its hinges - to be a classic warning sign of a deluded mind, a crank. Though I myself stand firmly in the camp of the underdog, the contender, even leaning towards sitting on the fence, I surely recognize that the establishment view, backed up by Big Pharma and Big Therapy, does carry some weight in these matters. That is, a proper degree of skepticism is necessary, but they've gone way too far.
Now let's move on to Juicergy™, this extraordinarily friendly business partner of ours. Sir, how the heck do you people manage to keep calm and friendly in the midst of all this scathing criticism?

Banks: You know, James, when I told the boys and girls back at HQ that I was to be interviewed for The Treatise they all became green with envy, ordering me to extend their gratitude, and the gratitude of our entire business venture. You do wonderful work for enlightenment, truth and the advancement of science and critical thinking.

Libel: Please, Sir, you know we like to be known for our modesty. You're making this interviewer blush.

Banks: Either way, we appreciate your cooperation. To continue, The Juicergy™ Corporation is a multinational conglomerate specializing in personal development and empowerment through the means of affirmative psychology. We have been continuously incorporating our research findings into our even-developing product range of motivational tapes and nutritional juices. When we first started out with this back in 2007, we had almost 20 years of hard science to back up the healing and curative effects of our patented Juicergy™ juice. We are now, after having evaluated thousands upon thousands of customer satisfaction surveys, absolutely certain that Juicergy™ is the way to go for improving the dismal human condition and our world's current state of affairs. We use only the best available oranges, harvested on secret locations, in order to provide our customers with the best and most curative juice that money can buy.

Libel: About those harvesting fields... there have been reports out of Africa about a corporate militia terrorizing and forcibly recruiting natives into the orange processing industry. Would like to comment on that, Sir?

Banks: I am unaware of any such activities. The Juicergy™ Africa Division does have a local security force, but it merely serves to protect the workers against jealous villagers, who themselves were unable to secure a well-paid and perk-filled job at our facilities.

Libel: I can certainly see that happening. I believe that would be all for now. Thank you once again for the opportunity, Sir.

Banks: The pleasure was all mine.


This interview was brought to you in cooperation with the friendly people at the Juicergy™ Corporation.
Juicergy™ - Empowering you through affirmative psychology since 2007.

Coming Attractions At The Treatise: Quotations From Chairman James Libel

Our loyal readers have much to look forward to in the upcoming weeks. We have managed to get an interview with one of the friendly people at the Juicergy™ Corporation, our official sponsor. If that wasn't enough, we will also reveal excerpts from the soon-to-be-published Little Red Book (more correctly: Quotations from Chairman James Libel.)

Patience is virtue, my dear friends.

This short message was brought to you in cooperation with the friendly people at the Juicergy™ Corporation.
Juicergy™ - Empowering you through affirmative psychology since 2007.