Hospitalization#

Uses & Abuses of History: Lilibet 29#

There is a fascinating moment from The Crown that reveals Queen Elizabeth’s nuanced understanding of history, politics, and public perception. In this scene, she deftly navigates the complex terrain of royal decision-making by employing three distinct strategies of historical engagement: monumentary history, antiquary history, and pragmatic, living history. 30

First, to paraphrase, she references her uncle’s abdication as a "monumental failure". This is a powerful invocation of what we call “negative monumentary history.” Monuments, in their traditional sense, are meant to honor and remember triumphs or significant moments, but here, Queen Elizabeth uses a monument of failure to emphasize the gravity of the situation. The abdication crisis of 1936, where King Edward VIII gave up the throne to marry Wallis Simpson, is indeed a negative monument—an example of what can happen when personal desires override royal duty. By bringing this up, she subtly reminds everyone of the potential consequences of disregarding the expectations of the monarchy. It’s a strategic move that places the weight of historical precedent behind her argument.

Second, by summoning the bishops of Canterbury, York, and other dioceses, she engages with what you might call "antiquary history." This approach draws on the old traditions, doctrines, and the Church’s historical role in guiding the monarchy’s decisions, particularly those involving marriage and moral conduct. The Church, steeped in centuries of tradition, often acts as a conservative voice, cautioning against change or deviation from established norms. However, Queen Elizabeth’s engagement with the bishops is not just about getting their opinion; it’s also a way of showing respect for these traditions while subtly undermining them. By questioning their judgment and suggesting that their advice is outdated, she challenges the antiquary view while still appearing to give it due consideration. It’s a masterstroke of political maneuvering—acknowledging tradition but not being bound by it.

Third, her consultation with Prince William and Prince Harry represents a more modern, pragmatic approach to history—one that considers the present sentiments and future implications. This is the “living history” approach, where decisions are informed not just by the past but by the current context and future outlook. William’s pragmatic noncritical response suggests a maturity, one that is less encumbered by the rigid traditions of the past. Harry’s more emotional & critical response reflects the personal and familial dimensions of the issue. Queen Elizabeth, by giving weight to their opinions (really only to Williams), shows an awareness of the evolving nature of the monarchy and the need to balance tradition with modernity.

What makes Queen Elizabeth’s actions so impressive in this episode is her ability to weave these three approaches together. She uses the monumentary history of her uncle’s abdication to frame the stakes of Charles’s situation, drawing on a powerful and emotional example. She then engages the antiquary perspective by consulting the bishops, but strategically downplays their relevance. Finally, she considers the practical, real-time implications by discussing the matter with her grandsons, who represent the future of the monarchy.

In this way, Queen Elizabeth demonstrates a masterful use of historical understanding. She’s not just a passive observer of history but an active user of it, shaping the present and the future by strategically deploying different kinds of historical arguments. Her actions reveal a deep awareness of the multifaceted nature of history and its role in shaping royal decisions. It’s a subtle but brilliant display of political acumen, showing that even within the constraints of tradition, there’s room for maneuvering and adaptation.

In essence, this scene captures the essence of The Crown—the delicate balance between history, tradition, and modernity that defines the British monarchy. Queen Elizabeth’s masterstroke lies in her ability to navigate these waters, using history as both a guide and a tool for crafting a path forward that respects the past while accommodating the present and future.

Absurdity and Meaning in The Big Lebowski: Llama3#

Yes, the Coen brothers’ aesthetics in The Big Lebowski can be seen as embracing meaninglessness, but in a way that contradicts nihilism. Here’s how:

  • Absurdity as acceptance: The film’s absurd events and characters acknowledge the chaos and uncertainty of life, but instead of descending into nihilism, they encourage acceptance and a carefree attitude, embodied by The Dude’s laid-back persona.

  • Finding meaning in the mundane: The movie highlights the significance of everyday moments, friendships, and rituals (like bowling and White Russians), showing that meaning can be found in the simplest things, even in a seemingly meaningless world.31 32

  • Playful subversion of expectations: The Big Lebowski pokes fun at genre conventions, character archetypes, and societal norms, creating a sense of playful irreverence that undermines nihilistic despair.

  • Embracing the inconsequential: The film’s focus on minor, inconsequential events and characters’ quirky obsessions celebrates the beauty of the inconsequential, suggesting that meaning can be found in the margins, not just in grand, purpose-driven narratives.

  • Aestheticizing the ordinary: The movie’s visual and narrative style, often described as “quirky” or “offbeat,” transforms the mundane into something visually striking and engaging, further emphasizing the idea that meaning can be derived from the everyday. By embracing absurdity and meaninglessness, The Big Lebowski creates a unique aesthetic that challenges nihilism, instead promoting a carefree, accepting, and playful approach to life’s uncertainties.

Hide code cell source
import matplotlib.pyplot as plt
import numpy as np

# Define the functions
def f(t):
    return np.sin(t)

def S(t):
    return np.cos(t)

def h(t):
    return np.sin(2*t)

# Generate x values
t = np.linspace(0, 2*np.pi, 100)

# Create a figure with 1 row and 3 columns
fig, axs = plt.subplots(1, 3, figsize=(15, 5))

# Plot each function in its respective subplot
axs[0].plot(t, f(t))
axs[0].set_title('f(t)')
axs[0].grid(True)
axs[0].spines['top'].set_visible(False)
axs[0].spines['right'].set_visible(False)

axs[1].plot(t, S(t))
axs[1].set_title('S(t)')
axs[1].grid(True)
axs[1].spines['top'].set_visible(False)
axs[1].spines['right'].set_visible(False)

axs[2].plot(t, h(t))
axs[2].set_title('h(t)')
axs[2].grid(True)
axs[2].spines['top'].set_visible(False)
axs[2].spines['right'].set_visible(False)

# Layout so plots do not overlap
fig.tight_layout()

plt.show()
../_images/001a416ad0cda7a6726d838203c3391a01099b554456d55c9add2dd2b84cd3c6.png
../_images/blanche.png

Fig. 4 Fascinating. The \(h(t)\) has the same shape as the \(f(t)\) but with half the wave-length for a sine-curve#