Posts by Dr. Boli
NOT DEAD YET.
But I wasn’t going to turn away a woman who looked like this. Especially when she was wearing a dress like that.
She came right to the point. “I want you to find whoever killed my husband.”
“I assume you’ve tried the police.” Over the years I’ve learned to ask that question. Sometimes it can save everyone a lot of time.
“Cops are fools,” she declared, and I didn’t contradict her. If cops weren’t fools, I’d lose half my business.
“Well, let’s start at the beginning,” I said, uncapping my pen and opening my notebook to the first blank sheet. “When was your husband killed?”
“Oh, he hasn’t been killed yet,” she replied, as I touched the tip of my trusty Esterbrook to the paper.
“I must have misheard you,” I said with my famously polite smile. “I thought you said you wanted me to find whoever killed your husband.”
“Yes,” she said. “When he is killed. Then I want you to leave no stone unturned.”
“And you say he hasn’t been killed yet.”
“He was alive when I left the house, at any rate.”
“But you think he’s going to be killed.”
“I am positive, Mr. Marlow.”
“Why do you think so?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Well, when do you think he’s going to be killed?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
I set the Esterbrook down with just enough of a clack to express moderate displeasure. Betty could wipe up the ink spot later. “I don’t normally take crazy cases.”
She reached into her purse.
“I brought a retainer,” she said.
She dropped a wad of bills that left a dent in my desk.
“Will that be enough to start with?” she asked.
I opened my top drawer and swept the wad into it.
“Consider me retained,” I said.
When she walked out, Betty walked in.
“Looks like trouble,” she said.
“That trouble just paid your salary for the next three months,” I told her.
“I’d ask you why you keep getting mixed up with women like that, but that would presuppose an inadequate understanding of male psychology.”
“Yeah, whatever.” I usually tune her out when she starts using big words like that. “We’re on the case. Get out my memo book and my flask.”
“Fill it with lemonade?”
“Double strength. It’s a murder case.”
“Oh yeah? Who got killed?”
“Nobody.”
“But you said—”
“I didn’t tell you it was going to be an easy case, did I? Start squeezing those lemons. I need to pay a visit to…” I looked down at my desk, where I’d left the card my new client gave me. “Archibald Chester Pifler. And it probably won’t be a pleasant one.”
“Lemonade coming up, boss,” Betty said as she turned to walk out.
“Say,” I said, “did I ever tell you how much I appreciate you?”
“No,” she said as she reached the door. “If you’re telling me now, it’s the first time in the four years I’ve worked here.”
She slammed the door behind her.
Well, I was glad I got that off my chest, then.
Meanwhile, I pulled out Who’s What and What’s Where, figuring that the Piflers would probably be in there. I was right. Archibald Chester Pifler had an article as long as my arm. I measured it. It took several tries, because there were six columns on three pages, and I had to measure each column and then add the figures together and then measure my arm, which was harder than it sounds, and I nearly called Betty in to help, but I figured she had her hands full of lemons, so I got it done eventually, and the article was as long as my arm to within a quarter of an inch. It pays to be thorough and precise in my profession.
So I knew a lot about Pifler by the time I walked out the door and down the two flights of stairs. Big man around here, this Pifler. He was on the board of every bank. He was—I’m quoting from the book here—“president of the Consolidated Ice-Cream Carton Manufacturing Company, Inc., which under his direction revolutionized the ice-cream industry by rounding the corners of the cartons, thus trimming a pint off every half-gallon. As a philanthropist, he endowed the Pifler Free Polo Grounds so that the working poor would have a place to exercise their polo ponies.” Now, why would somebody want to murder a nice guy like that?
It took me longer than I expected to get to the Pifler house, because I got lost on the streetcar. But finally one of the passengers showed me the way out so I could get off about a mile from my stop. They should put bigger exit signs on those things or something. I could have taken another 713 car back to the stop, but I wasn’t going to risk it, so I had to walk for twenty minutes back to where I was supposed to be.
There was a big Pierce-Arrow in front of the Pifler house when I got there. It turned out to belong to the upstairs maid. The Piflers kept all their cars in the carriage house with all their chauffeurs.
The deputy assistant underbutler answered the door. I informed him that I was Mush Marlow, here to see Mr. Pifler. The deputy assistant underbutler informed the acting assistant butler, who informed the lieutenant butler, and so on up the chain of command until at last the butler himself came out and said, “Walk this way.” Fortunately his gait was a lot like mine, so I didn’t have much trouble.
It was a long walk, but after we had passed a few hundred doors we finally stopped in front of one of them.
“The library, sir,” the butler said.
“Mr. Pifler’s in there?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“He’s reading, I guess.”
“Highly unlikely, sir,” the butler said. Then he opened the door and stepped inside to announce me to the old man. “Mr. Marlow, sir.” Once he’d done that, he stepped aside and formed his whole body into a kind of arrow pointing me toward old man Pifler.
He wasn’t that old, I suppose. He was maybe thirty years older than his wife, but he looked healthy enough. He was sitting at a desk in the middle of a large room poring over a pile of small brightly colored Bakelite doodads. And now that I looked it over, the thing I noticed about this library was that there weren’t any books in it. Not many, anyway. Lots of shelves, but most of them were covered with identical boxes, each with a yellow label with something neatly typed on it.
I got about halfway to the desk when Pifler looked up at me. “Are you a pick man, Mr. Marlow?” he asked.
“No, but I’m Welsh on my mother’s side.”
“I’ve just got in a very interesting shipment from Alberta. A number of names I have not come across before.”
“That’s swell,” I said, coming closer. I still couldn’t see what he was fussing over.
“Jeremiah Croydon, for example. I do not find him in any of the standard references.”
“Are these guitar picks?” I asked, finally close enough to make out the individual Bakelite triangles in the pile of colors on the desk.
“Guitar, mandolin, banjo, and some ukulele, though of course ukulele purists would insist on using the thumb. It would be false modesty to deny that my collection is one of the three most comprehensive in the world. Only the Archbishop of Canterbury’s is undeniably superior. My friend Mr. Rockefeller and I have an amicable rivalry for the second place.”
“Well, that’s, um…” I ran out of things to say.
“Now this,” he said, holding up a marbled blue Bakelite triangle—“this is very interesting. You see, it’s marked ‘Pirelli & Sons, Calgary.’ Now, the only Pirelli & Sons listed in Alberta in Paxton’s Picks is in Edmonton. Either the Pirellis have moved, or there is another establishment under the same name; and either way, it means I shall have to write to Mr. Paxton so he can incorporate the information in his seventeenth edition.”
“Well, that’ll be…” I searched my brain for exactly the right word and came up with “swell.”
“But I suppose,” he said with a change of tone, “you have come here to talk about something other than picks. Most people eventually talk to me about something other than picks.”
“Yeah, surprising as it is, I’m one of those people. Look, this isn’t a pleasant topic, so I’ll just come right out with it. You got any reason to think somebody wants you dead?”
“Not that I’m aware of. As I said, the rivalry between Mr. Rockefeller and myself has always been amicable. Why do you ask?”
“Your wife seems to think you’re going to be murdered.”
“Does she indeed? Curious. I should have thought it much more likely that she would be the one to be murdered, if anyone at all had to be murdered.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, I should certainly murder her myself, it I had the opportunity. Yes, that would remove a number of undesirable complications from my life. If it were possible to accomplish the deed without suffering the manifold legal complications that generally arise from what is vulgarly called murder, I should give it serious consideration.”
This was not the way I had imagined this conversation going. “You think she feels the same way about you?”
“It is improbable. Quite improbable. She is well aware that I have arranged things in such a way that I am more valuable to her alive than dead. From a financial and a social point of view, she has every reason to want me alive.”
“And you can’t think of anybody else who’d want to kill you?”
“Well, my mother, of course. She never forgave me for the fallen soufflé. But my mother, Lord rest her soul, died eighteen years ago. If she was plotting my demise, we must regard her plot as a failure.”
When I left the Pifler house, I felt like I’d wasted my time. In fact, I was beginning to think the whole case was a waste of my time. But she wasn’t getting that retainer back, so I might as well play detective by the rules for a while.
The only real clues I’d walked away with were two names—Rockefeller and Canterbury. They both had collections that supposedly rivaled Pifler’s.
“Get me an appointment with that Rockefeller guy,” I told Betty when I got back to the office.
“You mean John D. Rockefeller?” she asked, sounding a little incredulous.
“Whoever it is that has the big pick collection.”
“Pick collection?”
“Look it up in Who’s What and What’s Where,” I told her. I shoved the book across my desk. “It’s probably under R.”
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UNUSUAL LAWS FROM HERE AND THERE.
In Hamilton, Ontario, burglars must register with the police, no less than seven days in advance of the crime, a statement of the address of the property to be entered and an itemized list of goods to be stolen, on penalty of forfeiting burglarizing privileges for six months for the first offense and one year for each offense thereafter.
In Cairo (Egypt), failure to bribe a judge is an offense punishable by a fine to be determined at the judge’s discretion.
In the city of Toulouse (France), thinking about a hippopotamus is a crime, and notices are posted at every major intersection detailing the potential penalties for various degrees of violation.
In Vermont, it is possible to libel maple syrup.
In São Salvador da Bahia de Todos os Santos, Brazil, it is not permitted to carry a concealed Yorkshire terrier without a permit.
In North Korea, every citizen is required to send Respected Comrade Kim Jong-un a card with a personal inscription on his birthday, which happens every day of the year except October 31, when the Respected Comrade goes trick-or-treating.
MORE ABOUT TOLERATION.
Faced with a group that declares itself your enemy, and whose tenets call for your destruction, at what point are you justified in acting BEFORE they kick in your door at two in the morning and you vanish into night and fog? That is, what evidence is required before one decides to act; and what actions are justified; and how does one calibrate a plan of action to a level of evidence? (I will grant that this is “Do unto others before they do unto you” morality.) This gets beyond the mere bandying of tenets. Is flight — exile or evasion — the only acceptable action? I was thinking of Hitler inviting labor leaders to a May Day rally, which they attended with enthusiasm; days later, arresting them, the first action by the Gestapo under the Gestapo nameplate. In human history, I’m sure such examples could be multiplied a thousandfold.
Take arms against a sea of troubles,
and by opposing end them
but we know how that strategy worked out in the Danish troubles.
Now, this comment brings up several interesting questions. To it we should add an earlier comment from Arkadiy, another correspondent who has often given us things to think about:
Now let’s say that the main tenet of the Calvinism is that there must be no tolerance of satanists. Should we satanists still show tolerance?
Dr. Boli made a short reply to that comment three days ago, but consider this essay a longer reply to both comments.
First, we need not look very far for examples of the sort of thing both Arkadiy and Occasional Correspondent are talking about. It is pretty obvious that they had in mind groups like the Society of St. Pius X, which repudiates the idea of religious freedom, or the so-called Christian nationalists who believe that the United States should be legally designated a Christian nation, or perhaps even the Fox News commentators who rummage through the back corners of their brains for sophistical reasons why Islam should not be tolerated in this country. It is true that these people pose some social difficulties when they drink a little too much at your party and start telling your Indonesian friend what they think. This is where some hosting skills are necessary, but that would be a separate essay.
We should not, however, pretend that this is a new thing. Because the more mainstream Christian denominations have lately accepted religious freedom as a fine and dandy thing, we are inclined to think of that as a characteristically Christian attitude. It is probably the attitude of Christ and his Apostles, but it is not characteristically Christian. Not far from Pittsburgh are Harmony and Economy, two towns settled more than two centuries ago by the Harmonists. They were a religious society that came to this country because they were fleeing Lutheran persecution. You do not hear the words “Lutheran persecution” very often these days, but two centuries ago it was a thing to reckon with. The sects that you think of as respectable bastions of good citizenship today were, when they had the power of the state behind them, almost universally persecutors.
When the Bill of Rights was pasted on the end of the Constitution, this country was filled with dogmatically intolerant religions. Congregationalists whipped Baptists and hanged Quakers, and of course they did much worse things to good Satanists like us. Anglicans made Catholicism illegal, ending the Catholic experiment with religious toleration in Maryland as soon as the Anglicans became the majority. And the Catholics had proclaimed religious toleration only because they were English Catholics escaping from intolerance; the Catholic attitude to religious freedom was rather different in Spain or France or the Papal States. Among significant religious groups in our early history, only the Quakers dogmatically insisted on religious freedom rather than the reverse. Toleration is generally the plea of minority religions; intolerance is the weapon of a majority that fears the loss of its dominance.
The young United States had a unique opportunity. In any given state, one religious group might be dominant, but the radically different cultures in the different states made every religion a minority religion in the federation as a whole. Thus the First Amendment—which did not apply to the states at that point in our history—could be made to seem reasonable to everybody, because no one could count on being in a position to impose any single religion on the country.
So we have already come up with the answer to how far we should legally tolerate intolerant religions, and the answer is the First Amendment. You Puritans may continue to practice your religion. You may continue to believe that Quakers ought not to be allowed to live. You may print your incendiary pamphlets proving from Scripture that God demands the slaughter of the heathen (Deut. 7:2); you may preach your fire-and-brimstone sermons about what will happen to those people when an angry God gets his claws into them. What you may not do is interfere with our right to live peaceful lives. As long as your tenets remain tenets, we leave you alone. When they become actions, we enforce the laws against destruction of property or murder.
It is too bad, isn’t it? If I am absolutely certain that someone wants to steal my wallet, I still cannot have her arrested until she actually steals it. I cannot have her arrested if I know in the depths of my heart that she is the sort of person who is prone to double-parking, even though she has told me she would double-park if she could get away with it. Now, if she follows me with a megaphone and constantly shouts insults at me, there are laws to stop her, at least unless she is a member of Congress. If she fills my mailbox with death threats, there are laws to stop her. Quite a lot of legal theory has gone into calibrating a plan of action to a level of evidence: this is why there are laws against certain kinds of conspiracy, for example. Violating those laws is an illegal act of a certain kind, and it can be proved by evidence. But if she just sits there coveting my money or simmering with contempt for parking laws, I can do nothing until her mental disposition turns into action.
A threat has to be very specific in order to be actionable. “All Quakers should be hanged” is grossly impolite and unneighborly, but it is not a crime. Think how our prisons would swell if it were a crime to quote Shakespeare: “The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.”
We cannot punish people for crimes we are sure they were going to commit. That is a fundamental rule of justice. When we forget it, we get the Gestapo. That is precisely what the Gestapo was for: to round up the people who were going to commit crimes—because they were Socialists, because they were gypsies, because they were Jews, because they were Christian Democrats, because they were intellectuals, and you know what those people are like—before they actually committed them.
That is the legal aspect of the question. The social aspect is both easier and harder. It is easier because the principle is obvious; it is harder because the principle is not natural. We must treat people politely and even pleasantly even if we know that, in the abstract, they think we should be deported or killed. If a Christian nationalist walks into an Afghan restaurant, it will not do for the owner to shout at him and spit in his face. Even if he has just seen that Christian nationalist on television spouting the most egregious codswallop about Muslims, the owner of that restaurant is going to have to exercise some toleration. This is obvious, because the alternative is extreme unpleasantness, not just for both the owner and that one customer, but also for every other patron in the restaurant. It is not natural, however. The natural reaction would be to shout at him and spit in his face.
What Dr. Boli finds, to his sorrow, is that there are too many people these days who are willing to say that the natural reaction is the correct reaction. The intolerant person is wrong, they say. Intolerance cannot be tolerated, they say. That attitude makes civilized life impossible, and yet—here is the strange twist—it must be tolerated. It should be repudiated, but even intolerance must be tolerated. Our country was built on toleration for intolerance, because it was built by people who were themselves intolerant and members of intolerant sects.
We should note, by the way, that although “toleration” has become the usual term in these discussions, George Washington did not like it. “It is now no more that toleration is spoken of, as if it was by the indulgence of one class of people, that another enjoyed the exercise of their inherent natural rights,” he wrote to the Touro Synagogue in Newport. What he means is that there must be no correct standard of religion from which deviations are tolerated just so long as we choose to allow them: we must accept the principle that liberty of conscience can never be taken away (and we should note that this was not written to Christians, in case the question of whether our “founders” meant to have liberty only for different Christian sects comes up in debate). We do not have to like those religions; insisting that liberty of conscience is an inherent natural right takes our approval or disapproval out of the question entirely. We can assume that most people have wrong and probably dangerous opinions, but we don’t care. Instead, we judge our citizens by what they do as citizens, and if in practice they leave us alone, then in theory they can wish us all the ill they like.
DID YOU KNOW…
…that a baker’s dozen is actually 12.93?
…that there is not one statue of Sam Houston on the entire continent of Africa?
…that Sanskrit grammarians counted no fewer than ninety-seven parts of speech, ninety-one of which were known only to the gods?
…that Louis Philippe’s nickname before he became king was “Morrie”?
…that Stilton cheese is described by mycologists as “borderline sentient”?
…that a stool with three legs is perpetually falling over, but perpetually caught by its third leg?
…that it would take more than 12.4 billion Labrador retrievers to retrieve Labrador, even without Newfoundland?
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IN CASE OF INVASION FROM OUTER SPACE…
POLICE BLOTTER.
AN ESSAY ON TOLERATION.
What is wrong with American politics today? In fact, we might reasonably drop the qualifying adjective “American,” since the failing Dr. Boli is about to identify for you has infected the whole world. What is wrong with politics today is that we have forgotten the principle of toleration. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that we have repudiated it. We have approval, and we have disapproval in bucketloads, and we can sometimes manage simple indifference. But we cannot tolerate toleration.
Now, toleration was never a natural idea. Toleration is absurd, in fact. It just happens to be a necessary absurdity.
Let us take a concrete example. Suppose a very friendly and polite family moves into the house next door. You find them pleasant neighbors: they are quiet and tidy, and they always have a smile and a wave for you. Then one day you learn to your dismay and horror that they are Presbyterians.
You cannot possibly approve of Presbyterians. Calvinism is anathema to you. As a devoted Satanist, you have dedicated your life to the principle of free will.
We have established that you cannot be indifferent to your neighbors’ Presbyterianism. You can only disapprove in the strongest possible terms. They are wrong, and their wrongness affects the single most important thing in the world, which is our eternal destiny. It is absurd to continue to allow them to live in your neighborhood and expose your children to the filth and corruption of their Calvinist ideas. It is absurd that they should be allowed to live at all.
Yet that is precisely what must happen if we are to have civilized life at all. We must tolerate those Presbyterians. We must allow them to live in our neighborhood unmolested. We must even be friendly and polite to them. And we must do it knowing that they are not only wrong but evil.
We must accept the absurd principle of toleration because we cannot have civilization on a large scale without it. Take away toleration, and democracy is reduced to an angry mob slaughtering the heathen. Take away toleration, and our own security goes with it. Sooner or later, we will be the heathen, and the mob will be coming for us.
Well, you may say, the principle of toleration is built into the Constitution, having thus the force of law. But toleration as a legal principle is worth very little without toleration as a social principle. A man who is hounded and harassed by his neighbors, and whose every waking hour is made misery, will derive little consolation from the knowledge that his punishment was not officially decreed by a judge.
This is where we are failing. On the whole, we accept toleration as a legal principle. Put a repeal of the First Amendment on the ballot, and it will be soundly defeated, in spite of the significant minority of cranks and fools who would vote for it. But we make a quibbling distinction between the legal principle and the social reality. You may hold your own religious opinions, we say, but the First Amendment does not shield you from the most extreme expressions of disapproval from us. And we are perfectly correct in saying that. The First Amendment does not shield anyone from being bullied and insulted. In fact the First Amendment, by necessity, provides a stout shield for the bullies. Only good manners stand between the bully and his victim. Only the general agreement of society at large that certain things are not done can guarantee a civilized standard of behavior. Only a civilized standard of behavior can make it bearable to live in society at large.
None of this prohibits us from telling Presbyterians that they are wrong, and in the most vigorous terms. The Presbyterians enjoy the same privilege. They may spend as much breath as they like warning us that we have chosen the path of damnation, although how a Calvinist could say that is beyond the understanding of good Satanists like us. They may tell us that we represent a grave danger to everything that is good in our nation. They may print pamphlets warning the public that Satanism is second only to Anglicanism on the scale of wicked delusions. But then, when they meet us on the streetcar or in the hardware store, they must be as polite and cordial as if they thought Satanists were the very pattern of virtue. We Satanists must do the same for the Presbyterians.
You need not tell us that this is absurd. Of course it is absurd. It is practically mad, and probably wicked as well. It can be justified only on the grounds that there is only one condition under which the virtuous (meaning ourselves) can live lives of quiet virtue, which is that we accept that our neighbors may live lives of quiet vice. We may object to noisy vice, but quiet vice that causes us no personal inconvenience must be allowed. Not approved of, which is a different thing. If you are Evangelical Presbyterian and I am United Presbyterian, you have no right to expect me to approve of your heresy. But you do have a right to expect that I will treat you with neighborly politeness if you sit down at my restaurant, and that I will do nothing to prevent you from worshiping your twisted idea of the divine in your own heathenish way.
What has happened, in Dr. Boli’s opinion, is that we have begun to apply reason where what is needed is unreasoning faith. We know that certain things are right and other things are wrong: we very reasonably insist that only the right is acceptable. This is the only possible view if we use reason alone. But toleration, which is unreasonable, demands faith. Certum est quia impossibile, we must say. It is mad; it is wrong; it is impossible to justify; but we must tolerate vice, or we shall have no virtue.

