Soon after modern spiritualism announced itself with the “Rochester knockings” of 1848, tables took on a new and controversial life. No longer were they content to live out their days impassively upholding dishes and glasses and silverware, vases, papers and books, bibelots, elbows, or weary heads. They were changed: they began to move. Tables all over the United States and then in England, France, and other countries commenced rapping, knocking, tilting, turning, tapping, dancing, levitating, and even “thrilling”—though this last was (...) uncommon. So Mrs. Sophia Elizabeth De Morgan said in her discussion of Daniel Dunglas Home, probably the most famous nineteenth-century medium:It is only in Mr. Home’s presence that I have witnessed that very curious appearance, or process, the thrilling of the table. This takes place for some seconds, perhaps more, before it rises from the floor. The last time I witnessed this phenomenon, an acute surgeon present said that this thrilling, the genuineness of which was unmistakable, was exactly like what takes place in that affection of the muscles called subsultus tendinum.2And the tables did still more. Their actions were a language; and so they came to symbolize “the ‘movement,’ as it has been called,”3 of modern spiritualism. Spirits had chosen the table as an organ of speech.Tables were customarily viewed as objects of economics, aesthetics, utility, diversion, tradition, even theology . Now, though, as Professor De Morgan jokes, “London and Paris were running after tables in a new sense.”4 Tables had become a different kind of thing. Whatever one might think about reports of spiritual communications, the conception of tables had changed. They had become moral objects. 2. C. D. [Mrs. Sophia Elizabeth De Morgan], From Matter to Spirit. The Result of Ten Years’ Experience in Spirit Manifestations, with a preface by A. B. [Augustus De Morgan] , p. 27. Daniel Cottom is an associate professor of English at the University of Florida. His most recent books are Social Figures: George Eliot, Social History, and Literary Representation and Text and Culture: The Politics of Interpretation . This essay is adapted from a work in progress on spiritualism and surrealism. (shrink)

Once an artist imagined how he would look if he plucked out an offending eye. He painted a self-portrait in which the orbit on the right side of his face was gaping, dolorous. Seven years passed, and then there came a day when the artist tried to break up a fight among his friends. In the ensuing melee he lost his left eye—the one he must have painted out all those years before, when working on the self-portrait, if he based (...) his image on the sight of himself in a mirror. Mirrors, of course, reverse the images before them.If we could forget niggling qualifications, epistemological hedges, all the huffing and puffing of the sense of responsibility that distinguishes intellectuals from assassins, then this story might be frightening, uncanny. As it is, I suspect most of my readers would find it terrible only in the derogatory sense. Although it has a certain primitive simplicity, it seems facile, as if it might have served for one of the weaker episodes in Walter Scott’s Waverley novels or Rod Serling’s “Twilight Zone.” Even if it were presented by a master of simple plots, I can imagine it succeeding only as an occasion for metaphysical conjectures, glistening thorns and blossoms of irony, and the like. And even if I were to say that this is a true story, that Victor Brauner painted this Autoportrait in 1931 and suffered this injury in 1938, it seems unlikely that it would be more affecting. How could such a corny plot raise a shiver from anyone past the age of reason? If this story is true, so much the worse for truth. It ought to know better than to seek us out with such shopworn devices. Daniel Cottom is a professor in the English department at the University of Florida. His most recent book is Text and Culture: The Politics of Interpretation . He is currently completing a book on spiritualism and surrealism. (shrink)

First, a joke that was circulating among academics a couple of years ago. In the version I heard, a Texan is walking across Harvard Yard. He stops a guy and asks him, in his nasal drawl, “Can you tell me where the library’s at?” The guy looks him up and down, pauses, and says, “At Harvard we do not end our sentences with prepositions.” The Texan apologizes, saying, “Excuse me. Can you tell me where the library’s at, asshole?”This story may (...) seem far removed from the subject of this essay, which is supposed to be a serious one. But what is the joke about, after all, if not the seriousness of language, its power, and the demystification of that power by our native brand of deconstructionist, the shrewd rube?[…]If we find the joke funny, I imagine that the experience with which most of us identify is this: we want the gumption to reject an arrogant cultural authority. This experience may be especially appealing to students, but it also may appeal to intellectuals conscious of those problems of power and knowledge that have been so celebrated in recent years. In fact, if Friedrich Nietzsche was right in suggesting that grammar is a metaphysical discipline comparable to God, then the pleasure of this joke may lie in its humiliation of law, pure and simple. Sigmund Freud, among others, has suggested that figures of authority in jokes are only stand-ins of that general power of society over all individuals which is contested in the very form of the joke. Thus, following Freud, or, say, those who have made Mikhail Bakhtin’s conception of carnival so popular a topic of academic discussion, we could see enjoyment of this joke as representing a momentary rebellion against every form of culture that, as the saying goes, it imposed upon us. From that perspective, even my use here of this joke is bound to seem ridiculous; indeed, academic psychologists who write on laughter and humor often preface their discussions with defensive remarks about people who find it funny to see intellectuals seriously and laboriously analyzing jokes.1 1. See, e.g., Anthony J. Chapman and Hugh C. Foot, eds., It’s a Funny Thing, Humour , and Paul E. McGhee and Jeffrey H. Goldstein, eds., Handbook of Humor Research, 2 vols. . Daniel Cottom is associate professor of English at Wayne State University. He is the author of The Civilized Imagination and is currently working on a study of the politics of interpretation. (shrink)