Golems

There is a short story by Nathaniel Hawthorne about a scarecrow made by a witch. She made him from some rags, brambles, sticks and a punctured, empty pumpkin; and she brought him to life by sticking a lit pipe in his mouth – like Rabbi Judah Loew the Maharal of Prague brought to life the Golem by sticking a piece of paper with the word “life” inscribed upon it.

Hawthorne's scarecrow then went into town where, by combination of culture, manners, and conversational skills he became a society success; and won the hand of a pretty daughter of an influential man. (I may be off on some details; it has been some time since I read the story). Now, all would have been fine if only the scarecrow had not chanced to look at himself in the mirror. Instantly he saw through the deception which swathed him (and disguised him) like the fine smoke of his life-giving pipe.

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Now, I wonder, what is that story meant to say? Is it the tiresome (and stupid), but popular in America and ever more so in Europe, message that culture, manners, and conversation are merely a deception and that what really matters is what is inside, which usually, in the case of those cultured and mannered is something ugly for why else would one want to hide it? Or is it just a pean in praise of good old life-giving American tobacco?

In any case, the story is patently false: the moment of self recognition (which happens to the crow when he looks in the mirror) practically never happens to us in real life. No one is more fooled by our deceptions than we are ourselves. It is a fact well known to psychologists that our friends and acquaintances know us better than we do.

But there is a kernel of truth here: the fact is that there is no one inside, underneath that tobacco-like cloud of deception; and that we are indeed nothing but scarecrows surrounded (and beautified) by culture, manners and conversation.

(Keep on smoking).