This is not a parable. Nor is this for most.
Verily, verily, I say unto thee: "Never try to teach a pig to sing. It wastes your time and annoys the pig."
The wisdom is often attributed to the great H.L.Mencken (my second favorite author of one- and two-liners). However, it actually penned by Mark Twain (who ranks highly among my 'bestest' authors).
Now, one perfectly understands that the temptation to continue to try to teach pigs to sing may be enormous. For they do squeal so when chastised, and thrash about, and twist and turn, and oink so prettily to the taste of the stick... Right?
But the task simply can't be done, and the end of it - as the Prominent Bard said (but where? I riddle you that).
The Swine Class (defined imprecisely in The Finished Mystery, 1917) just can't sing. It is not just that they won't sing. It is not that they are not trying to sing. They can't sing. This is in the very nature of pigs.
So singing at the pig, however beautiful the voice of the singer, however polished his diction and however a-quivering his tremolo, will not change the pig one jot, and not make it one iota more likely that the pig will break into tuneful oratorio.
Of course, if the aim is simply annoying the pig, then it is another matter altogether... There is wisdom within this, visible only to the wise:
".. a pestilence
That does infect the land; with which they moved
Have broken with the King, who hath so far
Given sow's ear to our complaint - of his great grace
And princely care, foreseeing those fell mischiefs
whilst what noble cow can't grasp is swift forgot
What the sow cannot understand causeth it to founder
in grave confusion - Our reasons laid before him
hath commanded To-morrow morning to the Council board
He be convented."
In the company of pigs, alas, one can expect to become really muddy in the pen, irrespective of intentions. It too is in the nature of pigs to ensure this quite foreseeable misfortune. In the confusion, with the singing on the one side, and the oinking on the other, the risk is that the casual idiot strolling by - and there is always a casual idiot strolling by - will misunderstand everything, and believe that some dialog is occurring. But no dialog is occurring. There is a teacher on the one hand, singing melodiously, but at the same time and in the same venue are a cacophony of pig-squealings and oinkings. The idiot, being an idiot, is of course unable to distinguish these, and becomes even more confused than before he approached the pen. To add to the confusion of idiots is sinful to some, but a duty to others. Which type are you? Remember that idiots find it in their nature to ally themselves with pigs rather than with singers. "The Confederation of Dunces"...
And if the unmelodious anti-symphony is all for the benefit of posterity and the Lurking Class, bear in mind that while most of them will not be idiots, they will lack the benefit of oversight and perspective available from being in situ - there at the time. It is harder for them to unravel who did or said or sang what first, and to whom, and in reply to what. You might end up with some believing that the pigs' oinking won - and that would not do, else you would not be trying to teach pigs to sing. Correct?
Well, this humble scribe can only speak for his or her self, but the outcome was perfectly apparent as soon as the first hoof was tentatively shown. What was to follow, and what was to follow that, and where it would then go. The end was far from unknown to the beginning. The location of the pen and - yes - even the pitch of the oinking lay within the remit of that which could be foretold. 'Whither next' is the wise question for those committed to pig-slingery. Pigs have an awful lot of stamina, right up to the sporgery or the spit. To answer this correctly one must but understand porcine psychology, no mean feat that, and know which Class of Pig it is that one is transacting with. We all know Animal Farm on the subject of the equality of pigs: they ain't. I put it to you that this Class of Pig is of the crasser breed, revelling in mud. And while such pigs of a feather may wallow together, they'll never, never get off the ground - let alone be effective in doing the unpleasant things some pigs feel they must do. So why bother casting pearls that hard? Sadism? Surely not. It can't be a desire to make them sing.
I sympathize with the dilemma. Many, many years ago, I developed a technique guaranteed to annoy pigs far more amusingly than attempts to teach them to sing ever will, which takes up less time, and which gives a better witness to the future and a better warning to the passing fool. I ask you to consider emulating it. It first involves putting yourself in the head of the pig, so to speak, thereby ensuring that the effort is better directed. Within the piggery, identify who is Top Pig. Often, it is not the first pig to poke its head from the poke. Easy to see given:
"FIRST WITCH. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.
SECOND WITCH. Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined.
THIRD WITCH. Harpier cries, "'Tis time, 'tis time."
FIRST WITCH. Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison'd entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one
Swelter'd venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot.
ALL. Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
SECOND WITCH. Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and howlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
ALL. Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
THIRD WITCH. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witch's mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark,
Liver of blaspheming Jew,
Gall of goat and slips of yew
Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse,
Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips,
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab.
Add thereto a tiger's chawdron,
For the ingredients of our cawdron.
ALL. Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
SECOND WITCH. Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.
HECATE. O, well done! I commend your pains,
And everyone shall share i' the gains.
And now about the cauldron sing,
Like elves and fairies in a ring,
Enchanting all that you put in.
SECOND WITCH. By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.
Open, locks,
Whoever knocks!"
Should have locked it better, then, thinks Focus.
Of course, I write all this because I am thinking of becoming a farmer, and undeforeskinned bullocks are too dull for bitter and for verse.
Pardon my insertion; you may return to your diversions. Pig-sticking is not for me, and to say whether or not I feast on pork would be a breach. But, there is a hateful smell from somewhere.
I'd like to teach the world to sing, but "Never try to teach a pig to sing. It wastes your time and annoys the pig."
--
Focus
('Ask yourself what it is that makes the man who has read but one book so hard to ignore' Class)
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