A Note from the Baron (Reluctantly)
I did not apply for this.
That is the first thing that must be stated clearly, for the sake of the record and any future committees that may wish to convene without inviting me. I was, as usual, minding my own affairs—these being largely imaginary, but conducted with exemplary discipline—when I was informed that certain documents bearing my name, likeness, and improbable reputation had begun circulating again.
Circulating is too mild a word. They were summoned.
It appears that in an age devoted to explanation, optimization, and the careful removal of anything that might embarrass a spreadsheet, someone decided that what was missing was not another model, but a witness. And as I have been a witness to many things that did not happen, I was deemed suitable.
You will find in the pages that follow a series of proceedings, letters, reports, testimonies, and informal observations. Some were delivered under questioning. Some under protest. Some while reclining. All were produced in good faith, which is to say: without the slightest concern for plausibility.
I should clarify that I do not object to reason itself. Reason, when properly fed and allowed occasional rest, is a useful animal. What I object to is its tendency to form committees, particularly when those committees believe they have reached the end of history, imagination, or human judgment.
At various moments in these documents, you may encounter officials, experts, machines, and well-meaning observers attempting to determine whether something is true, allowed, useful, or safe. You may also notice that these determinations rarely survive contact with a story.
This is not my fault.
I have been accused, over the years, of exaggeration, fabrication, and excessive confidence in events that could not possibly have occurred. These accusations are largely accurate. What troubles me is the implication that this disqualifies the account. On the contrary: it is precisely where certainty fails that meaning tends to appear, often uninvited, sometimes dressed improperly.
You will not find instructions here. Nor solutions. Nor a framework suitable for immediate implementation. You will find instead a sequence of situations in which explanation arrives too late, or not at all, and is forced to share the room with laughter, irritation, and the uncomfortable sensation that something important has already happened.
I advise you not to read this work in search of agreement. Agreement is a brittle substance and cracks easily. Curiosity, on the other hand, is remarkably resilient.
If at any point you feel the urge to ask whether this is serious, I recommend that you resist. Seriousness is rarely improved by inspection.
I have said enough.
The documents are presented as they stand.
I neither defend them nor withdraw them.
You may now proceed at your own risk.
— Baron Münchhausen
(temporarily available)
1. The Committee of Reason
(Proceedings, as recorded)
[The room is already full when the Baron enters. Or possibly he was always there.]
The Committee of Reason is seated in a semicircle. This has been decided in advance. A circle would suggest equality. A straight line would imply direction. The semicircle implies evaluation.
A chair stands at the center. It is slightly too small, though no one will admit this.
A voice clears its throat.
Chairperson:
We will begin.
Baron:
An excellent choice. I was beginning to worry you might not.
Chairperson:
For the record, please state your name.
Baron:
That depends on the record. Which one are we using?
(Murmuring. Papers are shuffled.)
Chairperson:
You are here because concerns have been raised.
Baron:
They usually are.
Committee Member A:
Your stories—
Baron:
Ah. Those again.
Committee Member B:
—do not conform to established standards of plausibility.
Baron:
I should hope not. I would be deeply embarrassed if they did.
Committee Member C:
We are attempting to determine whether your accounts constitute misinformation.
Baron:
Only if one mistakes them for information.
(Pause.)
Chairperson:
Please answer the question.
Baron:
I am answering it. Indirectly. This is my most accurate mode.
Committee Member A:
Let us be specific. Did you, or did you not, once travel by cannonball?
Baron:
Certainly. It was the fastest option available.
Committee Member B:
This violates basic physics.
Baron:
So did the meeting invitation, yet here we are.
(A clerk hesitates, then writes something down.)
Committee Member C:
Our concern is not entertainment. It is influence.
Baron:
Influence is a curious word. It suggests movement without responsibility.
Chairperson:
Your narratives encourage people to doubt—
Baron:
—excellent.
Chairperson:
—to doubt verified accounts of reality.
Baron:
No. They encourage people to notice that accounts are accounts.
(Silence. A cough.)
Committee Member A:
Are you suggesting that truth is subjective?
Baron:
I am suggesting that truth travels poorly when stripped of story.
Committee Member B:
That sounds evasive.
Baron:
I have always found directness overrated. It walks straight into walls.
Chairperson:
Do you accept responsibility for the consequences of your tales?
Baron:
Only the unintended ones. The intended consequences are rarely interesting.
Committee Member C:
There have been reports—
Baron:
There always are.
Committee Member C:
—of confusion.
Baron:
Then the system is functioning.
(At this point, an observer raises a hand.)
Observer:
May I ask a procedural question?
Chairperson:
Briefly.
Observer:
What would count as a satisfactory answer?
(Long pause.)
Chairperson:
We are not here to be satisfied.
Baron:
Then allow me to assist.
(He stands, though no one recalls giving permission.)
Baron:
Ladies and gentlemen, you are attempting to audit imagination using the tools designed to regulate traffic. When imagination refuses to stop at the light, you conclude it is dangerous, rather than misplaced.
Committee Member B:
That is not an argument.
Baron:
Of course not. It is an observation. Arguments seek victory. Observations seek company.
Chairperson:
This session is not a performance.
Baron:
Everything is, once watched.
(A note is passed along the semicircle. The Chairperson reads it, frowns.)
Chairperson:
We have been advised to ask whether you consider yourself fictional.
Baron:
I consider myself unavoidable.
Committee Member A:
If everyone behaved as you do—
Baron:
—there would be chaos.
Committee Member A:
Exactly.
Baron:
No. There would be discernment. Chaos only occurs when people pretend not to be inventing while doing so enthusiastically.
Chairperson:
We will take a recess.
Baron:
I recommend it. Reason requires frequent breaks, or it begins to hallucinate certainty.
(Gavel. The Committee rises. The Baron does not move.)
[End of recorded session.]
