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Mischief thou art afoot

I suspect that from time to time there are things we think we did in the past but which, by now, there’s no way of disproving. You have to pick your audience, of course: it’s embarrassing to be contradicted; but if you wait long enough, and if you are old enough so that any possible witnesses are either absent or dead, you can get away with a lot. And anyway, we innocently modify the details each time we recall them -at least according to scientists who, if I remember correctly, say they’ve researched such things. I mean who to believe, eh?

For example, I have fond memories (I think) of mailing a pair of my torn but clean and well-used male underpants to a girl our class bully liked; the return address I used was his crayoned name and home address. I’m pretty sure she thought it was funny (the bully had pimples and rarely combed his hair) because she showed her girlfriends the package in front of her locker. I don’t think they were doing DNA testing in those days fortunately; at least I was never questioned by the principal, or the police.

Did my prank happen like that, or have I embellished it over the years? I certainly hope not: its one of my cherished stories of retributive justice. The same goes for my famous ‘border collie maneuver’ in elementary school: running away from any unwitting bully by zigzagging across the muddy Winnipeg playground after insulting him with one of the lesser known Shakespearean curses. Like, say, calling him a ‘poisonous bunch-back’d toad’ that I’d memorized from Shakespeare’s Richard III the night before.

So I maybe I was a mischievous child, or is that now classified as neurodivergent? Its worrisome that such diagnoses might hinge on constantly changing memories though, eh? I suppose that at my age, it no longer matters if I’m diagnosed because it’s probably too late to change anything; and anyway, I’m rather proud of it. Sorry, was that a bit outré as well?

The etymology of the word mischief is itself mischievous: my favourite origin suggests it means “bad head” -although I have to confess that I pick and choose whatever etymons seem mischievous… But, as to a more academic definition out of many, the one I prefer is something like ‘causing or showing a fondness for causing trouble in a playful way’. Done properly, nobody gets hurt and nothing is grounds for a divorce; and if the perpetrator(s) are not caught, well then it’s job well done. In fact, I see mischief as indicative of the sense of humour of the mischievor (a mischievous neologism).

Anyway, it’s all part of the syndrome: it’s lighthearted, it’s not meant to be taken seriously; and, as an essay on the topic[i] suggests, ‘it’s a powerful corrective against one of the worst human vices, namely, a certain kind of over-seriousness. For instance, it is the hallmark of the zealot and the jobsworth; two equally unpleasant types, both prone to taking pleasure in the persecution of others.’ Okay I had to look up jobsworth: it’s a 1970ies British informal slang for an official who upholds petty rules even at the expense of common sense’ -as in ‘it’s more than my job’s worth(not) to’. Maybe even using the unfamiliar term is a sort of mischief, or maybe just a last straw that might convince you not to read any further…

Well, come on, eh?  The ‘playful attitude of mischievous people is much more conducive to a happy life, and to a life that increases the happiness of others, than that of the habitually over-serious. If one approaches things with a note of humour and unseriousness, then one is much more likely not only to be happy in oneself, but also a source of delight to others.’ I have to hope that it is at least partly true…

Oh yes, and according to the author, Alex Moran, a research fellow in Philosophy: ‘Besides humour and playfulness, the capacity for mischief is also generally accompanied by intelligence and wit,’ and also, ‘a general feature of mischief [is] that it can profitably be used to dole out just punishment to those deserving of it’: to wit, the underwear escapade.

Perhaps some mischief can be considered offensive when judged by modern standards, however. Moran reminded me of an essay which, for some reason, I still remember from a literature course I took in university: A Modest Proposal (1729) by the Irish satirist Jonathan Swift. Perhaps I remembered it because it seemed so outrageous: Swift proposed a solution for the Irish Famine to the British colonial government of the time. Using mischievous satire for which he was known, he suggested that ‘the impoverished Irish should sell their children to be eaten, thereby improving their own economic status while also getting rid of their burdensome offspring.’

By using political mischief he was able to get away with an almost treasonous attack on the powerful English landlords with satire intended to goad the British government into recognizing the burden of the famine they had purposely induced by prioritizing exports and neglecting their devastating effects on the Irish population. Although the essay was published anonymously, and there were no significant political or legal repercussions, his authorship was apparently suspected by the public. But although it was a clever and perhaps dangerous form of political protest, the essay failed to spur any action against British exploitation or any immediate social reforms, and he eventually withdrew from public affairs.

I don’t think I would ever chance a career in political mischief like that, however. I mean, even if nowadays sending a pair of used underwear under false pretences is not a very obvious political statement; and even if the recipient once won first prize in the hundred yard dash after tripping me in a school sports day race, the underwear caper righted no wrongs, and his blue ribbon (today’s equivalent of a gold medal) was never taken away from him. Perhaps I should have written a Modest Proposal about that, but I had not read much Swift at the time…

 And anyway, when my mother discovered that a pair of underpants was missing from my drawer, she suspected me of being up to no good -my denial notwithstanding. It meant private surveillance and a short leash for months after, though. I mean who but a mother would count underwear, eh?

I wouldn’t like to live the rest of my life under a Swiftian cloud but nevertheless a sort of mischief-underpant-lite has shadowed me through the years; my mother was eerily good at guilt, but didn’t understand mischief when it came to laundry.

 On the other hand, although Swift’s mother may have turned in her grave about her son’s ‘modest proposal’, I suspect she might have been far more forgiving about any of his missing underpants -unless he only had one pair…

[i] https://aeon.co/essays/on-the-moral-virtues-of-mischief-and-mischievous-people

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