King Laugh in the Imitation of Christ

The Imitation of Christ 3.6.3 contains this passage: "Keep your intention and your purpose always whole and strong toward Me, and do not think that it is an illusion you are suddenly lifted up to sublime thoughts, and you are soon after turned again to your first levity of heart; for you suffer such levity of heart against your will rather than with your will, and so, if you are displeased by it, it will be of great merit for you, and no loss" (this translation, p. 113).

Here's the Latin from The Latin Library (here).

Forte serva propositum, et intentionem rectam ad Deum. Non est illusio, quod aliquando in excessum subito raperis et statim ad ineptias solitas cordis reverteris. Illas enim magis invite pateris quam agis, et quamdiu displicent, et reniteris, meritum est et non perditio.

The word translated "levity" is ineptia, "foolishness" or "silliness." 

This passage reminded me of another in the novel Dracula (which, you know, happens). It is in Dr. Seward's diary for 22 September, the day of Lucy Westenra's funeral, in chapter 13. After the funeral, when Abraham Van Helsing was alone with his friend, John Seward, the latter reports: 

The moment we were alone in the carriage he gave way to a regular fit of hysterics. He has denied to me since that it was hysterics, and insisted that it was only his sense of humour asserting itself under very terrible conditions. He laughed till he cried, and I had to draw down the blinds lest any one should see us and misjudge; and then he cried, till he laughed again; and laughed and cried together, just as a woman does. I tried to be stern with him, as one is to a woman under the circumstances; but it had no effect.

Dr. Seward was, of course, confused and disturbed by Van Helsing, and not altogether assured by Van Helsing's explanation, part of which is follows (as reported by Seward). 

at such moment King Laugh he come to me and shout and bellow in my ear, ‘Here I am! here I am!’ till the blood come dance back and bring some of the sunshine that he carry with him to my cheek. Oh, friend John, it is a strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and troubles; and yet when King Laugh come he make them all dance to the tune he play.

I had never given this passage from Dracula much thought; indeed, it's not one of the passages I look forward to hearing, and I sometimes consider skipping it. But finding something similar about the potential dangers of laughter in The Imitation of Christ gave me pause; both Van Helsing and Thomas à Kempis are concerned to acknowledge that sometimes King Laugh takes control, and they want to relieve people of the notion that it's necessarily a sign of low morals. 

Are such discussions a feature of a tradition of morality? Is there a medieval—or, even, ancient—tradition reflecting on uncontrollable or ill-timed laughter, and its relation to morality? 

What Manner of Man Is This?

I've been doing my daily Bible reading from the King James Version, I guess partly because I feel like I'm finally smart enough to understand most the words. So today I read Mark 4, which at the end contains an account of Jesus stilling the storm. This surprising power from their master baffles the disciples, who then ask, "What manner of man is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?" 

I stopped at that "What manner of man is this," because those precise words were familiar to me, but not from the Bible. But let me explain why reading from the KJV was important to this insight. The Bible I carry with me to church is the NRSV, which says here, "Who then is this?"—a very close approximation of the Greek. It's the same in the ESV, and the NET Bible, which are the only ones I have checked. So until today I didn't realize that the same question was expressed in the most popular English version ever with the words "what manner of man is this?" 

When I read those words at the end of Mark 4, I immediately thought of a man locked in a castle in Transylvania, looking out his window to see his captor crawl out of a lower window and down the castle wall in lizard fashion. I'll let Jonathan Harker explain. 

What I saw was the Count’s head coming out from the window. I did not see the face, but I knew the man by the neck and the movement of his back and arms. In any case I could not mistake the hands which I had had so many opportunities of studying. I was at first interested and somewhat amused, for it is wonderful how small a matter will interest and amuse a man when he is a prisoner. But my very feelings changed to repulsion and terror when I saw the whole man slowly emerge from the window and begin to crawl down the castle wall over that dreadful abyss, face down with his cloak spreading out around him like great wings. At first I could not believe my eyes. I thought it was some trick of the moonlight, some weird effect of shadow; but I kept looking, and it could be no delusion. I saw the fingers and toes grasp the corners of the stones, worn clear of the mortar by the stress of years, and by thus using every projection and inequality move downwards with considerable speed, just as a lizard moves along a wall.

What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature is it in the semblance of man? I feel the dread of this horrible place overpowering me; I am in fear—in awful fear—and there is no escape for me; I am encompassed about with terrors that I dare not think of....

This is the end of Jonathan Harker's diary entry from May 12, in chapter 3 of the novel Dracula. It is at this moment that Harker realizes that the being who has confined him in the castle is no ordinary man. Well, there have been previous hints, but this crawling along the wall—though Harker himself goes on to accomplish the same feat, twice—provides the strongest clue. 

I don't know if Bram Stoker had the disciples' bewildered query in mind when he wrote of Harker's own shock, but I can imagine that the phrasing stuck in his head and he decided to reuse it in a very different context. Perhaps I am underselling how ordinary the expression is, particularly 130 years ago, but it does strike me as plausible that Harker's expression has been influenced somehow by the Bible reading that Stoker has experienced in church. 

Just about every October, I listen to this reading of Stoker's wonderful novel (I've listened to it 10-12 times), so there has been plenty of opportunity for phrasings from the novel to stick in my mind. You can hear the reading of the passage quoted above in this video, starting at about 20:30. This past October I gave a chapel speech on the novel (available at FaceBook). 

I wonder if this is the first time that someone reading the Bible has thought, that sounds like Dracula, rather than the reverse.