Praise then darkness, and creation unfinished

As far as I can tell, there is not a character in all of Shakespeare who can recognize their most-loved relative, nor their most dangerous enemy, by voice, or if that person changes clothes. Was this a convention of the Elizabethan stage, or his own invention?

papersky posted some interesting thoughts about kinds of lying, and when to tell what truths this morning. I kept thinking of it while watching King Lear. Much of the action in Lear is driven by a liar and his plots; much of the rest is driven by the mad king's demand that his daughters flatter him.

Some of what Papersky was reacting to was a discussion where "she lied to me" slid into "she betrayed me." In some sense, most betrayals may involve lies, if only the implicit lie of leading someone to trust you with their safety or secrets; it is not the case that most lies are betrayals. Many just aren't that important, either because the subjects are trivial or because there isn't enough of a connection for betrayal to be a meaningful concept: it's not betrayal if I let a random shopkeeper in a city I'm visiting for three days think I'm married when I'm not, or vice versa.

I've left a couple of comments on Papersky's discussion, and recommend it if the topic interests you and you aren't reading her journal.