April 10: The Future, Fear, Heap of Black

...It thrilled him with a vague uncertain horror, to know that behind the dusky shroud there were ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him, while he, though he stretched his own to the utmost, could see nothing but a spectral hand and one great heap of black.

"Ghost of the Future!" he exclaimed, "I fear you more than any Spectre I have seen.  But, as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a thankful heart.  Will you not speak to me?"

Did someone order small pox?

Obviously, this passage concerns Scrooge's first encounter with the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.  As Scrooge himself admits, he fears this ghost more than any of the others he has met during the course of the novel.  Of course, Dickens' depiction of the future (think Death from Monty Python's The Meaning of Life) does not exactly instill confidence.  In the Monty Python movie, Death is introduced like this:  "He's here about the reaping?"  In A Christmas Carol, the Future basically walks around showing Scrooge scenes of death and grief.  Not really pleasant stuff.

I think most of us fear the future.  I say "most" because I don't like to think that I'm the only person in my crowd who finds the "Yet to Come" a little, well, terrifying.  There's a reason why Dickens describes the third Christmas Ghost as a "great heap of black."  Black is impenetrable.  Black is mysterious.  Black is scary.

If you haven't noticed, things like taxes and finances and job interviews make me nervous.  It's the uncertainty.  The questions.  Will there be enough tax money to make it through the summer?  Will I get a raise with the new university contract?  Will my wife get a second job interview?  I prefer things a little  more definite.  Remember that I'm the guy who likes to know what he's having for dinner when he wakes up in the morning.  (For the record, Cornish pasties.)  I'm not John Keats, and I don't like living with negative capability.

The future doesn't speak.  It just points its bony finger and nods.

Therefore, I have Scrooge's back on this one.  I don't like the future.  Perhaps the reason Scrooge is such a skinflint is his uncertainty of what is to come.  He's been damaged by the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.  He's the ant, putting away food for some unspecified winter, while the rest of us jump around like stupid grasshoppers.  I'm not saying we should all be assholes to every person we meet.  I'm saying there's a little Scrooge in all of us when it comes to the dusky shroud and ghostly eyes of the Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come.

Saint Marty just gave himself a full-body shiver.