Twins and Disbelief

In class we talked about the "willing suspension of disbelief," an idea which first appears in that form in the writings of Samual Taylor Coleridge (Chapter XIV). This theory did not orignate with him, and is fact echoed for many authors, from Shakespeare on up (Henry V).

But is this the only way to interact with a story (be it play, film, or fantastic literature)? Do we always have to set aside our disbelief that a man can fly, that aliens can be logical, or that the force is with us? It seems that sometimes, the only reason we are suspending our disbelief is because someone was too lazy to develop an effective manner of dealing with the question. Other times, however, we do not even realize that we are suspending disbelief, for the work is such a seamless whole (no one really questions the trench run Star Wars, at least no the first dozen times they watch it).

In many things we have to suspend our disbelief, but I hold that need not, and even should not, always be the case. It is often possible to create such a powerful presence, such a powerful world, that one does not need to suspend disbelief, for they already believe.

One such world come to mind. This worlds is Middle-Earth, where elves and dwarves do walk the earth. Tolkien but so much energy into his work that there is almost nothing in the way of holes, and that is just how he intended it (for more information, read his essay "On Fairy Stories" in The Monter and the Critics).

When we speak of Shakespeare and the suspension of disbelief in the case of male/female roles and appearances, I do not think the suspension is all that necessary. One does not attend a play to really believe they are there, for so much of the theatre is cleary theater, and not real. Rather, one attends a play to be entertained and enlightened, not transported (much as one does not need to believe a concert is anywhere but where it is). For this reason, Shakespeare could choose to draw onto stage at the same time two dissimilar actors who appear to be the same to the players.

In the end it is not us, but the actors, who must suspend their disbelief.


One of the great mythic themes is that of twins, whether Castor and Pollock or Romulus or Remus. They appear everywhere, but almost are always associated with the gods, whether gods themselves or the children of the gods.

An interesting dichatomy appears with twins. They are either strikingly similar (both in form and thought) or completely and irrevokably different. They must be very close, or incredibly far away.

Artemis and Apollo were, literally, as different as night is from day. One was the goddess of the moon, the other the god of the sun. One's realm was all things simple and natural, the hunt and the forest, while the other was known for technology, science, and the city. Two more dissimalr, yet close beings one would be hard pressed to find.

Twins embody not only the nature of similarity, but the very nature of difference. The more two things dirft apart, the closer they come together. The twin is that which it is not, and the other is not that which it is.

"One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons,
A natural perspective, that is and is not!"