If someone so patently refuses to correct spelling, grammar and even language origin issues, might one reasonably conclude that person is game-playing here? How more hints would one need before concluding so?
One could say it's a trivial matter. One could say it has nothing to do with the age of the Turin cloth. But on the other hand one could say the sorts of things we've said.
The sentiment it's trying to express is that Jabba reserves the right to use "sarcasm" as an excuse not to pay attention to certain posters. That becomes relevant when you see how many posts Jabba has ignored. Ignoring posts until they fall off the end of people's memory is an integral part of the fringe-reset approach. Critics address his claims quickly and correctly at the time, but then a month later when they try to remind him of that during a reset, he can say, "Oh gee, I seem to have forgotten where you said that. Would you mind going back through the past 500 posts and bringing it to my attention again? I promise I'll answer it this time."
The critic's dilemma is whether to keep dangling from the fringe claimant's puppet-strings, or to stand firm and refuse. The latter, of course, provides an ongoing excuse: "Well, if you're not going to give me a reference to it, then I'm not obliged to deal with it." But I've found over the years that the excuse rings hollow in the long term, and that standing firm and requiring the interlocutor to maintain footing in the argument is best. I need no more justification for it than Jabba's "razor" -- "I reserve the right to ignore whomever I wish." Whether sarcasm or lack of qualification, I have a notebook full of the typical reasons fringe claimants give as a pretense for avoiding their critics.
Where it becomes relevant is our understanding of why it takes four years (tens of thousands of posts) just to
start the debate with one person. We have to cast the arguments in a light that explains that rather odd circumstance. We have to explain why critics putting forward the right answers and asking for the right production of evidence results in nothing more substantial than an air of befuddlement from Jabba. (Yes, faux befuddlement is one of the items in my notebook.)
We have to explain the non-concessional concessions. We have to explain the resets. And yes, we have to explain his refusal to correct the pidgen Italian-trying-to-be-Latin -- I promise I'm getting there.
Sindonism is real science, we're told. It has real scientists doing real work. Shroud scholars write articles, hold conferences. Well, the truth is, real science hasn't done that since the 1990s or so, the few who ever did. See, 9/11 conspiracy theorists write articles and hold conferences. So do UFO enthusiasts and homeopaths. A common thread running through the fringe is the phenomenon of setting up a parallel structure that mimcs science. Real science lost interest in the shroud after the radiocarbon dating confirmed its age. What's left is the pseudoscientific framework of lingerers-on.
In some cases it's about justifying faith. Certain devout catholics want to see the cloth vindicated, and like a fraction of adherents to any religion, they believe it can be done with science. But as we've seen, nothing is as feeble as trying to prove one's religion logically or scientifically. In other cases it's pure intellectual pride. Religion aside, the cloth poses an archaeological question. And since science left the building 30 years ago, a host of marginally or wrongly qualified folk can rush in and play at science. With a raft of pre-radiocarbon findings to pick through, and lurid tales of misconduct in the carbon dating, they can dress up their layman's nit-picking in the discarded lab coats.
It's ego-reinforcement, of course. The basic motive behind all human activity is the desire to be great. Greatness is various defined from person to person, and in different circumstances. In America's jails, people incarcerated for offenses they wouldn't dare mention in a job interview nevertheless vie for greatness in that community: "I'm the biggest drug dealer in the county," etc.
Hugh wants to be the Scholar of the Shroud. Aspiring to scholarship is not a bad thing, but doing it his way is. Pseudoscience is the shortcut to the appearance of erudition. Jabba wants to be the Internet Crusader of the Miraculous. He wants to put those pesky skeptics in their place, and haggling over the authenticity of the cloth is the way he thinks he can do that best. It's a symbiotic relationship. The Jabbas of the world cite the various Shroud authors, which strokes their ego. Jabba believes those charlatans can feed him enough illusory science to win his debates.
But sooner or later these artificial pseudo-intellectual constructs run up against real life. Hugh gets caught making stuff up. Jabba gets confronted with facts he can't address or accommodate. When the battle on the motte goes badly, they retreat to the bailey. Jabba's bailey is his "map," where he gets to replay the debate within the solid stone walls of his own imagination. Requests from those quoted to correct or remove the quotes go unheeded because that would be the mottish rabble outside the gates knocking for admittance. Some of those people pounding on the bailey are telling him he can't speak either Latin or Italian. But within the bailey he can. Correcting the quote would mean the bailey isn't the fortress of competence he has constructed it to be.
So we see Jabba and Hugh peeking into the forum, peering from the arrow-slits in the bailey waiting for the rabble to disperse again so they can ride out onto the motte in their cardboard armour and cobbled-up mottoes to challenge the intellectual peasants to a fight.
Our motto should be,
Inter argumenta, eligo verissimo. A concerted effort to hold Jabba accountable for offering a sincere argument is at hand.
