"It is quite extraordinary how very various are the opinions entertained on this point, and, before sifting them, one must be careful in the first place to eliminate from our inquiry the cases of that considerable class of persons who pinch themselves"
About this Quote
Payn opens like a man politely clearing his throat, then slips the knife in with a smile. The sentence pretends to be a calm setup for rational inquiry - “sifting” opinions, “eliminate” noise - but it’s really a social sorting mechanism. He’s not just observing disagreement; he’s mocking the kind of person whose “opinion” is less considered judgment than a nervous tic.
That “considerable class of persons who pinch themselves” is doing a lot of work. It’s comic because it’s so bodily and petty, a little self-inflicted jolt that suggests fidgetiness, priggishness, or the anxious need to feel real. Payn is implying that some people arrive at debate already compromised: they’re too self-conscious, too performatively earnest, too wrapped in their own sensation to be reliable witnesses. The subtext is Victorian, but the target feels modern: the commentator who can’t stop checking their own pulse while announcing what “we” should think.
The line also stages a quiet power move. By declaring certain people disqualified before the argument even begins, Payn positions himself as the sane adult in the room, the one who gets to decide which temperaments count as evidence. It’s a genteel form of gatekeeping, delivered in the language of method. The joke lands because it’s not a broad insult; it’s an oddly specific diagnosis, the kind that makes readers scan the room - or their own hands - and wonder who’s been caught.
That “considerable class of persons who pinch themselves” is doing a lot of work. It’s comic because it’s so bodily and petty, a little self-inflicted jolt that suggests fidgetiness, priggishness, or the anxious need to feel real. Payn is implying that some people arrive at debate already compromised: they’re too self-conscious, too performatively earnest, too wrapped in their own sensation to be reliable witnesses. The subtext is Victorian, but the target feels modern: the commentator who can’t stop checking their own pulse while announcing what “we” should think.
The line also stages a quiet power move. By declaring certain people disqualified before the argument even begins, Payn positions himself as the sane adult in the room, the one who gets to decide which temperaments count as evidence. It’s a genteel form of gatekeeping, delivered in the language of method. The joke lands because it’s not a broad insult; it’s an oddly specific diagnosis, the kind that makes readers scan the room - or their own hands - and wonder who’s been caught.
Quote Details
| Topic | Reason & Logic |
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