Right You Are! (If You Think So) by Pirandello

"Laudisi. Never mind your husband, madam! Now, you have touched me, have you not? And you see me? And you are absolutely sure about me, are you not? Well now, madam, I beg of you; do not tell your husband, nor my sister, nor my niece, nor Signora Cini here, what you think of me; because, if you were to do that, they would all tell you that you are completely wrong. But, you see, you are really right; because I am really what you take me to be; though, my dear madam, that does not prevent me from also being really what your husband, my sister, my niece, and Signora Cini take me to be -- because they also are absolutely right!"

All realities are right

"Signora Sirelli. In other words you are a different person for each of us.
Laudisi. Of course I'm a different person! And you, madam, pretty as you are, aren't you a different person, too? Signora Sirelli [hastily]. No siree! I assure you, as far as I'm concerned, I'm always the same always, yesterday, today, and forever!
Laudisi. Ah, but so am I, from my point of view, believe me! And, I would say that you are all mistaken unless you see me as I see myself; but that would be an inexcusable presumption on my part -- as it would be on yours, my dear madam!"

One cannot see us as we see ourselves

" You see, he is in love with my daughter . . . so much so that he wants her whole heart, her every thought, as it were, for himself; so much so that he insists that the affections which my daughter must have for me, her mother -- he finds that love quite natural of course, why not? Of course he does! -- should reach me through him -- that's it, through him -- don't you understand?
Agazzi. Oh, that is going pretty strong! No, I don't understand. In fact it seems to me a case of downright cruelty!
Signora Frola. Cruelty? No, no, please don't call it cruelty, Commendatore. It is something else, believe me! You see it's so hard for me to explain the matter. Nature, perhaps . . . but no, that's hardly the word. What shall I call it? Perhaps a sort of disease. It's a fullness of love, of a love shut off from the world. There, I guess that's it . . . a fullness . . . a completeness of devotion in which his wife must live without ever departing from it, and
into which no other person must ever be allowed to enter."

Everyone has their own rationality for their reality...until it becomes true to them

"Laudisi. Deny? Why . . . why . . . I'm not denying anything! In fact, I'm very careful not to be denying anything. You're the people who are looking up the records to be able to affirm or deny something. Personally, I don't give a rap for the documents for the truth in my eyes is not in them but in the mind. And into their minds I can they say to me of themselves. Laudisi. Well, which one? You can't tell, can you? Neither can anybody else! And it is not because those documents you are looking for have been destroyed in an accident -- a fire, an earthquake -- what ou will; but because those people have concealed those documen in themselves, in their own souls. Can't you understand that? She has created tor him, or he for her, a world of fancy which has all the earmarks of reality itself. And in this fictitious reality they get along perfectly well, and in full accord with each other; and this world of fancy, this reality of theirs, no document can possibly destroy because the air they breathe is of that world. For them it is something they can see with their eyes, hear with their ears, and touch with their fingers. Oh, I grant you -- if you could get a death certificate or a marriage certificate or something of the kind, you might be able to satisfy that stupid curiosity of yours. Unfortunately, you can't get it. And the result is that you are in the extraordinary fix of having before you, on the one hand, a world of fancy, and on the other, a world of reality, and you, for the life of you, are not able to distinguish one from the other. But what are you for other people? What are you in their eyes? An image, my dear sir, just an image in the glass! They're all carrying just such a phantom around inside themselves, and here they are racking their brains about the phantoms in other people; and they think all that is quite another thing! Laudisi. Let me finish. -- It's the phantom of the second wife, if Signora Frola is right. It's the phantom of the daughter, if Signor Ponza is right. It remains to be seen if what is a phantom for him and her is actually a person for herself. At this point it seems to me there's some reason to doubt it."

"Signora Ponza [slowly, and with clear articulation]. Tell you what? The truth? Simply this: I am the daughter of Signora Frola . . . All [with a happy intake of breath]. Ah! Signora Ponza. . . . and the second wife of Signor Ponza . . . All [amazed and disenchanted, quietly]. . . . What? Signora Ponza [continuing]. . . . and, for myself, I am nobody!'
The Prefect. No, no, madam, for yourself you must be either one or the other!
Signora Ponza. No! I am she whom you believe me to be. [She looks at them all through her veil for a moment, then leaves. Silence.]
Laudisi. And there, my friends, you have the truth! [With a look of derisive defiance at them all.] Are you satisfied? [He bursts out laughing.]"
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Pirandello so entertainingly portrays such deep philosophical concepts. Basically in this play he stresses the reality that we perceive, and how it is all relative and subjective. The plot of the play is comic and at the same time quite true. The fact that both of the characters, the mother-in-law and the son-in-law, ended up as crazy is interesting. How can both fancies exist in one reality? That is my question. Because as Laudisi said, it is a product of their imaginations, and their imaginations both exist in this reality. In fact, their created worlds are codependent on each other's existence. For instance, if the old woman refused to play along with the son-in-law (perceiving him as crazy and amusing him) then the son-in-law would not have been able to also "amuse" the mother by pretending SHE is insane... That is a remarkable mutual understanding in a world outside of themselves- the world of fancy. They understand each other in another world, but fail to understand each other in this reality. The fascinating part of this play is that reality is trying to penetrate this created word of theirs. Reality being practically played by the "gossip" party. The gossip party wants to "prove" the other two's insanity by documents and testimonies. Throughout the whole play, Laudisi sympathizes with the supposed "crazy" characters, saying that it is all relative. He also warns them that the reality of it all won't be enough, because they will go so far as not to believe the facts to satisfy this concept they have created in their minds. Similarly, they have also created an illusion of the mother and son that needs to be satisfied. So for instance if they decided the son-in-law was crazy, then even if the facts were to the contrary, they will somehow rationalize themselves out and still believe in this imaginary idea. In the end, they are doing the same thing as the mother and son. Which brings us to the main idea, being: we all create our own realities, and use this reality to feed the other. So in the end, everything is true to us, because we perceive it as true. If the mother was perceived to be insane, then to us she really is. Which is why the wife/daughter says, that everything is true, that both of them are insane, because the party thought they both were. It is as you perceive it to be. Then, which one is the "real" reality?
" But what are you for other people? What are you in their eyes? An image, my dear sir, just an image in the glass! They're all carrying just such a phantom around inside themselves, and here they are racking their brains about the phantoms in other people; and they think all that is quite another thing" We are all carrying phantoms of our perceptions. They are all illusions, and concepts and nothing is as we think it is to be, because to another person this illusion does not exist. Then, is it worth existing for us and does that lessen its "reality" for ourselves? I think it is as real to us, as their perceptions are real to them. What wonderful flexibility and individualism!

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THREE PLAY: Six Characters in Search of an Author - Henry IV (Enrico Quarto) - Right You Are! (If You Think So) (Luigi Pirandello, Edward Storer and Arthur Livingston)
Published by E.P. Dutton and Company, Inc.