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Dmitry Vostokov
Apress Standard
The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the
advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate
at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the
editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the
material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have
been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional
claims in published maps and institutional affiliations.
1. Fundamental Vocabulary
Dmitry Vostokov1
Process
A Python script is interpreted by compiling it into bytecode and then executing it, or it
can even be precompiled into an application program. In both cases, this interpreter file
or the compiled application is an executable program (in Windows, it may have a .exe
extension) that references some operating system libraries (.dll in Windows and .so in
Linux). This application can be loaded into computer memory several times; each time, a
separate process is created with its own resources and unique process ID (PID, also
TGID), as shown in Figure 1-1. The process may also have a parent process that created it,
with a parent process ID (PPID).
Figure 1-1 Two python3 processes with two different PIDs
To illustrate, I executed the code in Listing 1-1 on both Windows and Linux twice.
import time
def main():
foo()
def foo():
bar()
def bar():
while True:
time.sleep(1)
if __name__ == "__main__":
main()
Listing 1-1 A Simple Script to Model Running Python Code
~/Chapter1$ ps -a
PID TTY TIME CMD
17 pts/0 00:00:00 mc
60 pts/2 00:00:00 python3
61 pts/1 00:00:00 python3
80 pts/3 00:00:00 ps
Note The operating system controls hardware and processes/threads. From a high
level, it is just a collection of processes with the operating system kernel as a process
too.
Thread
From an operating system perspective, a process is just a memory container for a Python
interpreter, its code, and data. But the interpreter code needs to be executed, for example,
to interpret the Python bytecode. This unit of execution is called a thread. A process may
have several such units of execution (several threads, the so-called multithreaded
application). Each thread has its own unique thread ID (TID, also LWP or SPID), as shown
in Figure 1-3. For example, one thread may process user interface events and others may
do complex calculations in response to UI requests, thus making the UI responsive. On
Windows, thread IDs are usually different from process IDs, but in Linux, the thread ID of
the main thread is the same as the process ID for a single-threaded process.
import time
import threading
def thread_func():
foo()
def main():
t1 = threading.Thread(target=thread_func)
t1.start()
t2 = threading.Thread(target=thread_func)
t2.start()
t1.join()
t2.join()
def foo():
bar()
def bar():
while True:
time.sleep(1)
if __name__ == "__main__":
main()
Listing 1-2 A Simple Script to Model Multiple Threads
Figure 1-4 shows that in Windows, you can see 11 threads at the beginning (this
number later changes to 7 and then to 5). You see that the number of threads may be
greater than expected.
Figure 1-4 The number of threads in the running python3.11.exe process on Windows
~/Chapter1$ ps -aT
PID SPID TTY TIME CMD
17 17 pts/0 00:00:00 mc
45 45 pts/2 00:00:00 python3
45 46 pts/2 00:00:00 python3
45 47 pts/2 00:00:00 python3
54 54 pts/1 00:00:00 ps
Stack Trace (Backtrace, Traceback)
I should distinguish Python source code tracebacks (which we call managed stack traces)
and unmanaged (native) ones from the Python compiler and interpreter that compiles to
and executes Python byte code. You will see this distinction in some chapters for several
case studies and how to get both traces. But, for now, I will just show the difference.
Listing 1-3 shows managed stack trace. Listing 1-4 shows the corresponding unmanaged
Linux stack trace with debugging symbols (the most recent call first). Listing 1-5 shows
the corresponding unmanaged Windows stack trace without debugging symbols (the
most recent call first).
00 00000090`7e1ef0a8
00007ff9`8c44fcf9 ntdll!NtWaitForMultipleObjects+0x14
01 00000090`7e1ef0b0
00007ff9`8c44fbfe KERNELBASE!WaitForMultipleObjectsEx+0xe9
02 00000090`7e1ef390
00007ff8`ef943986 KERNELBASE!WaitForMultipleObjects+0xe
03 00000090`7e1ef3d0
00007ff8`ef94383d python311!PyTraceBack_Print_Indented+0x35a
04 00000090`7e1ef430
00007ff8`ef81a6b2 python311!PyTraceBack_Print_Indented+0x211
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on the principle of free individualism; for we wish to treat all men
and women with the respect due to ourselves, if not to themselves.
The chief actors in the movement we have formerly known, and
some of them intimately. We have no doubt of their sincerity and
earnestness; but we must be permitted to say that we have found
nothing new or striking in their speeches, and we cannot remember
the time when we were not perfectly familiar with all their doctrines
and pretensions. Their views and aims were set forth in the New
England metropolis nearly forty years ago, if with less mental
refinement and polish, with an originality and freshness, a force and
energy, which they can hardly hope to rival. They were embodied in
1836, and attempted to be realized in the Society for Christian Union
and Progress, which its founder abandoned because he would not
suffer it to grow into a sect, because he saw his movement was
leading no whither, and could accomplish nothing for the glory of
God or the good of mankind here or hereafter, and because, through
the grace and mercy of God, he became convinced of the truth and
sanctity of the Catholic Church against which the Protestant
reformers in the sixteenth century rebelled. He may not now be very
proud of these radicals, but they are, to a great extent, the product
of a movement of which he and Ralph Waldo Emerson were the
earliest and principal leaders in Boston.
We readily acknowledge that the pretensions of these radical men
and women are very great, but they show no great intellectual
ability, and are painfully narrow and superficial. The ministers and
ex-ministers who figured on the occasion exhibited neither depth nor
breadth of view, neither strength nor energy of mind. They proved
themselves passable rhetoricians, but deplorably ignorant of the past
and the present, of the religions they believed themselves to have
outgrown, and especially of human nature and the wants of the
human soul. They appeared to know only their own theories
projected from themselves, and which are as frail and as attenuated
as any spider's web ever rendered visible by the morning dew. They
pretend to have studied, mastered, and exhausted all the past
systems, religions, and mythologies; they pride themselves on the
universality of their knowledge, and their having lost all bigotry,
intolerance, or severity toward any sect or denomination. They
speak even patronizingly of the church, and are quite ready to
concede that she was good and useful to humanity in her day, in
barbarous times, and in the infancy of the race; but humanity,
having attained its majority, has outgrown her, and demands now a
more manly and robust, a purer and broader and a more living and
life-giving religion—a religion, in a word, more Christian than
Christianity, more Catholic than Catholicity. Ignorant or worse than
ignorant of the lowest elements of Catholic teaching, they fancy they
have outgrown it, as the adult man has outgrown the garments of
his childhood. Their self-conceit is sublime. Why, they are not large
enough to wear the fig-leaf aprons fabricated by the reformers of
the sixteenth century with which to cover their nakedness. The
tallest and stoutest among them is a dwarf by the side of a Luther or
a Calvin, or even of the stern old Puritan founders of New England;
nay, they cannot bear an intellectual comparison even with the
originators of New England Unitarianism.
Take the Reverend Colonel Higginson, a man of good blood and rich
natural gifts, one who, if he had been trained in a Christian school,
and had had his mind elevated and expanded by the study of
Christian dogmata, could hardly have failed to be one of the great
men, if not the greatest man of his age. He has naturally true
nobility of soul, rare intellectual power, and genius of a high order;
yet he is so blinded, and so dwarfed in mind by his radicalism, that
he can seriously say, "There is no affirmation except the belief in
universal natural religion; all else is narrowness and sectarianism."
He has, then, no views broader than nature, no aspirations that rise
higher than nature, and labors under the delusion that men, reduced
to nature alone, would really be elevated and ennobled. He has
never learned that nature is not self-sufficing—is dependent; that it
has both its origin and end as well as its medium in the
supernatural, and could not act or subsist a moment without it—a
truth which the Catholic child has learned before a dozen years old,
and which is a simple commonplace with the Christian; so much so,
that he rarely thinks it necessary to assert it, far less to prove it.
This utterance of the reverend colonel is accepted by all the radicals.
None of them get above second causes; for them all God and nature
appear to be identical and indistinguishable; and this appears to be
their grand and all-reconciling doctrine. Hence the religion which
they propose has no higher origin than man, and no higher end than
the natural development and well-being of man, individual and
social, in this earthly life. It is the religion of humanity, not the
religion of God, and man, not God, is obeyed and worshipped in it;
yet it seems never to occur to these wise men and women that
nature either separated from or identified with God vanishes into
nothing, and their religion with it. But is a religion that is simply
evolved from humanity, that has no element above the human, and
is necessarily restricted to man in this life, and that contemplates
neither fore nor after, higher, deeper, and more universal than
Christianity which asserts for us the nature and essence of God,
teaches us the origin and end of all things, the real relations of man
to his Maker and to universal nature through all the degrees and
stages of his existence? No; it is your naturism that is "narrowness
and sectarianism."
Radicalism has heard of the mystery of the Incarnation, and
interprets it to mean not the union of two for ever distinct natures,
the divine and human, in one divine person, but one divine nature in
all human persons. Hence, while the person is human,
circumscribed, and transitory, nature in all men is divine, is God
himself, permanent, universal, infinite, immortal. This is what the
Christian mystery, according to them, really means, though the
ignorant, narrow-minded, and blundering apostles never knew it,
never understood its profound significance. The church took the
narrow and shallow view of the apostles; and hence our radicals
have outgrown the church, and instead of looking back or without,
above or beyond themselves, they look only within, down into their
own divine nature, whence emanates the universe, and in which is
all virtue, all good, all truth, all force, all reality. The aim of all moral
and religious discipline must be to get rid of all personal distinction,
all circumscription, and to sink all individuality in the divine nature,
which is the real man, the "one man," the "over-soul" of which Mr.
Emerson in his silvery tones formerly discoursed so eloquently and
captivated so many charming Boston girls, who understood him by
sympathy with their hearts, not their heads, though what he said
seemed little better than transcendental nonsense to the elder,
graver, and less susceptible of both sexes. Impersonal nature is
divine; hence the less of persons we are the more divine we are,
and the more we act from the promptings of impersonal nature the
more god-like our acts. Hence instinct, which is impersonal, is a
safer guide than reason, which is personal; the logic of the heart is
preferable to the logic of the head, and fools and madmen superior
to the wise and the sane. Hence, are fools and madmen profoundly
reverenced by Turks and Arabs.
But impersonal nature is one and identical in all men, and identical,
too, with the divine nature. There are no distinct, specific, or
individual natures; there is only one nature in all men and things; for
all individuality, all difference or distinction, is in the personality.
Hence when you get rid of personality, which, after all, has no real
subsistence, and sink back into impersonal nature, you attain at
once to absolute unity, always and ever present under all the
diversity of beliefs, views, or persons. Men and women are mere
bubbles floating on the face of the ocean, and nothing distinguishes
them from the ocean underlying them but their bubbleosity. Destroy
that, and they are the ocean itself. Get rid of personality, sink back
into impersonal nature, and all men and women become one, and
identical in the one universal nature. Vulgar radicals and reformers
seek to reform society by laboring to ameliorate the condition of
men and women as persons, and are less profitably employed than
the boy blowing soap-bubbles; for the reality is in the ocean on the
face of which the bubble floats, not in the bubbleosity. The true
radicals, who radicalize in satin slippers and kid gloves, seek not to
ameliorate the bubbleosity which is unreal, an unveracity, a mere
apparition, a sense-show, but to ameliorate man and society by
sinking it, and all differences with it, in universal impersonal nature.
Yet what amelioration is possible except personal? If you get rid of
men and women as persons, you annihilate them in every sense in
which they are distinguishable from the one universal nature; and
suppose you to succeed in doing it, your reform, your amelioration
would be the annihilation of man and society; for you can have
neither without men and women as individuals—that is, as persons.
To reform or ameliorate them in their impersonal nature is both
impossible and unnecessary; for in their impersonal nature they are
identical with universal nature, and universal nature is God, infinite,
immutable, immortal, incapable of being augmented or diminished.
Nothing can be done for or against impersonal nature. We see, then,
nothing that these refined and accomplished radicals can propose as
the object of their labors but the making of all men and women, as
far as possible, talk and act like fools and madmen. This would seem
to be their grand discovery, and the proof of their having outgrown
the church.
But we should be ourselves the fool and madman if we attempted to
reason with them. They discard logic, reject reason, and count the
understanding as one of the poorest of our faculties; as mean,
narrow, personal. Reason and understanding are personal; and all
truth, all knowledge, all wisdom, all that is real is impersonal. Is not
the impersonality of God, that is, of nature, a primary article of their
creed? How, then, reason with them or expect them to listen to the
voice of reason? Reason is too strait for them, and they have
outgrown it, as they have outgrown the church! They do not even
pretend to be logically consistent with themselves. No one holds
himself bound by his own utterances, any more than he does by the
utterances of another. They are free religionists, and scorn to be
bound even by the truth.
But suppose they wish to retain men and women—or women and
men, for with them woman is the superior—as persons, how do they
expect by restricting, as they do, their knowledge to this life, and
making their happiness consist in the goods of this world alone, to
effect their individual amelioration? Socialism secures always its own
defeat. The happiness of this life is attainable only by living for
another. Restricted to this life and this world, man has play for only
his animal instincts, propensities, and powers. There is no object on
which his higher or peculiarly human affections and faculties can be
exerted, and his moral, religious, rational nature must stagnate and
rot, or render him unspeakably miserable by his hungering and
thirsting after a spiritual good which he has not, and which is
nowhere to be had. The happiness of this life comes from living for a
supernatural end, the true end of man, in obedience to the law it
prescribes. When we make this life or this world our end, or assume,
with Mr. Emerson, that we have it within, in our own impersonal
nature, we deny the very condition of either individual or social
happiness, take falsehood for truth; and no good ever does or can
come from falsehood.
It will be observed by our readers, from the extracts we have made,
that the radicals not only confine their views to humanity and to this
life, but proceed on the assumption of the sufficiency of man's
nature for itself. They appear to have, with the exception of Mrs.
Howe, no sense of the need of any supernatural help. They have no
sense of the incompleteness and insufficiency of nature, as they
have no compassion for its weakness. They never stumble, never
fall, never sin, are never baffled, are never in need of assistance. It
is not so with ordinary mortals. We find nature insufficient for us,
our own strength inadequate; and, voyaging over the stormy ocean
of life, we are often wrecked, and compelled to cry out in agony of
soul, "Lord, save or we perish." Whosoever has received any
religious instruction knows that it is not in ourselves but in God that
we live and move and have our being, and that not without
supernatural assistance can we attain true beatitude.
In conclusion, we may say, these radical men and women set forth
nothing not familiar to us before the late Theodore Parker was an
unfledged student of the Divinity School, Cambridge, and even
before most of them were born. We know their views and aims
better than they themselves know them, and we have lived long
enough to learn that they are narrow and superficial, false and vain.
We have in the church the freedom we sighed for but found not, and
which is not to be found, in radicalism. God is more than man, more
than nature, and never faileth; Christ the God-man, at once perfect
God and perfect man, two distinct natures in one divine person, is
the way, the truth, and the life; and out of him there is no salvation,
no true life, no beatitude. We do not expect these radicals to believe
us; they are worshippers of man and nature, and joined to their
idols. Esteeming themselves wise, they become fools; ever learning,
they are never able to come to the knowledge of the truth, any more
than the child is able to grasp the rainbow.
MEMENTO MORI.
"Come and see how a Christian can die."—Addison to his step-son.
We read that the celebrated Montaigne wished to make a
compilation of remarkable death-bed scenes; for, as he said, "he
who should teach men how to die would teach them how to live." It
may not be unprofitable for us to recall the last moments of some
who have died in the Catholic Church. It may give us some new idea
of the power of faith to sustain the soul in that supreme moment,
and show us in what a super-eminent degree the spirit of the church
fits one for the last great change, and fortifies him to meet it
hopefully if not triumphantly. Let us, then, in this month,
consecrated by so many pious Catholic hearts to the memory of the
dead, draw around the death-beds of some who are remarkable in
various ways, and see if we would not have our last end like theirs.
There is a horrid curiosity, if no higher feeling, which attracts us to
the side of the dying, "to observe their words, their actions, and
what sort of countenance they put upon it." It is as if we would read
the final conflict of the soul, obtain some new insight into the great
mystery of death, and perhaps catch some glimpse of what awaits
us beyond its shadows. Even the unbeliever at such a moment,
forced to reflect on the destiny of the soul, exclaims, "Soul, what art
thou? Flame that devourest me, wilt thou live after me? Must thou
suffer still? Mysterious guest, what wilt thou become? Seekest thou
to reunite thyself to the great flame of day? Perhaps from this fire
thou art only a spark, only a wandering ray which that star recalls.
Perhaps, ceasing to exist when man dies, thou art only a moisture
more pure than the animated dust the earth has produced." The
mind thus excited to doubt and question is already on the road to
conviction. To see how a good man meets his fate, is a lesson of
heavenly love which fastens itself in the memory; the words that
consoled him and that he uttered sink into the heart, perhaps to
diffuse light when our own time comes.
If Addison found nothing more imposing, nothing more affecting,
than accounts of the last moments of the dying; if the great
Montaigne loved the most minute details respecting them, we need
not turn with repugnance from what we have a vital interest in, and
what may give us some new idea of the blessing of dying in the
arms of our Holy Mother the Church, fortified by her sacraments and
sustained by her spirit. The French historian Anquetil, in giving an
account of the death of Montmorenci, says, "It is instructive for
persons of all conditions in life to witness the death of a great man
who unites noble sentiments with Christian humility." It is true Dr.
Johnson says, "It matters not how a man dies, but how he lives;"
but a holy death is generally the crown of a good life, though "there
are dark, dark deaths which even the saints have died, the aspect of
whose brightness was all turned heavenward, so we could not see
it."[38]
I do not believe that "there is more or less of affectation in every
death-bed scene." Young, rather, is right:
We read that St. Dunstan had Mass celebrated in his room on the
day of his death; and after communicating, he broke forth into the
following prayer, "Glory be to thee, Almighty Father, who hast given
the bread of life from heaven to those that fear thee, that we may
be mindful of thy wonderful mercy to man in the incarnation of thine
only-begotten Son, born of the Virgin. To thee, Holy Father, for that
when we were not, thou didst give to us a being, and when we were
sinners, didst grant to us a Redeemer, we give due thanks through
the same thy Son, our Lord and God, who with thee and the Holy
Ghost maketh all things, governeth all things, and liveth through
ages and ages without end." Shortly afterward he died in the sixty-
fourth year of his age.
The Cistercian abbot Aelred of Yorkshire died in wonderful peace
after eight years of monastic life, repeating with his last breath, "I
will sing eternally, O Lord, thy mercy, thy mercy, thy mercy!"
While St. Wilfrid of York lay dying in the fair town of Oundle, the
monks did not cease chanting night and day around his bed, though
with much ado, so bitterly they wept. When they came to the one
hundred and third psalm, and were sweetly and solemnly singing the
words, "Emittes spiritum tuum, et creabuntur, et renovabis faciem
terræ," "Thou shalt send forth thy spirit, and they shall be created;
and thou shalt renew the face of the earth," the words stirred the
soul of the careworn abbot, by whose pillow lay the Lord's body and
blood; he turned his head gently, and without a sigh gave back his
soul to God.[42]
St. Gilbert, when he was more than a century old, used to exclaim,
"How long, O Lord, wilt thou forget me for ever? Woe is me, for the
time of my sojourning is prolonged!" His soul was at last released
one morning at the hour of dawn, while the monks were repeating
the verse of the office, "The night is far spent, the day is at hand."
Twenty abbots assembled to witness the death of St. Stephen
Harding at Citeaux. Hearing them whisper that he had nothing to
fear after so holy and austere a life, he said to them trembling, "I
assure you I go to God in fear and trembling. If my baseness should
be found to have ever done any good, even in this I fear lest I
should not have preserved that grace with the humility and care I
ought."
St. Francis of Assisi, when he found he was dying, wished to be laid
on the bare ground. When this was done, he crossed his arms and
said, "Farewell, my children. I leave you in the fear of God. Abide
therein. The time of trial and tribulation cometh. Happy are they
who persevere in well-doing. For me, I go to God joyfully,
recommending you all to his grace." He had the passion according to
the Gospel of St. John read to him, and then repeated in a feeble
voice the one hundred and forty-first psalm. Having said the final
verse, "Bring my soul out of prison," he breathed his last.
St. Thomas Aquinas died lying on ashes sprinkled on the floor. When
he saw the holy viaticum in the priest's hands, he said, "I firmly
believe that Jesus Christ, true God and true man, is present in this
august sacrament. I adore thee, my God and my Redeemer. I
receive thee, the price of my redemption, the viaticum of my
pilgrimage, for whose honor I have studied, labored, preached, and
taught. I hope I have never advanced any tenet as thy word which I
had not learned from thee. If through ignorance I have done
otherwise, I revoke it all and submit my writings to the judgment of
the holy Roman Church." Thus lying in peace and joy, he received
the last sacraments, and was heard to murmur, "Soon, soon will the
God of all consolation crown his mercy to me and satisfy all my
desires. I shall shortly be satiated in him, and drink of the torrent of
my delights; be inebriated from the abundance of his house; and in
him, the source of life, I shall behold the true light."
When the viaticum was brought to St. Theresa, she rose up in her
bed and exclaimed, "My Lord and my Spouse! the desired hour has
at length come. It is time for me to depart hence." Her confessor
asked her if she wished to be buried in her own convent at Avila.
She replied, "Have I any thing of my own in this world? Will they not
give me a little earth here?" She died with the crucifix in her hands,
repeating, as long as she could speak, the verse of the Miserere, "A
contrite and humble heart, O God, thou wilt not despise!"
There is a touching account of a renowned and pious knight who, in
the ages of faith, made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Following
lovingly the traces of our Saviour's steps, his heart became so
broken with sorrow and love that his life flowed out through the
wound. He visited with tender devotion Nazareth, whose hills leaped
for joy when the Divine Word became incarnate in the womb of a
Virgin; Mount Tabor, whose summit was lit up by God glorifying his
only Son; the river Jordan, consecrated by the baptism our Lord
received at the hands of St. John the Baptist; Bethlehem, where in a
poor manger were heard the first cries of the Infant Word; the
Garden of Gethsemane, which Jesus bedewed with a bloody sweat;
Golgotha, where by his blood the Redeemer reconciled earth with
heaven; and the glorious tomb whence the God-man issued
triumphant over death. Finally, he came to the Mount of Olives. Here
contemplating the sacred foot-prints left on the rock by the
ascending Saviour, he pressed his lips upon them with loving
gratitude; then gathering together all the strength of his love, raising
his eyes and hands toward heaven, and longing to ascend by the
way taken by our Saviour, "O Lord Jesus!" he cried in all the ardor of
his love, "I can no longer find thee or follow thee in this land of
exile; grant that my heart may ascend to thee on high!" And, as he
uttered these ardent words, his soul fled to God like an arrow direct
to its aim.
I find in an old book the following affecting account of the death of
Friar Benedict, who died at La Trappe on the twentieth of August,
1674:
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