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This kind of
St. John's Collegian
Vol. LXIV - No. 8
ANNAPOLIS, MARYLAND
EDITORIAL
SONNET TO A I.ADY WITHOUT COURAGE
It is often when you smile that, far behind
The focal point which indicates dissent
Knowledge touches the jesters - those of your kind
Their answering glances bind up the event
And seal i t into bleeding data-sheets,
Tear at its heart with ivory heirloom spoons
And, looking outward, fortify their fleets
For voyages which strive to other moons·
And yet you kno~, and that is j ust my point ,
How cheaply ambiguity is sold
How, far beyond, Areopagites anoint
Only the golden-tongued, where truth is gold,
Still, if I
turn quickly, I can see the guile
The knowledge having knowledge of you r s mile.
w.
B. Fleischmann
The Collegian, in virtue of being the newspaper of a small college, published by and
for the members of a small community, can
not hope or pretend to compete with the publications of larger communities. News, as conventionally understood, is here circulated, edited, interpreted and even censored by the
grapevine and the several gossip cliques much
faster and much more completely than any
i•rinted sheet could hope to edit, interpret,
censor and publish. Such news is not the
business of the Collegian. It sees as its purpose the more or less regular publication of
criticism pertinent to the intellectual life of
the community together with such creative
efforts ·as are presented to the editor. Reviews
of lectures, concerts, movies, plays, books, even
of the dialectic of the playing :field if well
written, poems, stories, essays, these are its
material. Almost anything falls within this
range. Almost anything if well written will be
printed.
The activities of this volume of the Collegian have been planned with these things in
mind. The Collegian will be published once
every three weeks, oftener if there is material
enough. It will again offer a prize for the best
article, poem or short story written for its
pages. It will again print the prize material
from the several annual competitions. To this
end it presents in the :first two issues Mr. McRaney's prize essay which was not available
to the Coll~gian at the time of last publication.
In an effort to gain new material the Collegian has agreed to review all new Modern,.. '
Library publications. The reviewer will be selected by the editors and will, of course, receive the review copy.
The Collegian also wishes to point out that
its editors have never been too busy. Whether
published or rejected, all material is welcomed
from students, faculty, alumni and friends of
St. John's . Anything in the intra-collegiate
mail addressed to the Collegian will be received.
For the Editorial Board
Washburn, Editor.
-~~~-o~~~~
SIGMUND FREUD
The Interpretation of Dreams
Modern Library Edition.
She dipped her locks in a bowl of henna
And booked a ticket straight to Vienna.
Ogden Nash.
October 2 I ,
1950
It has seldom happened that one man has
influenced the outlook of his age as sti·ongly as
Sigmund Freud. His theories have not only
achieved a revolution in medical psychiatry,
but contemporary thinking on what is good or
evil, beautiful or ugly, divine or profane has
come under a Freudian aegis. Not only has the
science of psychoanalysis been accepted ~r rejected in academic circles, but the educated
and uneducated public has started to consider
the Viennese psychiatrist devil or prophet. As
proof for the great demand for Freud's works,
the Interpretation of Dreams has now been
brought out in a regular Modern Library edition. Even the "book and gift shoppes" of cities
in the 10,000 population class carry a Modern
Library assortment, and chances are that this
small edition with the good-looking dust cover
will be seen in many American homes. I think
that the Modern Library did well in choosing
the Interpretation of Dreams as a mass-circulation work. It does not contain Freud's best
presentation of the psychoanalytic theoryboth the Introductory Lectures to Psychoanalysis and the ·Introduction to Psychoanalysis
do this much better. Yet these are later works,
written when Freud was already aware of the
commotion he was causing and had adopted a
more standard vocabulary for his science. The
Interpretation, on the other hand, is a pioneer
work, a ddressed by a physician to scientists
and presented as a ser ies of developed experiments.
After a fairly brief introductory exposition,
Freud presents analyses of his own dreams or
of dreams brought up by patients in the course
of treatment. To a reader who expects to be
glamorously converted or delightfully repelled
by psychoanalysis, the Interpretation will be
disappointing. On the other hand, the book
gives anyone a fair chance to make an objective appraisal of the strength and weakness of
Freud's method. The English translation by
Dr. A. A. Brill is adequate. Its only serious
defects are caused by stumbling blocks in the
English and German languages. For instance
the German Lust does not carry the same
meaning as the English lust. It merely signifies pleasure, yet that English word is too
weak to render its full and all-embracing significance. Again, Dr. Brill could not possibly
render German proper name s which, in some
analyses suggest significant nouns of the same
spelling (Ex: Brucke, the name of Freud's
most important t eacher is also the Germari
�we use norn
kind r
of ab
differ
ence
a sub
given
bers 1
distir
exam
subst
but i~
"this
defini
ti on
realit
abs t r ;
t ion i:
it car
ure t1
reach
t ions
edge.
Th(
gen er
appar
perce1
mind.
quirin
We g
there
fac ult
jectiv·
must
fore~
have
befort
a s an
1
comm
our d
a gre
believ
-
T1
con t r:
No1
of pe1
exp r e
a din
ven's
heard
mean:
know
perce
re fa ti
thing
We Ii
ment1
gases
ment:
three
betwc
is re
Page 2
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
name for bridge) into English so that some
analyses lose their force and elegance in translation.
The space proper to a book review cannot
permit a full criticism of Freud's theories. I
shall merely mention a few points which struck
me during this reading of the Interpretation
of Dreams . Even if one admits the existence
of an unconscious, barely existent in everyday
life and manifested only in dreams and at rare
occasions, some of Freud's analyses are not
altogether convincing. For it is only possible
for Freud to make symbolic interpretations of
several parts of the manifest dream content,
i.e., the dream as remembered. He successfully
identifies sexual symbols by their recurrence
in similar situations and by their corresponding places in folklore and mythology. He
shows us by numerous examples vide Cap. VI.,
Ex. 7, 8, 9, 10 how verbal associations and
word-groups make a rational picture in accordance with the diagnosis when analyzed into
their components. Yet, strikingly, Freud admits to a sort of intuitive diagnostic paradigm
which forms in his mind as soon as the dream
is told and the pati(;ni; is before him. For instance, in the case of the girl who dreams of
arranging tlowers in the centre of a table at
the occasion of a birthday, he jumps to the
conclusion that the flowers represent her own
genitalia and "birthday" means the birth of
her future child because he already knows that
she is engaged to be married. The rest of the
analysis is beautifully fitted into this pattern
by non-suggestive free association. The flowers are "lilies of the valley, violets, and carnations or pinks" and the patient identifies
1ily with purity, carnation with incarnation
violet with violate, adding that these are ex~
pensive flowers, one has to pay for them.
Hence Freud concludes that the dream alludes
to her "expensive virginity,'' and as she relates further that she remembers putting
"green crinkled paper, like moss" about the
flowers in order to hide an unsightly gap in
them, the green paper becomes the crines pubis, the gap, the vagina. Here I ask myself
whether a certain irrational gap does not exist
between the positing of flowers ( deflora ti on)
as genital symbols and this particular interpretation of birthday, table, and arrange which
hinges on that first assumption, yet which
makes up the substance of Freud's analysis?
Could it not be that those flowers were, for
instance, not her own, or that the emphasis
should be laid on birthday or table, rather than
on ft.owers ! Similarly, why should a young
man's dream of his former governess in a
black luster dress mean that he accused her of
lustfulness rather than that he re-awakened
an earlier desire to which the similar sound of
lust and luster might be related in a different
way?
I am not trying to question the Yalidity of
Freud's premises. I am only suggesting that as
far as research into dream symbolism might
progress, it will still be the analyst's particular understanding of symbolic interrelationships that will condition the aggregate image
of the patient. The individual psychoanalyst,
as we see demonstrated in the Interpretation
of Dreams, follows a fairly standard mode of
thought. Consequently the patient, after some
hundred analytic hours, might automatically
think of himself in the same vniy. Thus a rational "soul pattern" may be built up through
the analyst's mode of understanding and the
patient's response to it. That this essential
subjectivity in the interpretation of data plays
a definite role in any empirical method never
seemed to bother Freud in the Interpretation,
or afterwards.
This leads me to my second critical point.
In the Interpretation, Freud trespasses guilelessly onto territory which had been reserved
for philosophers before. He makes an implicit
definition of the human soul as a pleasure
seeking vegetative "tis," while he emphatically
proclaims himself "physician-scientist'', not
philosopher. What is more, he believes that his
discovery is something new. I am afraid that,
in this respect, Freud was time~bound. Certainly the stodgy Victorians of his own era
who made up the most repressed and frustrated society in human history were shocked
and repelled by the doctrine. Yet I am sure
that William Shakespeare and St. Augustine
would not have been surprised at the black
soul of Freud's bourgeois patients. In this wa y,
Sigmund Freud wa s much less and much more
than his avowed conception of himself. As a
physician, he did not make a new discovery
about man. He merely invented a therapy,
suited to his own times, which was effective in
treating man's permanent and inherited sins.
As a philosopher, he has rediscovered a traditional picture of man which gave a more
likely story than the God-sent business and
morality doctrine of the late nineteenth century. We may say that he created another aspect of the Graeco-Christian myth of man and
is for this reason an "eminently quotable
poet."
W. B. Fleischmann
Univ. of North Carolina
On A Prerequisite To Intellectual
Knowledge
Man proceeds to intellectual knowledge
through separation. He knows first intuitively
through identification with the object known.
When he first opens his eyes on the world and
begins to perceive things, he is not separate
from the things he sees but is thoroughly
bound up in them. When he first learns to
speak, his words are not thought of but are
as much a part of him as the feelings and desires they express. He even has no distinct
conception of himself as an entity in the
world about him.
At some point a process begins which is
analogous to the progressive separation of an
embryo from the egg yolk it is at first completely attached to: he begins to separate himself from certain of these unconscious parts of
him. This is the beginning for him of the poss~bility of intellectual knowledge (as opposed
to intuitive knowledge) for only then can he
begin to look at anything from the outside as
is required by the Intellect.
His parents, for instance, become not just
inexplicable mergings in and out of his visual
field as they come and go, but entities possible to be affetced when he cries and makes
noises. Though there is not ''thinking" at this
stage in the usual sense, the necessary condition for thinking has taken place, and he will
later be a ble, through acquaintance with other
separated entities, to make such abstractions
as "mother," "father," "person."
Jean Paul gives us an account of one of the
first separations that is made: "Never shall I
forget the inner sensation when I was present
at the birth of my self-consciousness, of which
I can specify both time and place. One morning, when still quite a young child, I was
standing under the · doorway, and looking towards the woodstack on the left, when suddenly the vision, 'I am an ego,' passed before
me like a lightning flash from heaven; my ego
had seen itself then for the fi r st time and
forever."
Later, particularly under the influence of his
school, the child comes to separate from his
larger being the words he has unconsciously
acquired by imitation. What before were unconsciously used, and as much a part of him
as his hands and feet, become objectified and
prepared for the action of his self as knower
in all the manifold ways the knower can have
knowledge of the known. Spelling and grammar are learned, and later etymology, philology, etc.
This separating is carried on t hr ough out life
Page 3
as deeper and deeper layers of his larger unconscious self are disengaged and become the
property of his growing conscious self. (The
conscious self has other sources for its growth,
for the Intellect can relate and expand endlessly its concepts. But the depth to which a
person can reach in his intellectual thinking is
governed by how far he has proceeded in this
disengagement.) Not only individual objects in
the world about one become objectified, but
eventually the external world as a whole, permitting thought about it and giving rise to
such intellectual theories as those of Decartes,
Berkley, and Kant. And not only individual
words of one's language are divorced from
their original utilitarian character, but eventually language itself, allowing one to differentiate between meaning, still an intimate part
of him, and its arbitrary symbol. Such theories as those of Korzybski and Carnap become
possible after their separation.
This successively deeper disengagement
seems to be progressively accomplished on the
scale of the human race as well as in the individual. The important and liberating inquiries connected with Semantics have appeared only very recently. (Though Plato could
write a Cratylus, there is no indication that he
and his successors for many centuries were
sufficiently advanced to see language as totally
arbitrary articulation corresponding with
doubtful success to the articulations in " reality" it was supposed to represent. Otherwise,
w hy should a word be taken, - for instance,
"Justice" in the Republic, and an enquiry pursued as to what it was? Rightly seen, "Justice" has no correlate in reality, no definite
and separate meaning, but is the manifestation of a particular meaning stated by a particular time (whenever anybody uses the word
in expressing himself). It has as many meanings as the number of times it has been used
and no one can succeed in giving an adequate
intensional definition of it.) And it was many
centuries before Despartes could manage to
disengage the outer world from the "knower"
in him so completely as to see the lack of any
certainty of its objective existence. For Plato
a nd Plotinus it might have had a diminished
place in "Being," but I doubt if they could
have considered it as the totally subjective
th,ing Kant did.
In the individual this process of disengagement goes on in some at a fa st er and in others
at a slower rate. Most are behind t h e most advanced points reached by the race, perhap1;
centuries behind. Stop a man in t he street and
en g a ge him per sistently in a discussion over
�we use no
kind r
of ab
differ
ence
a sub
given
bers 1
distir
exam
subst
but h
"this
defini
tion
realit
abs tr;
tion i:
it car
ure ti
reach
tions
edge.
The
gener
uppar
perce1
mind.
quiriIJ
We g
there
facult
jectiv.
must
fore'
have'
befor~
as an
comm
our d
a gre
believ
- Ti
con tr~
Noi
of pe1
exp re
a dirE
ven's
heard
mean:
know·
perce·
refati
thing
We }{
ment:
gases
ment:
three
betw1
is re
Page 4
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
whether that lamp-post he sees is really there,
and not just some irresponsible twitching of a
brain cell, and I deny any responsibility for
your physical welfare. Not having separated
the representations of his mind from his larger
self, he is not capable of considering these
representations in ?my way. He simply cannot
think about them, and is therefore incapable of
seeing the possibility of a theory which doubts
their existence. Or ask a person whether he
considers "number" important. He will not
know what you mean (as I did not when asked
this question by an unfortunately-addicted-tomathematics Seminar leader during my Freshman year) because, though he has acquaintance with numbers (like Meno's virtues) and
can add and subtract, these numbers have
never passed beyond the useful stage for him
and been disengaged as-a -whole from action
for the purpose of speculation. And few will
see the difference in asking in the course of
a discussion, "What does 'soul' mean," and, to
a person who has just used the term, "What
do you mean by 'soul' ". For them symbol is
still so completely bound up with symbolized
that the two are equated, or at least considered
to have one-to-one correspondence.
To sum up then, we have seen that man's
first knowledge is by identity with the thing
known. (A thorough intellectual would probably balk at this "identity," sometimes called
"intuitive knowledge." What is meant by it is
the complete lack of consciousness of self in
preoccupation with the thing "known." When
one completely concentrates on a thing he is
not conscious of anything but that thing, and
is thus "identified" with it. One ne.ed not look
far in his daily experience to see how he is at
times so completely preoccupied with things
heard, seen, or thought as to justify this term.
One is always learning this way no matter how
far he has proceeded in his disengagement
process.) Progressively, he separates some of
the outer objects of perception, some of his
unconscious habits (such as language), and
some of his inner perceptions (feelings, desires, fears, etc.) from that part of him which
is capable of knowing intellectually, and thence
proceeds to know about them to a greater or
lesser degree. These things separated are in dividuals, and through the ability of the Intellect to recognize samenesses in these entities,
the sphere of knowledge is expanded through
the introduction of abstractions (Mother and
Father to mother and father in general to
animal, etc.). Language, Number, Mind-representations and al_} the other closer attributes
of the person are not higher order abstractions from words, numbers. and external and
internal objects, etc., but require a separation
from our unconscious self themselves. (No
doubt one can and does arrive at an abstraction "language," but this is by no means the
same as the view of it acquired when it is disengaged; one is still immersed in language in
the former case, whereas he is outside it in
the letter.) The progr-ess is always from the
unconscious to the conscious, this latter term
really implying nothing else than the consciousness of one's self simultaneous with and
distinct from the thing perceived or thought.
One given to creative philosophies or scientific
thought will recognize that much of his struggle is the attempt to bring what is largely
unconscious and only vaguely felt into the
clear light of full consciousness where he can
see it as a separate entity or entities and begin to know what it is.
We have also seen that different people accomplish this disengagement, or formation of
a conscious self from the unconscious self, at
different rates. Many seem to stop after a
while, or proceed so slowly that during their
life they do not get very far. Does it make any
difference whether one proceed slowly or quickly? It does from the standpoint of intellectual
knowledge of course because how much,more especially, how deeply, a person knows
is dependent on how much of his unconscious
self he has brought to consciousness. But
there is .a lso another factor in favor of a
rapid, and therefore more far-reaching, disengagement. Man is unfortunately prone to becoming rather violent about those things which
constitute his unconscious al}d more intimate
being. (What happened to you when you
asked the man on the street about the lamppost attests to this.) They are all part of the
house he lives in, and whether it be built on
the sand or on the rock, he is apt to fly out
and defend it very energetically if he thinks
it is being attacked. He is incapable of looking
at any part of it objectively, the whole house
still being the part of him that does the looking, and so if one politely begins to question
and discus& one of his taken-for-granteds, he
will vaguely feel that the whole house is indiscriminately being subjected to the winds
and the rains and must perforce be saved at
all costs.
In short a man is unteachable in respect to
the things that still form a part of his uncon scious self.
A.H.
THE ABBEY OF THELEME
How Theleme Was Born, or "That War Is The
Parent of All Good Things"
1. The war between Picrochole (spleen,
spite) and Grangousier (Great Gullet), father
of Pantagruel (All-Athirst).
In the early autumn (the wine season) some
bakers of Lerne (in the domain of Picrochole)
happened to pass down the highway into the
domain of King Grangousier on their way to
Tours. They were transporting ten or twelve
horseloads of freshfy baked cakes. Some shepherds of Grangousier who were guarding the
vines against marauders graciously asked to
buy some of the bakers' cakes. Far from
complying with the decent request of the
shepherds, the bakers turned upon them with
epithets of filth, styling them "waifs, snaggleteeth, red-headed Judases, wastrels, and shitabeds . . ." The healthy shepherds, incensed
by such unjust insults, hurled a few of their
clubs at the haughty bakers, and sent them
scurrying back to Lerne without their cakes.
Whereupon the shepherds and their shepherdesses sat down to a feast of cakes and fine
grapes.
Picrochole, hearing of the atrocity committed upon his bakers, was stirred into vainglory by a solemn council of his nobles. "My
Lord Tickledingus Touchfaucet, summing up
the unanimous sentiments of the assembly,
declared that Picrochole could defeat all the
devils in hell, if these so much as showed their
noses. Without believing this wholesale, the
monarch none the less did not question its
truth." Carried along by the passions appropriate to his name, Picrochole determined
to seek retribution by means of immediate
conquest, without wasting time with useless
parleying for peace. Whereupon he dispatched his men into Grangousier's realm to ravage
the countryside.
The aged, pious, but thirsty Grangousier,
hearing of the breach of a peace (between
himself and Picrochole) that had been deemed
inviolate by the whole world, summoned his
son Gargantua from his studies in Paris to
protect the hereditary domain of his father.
Speaking of the rupture of the peace, he said,
"I consider it my duty to assuage his (Picrochole's tyrannical anger; I have offered him
all I thought might satisfy him; several times
I have despatched friendly envoys to find out
how and by whom he considered himself outraged. But his only answer has been this
declaration of war, and the claim that he
sought to put order in my land. Hence I concluded that the Eternal Master 1had abandoned
him to the government of his own will and
sense. And how shall these be anything but
evil unless the grace of God continually guides
Page 5
them? I believe the Divine Power has sent
him here under such grievous auspices so that
I might bring him back to his sense." Whereupon Gargantua, with due filial awe, mounted
his gigantic mare and turned homeward.
2. The Abbot (Father) of Theleme, Friar
John, and how he begot it as a warrior.
The soldiers of Picrochole, carrying out their
King's command to ravage the countryside,
came upon an Abbey near Seuilly. Seven companies of infantry and two hundred lancer
began to break through the walls of the Abbey and pillage the vineyards. The terrified
monks assembled and sent up to God chants
and litanies against war, 'adding to these responses in favor of peace. One monk acted
differently. Friar John of the Funnel s - "a
youthful, gay, wide-awake, good-humored, and
skillful lad, a true monk if ever there was one
since the monking world started monkeying in
monkeries" - seized his staff of the cross
and threw himself into the enemy. Before
long with the aid of his adaptable weapon
(and with the aid of God, I maintain) he had
polished off "thirteen thousand six hundred
and twenty-two, exclusive, of course, of women
and children." This notable heroism of Friar
John turned the tide against the aggression
of Picrochole. Gargantua arrived from Paris
shortly on his gigantic mare, which rathe1·
conveniently piddled upon the bulk of Picrochole's soldiers and sent them swirling away
to their deaths. Picrochole fled from his realm
ignominously and a just peace was established.
Gargantua, in rewarding Friar John for h is
service to the domain, offered him the Benedictine abbeys of Bourgueil or St. Florent,
among the richest in France. The monk flatly
refused. He stated categorically that he did
not seek the charge and government of monks.
"For," he explained, "how shall I govern others when I cannot possibly govern myself? "
There was a pause. "But- ," he hesitated.
"But if you believe I have given and can give
you good service, let me found an abbey after
my own heart."
3. How Friar John, the Abbot of Theleme,
seems to be at war with all monkdom -- or,
the regulations of the Theleme order.
The new abbey was to be known as Theleme
(meaning free will). It was to be contrary
to all other Abbeys. Eight stipulations or
regulations were set up and marshalled
against the monastic world:
I. (a) All other monasteries are solidly
enclosed by a wall (mur).
(b) Where there are walls (mures) before and behind, there are murmurs
(murmures) of envy and plotting.
Therefore, there will be no wall
around Theleme.
�we use no
kind,..
of ab
diffe1
ence
a sub
given
hers 1
distir
exam
subst
but i~
"this
defini
ti on
realit
abs tr:
tion i:
it car
ure ti
reach
tions
edge.
ThE
gener
appar
perce1
mind.
quirhi
We g
there
facult
jectiv
must
fore \
have 1
befor«
as an
comm
our d:
a gre
believ
- T1
contri
No
of pe1
exp re
a dirE
ven's
heard
mean
know
perce
rebti
t hing
We ll
ment:
gases
ment:
t hree
betw1
is re
1
Page 6
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
ST. JOHN 'S CO LLEGIAN
IT . (a ) Tn cert a in monaster ies if women
e nter (tha t is, honest a nd cha ste
ones) t he g round upon wh ich the y
walk is t o be swept.
(b) At Theleme, if an y nun s or monks
enter, every place they pass
t hrough is t o be thorou ghly disinf ected.
I II. (a) All other Abbeys on earth are com pas sed, limited and r egula ted by
h ours.
(b ) A t Theleme, no clock or dial of any
sort should be tolerated . On the
contrary, their time here would be
governed by what occasions and
opportunities might arise.
IV. (a ) In all other Abbeys, the women
who enter are wall -eyed, lame,
hunchbacked, ill-favored, misshapen, half-witted, unreasonable, or
somewhat damaged; the men, canke1·ed, ill-br ed idiots , or plain nuisances.
(b ) Accor dingly, at The le me only such
wo men a re to be admitted into the
order as are beautiful, shapely,
pleasing of form and nature , and
only such men as a re ha nd some,
athletic and personable.
V. (a) In a ll other convents men enter
only by guile and st ealth.
(b) At T hel eme, n o w omen wou ld be in
the Abbey un less men were ther e
also, and vice-ver sa.
VI. (a) In all othe r Abbeys t he men and
wom en were fo r ced afte r their year
of noviciate to sta y there perpetually.
(b ) At Theleme, the men a nd women
com<: and go whenever they saw fit.
VII. (a) In a ll other monasteries and conve nt s, the r eligious usually made
the triple vow of chastity, poverty,
a nd obedience.
( b ) At Theleme, all had' full leave to
marr y honestly, to enjoy wealth,
and to live in perf ect freedom .
VIII. At Theleme , the women were admissable
bet ween the ages of ten and fifteen, the
men between the ages of twelve and
eighteen.
4. "Again they (the French armies) are doing this (carrying on war) so admirably that
I almost agree with the good Heraclitus when
he states that war is the parent of all good
things. One might suppose, a s our fathers did,
tha t our French word 'bel' was derived from
the Latin 'bellum,' a s t hough nobilit y and
beauty came from war. Only the mou ldiest
patcher of rusty Latin would have you believe
that this is not the fact . For has not war
disclosed all manner of benefits and wonders ?
Has it not a bolished evil a nd ugliness? Why
could Solomon , a sagacious and pea ceful monarch, find no mor e perfect expression for the
ineffable glory of divine wisdom than th e
phrase 'terrible a s an army with banners'?"
An Exposition on Pantagruelism
1. Two things must be established before
the Abbey itself is considered. One is the natu erof Pantaruelism. The othe r is the method of Pantagruelism. The first cannot be
properly understood without the second ; but
it will be helpful to get a pa rtial understanding of the definition of Pantag ruelism first.
2. The nature of Pantagruelism.
The first step in discussing PantagrueJism
is to show that it is something essential to the
nature of man. Pantagruel means "all athirst ."
This indicates that there is a kind of eros that
characterizes the Pantaguelist. This probl em,
however, will be dealt with a little later. Let
it suffice here to give the definition of Pantagruelism , w hich, along with two other important assertions , will establish its essentiality.
"Pantagruelism is a certain gaiety of spirit
pr oduced by a contempt for the incidentals of
fate, a heal t hiness and cheerfulness of a spirit
ever ready to drink , if it will. " "Laughter is
the essence of mankind." " Drinking .. . is the
essence of mankind." It is readily seen that
laughter is t o be connected with the " gaiety
produced by a contempt fo r the 1 ncidental s of
fate" - that is, with the fi rst part of th e
definition. Drinking is manifestly linked w ith
the second half of the definition. The essentialit?' of Pantagruelism, th~n, is est a blished;
and it see ms t o be shown forth in two chara cteristic modes of action , laughter and drinking. Proceeding a little further, we see that
the attributes of gaiety, healthiness, and
cheerfulness of spirit ; a contempt for the incidentals of fate, and a readiness to drink are
natural, and that their pr ivations are unnatu ral.
Upon examinat ion it tu rns out that Ra belasian laughter and dr inking are all but the
same. In the Prologue to Book III Rabelais
says : " My barrel (of wine) is a veritable
cornucopia of merriment and mockery." It
seems that laughter is a "giving out" of merriment and mockery, drinking a "taking in."
It is well to state at this point that drinking
has a two-fold significance that will become
pertine_ t later on. It is a symbol of ea s y comn
r adeship, of a jovial inte r mingling of men of
different stations.
wedding feast.
It is also a symbol of the
3. The method of Pantagruelism. .
A discussion of the method of Pantagruelism
will do well to begin with a quotation already
given: "I almost agree with good Heraclitus
when he states that war is the parent of all
good things." The "almost" is taken care of
by supposing it to be Rabelais' rejection of the
part of the original doctrine of Heraclitus that
is incompatible with Christianity. There is
ample evidence to support this supposition.
The road to Heraclitus is then free of obstacles. In Heraclitus the quoted statement
means that peace is not understandable without an understanding of what it is not-its
opposite, war. In a world where there is war,
peace is a cessation of war; so that peace
(which is good) can come only out of its opposite, war. In this way war is taken to be
the parent of all good things-that is, when
war and peace are applied by analogy to all
other contraries. For example, beauty and
ugliness: ugliness is a kind of warfare, and
beauty is a kind of peace. Yet beauty can
only be understood insofar as its opposition to
ugliness is understood. Furthermore, war is
the strife of contraries. This strife consists
in the opposition of a thing to its contrary.
This kind of strife is indicated perhaps in the
quotation given above in which "the ineffable
glory of the divine wisdom" is said to be "terrible as an army with banners"-as if to say
that the Divine Being broods with His omnipotence over its privation, which it allows to
remain in the world. Rabelais indicates his
interest in t his strife of contraries in chapter
X of Book One in which, while describing the
colou rs of the young Gargantua's livery, he
proves (flippantly, to be sure. But what do
you expect?) t h e correspondence of a group of
contraries. In order to substantiate this notion I shall quote a portion of the chapte r:
" Take t wo opposites - say, good and evil,
virt ue and vice, hot and cold, white and black,
joy and grief, pleasure and pain, and so on.
Couple them so as to make a contrary of one
comparison agree reasonably with its fellow in
the next comparison. Then inevitably the contrasted contraries to which you have compared
them will, in turn correspond. Thus virtue and
vice are opposites in one kind; 1;0 are good
and evil. Now if one of the contraries of the
first kind agrees (like virtue and good, for we
know virtue to be good), then the remaining
set of qualities - vice and evil - will in turn
agree, since we know vice to be evil.
"Having mastered this logical rule, take one
pair of opposites, joy and sorrow, and couple
Page. 7
it with another, white and black-for they are
physically contrary-well then, if black signifies mourning, then white rightly signifies joy.
"This signification is neither imposed nor
instituted by one man. On the contrary, it is
admitted by general consent of all men, in
accordance with what the philosophers call jus
gentium, universal law, which rules in all
climes." In accordance with this logical rule,
then, a catalogue of Rabelaisian contraries
will serve as a framework for the whole paper.
A Catalogue of Rabalaisian Contraries
Good
Virtue
Hot
White
Joy
Pleasure
Laughter
Comedy
(Satire)
Democritus
Peace
Gaiety
Cheerfulness
Harmony
Freedom
Honor
Health
Self-respect
Morality
Generosity
Friendliness
Hope
Wisdom
Male
Love
Rule
Obedience
Before
Procreative and
copulative functions
(Excretory func tions of
organs of
procreation
and copulation)
Evil
Vice
Cold
Black
Sorrow
Pain
Weeping
Tragedy
Heraclitus
War
Woe
Moroseness
Discord
Slavery
Baseness
Sickness
Hypocrisy
Malice
Avarice
Hatefulnes::;
Despair
Folly
Female
Hate
Ruled
Rebellion
Behind
Excretory
Funetions
4. Heraclitus Pantagruelized.
Alongside the warfare and o?position of
contraries there is also love and an inclination
to peace. Witness the warfare of male ~md
female, which is resolved by a natural inclination into harmony and peace. Furthermore,
the very opposition of contrarie::; gives rise to
a mutual love and need of one another-since
the existence of one depends on that of the
�we use no·
kind,..
of ab
diffei
ence
a sub
given
be1
·s,
di stir
exam
subst
but h
"this
defini
tion
realit
abstri
t ion i:
it car
ure t 1
r each
t ions
edge.
ThE
gener
appar
perce1
mind.
quirin
We g
there
facult
jectiv
m ust
fore'
have 1
befor1
as an
comm
our d
a gr e
believ
-
T1
contr:
No1
of pe1
exp r e
a dire
ven's
heard
mean
know
perce
rebti
thing
We Ii
ment:
gases
ment:
three
betw1
is re
Page 8
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
other. In the Fifth Book Rabelais speaks of
the necessary love of contraries for one another. "No king under the arch of Heaven,
were he ever so powerfut, could do without his
fellow men; no pauper, were he arrogance
personified, could dispense with the rich. Not
even the philosopher Hippias, who boasted he
could do everything, was able to eliminate his
fellow men from his existence. Well, then ...
man could not do without a sack. But how
much les s could he do without a drink. That is
why . . . we hold drinking, not laughter, to be
the essence of mankind ... Remember friends,
that by the vine we grow divine." In this passage there is an abrupt change from the need
of contraries (or, in this case, men in contrary
relations) for one another to drinking. Is
this change a reasonable one? It has been
stated previously that wine is in Rabelais a
symbol of mirth and mockery. Also, more
generally, it has a dual significance which has
been pointed out- a mirthful intermingling of
men of contrary stations; the wedding feast.
Stated succinctly, the conclusion to be culled
from this discussion is this: the love and strife
of contraries produces in man the essential
activity of laughter-of which there are two
kinds, mirth and mockery.
Here again the principle, "war is the parent
of all good things" can be invoked. It will be
noticed that in the catalog two sets of contraries have an intermediate term. One of
these is comedy-tragedy, satire being the intermediate term. The Rabelasian distinction
between satire and comedy is the simple one
of "laughing at" and "laughing with." It is
evident that satire is a hybrid form of tragedy
and comedy- it involves laughter on the part
of the satirizer and weeping on the part of the
satirized. This "laughing at" arises from the
comparison of a certain harmony with its corresponding discord. This comparison provokes
laughter at the discordant object. This comparison rests on an opposition between the two
objects, and the laughter itself is a declaration
of war a.g ainst the derided object. Insofar,
then, as satire involves laughter it is good;
but insofar as it involves war it is evil. Also,
satire is the road to comedy- "laughing at"
precedes "laughing with." We must first recognize the opposition of contraries and laugh
at the discordant object before we can grasp
the order arising out of this opposition and
have our laughter transformed from mockery
to mirth. Until we have grasped this order
presiding over the warfare of contraries despair lies at the root of our laughter (mockery). When we do grasp this order a sense of
peace and relief arises within us and replaces
the discord of despriir. And in this way our
laughter is turned to gaiety.
But why does the vine (mockery and mirth)
make us divine? Because in progressing from
satire to comedy we are becoming more like
God. God is pure laughter without any admixture of satire. His knowledge contains all
contraries, but the relation of contrary to contrary is a relation of sweet harmony and bliss.
A giant is a man whose eros (love) and capacity for wine of pure laughter is gigantic. He
is a god among men because his comic wisdom
enables him to meet every difficulty with serenity. He recognizes his dependence upon
God, for he knows that it is God's omnipotence
which makes comedy possible.
It will be helpful to end the discussion of
Pantagruelism with a consideration of another
set of contraries-one that has a more intimate relationship to men's lives. This set of
contraries is that of procreative and excretory
organs of the body. The former is designated
heavenly by Rabelais when he has Gargantua's
codpiece lined with a "flaring blue damask"
("blue denotes things celestial"). The codpiece is described in the following manner:
"Inevitably you would have compared it to
some proud cornucopia such as you see on
ancient monuments, or such as Rhea gave to
the nymphs Adrasta and Ida, nurses to her
son, Jupiter.
"You recall the tale doubtless. The goat,
whose milk nourished the divine infant, happened to break one of her horns against the
rock. Straightway the nymphs filled it with
fruit and flowers to present it to Jove, who
made of this horn a source of eternal abundance.
"Well, Gargantua's codpiece was like that
horn: forever lively, succulent and resinous ;
full of juice, atlower with pistils and teeming
with fruit." Th~ copulative and generative
organ is a physical imitation of the divine
abundance and joy. The excretory organ is
contrary to the procreative organ in a manner
analagous to "before" and "behind." The
excretory function is derided consistently in
order to enlighten its polar relation to the
procreative and copulative function. The excrement is useless waste matter, stuff cast off
from the organism. These are the aspects
which are stressed. However, there is one
additional factor involved in this relationship.
The procreati'4:: organ has itself an excretory
function. This indicates, it seems, that this
most heavenly part of the body has a disgust
as well as admiration attached to its use. This
point will be helpful later in fhe treatment
of the purpose of Theleme.
(Tu be couclu<le<l)
St. John's Collegian
Vol. LXIV - No. 2
ANN APO LIS, MARYLAND
THE W
AKE
Darkness, within and without; a nd
around Stover's house, along window
and wall and roof and under the floor,
the riverlike and hushe<i unending flow
of the wind.
Stove r sat in his living
room alone, and f e lt its smallness around him even in the dark, and felt
the difference between the small room
where the pieces of furniture , worn
now, chea~ when they had been new,
crowded each other, and the endless
rush of the wind against his house ••••
It was t h is season of the year, he remembered, whe n his son had been home
on his last furlough.
The same season , another year, a ruined year now,
like all the others, scattered, swept
along with all the others •••• Nowhere.
Davy, his son, when he had been home
that time , had said the house was like
some thing guyed down with a light
line.
"Gosh, you'd think it would
tRke off l ike a kite , the way this
wind sounds." Stover was g lad the boy
had said that.
It showed the communion be tween them, tha t it was there,
no matter that Davy c ared not hing for
reading, for •••• Davy had liked to hold
things in his hands, to tune and adjust pieces of equipment. He had been
a scuffling boy, , s ometimes a brawler.
And where might he be now. •·•• Nothing.
Nowhere.
Far away.
Everything was
far away. Vague.
No matter anymore.
Nothing for a long time.
The pa.in in his e ar too, fading
and gone.
He had taken one of his
sedative capsules a while back, and if
he sat carefully, if he would be careful not to move now, sit l i ke this for
a while •••• Since now the pain, that
had been a while back jolting him,
jagge d, sickening ••• it was far-off
too, and there wa s o n ly a sort of
vague lump of dul lness where it had
be e n.
Low and s o lemn now, not re a lly
unple a s ant e ven, like the wind.
And
Nov. 11, 1900
GANEM CAMPUMQUE CANO
No dancing on the green today,
Nor walking on t he grassy clay .
Bu t i f t h e sward must needs be trod,
Inspect e ach el e ment of sod For excrement in tidy mounds
Adorns the once-aseptic grounds;
And wads of hair, h alf-eaten franks,
And paper plates lie there in ranks.
What mo rtal d~res approach this plot,
This scene o f overwhelming rot?
(Above in the empyrean heights,
The vultures, seeking dank d e li ght s ,
Would rath er k ee p thei r altitude
Th a n claim the stews below as food.)
But rest resign e d; do not attack
The noble cynomaniac,
Who comes to sho w, and having showed,
Moves down his beblueribbon ed road.
Nor all y our piety and wit
Can can c el out one piece of. < . ! t ,
- Parslow
he tho ught o f wher e the wind might
have come from before it ever reached
houses and towns, and wher e it would
go after all the houses and fields and
wilderness had been left behind.
And
Davy was lying in the darkness. far
off, oh, and nobody could ever call
him home again.
The wind migh t be
blowing there too, the same in Normandy as in Virginia., and Davy would be
alone there, having the ultimate priv a.cy.
Soon I' ll need to get up and be
around people again.
Get up and go to
work.
Had to ~et to work on time, and
pay the bills, and go through the motions of raising what was left of his
family, go through the motions o~ pret e nding he was somebody competent to
do that, and keep on with them, and so
eventually he would be an old man.
He
was forty-six already, and there was
nothing to do except ke ep on the job,
and g et thr ough t he days .
Sometime s
�
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The Collegian
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Collegian Vol. LXIV No. 01
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St. John's Collegian, October 21, 1950
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1950-10-21
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Vol. LXIV, No. [1] of the St. John's Collegian. Published on October 21, 1950.
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Annapolis, MD
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text
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The Collegian
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PDF Text
Text
we use nouns.
kind •
of ah
differ
ence;
a subr
given
bers <
dis tin
exam1
subs ti
but is
"this
defini1
tion i
realiti
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it can
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appar:
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there
facult
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have•
beforE
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a gre.
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perce·
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Wek
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three
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Nouns are of two kinds.
One
~ag e _ 1~- - - __
_
chair and the scale of colors.
This kind of
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
for those of us still learning and re- showing forth (of the gods or the relearning paradigms.
cognition) characterizing the addition
I had hoped he would talk more of to language that makes it poetry. The
translation and read more poetry, per- ~romlse hovered in view again with Mr.
h aps lines less uniform than those he Bar_ ' _ hopeful and concise exchange in
t_ s
chose. lines of violence and irony and which he suggested the dramatic form
humor.
However, his sub.1ect was "The of the dialogues offers possibly a
Ethics and the Tragic Epiphany", and better opportunity for understanding
so he moved on t o Aristotle.
And here than the treatise form of Aristotle.
we learned of an allegiance, Mr. Fitz- Mr. Fitzgerald seemed only to make his
gerald's preference for Aristotle over choice more explicit and to leave unPlato, which, of course, interested explored what could have been one of
·many of us. Plato apparently "gets to the c~arifications of the evening.
heaven too fast " , as I think he put it All in all, it was remarked, a very
himself, and Aristotle is more at personal lecture.
grips with man's "reality", again his
The discussion, when it was probword.
one wondered of what this ing the problems of Oedipus, did forejudgement was born.
A valid judgement tell another lecture, one in which Mr.
certainly , but whence came it and why? Fitzgerald's intimate acquaintance
And he r~ arose our second promise, with Sophocles could be shown to our
that o .r poss i ble further enl ighten- better advantage and one in which he
ment at the ques tion period.
It was a mi ght further explore his insight
longer question .period than usual a nd about the rid~le of the Sphinx, that
Just as rembling as usual, but it had is, whether the riddle should hav.e
moments of delight and insight.
The been or actually was, "What is man?'" ·
"neat" exchange between the lecturer
Pnd Mr. Klein on epiphany in poetry
G. Miller
itself and in the tragedy proper, the ·
FUNERAL
We in the trenche s be t ween void
and the dry, bla ck dust
count the heads o f the drowning man
and drop past the wi llow's ro ot s
into the ebullient clay . . .
while somewhere a t r ee stands
unnoticed through the passing ni ght.
Once while the wind moved
there had been a season of sympat h y
out of the snail's heart
as it beat past the graveyard
between the invisible slopes .
while beating the rhytha of glaciers
and rain drops.
Wh e re in t he dust do the slopes shape,
sighing their grace to the ocean wave s
where rests in some low , heav y darkness
the smooth heart of the wind's great
flow.
O heart, compel this month-time, dim
under
the high pulse, from the roots and
the dust's slow hour.
-CRP
I knelt within the pew and heard the
Mass
For Father Michael.
Kneeling there I eyed
The robe-draped coffin, .singly in the
passage,
Eye-stroked the ones who knew him.
No one cried,
But , e ac h r ec a ll e d ---a recollecti o n
minus tears···
The incensed Sundays past of those few
years
When all would wait the •Jte• of the
priest,
The pulpit verbs, the Sign.
Gone now.
Deceased.
aisle,
N o w e ncoffined in a chape 1
A cau se for black-tied men t o st ep in
file ,
For naJ'ls
unpainted to peruse a purse ,
For pagan petals in a pagan hearse.
o,
Father, rise!
In this, your robe-draped birth ,
Arise God-high upon our man-high earth!
-.Anm~us
r.
I
I I
St. John's Collegian
Vol. LXIII - No. 8
June 7, 1950
ANNAPOLIS,MARYLAND
Once the contradiction has
been made, it must be supported, and
the safest support available is in the
Of the following articles con- use of interpretation. If the intersidered in the final judging:
pretation is believed, the original
THE REFORMATION
contradiction is forgotten. What has
Paul Cree
once b~en said, what has once been
DIALECTIC AT THE WALDORF
written, what has once been accepted,
Ranlet Lincoln 4 Thomaa
has been heard, read, and accepted
Si•paon
incorrectly. Only the interpreter
MCDOWELL: IDEA AND IDENTITY
knows the true meaning of all that has
Philip Lyman & Dick
been said, and written, and accepted.
Edelman
Nothing is sacred. No one can think
ON A LECTURE ON PAUL
and reason and understand; only the
Howard Herman
interpreter ls endowed with such abilTHE BLUNDERER
ity. One interpreter builds upon
Robert Hazo
another, one interpretation is placed
the editorial committee has awarded
upon another, and the whol~ structure
its annual prize to Mr. Howard Herman.
is top-heavy with twisted bricks. The
The article ls presented below.
Tower of Babel has been rebuilt. When
will it come tumbling down?
ON A LECTURE ON PAUL
CQJ.I.RG IAN PRIZE
Once upon a time there was a
highway to Damascus. It was .Just an
ordinary road until one day a traveler
came along. He was on his way to buy
chains, but when he came to the place
of the brickmakers he stopped and said
to himself, "These are better than
chains. " He began to erect a monument
to commemorate his decision, and while
he was doing so, others stopped along
the road and asked if they might help.
Many hands laid many bricks, without
plumb-line and without plan. That is
how the highway to Damascus cmne to be
called the road to conf'usion.
Why should a man, inspired
to be a herald of the realm of his
God, think it necessary to contradict
the law of his God? It had been
written that God gave law to a people
newly freed from slavery. Those
people needed a way of life, and their
God gave them a means to achieve that
life. Certainly Moses knew the purpose of the law, and if Moses said the
law was means to health and life, why
should any contradict him with talk of
sin and bondage?
Howard Herman
From the "Stunde nbuch"
of Rainer Maria Rilke
Many robed brothers have I in the
South
Jn Latin cloisters where sweet laurel
stands.
I know the human Marys they createOf ten I dream of youthful Titian•
burning
With God who leaps through them as
fire.
But when I bend down deep into myself
MY god is dark and as a fabric woven
Of hundred roots, drinking in solemn
quiet.
I have shot up from this close warmth.
I know
No more, for all my boughs and branches
Lie far beneath, but nodding in the
wind.
-W.B.F.
�we use nouns.
kind •
of ab
differ
ence:
a sub,
given
be!'s c
dis tin
exami
subst
but is
"this
defini
tion 1
realiti
abs tr~
tion i~
it can
ure tc
reach~
tions
edge.
The
gen er:
up par;
perce1
mind.
quirin
We g.
there
facult
jectiv1
must
fore v
have•
beforE
as an
comm
our dJ
a gre
believ
- Tt
contn
Nm
of pe1
exp re
a dirE
ven's
heard
mean:
know:
perce
relnti
thing
We k
menti
gases
ment:
three
betWE
is re
Nouns are of two kinds.
Page ·.2
One
chair and the scale of colors.
This kind of
ST. JOHN'S COLIEGIAN
Mr. _
Kieffer on Rationality
To deliver some stimulating reflections on the paradox of reason,
Mr. Kieffer was welcomed to the college lecture platform on Friday.
It
is impossible to give all of the details of Mr. Kieffer's argument.
In
this review I have followed the main
outline, emphasizing the points that
seem mo~t interesting to _ me.
By this
method I hope to engender further discussion and correction on the part of
others who were inspired by Mr.
Kieffer's remarks.
_By discussing a time when rationality was in its infancy, we are given
a basis for comparison to later developments.
The . pre-5th century Greek
lived in a world where the use of
reason was simply to understand what
the gods and myth-makers would tell
him.
This was no great problem since
they both spoke in the Greek language.
The poets were sages or teachers who
built myths to answer all that man had
to know about life.
They told him
what t-.e on gh' to be and what he ought
to do.
So u s c~ful were the myths, and
so imp or ta n t, that everyone heard
them. Each man found the answer to the
meaning of his personal experience in
them.
Poets did not sing for small
numbers, but their audiences were
large and appreciative of the lessons
he had to tell.
It was myth then, not
reason, to which men looked for instruction .
Another aspect of this world was
the lack of the great separations with
which we are so familiar.
Action and
reflection, reason and emotion were
not separate aspects of experience.
Within each single individual action
and reflection occurred undistinguished by the boWldaries which allow us to
speak of a "man of action" and a "man
of contemplation"•
Man was an unanalyzed whole living in various ways
and through various experiences. , He
lived close to his needs, expecting
that that which he wanted mo~t would
be available to him.
His emotions did
not seem to conflict with a plan he
had made for himself. The reasonable
was not seen as a throttle on the emot ional. These two, reason and emotion
did not fight with one another beeause
they were not separated into the two
concepts with which we deal so easily.
Action and reflection, reason and emot ion then, did not raise any problem
o~ defining and adjusting within the
individual.
To the pre-5th century
Greek these were not separate aspects
of man's character.
In general, this man was a child
about all abstract terms.
He did not
feel the need to separate things into
genus and species by a specific difference.
His perception was a d~rect
and an immediate one, not taking place
through concepts.
The knower and
known were one.
A table was a table,
a man was a man.
To define man as a
rational animal was impossible because
the Greek word for animal did not
exist until after the 5th centur~
The best example of the lesson
this world has left behind is found in
the story of Achilles. Everyone reading this story must be struck by the
simplicity of the character.
Nothing
happens to Achilles except the things
we can understand, with inJTlediate sympathy, from our own experience. There
are no surprises and no artificial
suspense.
Because of this we cannot
set Achilles apart as an oddity or a
special contrivance of someone's
imagination.
He is rich in that he is
universal to all men.
Within his
story is our story which is set in the
most simple terms.
What difficulty
Achilles gets into we get into; and
what limits are drawn for Achilles are
drawn for us also.
If we compare the
Iliad to some of the novels of Dostoevski, we see the greatness of Homer
emerging.
These rather modern novels
proceed with an artificial logic that
is akin to the detective story.
Surprise turns of the plot, sudden discoveries, and solutions give the
novels an air of being rigged.
They
lose profundity by being thus removed
from our daily experience.
The characters are, for the most part, oddities to which we certainly cannot attach a very large part of ourselves.
The most significant feature of Dostoevski1 s novels is the intensity of the
people who take part in the stories.
Their wild ramblings, half-intellec-
r .
I
I I
ST .. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
tual talk, and dark surroundings create a mood of terror and ·rear.
What
is the basis for this fear? What is
the something that is "in the air"?
The creation of a mood that is a reflection of what people today feel
vaguely, gives us no better understanding of what we face.
Looked at
in this way, the characters become
hollow.
The tremendous and fearful
depths, only indicated by the author
but never plumbed, lose their mysterious attraction. Without a firm anchor
in reason as well as emotion no literary creation can be really appealing.
The comparison of Homer and Dostoevsk i points out this fact.
What
was popular for the pre-5th century
Greek was a simple myth, sung by a
poet, and containing profound reflections on human character.
Today we
enjoy novels that are a contrivance of
reason and which contain an emotional
appeal without reasonable foundation.
What have we lost?
The muse lost its hold over the
imaginations of men and was replaced
by the liberal arts. The development
of Athens into an empire around the
5th century gives us a key to the
reasons for this change. The rise o~
an empire means that questions of
practical political action must be
faced.
In the law courts there were
juries to be convinced. Lawyers and
sophists ought to prove the right of
justice of cases from facts within the
cases themselves. The appeal to myths
no longer sufficed to pass judgement
on men and situations. Language became critical, questioning everything.
Rituals, of course, could not stand
this analytic approach.
Lawyers destroyed myths by turning them into
~oncepts.
A startling example of this
change from myth to concept, though
not necessarily connected with the law
courts, is the scientific elements.
Air, earth, fire, and water were once
gods.
Later they became the basic
scientific elements of the physical
worl-d.
The tragedy of Athens is reflected in the trial of Socrates.
He was
found guilty of corrupting the youth
before a jury of citizens.
The
searching language thflt the lawyers
Page 3
used to condemn him made his crime
seem a real one against the state.
Socrates died, refusing to break the
law that the state has the right to
condenm. But Plato found him innocent
before a larger court.
He saw that
th~ adherence to definition can ignore
the content of the thing defined .
Socrates would break a law, but only a
law that had become empty because its
basis had not been rirmly anchored in
right and .Justice.
This tragedy,
Plato saw, was the result of a movement away from myths toward conceptual
thinking. What was to be done?
Dialectic, tnrough the practice o:f
the liberal arts, was the attempt to
discover myths that would re-invigorate concepts. This was not an attempt
simply to return to the old mythological wor Id.
It was a new thing, a combina tion of both myth and concept so
that each could have meaning.
Concepts, always in danger of anal)· tic
examination, would have a basis in
conceptual thought.
We are used to seeing in the
works of Plato a seeming paradox.
On
the one hand he scorned the poets as
teachers and sages, not allowing them
a place in his republic. On the other
hand Plato himself built myths and
used poetic symbols to round out his
dialogues.
This is explained by the
fact that Plato recognized a certain
"u~pts" among the Athenians.
He saw
the works of poets, such as Homer and
Hesiod, being used without meaning.
With the coming o:f conceptual thinking, the true glory of these myths was
over.
They should be dispensed with
as the immediate teachers of the
young.
But he also saw that conceptual thinking, the attempt to define
and to reason abstractly, would end in
the same hollow use without meaning.
He therefore insisted, over and over
again, that myths have as their center
man - man's choice, man's discovery,
man's understanding.
But the myths
were only to be used to give flesh to
the skeleton of reason.
They were to
fill reason, done in abstract concepts, with a definite basis for understanding.
Although Plato tried to bridge
the gap between pure myths and con-
�we use nouns.
kind.of ab
differ
ence;
a sub
given
bers <
dis tin
exam1
subst:
but is
"this
defini
tion 1
realit
abs tr;
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it can
ure t(
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tions
edge.
The
generi
appari
perce1
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quirin
1
We g.
there
facult
jectiv1
must
fore v
have 1
befor(
as an
comm
our d:
a gre
believ
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contr~
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One
Page 4
chair and the scale of colors.
mean:
know·
perce·
rebti
thing
We 1'
ment:
gases
ment:
three
betwE
is re
r.
ST. JOHN'S COLIEG~IAN~~~~~--~~~-~~~
cepts backed by myths, a certain harm
had already been done.
The idea of
the good had been split into science
and humanities.
It was withdrawn from
the people and placed in the academy.
It was only here that the liberal arts
were practiced.
The removal from poli tical action limited the true value
of these arts.
The filling of concepts with symbols became an academic
task removed from the needs of people.
A certain antagonism developed between
"town and gownn.
This then, is the paradox of
reason. While we think we are judging
on reasonable grounds, we are in danger of using concepts without meaning.
This is certainly true if the liberal
arts are practiced only in the academy. Today we find an extreme example
of this paradox in Karl Marx.
His use
of abuse to unmask certain evils develops into an ideology.
This ideology has no basis in concepts, being an
emoti onal app~al, almost hysterical,
in its approach to political action.
To f ind a new language to combat
this misuse of reas on is the problem
Mr. Kieffe r left with us.
This consists in a re-examination of the concepts in which we de fj ne our own political action.
By this re-examination we will gain a surety that will
be convincing far beyond the shouting
of demi-gods.
Whether this is a difficult thing to do or not depends on
how well we apply the disciplines
learned through the liberal a rts.
Nm
of pe1
exp re
a dirE
ven's
heard
This kind of
T.
W.
H.
BOOK REVIEW
James Ballard's novel But a Little Moment can be considered in three
different ways: As a book describing
American life, as a social novel, and
as a work of philosophy. The fi. st aspect is the most rewarding. Mr. Ballard has a singular gift of description
- his houses, landscapes, and towns
are drawn with subtlety. He is keenly
sensitive to the atmosphere of communities and institutions - the construction sites and the mountain- l and where
his first hero moves and the college
(our co 11 e ,e:e) as we 11 as the C • C. C.
camp which form his son's background
are realistically and penetratingly
described. The family that forms the
center of the novel moves across all
ot· America and Mr. Ballard has created
a superb setting for every place they
come to. Background characters - construction workers, townsmen, whores,
wives, and camp commandants blend in
very well with their environments.
Strangely enough, Mr. Ballard has
achieved to give to casually involved
persons much greater humanity and
color than to his central figures. All
told, the book moves across a magnificent canvas which would, for instance,
give a sensitive European reader a
colorful and accurate picture of
America.
As the story of a family, But a
Little Moment is much less successfUl.
Adam Allen, the almost successful
builder, and his nouveau middle-class
wife, Jane, are drawn with a wooden
hand. Mr. Ballard has attempted to
give us the picture of a forcefUl man
with intuitive inklings of greatness
and exaltation and of his wife who,
though she is f'undamentally self-centered, gives up her personality and
lire for his sake. Although there are
enough external indications that this
should be so, the ~ctions and thought
of these people never match the descriptive framework that has been given
them. We rind, in Adam Allen, a man
endowed with forceful intentions which
he cannot carry out, not only because
of human or individual limi~ations,
but because Mr. Ballard gives us scant
indications of why he could not - he
has drawn the image of a man and endowed it with ideas, but there is not
much sign that these ideas engender
.:tction or human stirrings within it.
The sacrifices and stealthy selfishness of the wife are also well described, but not enough motivation or
expression is given to actions which
these character traits supposedly inspire. Yet it is at her door that the
disintegration of the family is laid
by Mr. Ballard - she is the cause of
her daughter's estrangements and
wields the fate of her two sons. Not
enough reason is given, however, why
anyone should fly or stay with such a
'
St. JOHN' S
mother since there is so little life
in her. Perhaps Jason Allen, the older
son and the second hero of the story
is somewhat more successfully depicted. He is, I suspect, Mr. Ballard
himself and, from the moment he enters
the story, we see everything through
his eyes. In his ambitions, unhappiness, and love, we have a much truer
picture of a complete character than
in any other figure which appears.
Jason's two brothers Duncan (one of
the blood, the other of the spirit)
reflect some of his human qualities though, in a sense, they figure too
much as reflections of Jason to be
thought of separately. The plot into
which these characters are cast is
rather unimaginative and standard: The
powerful father takes his family all
through America, following construction jobs, - his wife and children
follow after and, in the course of the
journey, one child after the other
separates itself from the fate of the
house. The cause is mainly the unsatisfactory marriage of the parents
and the mother's selfishness. Mr. Ballard has been as unsuccessful in the
temporal arrangement of the novel as
he was successful in the spatial one.
Within the Allen family, parents and
children do not age or develop in any
possible or thinkable manner. It is
rather that they jump from childhoo1l
to maturity to old age at undefinable
little moments. This creates a discontinuity in the plot which makes the
whole social part of the novel a human
jumble enlightened only by the framework of the author's conventional
idea.
Perhaps the saddest thing .about
But a Little Moment is that it was
supposed to be a philosophical novel.
The asniration towards higher ideals .
which ~anifests itself intuitively in
the bridge-building obsession of the
father is repeated by the son in conscious rational terms. While Adal11
Allen builds because he must turn matter to human use, Jason becomes slowly.
aware of the ·need for human brotherhood through a tedious series of Lehrj ahre.
I I
COLLEGIAN
Page 5
"Was Du ererbt von Deinen
VB.tern hast
Erwirb es um es zu
besitzen,"
said Goethe, but the acquisition here
is so painf'ully slow, the development
of simple ideas so labored that i t
makes the reader wonder whether the
inheritance was worth the struggle.
Jason is taught that he is not alone
in the world by his experiences at
college, at the c.c.c. camp, and by
his affairs with an elderly whore or
two as well as with a genuinely nice
girl who loves Beethoven. Mr. Ballard
has introduced as dei ex machina a
weal th of quotati.ons and grave dialectic exercises to accompany Jason's insights. Unfortunately, their great
nwnber produces a confusion of thought
in the reader which leads him to forget, during entire parts of the story,
that the hero is supposed to end up
anywhere. In the garbled hodge-podge
of Jason's rise to consciousness, it
only becomes apparent that Mr. Ballard
exhibits a preference for American
folk-songs, and recognized classics of
determined merit over sur.h vicious influences as Freud or modern French
literature. Jason receives his insights from Plotinus, Shakespeare, and
"Green grow the rushes Oh. " Psychoanalysis or Matisse prints on the wall
are reserved for the villains of the
piece. There is a clumsy attempt to
make of But a Little Moment an allegory - the c.c.c. camp is called Camp
Speos, Camp Cave, and we are forced
into thinking that the name· Adam and
Jason for the heroes are of symbolic
significance. Yet never, with all Mr.
Ballard's philosophical prejudice,
quoting, or symbolizing are we shown
an insight that cm1ld not be said in
one sentence if it is to be said at
all. I sincerely hope that Mr. Ballard
will not take his hero's great conclusion: none is one and not alone and
nevermore shall he so" as a valid
,iudgment on this philosophical attemptA
In conclusion, I woulrl like to
say that my stringent judgment on But
a Little Moment has not led me to
question Mr. Ballard's talent in any
�we use nouns.
kind'"
of ab
differ
ence:
a sub
given
bers c
dis tin
exam1
subst:
but is
"this
defini
tion i
realiti
abs tr~
tion i~
it can
ure tc
reach~
tions
edge.
The
generi
appar:
perce1
mind.
quirin
We g.
there
facult
jectivc
must
fore v
have•
befon
as an
comm
our d'
a gre.
believ
- Tl
contn
Nm
of pe1
expre
a dire
ven's
heard
mean:
know:
perce·
refoti
thing
We k
men ti
gases
ment1
three
betwE
is re
Nouns are of two kinds.
One
chair and the scale of colors.
This kind of
r.
,
I I
ST. JOHN'S COLIEG IAN
way. I feel that an author with such a
magnificent gift of description must
sooner or later produce a work tnat
will show forth this specific talent.
This would be probably a very good
book. As for writing about people and
families, I would suspect that Mr.
Ballard can easily make up for his
present faults simply by living a
little longer. The woodenness of the
Allen family was owed mainly to the
reader's impression that they had been
lifted bodily from other novels or
copied from a manual for writers. Art
is an imitation of nature and, since
Mr. Ballard is a good observer, it
will not be long before we will find
realistic people in his books. The
only part or Mr. Ballard's scope which
I must question closely i s his ability
to write a philosophical novel. The
shallowness of the hero's insights in
But a Little Moment coupled with the
random and contused selection or philosophic a l ~recept that we find there
leads ;ne t o think that the author has
not ye t. a t tained suf ficient discriminating abil it y and self-knowledge. I
feel he canno t display general conclusions abou t humanity before he has not
himself s tu died them with ardor and
discipline and before he has not lived
long enough to see their working in
life. It will be necessary for Mr.
Ballard to undergo a true philosophical awakening before he can make his
characters think in a way that will
provoke a ss en t . If this happens, I
foresee for him a future as a most
outstanding American author.
-W. B. Fleischmann
PAVANNE
POUR UN ROI DEFUNT
Beneath the battlements, the shade
Precipitates,
The cooling air
Is blotted where your bier is laid,
Enormous, soft and everywhere.
The earthbound philistines in black
Ascend your walls to claw and preen,
Inspect your vacant throne, drop back
And strut the uncontested green.
In days to come, the butterc·up
Will hold its golden chalice,
And lift a scented tribute up
To the gods above your palace.
Now lie in state, as kings require;
Carrion beetles for your hearse.
That drop of blood, your crown of lire
Was center to the universe.
JORN SANBORN
To my second and most recent appraisal of "The Dreams Money Can Buy"
I gave less attention. I mumbled, and
could not hear the sound track. I was
not, Not there to see the movie Dreams
M.C.B. I was there because I wanted to
stay with the people I was with before
the movie.
Who it happens went.Two
ye ar s ago on my seeing the movie, D.
M. C. Buy,i heard the sound track, also.
& I don't meet it coming back
wherever I go in my mind.
Dear Edi tor:
Seeing that a prize is ·being offered for a bit of creative writing, I
purpose to write out a l i ttle story
that has long been in mind.
But
first, I would like to tell you about
it.
After reading the outline, please
let me lmow if you think it will measure up to standard.
If no, I will not
even bother to write it all out.
My t r aining in the art of writi ng
a short story has impressed me with a
simple formula.. The essence is this.
put a man in a difficult situation,
build up a crisis, and then resolve
the problem in a few short sentences.
is all there is to it.
So, editor,
he r e is my man in a diff i cult situation .
He i s seated in a big eas y chair
reflecting deeply and smoking a cigarette.
As he inhales, the smoke
knifes through his windpipe, into his
bronchial tubes, and curls around the
vessels in his lungs.
After making
the circuit, enters the bronchial
tubes, goes into the windpipe and
comes out of his nostrils.
He coughs.
This cough is very significant.
He does this because the bitter taste
of the circulating smoke reminds him
of the dinner he had last night.
The
dinner was cooked by his girl instead
of his favorite cook -- his mother.
Now this man is deeply in love
with this girl.
But she simply cannot
cook.
He dearly loves his food and he
can't imagine how, even though he
loves the girl like Romeo loves
Juliet, he is going to break away from
his mother's good cooking.
Visions of ·his mother's dinners
arise in his mind.
He slowly rubs his
plump little tummy and pinches its
fatness.
Nothing is so good as reflections on the succulent meats and
steaming veget~bles which his mother
prepares.
Ah life, ah love, ah dinners, he thinks.
Now, editor, we have the problem.
The boy loves the girl but can't marry her because he is unhappy with her
cooking.
Should he marry the girl and.
sacrifice his mother's wonderful dinners? Or should he keep the dinners
and say goodbye to the girl? His virile red heart fights with his pampered
pink stomach.
I b uild this up ror a few pages
and then introduce the crisis.
His
girl has invited him for another dinner.
She has indicated this will be a
special affair.
He sees it as a true,
last, and supreme test.
If she fails
to cook him a good dinner, he will
leave her flat.
As our hero treads up t he steps
to his girl's apartment his heart is
heavy.
Suddenly an odor enters his
nostrils, goes down his windpipe, enters his bronchial tubes, and curls
around the vessels of his lungs.
It
comes out 9f the lungs, into his bronchial tubes, enters his windpipe, and
comes out of his nostrils .
This time
he does NOT cough.
He says "Ah·"
Rushing into the apartment he
rabs the girl and kisses her.
Heart
~nd stomach join hands within ou~
hero.
Together they march to the altar.
He asks the girl to marry him.
And all this happens because he sees
the girl serving a steaR cooked just
the way he loves it.
Now editor, let us find the re ason for this happy solution to this
real problem.
In a few short sentence s, 1 Will explain that his mother
cooked the steak and sent it acro~s
the alley on the clothes line.
S e
wanted to see her dear son married.
There, dear editor, you have my
story -- problem, crisis, and solution.
Well, just thought I'd try.
Yours truly,
Hendricks
�we use nouns.
kind
of ab
differ
ence :
a sub
given
bers ~
dis tin
exam·
subs{
but is
"this
defini
tion '
realit
abs tr;
tion ii
it can
ure tc
reach1
tions
edge.
Nouns are of two kinds.
One
chair and the scale of colors.
r.
This kind of
c-
ThE
gener:
appar.
perce1
mind.
quirin
We g
there
facult
jectiv'
must
fore v
have'
beforE
as an
comm
our d:
a gre
believ
- Ti
contr;
No1
of pe1
exp re
a dire
ven's
heard
mean:
know·
perce'
rehti
thing
WeR
ment:
gases
ment:
three
betWE
is re
Page 8
I
I I
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
NIGHTMARES THAT YOU CAN KEEP
(a kind of Rosebud with whiskers), and
that the color c ompositions at the end
It seems to me that Dreams That represent Joe's life-work - all that
Money Can Buy is least flimsy when it remains after the dissolution of his
is most filmsy.
The purely cinematic persona.I i ty.
Now a work of art which is only
sequences give one cause to pay serious attention to the possibilities o f intelligible when followed with a Baethe experimental film .
Calder 's mo- decke r is not a work of art at all: it
biles, with more succ ess ful lighting, · is a mere tour, whose o nl y unity is
that the same guide stays wi th you.
are provacative material for cinema,
as are Duchamp's discs.
Certainly the It cannot be a work of art because the
film discs are an impr o v ement over the essential of such a work is that it
mu stache paintings and fur-lined tea- be one thing, and I don't mean obcup s of Duchamp's earlier practice.
I viously that it must be one numericalconfess that, engaging as the textural ly (on the contrary it may be a quarand rhythmic contrasts are which the tet or a triptych or a group of sevenfilming of "The Nudes" attains, I do
ty-odd cantos); I mean that it must
not understand why Duchamp permitted have an eidos.
This I believe is the
basic meaning of the classic statement
this kind of translation of his althat art must lmi tate nature.
ready existing painting.
While the
There would not have been a "Mona
translation affords to Duchamp's basic
idea the mobile dimension of cinema,
Lisa" at all j f Da Vinci and the high
it does so at the expense of whatever
renaissance generally had not applied
merit the original pain ting has; the
the axiom literally, and the "Mona
fi lming of women eliminates the spec- Lisa" would not be a good painting unial proble~s ~hich cubist painting
less it were executed according to the
poses ::.':
·t t .,,el f--the representation
basic meaning of the axi om.
Duchamp's
of three di~ensional lighting in two
mutilation with a mustache would not
dimen s ion E ~~J of movement in a static have occurred unless he so despised
the literal axiom and art which is
medium.
It is the Richter part of the merely representational that he could
npichter" about which I have most to not find in any representational
say--the plot parts, because these pai.nting an a-pplication of the basic
seem to me to be really bad art.
They meaning o f the axiom.
The whole Da-Da
a re not art works but -puzzles to movement serv es to dramatize that artbe solved.
You have t o have the key.
ists no longer are chained by a merely
A "Wasteland" or a "Faery Queen" or a
representatio~al understanding of the
"Divine Comedy" may present puzzles
c ommon axiom of aestheti cs.
intended to be s olv ed but they are
For a modern plastic art which
nevertheless intell i gi ble unities
has lasting validity, we must look to
which may be responde d to innnediately expressionism--to the heirs of El
and on their own terms..
Not so,
Greco and Cezanne, and to the thesis
Richter.
that i t is the form which must be
That this brand of surrealism is
sought by the artist while surface remainly a trick becomes eminently clear
ality is unimportant.
Naturalism comwhen one reads Richter's notes to the mits the semantic error of translating
sequences mentioned.
For instance we
eidos as though i t h ad no other confind that "Desire" is a kind of essay notation than that of µo~~fi and (showin erotic history--Sex in 1850; suiting the connection between semantics
able footnotes for translating the
and metaphysics) produces horrid obbusiness are given.
In notes to "Narjects like Nana and Hollywood docucissus we discover that Joe has just mentaries .
In its milder forms this
met himsel r s ta.nding amid ice-cubes
aesthetic finds itself called magaz1ne
outside h is office door, that his
illustration or photographic art.
self-knowledge is expressed by his
Abstractionism commits the opturning blue, that the bust of Zeus i5
posite error of translating £lb0~ as
"suggestive of Joe's dearest memories'
though it had no connotation of µopqn1
at all, but this excess, as Aristotle cord-image with the phallus-image and
would say, is the one to which we do the man-image plunges into the depths
not naturally tend and hence is less of his subconscious.
(Now this is not
distant from the mean.
Thus it re- necessarily tragic , for he may scale
sults in unfortunate
seldom total- the formidable walls of himself jf a
ly unpalatable things like Kandinsky psycho-analyst tosses him a new umat his worst.
bilical cord, that is, brings about
The full flowering of m·odern ex- transference.)
What is left of Joe
pressionism, as in the p aintings of now? A busted bust and colored ink
Mar c and Kokoschka and the sculptures diffusing in an aquarium.
of Eric Gill, underst ands the basic
In surrealism there is plenty of
axi om of aesthetic to be the command, alley and plenty of gory but not true
nembody form!" This I irtterpret to b e double meaning--only a ridiculous
the real meaning of nar t Tfl.\ISt imitat e farce on the one hand and a Freudian
nature. "
case-history on the other.
Now to come back to reasons whs
The coup de grace for thP mediwn
Dreams That Money Can Buy is largely
of surrealist drama is this:
if you
Nightmares That You Can Keep.
In the happen to have the manual, you can
first place, men under internal con- translate the symbols and come out
flict are the sub.1ects of drama, but with the propositions, which are the
visual surrealism presents us with the essential meaning of the thing.
But I
metaphysical horror of a man surro~nd ask you, what kind of art is it whose
ed by his insides. Joe has his µcx8n- meaning may be found in a paraphrase?
0l
painted on his face, his µv~µ~ It is neither drama nor poetry nor
under his arm, and his
in a cup- painting nor cinema, this bastard art:
board drawer.
Secondly, dramatic in- it's visualiterature.
No, on second
cidents must unfold credibly and thought the one word is misleading,
should not turn on accident, but the for in the surrealist sequences of
she er mechanical problem involved in
Dreams Th a t Money Can Buy we nave the
surrealist drama makes it intractable.
self-contra dic t i on of art with a
Joe must take the plaster Zeus right h yphen .
Having established this much,
into the girl's room, which must be I defer to the critical acumen of fond
rurnished with a rope; al so she should
old Polonius.
have a lmife handy.
The presence and
distribution of external objects beJohn Logan
comes the central problem of dramatic
"I ONLY CREATE, " DEPT.
writing--a situation the e xact reverse
of classic or Elizabethan drama.
What right, what right
Finally, and most disastrously,
surrealist drama together with sur- Was the cry of the n ight
realist painting, is not ar~ at all When the dreams has all been sold:
'Then give us the story and glory of
because i t does not have an £ LtlOs•
It
sight
may not contain within itself its esSo that all of us migh t be bold ..• •
sential unity, but 1s ontologically
dependent.
You have to have the pro•Now the Father and·Son and the Holy
ducer's notes. Without them, what you
Ghost
have is only the highly ridiculous
Are too much for one man to p ortray,
sequence in which a blue-faced man
And I beg as a host to offer a toast
totes a bust of zeus up a broken ladTo my homemade, heartless dismay.•
der and in through the window of some
girl's flat.
If you are lucky enough I wrote a scenario, lived in a zoo ,
to have a senior sitting beside you, Descended a staircase and ended up b lue.
it turns out that what happens next is
So
this:
the fellow assaults a gorgeous Consider the native, consider this plea:
mother-image with a phallic symbol and Consider my movie, but don't pick on me.'
descends to the street via umbilical
cord.
The mother-image now cuts the
Powleske
buf
s
£pos
�we use nouns.
kind '"
of ab
differ
ence:
a sub
given
hers <
dis tin
exam
subst:
but is
"this
defini
tion ,
realit:
abs tr~
tion ii
it can
ure t<
reach•
tions
edge.
The
gener1
appar,
perce1
mind.
quirin
We g
there
fa cult
jectiv'
must
fore v
have'
beforf
as an
comm
our d:
a gre
believ
-
Ti
contn
No1
of pe1
exp re
a dirE
ven's
heard
mean:
know
perce·
relnti
thing
Wek
ment:
gc.ses
ment:
three
betWE
is re
Nouns are of two kinds. One
Page 10
chair and the scale of colors.
ST. JOHN'S COLIEGIAN
t h e complex! ty and individuality of
s u bstance. Verisimilitude gives subOn the following pages, the Editors of stance to a theory or a dream, thereby
the Collegian present the Academic realizin g its si.gnif'icance or revealprizes for 1950: Mr. Simpson's summary ing a contradiction.
The Age of Chivalry is the realm
of his thesis, Mr . Wend's JuniorSenior Math. Proof, Mr. Pierot's o f fiction, while the Present Age is
Freshman-Sophomore Math. Proof, and the realm of historical reality. By
Mr. Fleischmann's Sonnet. The Under- imitating Amadis in the Present Age,
graduate e s say was not available· to us Don QUixote is bringing the romance of
at the time of publication.
c h ivalr y into being in reality,
thrusting the dream into explicit cont•l ict with the roc k and earth of' La
Mancha. The fiction of chivalry is a
moral medium in which it is possible
DON QUIXOTE
to act for the sake of love; within
FICTION AS A MORAL PROBLEM
the fiction of chivalry, deeds can be
When we act, we are in the pos- performed to restore an age of perfect
ition of the artist, who begins his iove and to win t he hand of a supremework upon some unshaped substance, the. ly beautiful lady. As this dream
medium of his art , which brings with assumes verisimilitude in the mind of
it certain potentialities of its own. Don Quixote, he comes near to believTaking into account these potential!- ing that a Dulcinea is to be found in
ties, the artist contrives to impart El Toboso, and that adventures await
t o the Pted ium that shape or motion him in which perfect innocence may be
which is t he end o f his art. When we defended. Only this belief in its
act mo r a l l y, we shape some substance reality makes it possible for him to
which is t he medium of moral action, live the fiction.
through del:'. beration contriving to imDon Quixote gradually ceases to
part to it a shape or motion which is look for a Dulcinea in this world, and
good. Common sense supposes that the becomes aware that the fiction of
medium of moral action is physical chivalry is an allegory of' Christian
substance, and that the good is some love, in which the Golden Age for
state of physical substance. For Don which he fights is Heaven itself. By
Quixote, the mediwn of' moral action is living the fiction of chivalry, he has
a fiction. He bases practical deliber- spanned the distance between Heaven
ation and action upon a transformation and earth, and round a link between
of common sense reality, and thereby the simplicity of love and the comlives a fiction. Living a fiction, he plexity of practical action. The irony
acts in contradiction to co1T1J11onsense revealed in each adventure of the
morality, and fiction thus introduced knight-errant in the Present Age is the
into the realm of action becomes a contradiction of the kingdom of Heaven
serious moral problem.
and the kingdom on earth. But as he
Fiction is a transformation of sees more clearly his own life as an
historical reality which seems half- allegory, Don Quixote loses the sense
real, half-false: watching a play, we of verisimilitude which alone has
half-belleve that the fiction is real,
given him real being as a knight-erand yet are half aware of the reality rant; the earth is revealed as a stage
of the stage. Fiction in itself is of no interest in itself, and Don
idle; i t is the dimly-Ii t Limbo of enQuixote dies as simply as a play ends.
chantment. But is has power to reach
The play has accomplished its purin two directions: through allegory,
pose, the transition from the stage to
it reaches upward to the simplicity Heaven.
which is characteristic of symbol;
Love is essentially simple, and
through verisimilitude -- the "guise"
in principle irrelevant to the world
of reality --- it reaches downward to
of substance and commonsense morality.
I I
I
r.
This kind of
Page 11
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ __::~:...=- JOHN Is COLLEGIAN
ST .
The knight-errant in the Age of Chivalry lived under a law of substance
and was rewarded with a kingdom on
earth; but the knight-errant in the
Present Age lives under a law of the
heart, for which the reward on earth
can be no more than a fiction. In the
performance ·of his chivalric duties,
Don QUixote commits many crimes, and
is rescued from committing more serious ones only by the vigilance of his
author. Yet perhaps this contradiction
with commonsense morality stems from
the law of love as well as from the
lif'e of fiction.
Thomas Simpson
GIVEN:
Three golden rectangles intersecting one another in the manner of
the accompanying figure, to prove
that, i f the angles are joined by
straight lines, the resulting figure
is a regular icosohedron,
(given)
AB+BC:AB~:AB:~C
(VI. 16)
AB, Bf".+BC = AB
_2
-2
- :.BC = AB - AB,BC
ZY~/ (AB 2 - BC)~2; ZX
AB/2
XY = Z-Y + ZX , and
(I. ~7) it
2
2
:. XY = [(AB-- BC)/2] + [TAB72f]
!Si= BC/~, ._ 2
XC = YC + XY ,
(I. '!7)
2
2
2
:. xc = (BC/2) + [(AB-BC)/2] +(AB/2) '
-2 -2
- - -2 -2
BC +AB -2AB, BC+BC +AB
-2
XC
4
-2
_2
-BC + AB - AB,BC
-2
xc
-2
:. XC -
2
(BC72)
_2 2--AB -AB,BC
=·
:.The diagonals are the diameters of
a sphere, and the figure is comprehended in a sphere. Theref'ore there
results a figure of twenty faces being
equal equilateral triangles, and it
is comprehended in a sphere, which defines a regular icosohedron.
Q. E. D.
*LEMMA: To prove that triangles XYB,
XYC, XZY, XZB, and XZC are right triangles.
XZ is perpendicular to the plane BD.
(given)
:. TZ is perpendicular to ZY, and CZ
and BZ to xz.
(XI.def3)
BY;YC; ZY is perpendicular to BC,
(given)
.. triangle ZCY = triangle BZY,
(I• 4)
.. DZ = CZ
(I. 26)
.. triangle XZB
triangle XZC, and
(I• 4)
.. XB = XC, and XY = XY.
(I. 26)
.. triangle XYB = triangle XYC,
(I• 8)
and angle XYB = XYC,
(I. 26)
and angles XYB, XYC are each equal to
a right angle.
(I· 13)
Q. E. D.
Robert pierot
A
,
.--_...._ _ __,B
-v--- -- --
or
x
2
-2 -2 -2 - - -2 -2 - - 2XC -BC =AB -AB,BC. But BC =AB -AB,BC
-2 -2 2
-2
-2
:. 2XC -BC =BC , or 2XC =2BC ,
-2
-2
.
:. XC = BC , and XC = BC·
Since Y bisects BC, and BC =AD=xv=
WT=HJ, we can similarly prove all the
lines connecting the angles such as
CH,CI,CX,CB,TC,TB,DH,DV,AG,AF, &c.,equal. Therefore we will have a figure
made out of twenty equilateral triangles which are congruent.
TV=wx=HF=G1 =Ac=nB (diagonals of
equal and similar rectangles), and
they also bisect each other.
(Given)
\
''
1
\
\
K
'
\
''
c
�we use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One chair and the scale of colors.
kind r
of ab
differ
Page 12
ST. JOHN'S COLIEGIAN
ence ,
a sub
given
PRIZE PROBLEM
hers 4
dis tin
PREFACE:
Presented here are a proof to the problem and a Lemma showing that
exam
the problem has a solution.
subst:
All referen~es to other propositions refer to the propositions of
but is
Euclid.
"this
defini
GIVEN a sphere Sand two points P and Q outside it, to prove that i f two lines
tion ,
are so drawn to a point X on the surface of the sphere that PX + XQ is a
realit;
minimum, the angles formed by these l i nes with the surface of the sphere
abs tr:
are equal.
tion h
it can
Let such a sphere S be given and any two points P and Q outside it. Let
ure t•
S be the center of the sphere and X be a point on the surface of the sphere. If
reach1
line PQ either touches (Case 3) or cuts (Case 2) the surface of the sphere, let
tions
PQ be .i oined and call one or the intersections or PQ with the sphe re X~and if'
edge.
PQ touches the sphere, call the point or contact x. If' the line PQ falls (Case
ThE
gener1
1) outs~de of the sphere, let a point X be placed on the surface of the sphere
appar,
in such a way that it i s in the plane of P, Q, and s. Hence it is on a circle
perce1
formed by the intersection or the plane and the sphere. Also let QX and XP f'orm
mind.
equal angles with the tangent of the circle at X in the plane of P, Q, and S
quirin
and therefore forming equal angles with a tangent of the sphere.
(Lemma I)
We g
I say that QX + XP will be a minimum.
there
Fo r l e t plane MN be tangent to the sphere at X, and
facult
le t plane RO pass t hr ough P, Q, and s.
jectiv1
RO, th1m~ i s pe:rpendicular to plane MN·
(Lemma II)
must
fore v
CASE 1:
have•
befon
From point Q let there be dropped a line perpendicular to MN and let it be exas an
tended to Q, so that, if A be the intersection of QQ 1 and MN, Q1 A equals QA·
comm
Q1 will be in plane ~O for Q is in RO
our d:
~nd both RO and QQ 1 are perpendicular
a gre
to MN.
believ
Le t Q1 and X be j oined. Also l et AX be
- T1
joined and extended in MN in the dicontn
ection of D. AD will then be a tanNoi
gent of the sphere at point x.
of pe1
In 6QAX and 6Q 1 AX, QA = Q1 A for it was
exp re
~~-~---.f--+-----r~constructed so.
LQAX and LQ 1 AX are
a dire
right for QAQ 1 is perpendicular to MN
ven's
and AX is from interse ction A in MN.
heard
AX is conunon to_both triangles;
mean:
therefore ~QAX = ~ 1 AX
(1.4)
know·
And since LQXA = iFXD,
(given)
perce
and LQXA = LQ 1 XA because of congruent
re lat i
t riangles
t hing
Then !J>x:n = LAXQ 1 and since both PX and
We :k
XQ1 are in place RO, then PXQ 1 is a
ment:
straight line.
gases
Let C be any point on the surface of
ment:
the sphere other than x.
t hree
Since WN touches the sphere only at X,
betw1
any point C will lie on the srune side
is re
of MN as Q1 does.
r.
I
I I
- - - - - - - - - - - - --'S-=T--=-.--'=-J=O=H~N c OLIEG IAN
·
Is
Page 13
Join QC, Q1 C, CP, AC
From C drop a perpendicular to B on plane MN.
Join AB
Both iQAB & L'.Q 1 AB are right angles
for QQ 1 is perpendicular to MN and
AB is from intersection A in MN.
iQAC > a right angle
LQ 1 AC < a right angle
for AC is on side Q1 of AB
Therefore iQAC > LQ 1 AC
and since in ~AC and .6Q 1 AC
QA equals Q1 A and AC is common,
therefore QC > Q1C
(1.24)
In ~ 1 PC
(I. 20)
Q1C + CP > QiP
and since QC > Q C
1
then QC + CP is much greater than Q1 P.
Now because of congruent triangles,
QX ·= Q1 X and
therefore QX + XP = Q1 P
therefore QC + CP > QX + XP
QX + XP is the minimlDll sum.
Q.E.D.
Case 2:
The straight line QXP is the shortest sum of distances between Q, P and X as
was specified. For a straight line is always the shortest distance between
two points.
Let LF be tangent of sphere at point X in plane
RO.
-7---~~~--~P::.._
QXP forms equal angles with LF
(1.15)
But these are the angles QXR forms with the
sphere.
And the same may be shown about the other
F
intersection of line QXP with the sphere.
Q. E. D.
Case 3:
Again QXP is the shortest sum of distances QX
+ XP.
Since QP touches the sphere, it is tangent to the sphere and hence forms no angle
with th e sphere. We may then, speak of a kind
of equality of angles.
Q. E. D.
Lerrnna I:
In which it is shown that from any two g i ven points P and Q wh ich lie outs i de a given circle and of which the line that .i oins P and Q falls outside
�we use nouns.
kind r
of ab
differ
ence ,
a sub
given
bet's i
dis tin
exam
subst'
but fa
"this
defini
ti on
realif
abs tr;
tion ii
it can
ure tt
reach
tions
edge.
ThE
gener,
appar
perce1
mind.
quirin
We g
there
facult
jectiv1
must
fore'
have'
befort
as an
comm
our d:
a gre
believ
-
Ti
contri
No~
of pe1
exp re
a dirE
ven's
heard
mean:
know·
perce'
relnt i
t hing
We ll
ment:
gases
ment:
three
betwt
is re
Nouns are of two kinds.
Page 14
One
chair and the scale of colors.
r.
This kind of
I
ST •. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
the circle, that there is a point X on the nearside of the circle such that
the lines QX and XP form equal angles with the circle.
Let circle 8 1 8 2 be given as the intersection of plane RO with the original sphere. Also given are Q and P ih the same plane, RO.
With center 8 of circle 8 1 8 2 and radius SP construct circle P 1 P 2 •
Construct QV from Q tangent to 8 1 8 2
on same side or QS as P is.
Join QaS.
Between a and V take any two points
J and K,
then join QJ and QK, also join and
extend SJ and SK to G and H on circle P 1 P 2 •
Construct JP 1 from J forming LGJP 1
equal to LGJQ, likewise
construct KP 2 from K forming LHKP 2
equal to LmcQ.
Let P 1 P 2 be the intersection of JP 1
and KP 2 with circle P 1 P 2 •
I say that there is a point X on the circle 81 8 2 such that QX and XP form
equa l angles w:l.th the circle.
Let yoE be a circle with a as center and yaP
as diameter and f as any point on the diameter on the other side of ay.
Let 6 and E be any two points on the circle
both being on the same side of the diameter.
e
It' Lyae > Lyao
then,
Lyf€ > Lyf6
and conversely, for this is
obvious f'rom the figtr e, as
Ls yao and yPo are parts of
Ls yrlE and y Pe.
Lyao andLytlE are exterior angles of triangles
aP6 and afe.
We'-~~ say then, that given two triangles with two sides equal to two
sides (a6 = rlE, af = aP) and an exterior angle adjoining the intersection
or the equal sides of one triangle is greater than the corresponding exterior angle of the other triangle, then an opposite i_nterior angle of the one
triangle is greater than its corresponding interior angle of the other
triangle, and conversely.
L'Q8K > iQSJ
LQKH > iQ.JG
as given, and
by the previous proof'
and since LP 1 JG = LG.IQ, and
LP 2 KH = Llra:Q
also given
then iP2 KH > LP 1 JG
Therefore 4ISP 2 > LGSP 1 by the previous proof.
Since also 4ISQ > iGSQ, and
iI>2SQ = LP2SH + LBSQ, Ll\SQ = LP18G + L'.GSQ.
then LP 2 SQ is much greater than LP 1 SQ
I I
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
_ _P a~15_
"'--
By like r easoning we may show that if any point E be chosen on 8 1 8 2 between J
and K and if P 3 be constructed from E ih the same way P 1 and P 2 were constructed from J and K, then P would fall between P 1 and P 2 for
i.QSP 2
>
QSPs
> QSPi-
By points of circle 81 8 2 corresponding to poin t s on P 1 P 2 it is mean t tha t i f
there be a point on s 1 s 2 and another on P 1 P 2 that the line joining them will
form the same angle with 8 1 8 2 as the line joining the point on 8 1 8 2 and Q
forms with 8 1 8 2 •
Having shown that for every point on 8 1 8 2 between a and V there is a corresponding point o~ P 1P 2 and that any point between any two other points on 8 1 8 2
has a point on P 1P 2 between the two points on P 1 P 2 corresponding to the two .
given points on 8 1 8 2 , it shall be shown that for every point on P 1 P 2 and therefore point P, there is a point on 8 1 8 2 corresponding to it.
If' there is a point p on P 1 P 2 between a and V such that t _ ere is no corresh
ponding point on S 1 8 2 , then the nearest points that would have points corresponding on 8 1 8 2 are W W from P in both directions on P 1 P 2 would be a finite
1 2
distance from P. For if they were not, either W or W or both would coincide
1
2
with P and hence there would be a corresponding point to P on S1S 2 •
But if both W and W be a finite distance from P, then W and W will be a fi1
2
1
2
nite section on P 1P 2 •
So then. the points on S1 S2 corresponding to W and W would have a finite dis1
2
tance between them as was shown earlier.
But as we have also shown, we may choose a point on 8 1 8 2 between any two points
and find a corresponding point on P 1 P 2 between the two points on P 1 P 2 corresponding to the two points on 8 1 8 2 •
Therefore no matter how small we choose the section W W about point P, a point
1 2
can be chosen on S1 S 2 which will ~all between W W •
.
1 2
Hence, there is no section W W on P 1P 2 that does not have points on 8 1 82 cor1 2
responding to them. Therefore for every point on P 1 P 2 there is a corresponding point on S1S2·
Q.E.D.
Lemma II:
plane passing through a given point X on the surface of a .ST>here and through
the center s of the sphere is perpendicul ar to the plane tangent to the sphere
at x.
Let MN and the p'lane tangent t o the sphere at X and OR be the -plane through
points S and x.
I say MN is perpendicular to OR·
Join 8X.
Construct any two lines XT and XU not forming a straight line on plane MN. Any
line f'rom x on MN is tangent to the sphere, hence tangent to the circle with
same center S and in same plane as giv e n line from x.
~
L 8XT and L SXU are right angles
(111.lB)
sx is perpendicular to MN
(XI. 4)
(<.
Any plane through 8X is perpendicular to MN
(XI. 18) ----===-=----:f-T-7
Therefore OR is perpendicular to MN.
A
Q. E. D.
George Wend
�we use nouns.
kind r
of ab
differ
ence,
a sub
given
bers c
dis tin
exam·
subst:
but is
"this
defini'
tion ,
realitabstr~
tion ii
it Ca!l
ure t~
reach1
tions
edge.
ThE
gen er:
appar.
perce1
mind.
quirin
We g
there
facult
jectiv'
must
fore v
have'
beforE
as an
comm
our d:
a gre
believ
- Ti
contri
Noi
of pe1
exp re
a dire
ven's
heard
mean:
know·
perce
rebt i
th ing
We
1<
ment:
gases
ment:
t hree
betWE
is re
Nouns are of two kinds.
One
chair and the scale of colors.
This kind of
St. John's Collegian
Vol. LXIY - No. 8
ANNAPOLIS, MARYLAND
EDITORIAL
SONNET TO A IADY WITHOUT COURAGE
It is often when you smile that, far behind
The focal point which indicates dissent
Knowledge touches the jesters - those of your kind
Their answering glances bind up the event
And seal i t into bleeding data-sheets,
Tear at its heart with ivory heirloom spoons
And, l ooking outward, fortify their fleets
For voyages which strive to other moons.
And yet y ou kno~, and that is j ust my point ,
How cheaply ambiguity is sold
How, far beyond, Areopagites anoint
Only the golden-tongued, where truth is gold,
Still, if I
turn quickly, I can see the guile
The knowledge having knowledge of you r s mi l e .
w.
B. Fleischmann
The Collegian, in virtue of being the newspaper of a small college, published by and
for the members of a small community, can
not hope or pretend to compete with the publications of larger communities. News, as conventionally understood, is here circulated, edited, interpreted and even censored by the
grapevine and the several gossip cliques much
faster and much more completely than any
printed sheet could hope to edit, interpret,
censor and publish. Such news is not the
business of the Collegian. It sees as its purpose the more or less regular publication of
criticism pertinent to the intellectual life of
the community together with such creative
efforts ·as are presented to the editor. Reviews
of lectures, concerts, movies, plays, books, even
of the dialectic of the playing field if well
written, poems, stories, essays, these are its
material. Almost anything falls within this
range. Almost anything if well written will be
printed.
The activities of this volume of the Collegian have been planned with these things in
mind. The Collegian will be published once
every three weeks, oftener if there is material
enough. It will again offer a prize for the best
article, poem or short story written for its
pages. It will again print the prize material
from the several annual competitions. To this
end it presents in the first two issues Mr. McRaney's prize essay which was not available
to the Colfagian at the time of last publication.
In an effort to gain new material the Collegian has agreed to review all new Modern" '
Library publications. The reviewer will be selected by the editors and will, of course, receive the review copy.
The Collegian also wishes to point out that
its editors have never been too busy. Whether
published or rejected, all material is welcomed
from students, faculty, alumni and friends of
St. John's. Anything in the intra-collegiate
mail addressed to the Collegian will be received.
For the Editorial Board
Washburn, Editor.
-----o~~~~
SIGMUND FREUD
The Interpretation of Dreams
Modern Library Edition.
She dipped her locks in a bowl of henna
And booked a ticket straight to Vienna.
Ogden Nash.
O cto ber 21,
1950
It has seldom happened that one man has
influenced the outlook of his age as stl'ongly as
Sigmund Freud. His theories have not only
achieved a revolution in medical psychiatry,
but contemporary thinking on what is good or
evil, beautiful or ugly, divine or profane has
come under a Freudian aegis. Not only has the
science of psychoanalysis been accepted ~r rejected in academic circles, but the educated
and uneducated public has started to consider
the Viennese psychiatrist devil or prophet. As
proof for the great demand for Freud's works,
the Interpretation of Dreams has now been
brought out in a regular Modern Library edition. Even the "book and gift shoppes" of cities
in the 10,000 population class carry a Modern
Library assortment, and chances are that this
small edition with the good-looking dust cover
will be seen in many American homes. I think
that the Modern Library did well in choosing
the Interpretation of Dreams as a mass-circulation work. It does not contain Freud's best
presentation of the psychoanalytic theoryboth the Introductory Lectures to Psychoanalysis and the ·Introduction to Psychoanalysis
do this much better. Yet these are later works,
written when Freud was already aware of the
commotion he was causing and had adopted a
more standard vocabulary for his science. The
Interpretation, on the other hand, is a pioneer
work, addressed by a physician to scientists
and presented as a series of developed experiments.
After a fairly brief introductory exposition,
Freud presents analyses of his own dreams or
of dreams brought up by patients in the course
of treatment. To a reader who expects to be
glamorously converted or delightfully repelled
by psychoanalysis, the Interpretation will be
disappointing. On the other hand, the book
gives anyone a fair chance to make an objective appraisal of the strength and weakness of
Freud's method. The English translation by
Dr. A. A. Brill is adequate. Its only serious
defects are caused by stu mbling blocks in t he
English and German languages. For instance
the German Lust does not carry the same
meaning as the English lust. It merely signifies pleasure, yet that English word is too
weak to render its full and all-embracing significance. Again, Dr. Brill could not possibly
render German proper n ame s wh ich, in some
analyses suggest significant n ouns of the same
spelling (Ex : Brucke, t he n a me of Freud's
most important tea cher is also t he German
�
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The Collegian
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The Collegian began as a student newspaper; became a college community literary publication in 1952 and continued until 1969; became a student newspaper again in 1969; discontinued publication from 1980 until 1989 when it again became a student literary publication.<br /><br />Click on <a title="The Collegian" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=26">Items in The Collegian Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection.
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Annapolis, MD
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
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16 pages
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paper
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Collegian Vol. LXIII No. 08
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St. John's Collegian, June 07, 1950
Date
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1950-06-07
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Vol. LXVIII, No. 8 of the St. John's Collegian. Published on June 7, 1950.
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Annapolis, MD
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St. John's College
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English
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text
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pdf
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The Collegian
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PDF Text
Text
we use nouns.
kind f
of ab~
differc
ence ~
a sub~
given
bers o
distirn
exam1
subs tr
but is
"this :
definit
tion v
realit)
abstra
tion is
it can
ure to
reachE
tions 1
edge.
The
genen
appan
percei:
mind.
quirin
We g:
there
facult:
jectiv1
must
fore ~
have 1
beforE
as an
comm
our dj
a gre:
believ
- Tr
contn
Nm
of pm
exp re:
a dire
ven's
heard
meani
knowl
perce]
refati
thing
We k
1
ment~
gases
menb
three
betwE
is r e1
Nouns are of two kinds.
One
chair and the scale of colors.
This kind of
r.
I
I I
St. John's Collegian
Vol. LXIII - No. 7
THE
ANNAPOLIS,MARYLAND
COWARD
In crowds, dreams, and anterooms
I vie with my inveigling sell.
I am the man who ruminates in cramped
May 13,
1950
There ain't notnin• to f'orgive, anyway.
It ain't your f'aul t, and it
ain't mine, and it ain't his neither.
We're all poor nuts, and things happen, and we just. get mixed in wrong,
that's all. "
quarters
To be calm.
At the rail -- upon the black kneeler,
Before the very bread and Blood
This poundage hard upon the knees
Deters, deters, deters, --- - - deters.
Uncertain and afraid I cubby
In this necessary single grief.
No ene my i s mi n e but me.
No e nem y i s mine but me.
But st i ll I
I
try to try,
am -- yet I am not I.
"Dat Ole Davil Sea"
Eugene O'Neill's
moral scenery has
always been stale--stale because of
the denial of hlDllan responsibility and
guilt. A man's responsibility for his
actions is the basis of drama, and .
consequently to reject it is to court
d r amatic inertia.
For this reason
O'Neill's outlook dem8llds embodiment:irl
vigorous action and vivid passion
as a compensation for and a relier
rrom this drmnatic i~ertia. Also, the
lack of responsibility and the absence
of guilt are made plausible by an
environment of vi9lent action and
reaction(an environment in whi~h reasonable action is impossible) .
So
there is a twofold need for plenty of'
movement:
as a relief from the inert! a caused by the denial of h uman
guilt, and as a means of making this
absence of guilt plausible.
As an
indication o~ this denial or guilt in
Anna Christie I quote the following
words of Anna to her father:
"Sure
I forgive you.
You ain't to blame.
You're just--what you are--like me.
On the basis of what has just been
posited it looks reasonable to suggest
that the screen is a better mediwn f'or
Mr. 0 1 Neill'B exploits in inertia
than the stage.
The screen offers him
its manifold motive possibilities.
And it has been suggested that these
are just what he needs. Unf'ortunately
this particular movie was produced at
a time when "talk" had just been
introduced into the movies.
The consequent pre· ccupation with "talk"
o
lessened the concern with the possibilities of movement.
This lack or
concern with the use or motion was
clearest in the almost stake-like stasis of the part of' the movie that took
place in the back room or the bar.
In
spite of this historical defect the
movie does seem to come orf as a success, and one of the causes o ·r this
success is the screen's natural ability to present effectively O' Neill's
backdrop of incessant motion, the sea.
This iniversal backdrop or motion
gives a basic, vital inf'usion to the
action, and the screen emphasizes this
asset.
Beyond being the background and the
container or the motion the sea becomes an all-important symbol .
Anna
and Chris her rather represent two
points of view about the sea.
For
Chris the sea is "<lat ole davil, sea,"
an onmipotent, omniscient malevolence,
and he cringes at its power, before
which the human will is an inert plaything.
Here another sort of inertia
is underscored, that of the human
will.
For AJina, on the other hand,
the sea is "home," regeneration.
Not
�we use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds.
kind F
of abf
differc
ence ~
Page 2
a
One
chair and the scale of colors.
exam1
subst:r
but is
"this :
definit
tion ~
realit~
abs tra
tion is
it can
ure to
reachE
tions 1
edge.
The
gener~
appar~
perce:r:
mind.
quirin
We g<
there
facult:
jectivc
must
fore v
have<
beforE
as an
comm
our d1
a grei
believ
- Tr
contn
Nm
of per
exp re:
a dire
ven's
heard
meani
knowl
perce]
relnti1
thing
We k
ment~
gases
menh
three
betwE
is re1
that Anna does not recognize the terrible power of the sea, which drains
a l l the ene~gy the human will can
of'f'-a r and leaves it inert; but it is
precisely this which she finds admirable. When her father describes the
sea deaths of all the meu in the fami- .
ly, far from being appalled, Anna exclaims, "Goorl sports, I'd call 'em."
Finally Anna is led to say that if she
were a man she would go to sea. This
recognition is the first half of
Anna's regeneration. By this recognition men are readmitted into her
world and given a place, for only men
can be sailors. Also, she aclmowledges the limitations of her nature as a
woman.
This recognition later makes
possible the second half of her regeneration, a purgation effected through
her love for a man of' the sea.
is manifest in all those involved in
the action but it is especially .Anna's
problem to transcend it. The effort
to do so is without exception a cause
of even greater frustration and wounding of the will.
Is there a way out?
Anna finds it in the sea.
The sea,
however, represents inevitable defeat,
for all sailors must ex~ect a watery
grave.
Still, it of'fers a purgation
of ~he frustration of sloth.
The
sailor is distinguished from all other
men by his ready acceptance ~f the
challenge of the sea.
The sea which
sucks out all the energy of' his will
and leaves it inert and defeated also
releases it from travail when it(the
sea) finds within the will an active
submission. In this way "Anna Christie" achieves a remarkable :fusion of
comic Exit and Tragic Defeat.
Stewart McRaney
Matt Burke lumbers out of the storm ·
onto the coalbarge like a wounded animal.
He needs help and love after
being battered by his cruel Mistress.
Anna(who was a nurse berore becoming a
prostitute) finds hP,rself nursing and
healing the only kind or man she can
admire. She canno t receive the direct
purgation the sea offers, for only a
sailor can receive this, and s he is a
woman. However, through her love for
Matt she can receive a vicarious purgation.
Also, by nursing and caring
for him she identifies herself with
the healing and cleansing power of the
sea.
I have used the terms inertia, regeneration, purgation, res~onsibility in
the attempt to throw some light on tne
action of "Anna Christie. n Perhaps
these terms themselves need some clarification.
In order to clarify I
shall use an intuition:
there is an
overwhelming presence of sloth 1n
wAnna Christie.• This sloth arises
inevitably from the inability to direct one's energies to an end. Anna's
world is the world of necessity, symbolized by the sea, in which the human
will cannot direct itself to an end
because it is inert and powerless before some exterior force.
This sloth
1
,
S'T. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
sub~
given
be1·s o
distin1
This kind of
On the portal of a Garden Gate
oh James thou who sees ·and has seen
Let me enter this sarden
Resplendent in its incommensurateness,
Ma y each f 1 owe r and root
Exp 1 a in i ts e 1 f,
Or, may I see it
Jn its perfect order.
Let not my step break the smallest
living thing
Th a t for ms t hi s mi c r o c o s m u n i v e r s e .
May the blooms o- the bough
n
And the surging stems
Move and dance in their ordained
· cadence
Be fore my eyes.
That the dripping grape
And the closed bud
May teach me.
That the slow rhythm
T he lark of passion
The slippery pace of the snail
Even this may be a window
Through which I pass.
:Fragment of an inscription on a Roman
• gate found in a deserted village of
the Alps.
I I
Page 3
"You're right. I hope it's not the
THE WANDERER
French. n
8
It may be the motor boats. We've
I
been traveling pretty fast. w
A dim shape seemed to appear to
Like the rest of mankind
the start
., then a hull, then a
running
ship. It
.ed like a fast launch, but
away
f'or all we knew it could be a French
cbwn a street of
Motor Torpedo Boat.
Mass-produced crosses
"Hallo. Qui est la?" came an ethTired
ereal voice.
vainly searching to find
crucification Clld rest
nun bateau a voile americain."
"It's OK Freddy. It's me, the
When he was a kid, he used to go Ours. "
8
to school in Arizona. It was one of
Thank God,• I said in a low voice,
those schools for spoiled Eastern chil- "For a minute I thought that there were
dren whose parents were too busy to the French."
8
bring them up themselves. Perhaps he
Damn lucky to find you like this
was different ·or strange, but sometimes in the fog. Throw us a line so we can
he wanted to be alone. Some times he- make fast," came the voice.
"OK, one minute. n
liked to wa1 k alone at night, scuffing
his feet throug h th e sparse grass, wi tt
The heavy line scaled through the
·
no thi ng b u t s k y, mesqu it e an d his wet air and thmrrped on the boat 1 s deck.
The two shit>s drew close and touched.
tho ug ht s aroun d hi m.
Four men dropped from the high bow onto
His hair hung wet; the sails hung the deck.
wet· ev r thi
i
"Have any trouble getting here
'
e y
ng was sopp ng, the from Tan iers?"
clothes, the wheel, the binnacle. The
g
fog was so thick that it was like
"No, but cigarettes have jumped to
breathing water. Above the sails and six cents a pack. w
mast disappeared into the mist. The
"Outrageous! Only nine-hundred
ship was running with no lights, as it percent profit these days. It must be
was approaching French waters. Some- the fault of the Socialists. n
where to the port, perhaps about thirty
"And incidently, old capitalist,
five miles, 1 ay Cannes; somewhere how go our earnings in this trade. n
ahead lay the twenty mile limit and
"I was hoping yoti'd forget that,
patrol boats.
but we do happen to have the francs we .
Th ere was a sound down in the dog owe you. n
1
house followed by the blue spurt of a
"Good, we 11 need half a million
match , th en momen t ar il y th e so ft ye 11 ow anyway in order to buy more provisions~
·
.
woK, but let's unload quickly. we
g 1 ow of the kerosene la.--up.
want to get back before dawn."
"What are you doing up, Mich?"
"Righto. Hey Mich, open up all the
"Just thought I'd bring you up hatches so we can unload."
some coffee and see if the fog wa~
wI've done it. n
liftingn.
"Good. 1"t's get to work, Ours."
•It is a little. I hope we'll find
I climbed out of my bunk and shook
the mo tor boats. n
my head. My mouth tasted of garJic,
"Are we on course?"
sour bread and stale wine. The deisel
"I think so. w
The water slapped idly against the was throbbing aft, and it was light.
•Hey, Micp, what time is it?• I
hull . The mist still clung low to the
called.
surface of the seas.
wAbout two o'clock. There's rice,
"What's that noise?"
cheese and wine in the galley if you
"You' re hearing things, Mich. 8
want it. "
There•was a dull muffled sound
"Thanks. Are we going to stop for
through the fog. It could have been our a swim today?"
own deisels echoing, but it grew.
"Let's not. We' re only about two
�we use nouns.
kind f
of ab:
differ1
ence:
a sub
given
hers c
distini
exam1
substi
but is
"this I
definit
tion ~
realit~
abstr2
tion is
it can
ure to
reach~
tions 1
edge.
The
gen er:
appar~
perce1
mind.
quirin
We g;
there
facult
jectiv;
must
fore v
have 1
befon
as an
comm
our di
a gre1
believ
- Tr
contn
Nm
of pe1
expre1
a dire
ven's
heard
meanl
know]
perce.
reln.tii
thing
Wek
menb
gases
menb
three
betwf
is rn
Nouns are of two kinds.
Page 4
One
·
cl1a1r an d th e scale of colors.
This kind of
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
hours from the isl and. We passed Cap
"She was a sweet girl. "
Corse about three hours ago."
"I know it now, but it's too late."
"Wonderful. I' 11 be up to take
"Why were you so hurt?"
over as soon as I've eaten."
"Maybe I loved her."
"OK. Bring the dishes up when you
"I should think then you'd for.come. They haven't been washed lately." give."
I dished out some rice and garlic
"People are like oysters. They
on a tin plate, poured some wine into a have hard shells for the outside world
metal cup, and went up to study the just to keep f'rom being hurt, and uncharts.
less they really know someone well,
"l see the Italians haven't swept they never do open up. Only a friend
all the mines yet."
can hurt you there."
"Yeh. The Dutch lost a f'reighter
"But if you pour a little sand in
off here about two weeks ago and are an oyster, a pearl is created."
furious. We're pretty well out of them
"Maybe. Maybe if you pour a little
now, though."
sand on a person's inner being, someThe sun glistened clean and clear thing is created, but if you pour too
on the sea.
much sand in, you kill it. "
"What a lovely day!"
"Maybe, you're right."
"But stinking hot."
"LOok, there's another fishing
"Say, there's a question that I 1 ve boat. "
been wanting to ask you, Mich."
"It looks like Giorgio."
"Go ahead."
A small fishing boat bobbed idly
"What would you think of quit ting on the water, the mountains behind it
this business?"
giving a picture post-card look.
"Why?"
"Ciao, Giorgio," I shouted.
"Oh hell! We have enough money to
"Ciao, Mich e Fredi, come stai?"
live on for years. Let's enjoy it."
"Benone, grazie."
"I'm having a good time."
As we passed, he threw a fish on
"Oh, I am toe; maybe I'm lazy. "
boartl.
"Maybe. "
".Bt.10n ape ti to, " he said.
"Maybe I'm honest."
"Mille grazie, ancora, Giorgio," I
"I doubt it.•
-shouted.
"I do too."
We slid slowly around the point,
The SlID was high in the heaven. It the barren rock walls dropping directly
was boiling hot, and the sea was into the sea. Another fishing boat, and
smooth. In the distance were the blue another, then the little town came into
peaks of Italy and Elba; behind were view -- small, dirty wtiite houses, one
the mountains of Corsica.
albergio-ristorante and one old fort up
"Why did you ever leave the on the cliff. As we drew close to the
states, Mich?"
dock, hordes of' little children raJ;l to"I don't know. My family, I guess, wards us, screaming f'or cigarettes. I
and all those sickening pseudo-Intel- threw one of them a hawser, and he made
lects that drifted fr-0m cocktail party it fast. Then I put the plank ashore.
to cocktail party."
Mich lept up on the dock, and tied the
"Yeh."
painter. I locked the dog house and
"Look! There's a f'ishing dorey."
went ashore.
"We must be getting close."
A fat, greasy man plowed his way
"Buen giorno, • I shouted.
thr ough the small children and approa"Ci ao," echoed the voice.
ched the ship.
we passed about two hundred meters
"Ciao Fredi."
f'rom him.
"Ciao, Toni, come stai?"
"Whatever happened to that Swiss
"Oh, I is ver good; make much mongirl, Freddy?"
ey this time?"
"Who, .Annette?"
"Enough·"
"Yeh."
"Come up for a drink later."
"Oh, we had a f'ight. I got hurt
"Well, I've got lots to do. "
and left. 11
"Car lot ta ls waiting."
r.
I
I I
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
Page 5
"Fredi, are you still mad at
"OK· You win. "
Toni?"
"Arividerci."
"Oh my God. So that's it."
"Arividerci. 11
The little kids swarmed round.
"What?"
"Hey, Joe. Gotta cigarettes for
"All you want is the money too,
friends?"
isn't it, Carla?"
"Sure. Take them. "
"Fredl!"
And then I was swamped.
"You'd better go."
"Really Fredi---"
The room was dark, and the air was
"Please get out."
11 Ha,
heavy and hot. Somewhere in the torrid
you will come crying soon
night a man was playing a guitar and enough."
"Get OU t! "
singing, and the noise drifted through
"OK. I go to Mich. "
the open window. Italians love to sing.
She slipped on her skirt and slid
My handkerchief was wrapped around my
arm stopping the blood from a small out the door. I swung my legs over the
knife wound. "God damn ToniJ I thought. edge of the bed and sat for a minute,
Just then the door opened, letting in a my head in my hands. I was sorry,
thin, brilliant triangle of light, and for myself, and for getting mad. At
first I couldn't find one shoe, but it
Carlotta entered. She was lovely.
"Fredi, you should not insulted turned up. I opened the door and went
Toni. He's quick with his temper and into the other room. Carla was on
Mich's lap, her shirt unbuttoned and
his knife. "
noh, cut it out. All he wants is her skirt up to her thighs.
She laughed. "Back so soon?"
our mone y. If he's so eager, why doesn't h e go out and risk his own neck?" .
"Go to hell! "
"Better not let Toni hear you. "
She looked at me,---threw back
I reached the door and went out
her head and laughed.
Then shE shut
the door;---her breasts moved beneath into the street. The fresh air smelled
her loosely buttoned shirt; - she crune sweet.
towards me, her dark face and ruby lips
I entered a ristorante and bough t
barely discernable.
a bottle
gin, then went down to the
"Fredi, are you really angry at ship and cleaned my arm. The alcohol
burned, but it cleaned well. Then I lay
me?"
"No, not at you."
on my bed and thought. I was sick, and
She moved close; I reached out and angry, and sorry. Self'-pity i t ' s
put my hands on her bare shoulders-. called. Then I remembered that 'others
She unbuttoned her last shirt button-, had been worse off than this. ·A. nig
her blouse f'ell to her waist, and I once, back in the States, I remembered.
felt her warm breasts against me, soft :It was four in the morning and damn
and firm. She p,ressed closer, and I. cold •. He sat under a street lamp, his
held her in my arms. Then she pretended head in his hands; he looked a little
to trip, and fell on the bed, pulling drunk.
"Got a dime, buddy?" he asked.
me with her.
"Sure. You look cold ••• Take a
"Oh Fredi, how angry you are this
quarter?"
time," she laughed.
"Yeah. "
Then she unbuttoned my shirt and
And I thought, "Why in Hell aren't
put her warm arms around my chest; then
she kissed me hard, and moved her you in bed? Why aren't you with some
gal, warm and snug, with the covers up
thighs next to mine.
to your chin and a roof over your head?tt
"I missed you, Fredi."
But the world doesn't run like
"Good."
that.
"How much money thees time1"
"Yeh."
I got up - grabbed a couple of'
She kissed me hard then, and un-Jerry cans of gasoline, and went up on
buttoned her skirt down the side. She 'deck, then hooked a tiny outboard to
wasn't wearing any underclothes. By now the dinghy, put in the gasoline and
I'd forgotten the pain in my arm.
some bread, wine, and cheese, and took
of
�we use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One chair and the scale of colors. This kind of
kind r
of ab:
differ.
Page 6
ST. JOHN 1 S COLTEGIAN
ence ~
a quart~r ot ~.hP WJ(lnt>Y·
oil and sweat, the aroma was pretty
a sub:
It was 11 ;, tm6n ten hours to the high. --Finally, I went to sleep. My
given
mainl and, the little boat bobbing and arm had started to throb.
bers c
sh i pping wat er, but I finally made
When I awoke, the train was pulldis tin
exam1
subsb
but is
"this
defini1
tion '
realit~
abstr2
tion fa
it can
ure tc
reach(
tions
edge.
The
genen
1
appar~
percei:
mind.
quirin
We g,
there
facult:
jectiv•
must
fore v
have 1
befor(
as an
comm
our dj
a gre,
believ
- Tr
contn
No'
of pm
exp re,
a dire
ven's
heard
meani
kn owl
perce:
rebti
thing
We k
menfa
gases
ment:
three
betW(
is re
sho re around dawn. A fisherman told me
the way to the nearest town. I gave him
the boat as a token of my appreciation,
and he was surprised as Hell. I guess
he tossed it off t o those extravagant
Americans.
The walk to town wasn't bad after
I'd found the coastal path. Porto Ercole was the name of the town. It was
little and rather strange, nestled i n a
small harbour, with two fortified hills
at its mouth. The streets ar e old and
narrow, and run up in steps the sides
of the hills. All the house s were anci ent and incredibly filt hy, with the
exception of a few new ones built by
Mussolini.
I went into the "lateria" and had
some ice-cream. It was good and cold
and cleaned out some of the lousy taste
in my mouth. Then I went outside to
·wait for the noon bus that connected
with the main Genoa-Rome train. The
street was hot and dusty and my arm began to hurt. There were thousands of
kids and flies.
The bus, a great tinny Fiat, arrived in a rattl ing cloud of dust and
blew its horn. Everybody came running,
some who wanted vegetables carried down
the line, soldier s and their sweethearts, babies and pregnant mothers. I
moved into the back of the bus and sat
in a seat next to a window. Soon a baby
and a 1 arge bag of vegetables were
placed in my lap, and a mother with two
children moved in.
The bus heaved, rattled and gro~~
ed as it moved at a terrifyi ng rate
down the road.. Everyone was eat i ng a.!1.d
talking, paying no attention what ~v; ~
to the fea rful rate of progress. F_i '1 ·~
ally we reached the main line and t.h~ r
dropped me off at the "stazione x~
went in and had a beer.
When the train appeared, I cl ambered aboard, but the third class was
so crowded that only the baggage racks
were free. I climbe d into one and tried
to get to sleep. The car was boilin g
and filled with people, none of whom
h ad taken a bath in months. Some were
eating garlic, some cheese, all drinking wine. With he ... vily perfumed hair
ing into Rome. I climbed out of the
baggage rack and went into the "stazione. "
There was a regiment of Alpine
troops there with their plumed hats,
knife-edge ski pants, mountain boots,
green tunics and carbines -- nothing
better looking than an Italian regiment
in peacetime; what a pity they can't
fight. Or is it?
I hailed a cab and directed him to
the "Abergio Conte di Cavour."
I felt s ick as I went up to the
desk.
"Is Mlle • .Annette Gilliard here?"
The Maitre d'hotel regarded me
suspiciously.
"Si, but who shall I say is calling?"
"Just Freddy. "
"Wait here please, sir."
I sat down heavily in a chair, and
then my horizons spun.
I awoke slowly . There was a bed
around me, and it was dark outside. One
lamp was burning.
"Annette?"
"Please be quiet sir. A doctor is
coming."
"Where is Annette?"
"She left .1 ust before you arrived.
She did not leave an address.
"Oh Christ," I thought, and went
back to sleep.
The next morning I searched and
asked everywhere, but she had gone,
gone and left no address. I couldn't
expect her to wait forever, I suppose,I' m no t that good. When I got out of
bed I bought a ti cke t for home on the
• Vulcanj a' •
Ti1e trip acro s s was uneventful.
I
1: .s iSreeted by my family on the dock,
W1-' t iHindered if I had visited all their
f°r i. >.nds here and there and seen all the
; i~ h ts on the continent. Sure, I saw
them all, I said with a smile, but I
felt sick inside.
The windshield wipers clacked
rythmically, beatin g back the waves of
water. The West Side Highway stretched
forward serpent-l ike into the wet dark-
r.
I
I I
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGI.AN
Page 7
odds against you, that was the most exness. To the right 1~y the dim canyon
hilerating of all.
wall of the city, pinpricked by a myrBut then it was over; the adrenaiad of lights.
lin drained out of your system, and
"Freddy, do you feel well towhere were you? Worse off than you were
night?"
before. Maybe you could reach the same
"Quite, why?"
heights again, but what was the use.
"Why did we just get up and leave
Always there was the anti-climax.
the ' Club Samoa'? We left everyone
"Freddy, you don't seem too happy."
without any warning."
"I don't kn.ow what it is."
"I paid, didn't I?"
"You don't have to. It's a state
"Yes - but why did we leave?"
of being, not of thought. "
"That's something I can't explain,
"Maybe."
Sal. I wanted to leave, and we left."
"Maybe nothing. It's mind over
But I could explain. It wasn't any matter. You can kill any state of being
cheap New York night club, or a London by thought, but why do it?"
one, or with some garlic smelling Ital"Maybe you're right."
ian girl: that wasn't what I wanted. It
And I knew that she was right, bewas some emptiness that had to be fill- cause once I was happy, or at le as t
ed, but I didn't know with what.
content. It sounds a little foolish and
Sometimes I could hide this empti- trite now, but it was Annette who
ness by covering it with a stronger em- caused it. She was so blonde, and blue..:..
ot ion -- fear, for example -- I had eyed, very cute and very Swiss, trementr ied that. I used to race my little dously expressive eyes, game for any
two seater from Paris to Geneve. Danger flights.of madness, and warm as a sumand rear, they go together. Fear is the mer evening. She had a bit of a limp
anticipation of danger. It exaggerates from a skiing accident, but it gave me
and distorts, twists and magnifies; it some sort of pleasure even to be able
is by far the worse of the two. Fear to help her along. She was so damn
turns one's veins to ice; danger makes brave, --- and so damn cute.
the hot blood surge. Fear leaves one
But I guess I changed, and maybe
spent and wrung out; danger sharpens she did too.
one's senses. Yet they go together.
It's funny how some people can
I had seen the road disappear be- change. Sem-sem was one of these. Semfore me into the infinity of the night. sem thought he was smart and a cynic.
I had sensed the feeling of security Sem-sem thought he was a big time operand danger mingled in the snug cabin. A ator, but Sem-sem was a little myopic
cigarette, the dashlights glowing a shit.
pale green --- t~e long motor vibrating
All year he bragged and blustered,
smoothly, the small bumps in the road, lied and layed with various 750 franc
all gave the sense of security. But in sluts, and soon everyone knew that he
the background lay the hint of danger, was a conceited liar, and Sem-sem felt
the needles of the RPM . counter and alone. Then he walked to Austria.
speedometer fluctuating at the top, the
Sem-sem,- who had always felt himtrees dazzling in the headlights, hurt• self to be a member of the master race,
ling by, their branches groping into revelled in the company of all the nex"
the night.
Nazis, who told him how bright he was.
To have the machine go completely Sem-sem loved it. He hadn't heard that
out of control and to have the complete in a long time. But one night, after
frustration of knowing that all your visiting one of his friends, he picked
acti ons are in vain, horizons spinning up a little Viennese prostitute. She
and nothing but eternity on either was cute and lively, and Sem-sem, for
side, the moment of impact, the splint- the f'irst time in his life, fell in
ering of wood and glass, the twisting love with someone else. What's more,
of steel, --- all this was tame indeed she fell in love with him.
in ·comparison to the anticipation. And
True, she was Jewish, but maybe
when it was over, the thought of' having his Nazi friends wer e wrong. She was
beaten death at its own game, with the sweet and decent ; just a kid who'd had
�we use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One chair and the scale of colors. This kind of
kind F
of ab:
differ
ST. JOHN'S COLI.EGIAN
Page 8
ence:
a lot of hard raps and had taken to the lights from the bridge.How magnificent,
a sub:
given
streets, and very pretty. A great and vet~ it seemed to lack something.An
hers c
c hange came over Sem-sem. He gave up aura of impersonality seemed to cling
dis tin
l y ing and bragging, gave up his master 1 ike thl- :-siny mist.
exam1
race ideas, gave up sleeping with every
"Could this have been made by
substi
cheap tart around, and even wanted t() human hands?" I thought.
but is
get married.
"There's the toll station up
"this
Then, back in the states, his there . "
definii
father, a well-meaning old soul; somen I see it. "
how got wind of the idea. "A Viennese
I pulled up. There was a brief
tion '
realit~
abstr2
tion ie
it can
ure tc
reachE
tions
edge.
The
gen er:
appar:
perce1
mind.
quirin
We g.
there
facult
jectiv;
must
fore v
have c
beforE
as an
comm
our dl
a gre.
believ
- TI
contn
Nm
of pe1
expre
a dire
ven's
heard
mean~
know.
perce:
re fa t i
thing
We k
ment:
gases
ment:
three
betWE
is re
prostitute wants to marry my son! Has dazzle of light. He took my dime and
he gone mad?"
rang a bell, and we were through.
Well, he sent frantic cables den0nly two more hours till we reach
manding that Sem-sem come back imme d i- the country now. "
ately. Sem-sem hesitated a while, then
"l hope this rain doesn't turn to
went broke, and finally returned home. snow."
so now Sem-sem has forgot ten nearnYeh, I do like snow, though,"
ly all. He brags a bit more, is more
What a cleansing thing snow is. All
bitter, more cynical, boastful, and the dirt, all the grime is covered by
even a bi g g e r shit than before.
one blanket of pure white. Easy, isn't
I h op e that I haven ' t changed tha t it? Too bad the dirty parts of life
much, but pe ople can change - like c i g- can't be done away with like that.
arette smoke - with the wind.
Almost all people are escapists.
Life is someth i n g like a ci gar e t te.They nave to be. Most don't like to adW
hen it b ur ns o ut , it is dead , but mit it, but they are b y one means or
whi le it burns t he s moke pours o ut. ano t her .1ust the same. They like to feel
Ideas are like the smoke from a c i g a r- s ecure and the best way to feel secu re
e tte . The y seep out a nd dr i f t in nebu- is not to recognize any actions outside
l ous spirals, slowly ci r cl i ng by thei r the l i ttle realm of daily occurences.
own route t o the top, blending with t he
Security and l iberty. How opposite
smoke from othe r lives to g i v e t hat hue th ey are! If you want one y ou have to
to the era in wh ich we live. Some r each give up some o f t h e other. W
here lies
the same conclus io ns, but non e ever the happy medium?
t race exactly the same rou t e , n or do ·
How paradoxical is our situation.
any ever go direc tly to the point, but We seem to have no security, and liberonly by a tortuous , spira lli ng pro - ty, too, is fast vanishing. Neither
cess, each different, do t hey final l y exists beyond the next couple of cogs
reach a conclusion and merge wi th the in this great machine we call a wo r ld.
others.
A war every twenty years, Dictators,
Cigarettes can change - wi th the Proletariats, and church leaders dying
wind, if you like - and so perhaps can in far a way lands. Atomic, Artillery,
people.
Ack-ac k, Air force, Bacteria, Blitz! hope I haven't changed t hat krieg, Bombers, Buzz bombs, Carriers,
Clauswitz, Concentration Camps. There
much.
is the slowly growing smo ke of burn ing
nGot a dime, Baby?"
hou s e s on the horizon, of homes and of
"Yes. Wait a minute. He re 's one . P pe ~ple, of ideals and of i deas. Already
the smoke is in our nostrils. Secur i ty
"Thanks . "
"What a lovely bridge. Espec i a l l y u•d l iberty, have they disa~peared
:fr om this earth? I don't know.
tonigh t in the rain. "
You can't escape everything a ll
nyeh. In an effic i e nt sort of way.r.
And it was too, e ven in the rain-- the time. Call it what you will, cona wonderful symbol of American civili- science perhaps, but something drag'
zation, ultra- modern, well lit, four you back to reality.
There was a Canadian girl that I
lanes of concrete each way. Below,
knew darnnen well in Europe. She d~rned
the black water, splattered by the
the black water, splattered by the rain, our socks, mended our clothes, and so
slowly surged past,dimly reflecting the on• She was one of our little group.
r.
I
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
I I
Page 9
Well, before she lef.t Canada she in Berne. A Jodlerfest was on, and the
madly in love with some boy, prom- snowy streets reverberated with the yoised sincerely to marry him, and went dels of the boys down out of the mountaway, heart pounding. But, well you ains. The Cafe de la Paix was packed
know the effect of the continental that night. All -the Schwytzerdeutch
scheme of things on young girls thou- were a little high and beery. A big
sands of miles from home. She hadn 1 t .•
1ark room, a three piece orchestra of a
heen in Europe two months when she met piano, drums and an accordian, lots o f
a.n Austrian Count who gave her a whirl, beer and singing Swiss. The American
~nd then after that a couple of others. consul and his wife were there. An ex1wever, by Christmas time she had member of the Afrika Korps shared the
settled down to one man, a hell of a tabh• with us.
,fee American who'd been there since
I got a little drunk that night,
the end of the war. She lived with him, and a little sent:l,mental, but not too
slept with him, cooked for him, skied drunk to realize that I loved her, and
with him, studied with him; none of us 'that she loved me. The drive, later on,
cared as he was a hell of a nice guy. to a little hotel way back up in the
She was his, body and soul.
. mountains when she fell asleep on my
· However, every time we'd go intc a shoulder, was I content? I was then.
little Swiss ca.fe after skiing, she Driving one armed was slightly diffiwould ask the accordianist to play a cult in the mountains, but to have that
tango,-"Jalousie. 11 It's a lovely tune. cute little blonde head, asleep and
There's something about it that is warm trusting, it was worth it.
and living; it seems to throb and pulsate like hot blood. Just the same it
woh Hell,! mustn't dwell on memor<lid seem rather strange that she should ies. I'm cold 8lld tired."
ask for it every time, almost as though
The roads were well cleared; every
i t were a religious rite, and so one twenty minutes a State of Connecticut
day I asked her why it was that she al- scraper went _
by. The air was cold; but
ways requested it.
inside the · snug little cabin was an"It was Dun's favorite tune,n she other world.
The long motor moaning,
said.
the heater purring, the wind buffetting
And it was as simple as that. The against the side curtains, the dim monAmerican knew and didn't mind, a sort otony of a white road stretching out
of · tacit understanding, if you will. It endlessly, I was a bit sleepy.
was her little twinge of conscience
The road moved more rapidly for a
perhaps, perhaps just memory.
few miles, then again grew monotonous.
The white fences disappeared endlessly
The rain had turned to sleet, then into the night. The road went on and
to snow. The motor purred smoothly, on, and on.
cutting through the unearthly silence
"I'd better speed it up if I want
of soft whiteness that blanketed all. to reach home awake," I thought.
Pretty little New England towns slid
"The girl asleep, the heater,by, ghost like in the white darkness, warm inside, -- cold outside, wipers
the long rows of elms snow covered. moving, warm, -- cold inside,--horne for
Visibility was low, but I knew the Christmas---. 11
road .
"How wonderfully peaceful and
Falls Village, Conn., Dec. 26°
clean, " I s a.id.
Two young people who had been
"And just in time for Christmas." missing for three days were found dead
"Like Switzerland."
this morning in their MG upside down in
"! think I'll take a nap, Freddy; a culvert. Both had been killed inwake me before we arrive."
stantly. Snow had concealed the car.
And her head drooped slowly to my
shoulder.
The snow still fell, like the
snows of yesteryear, covering all. Two
I remembered those nights with lives, f'illed with memories and tales,
Annette so well just be:fore Christmas were gone. Soon it would be spring
~s
�we use nouns.
kind.of ah
differ
ence:
a subi
given
bers c
dis tin
exam)
subs ti
but is
"this
definii
tion 1
realib
abs tr~
tion i~
it can
ure tc
reacht
tions
edge.
The
gener:
appar:
perce1
mind.
quirin
We g.
there
facult
jectiv•
must
fore v
have
i
befon
as an
comm
our d'
a gre
believ
- TI
contr:
Nm
of pe1
exp re
a dir e
ven's
heard
mean:
know·
perce:
rel::\t i
t hing
Wek
men ti
gases
ment1
three
betw<
is re
Nouns are of two kinds.
Page 10
One
chair and the scale of colors.
,
r.
This kind of
ST. JOHN'S COLIEGIAN
ST. JOHN'S COLIEGIAN
again; the trees would bloom; the birds
would raise new families, and .a ll
would be forgotten, covered by a new
wa ve of life, covered by yet another
s nuw which was to come. Where are the
snows of yesteryear? Who cares? There
will always be mo r e.
express
terest
stamps
full of
her.
those things which deeply inand the variety in the work
the artist as youthful! and
wonder at the life all about
One might be somewhat conce r ned that
the exhibition hardly displays what
is termed a style, wh1cn one thinks
of in an artist's work as a sort of
•ou el les sont, ne de ces t an.
in div iduali ty running thru · al 1 the
Que ce reffrain ne vous remaine:
pictures and by which they may be more
·
Mais ou sont les ne1aes d e an t an t~· e-asily recogni~ed as the work of the
.
particular artist. Unless one is very.
Francois Villon (1465)
discerning, a recognized style is
generally something in the technique
or the way of painting which is
characteristic of the individual, but
the more important consideration in
Fred Wildman
this connection is an individual style
of thought expression which is related
EXHIBITION
to the creation of symbols in conveying the ideas. In Jo Thom's work there
We have just been treated to an e x- is evidence of style in this way of
hibition of pic t ures by our fellow looking at it. consider "Waiting for
member of the college community, Spring" and "QUeen" and "Sunflowers"o
Josephine Tho ms. Th e ex h i b ition we find here that spiritual likeness
-prO:ved to be an intimate col l ection or signature if' you like, which stamps
of drawings and p a i n t ings of her art them in the style of this artist. The
school days over the last five years. "Composition with Ten Figures" and the
It offered an unusual opp ortunity for large abstraction "Still-Life with
one·,. to tr.ace in her work the g r owing Mask" and perhaps the "Midnight" are
awa~eness of pictoral possibilities in thus recognized by their individual
her surroundings. Jo Thoms i ~ a slight · style. In the catalogue handed out at
little person with a gentle smile and the reception the artist is quoted as
a far-away look. Viewing her pictures "bewailing" the fact that she has not
one wonders at the vigor p acked into been able to discover a theor y in
many of them. Not only are some can- which she might settle down to some
vasses of large dimension but large in consistent style. Well, that is all
thought concept. From a casual view of right and understandable when one
the le~s than two dozen pictures, realizes the difficulties in the techone' s first impression is of consider- nique of painting for any artist, but
able variety in subject and ~echnique. when we discover as we most certainly
On further study you begin to real i ze do here, such thought and emotional
an exploring spirit prompting the ex- qualities as displayed b y Jo Thom's
pression of interesting experience an d wor k, we may be safe in feeling that
gradually you are drawn into a she need not be too conce rned about
pleasing journey thru widely diffe r ing d i s c overing a consistent style. Her
countryside with varying emotions e ach p ictures express her as the individual
turn in the road. we find ourselves whi ch she is.
exploring with the artist, these experiences which h a ve stimulated a we must not overlook the fact that the
creative urge in sensitive mind and Graphic Arts committee is due a great
becoming one with that mind in the deal of credit for their splendid work
pleasure of its creation. It is true this year in making the exhibition
that there is immaturity in some of program a success. The high light of
the work but there is certainly dis- the season was the beautifully staged
played an honest effort to grasp and reception arranged for the opening of
Q
I I
the Jos~phine Thom's exhibition. It
was held in the Great Hall on Saturday
afternoon, April 15th. A large and
enthusiastic crowd attended, including
most of the college comnnm:!.ty and many
guests from amongst the townspeople.
study of the pict ~res was enlivened by
a delicious punch and the artist was
much gratified with the keen interest
displayed in her work. A number of the
pictures were purchased by students
and others. After the showing in the
Great Hall, the pictures were hung in
the Junior conunon Room for a period of
two weeks.
-To~smd
I
Morgan
keepinS open house,
sends out his
song
the
Through the open doors, across
1 awn, the hedge
Along the highways to the ears of the
l o ng
Jour n eys , inviting, saying, saying,
Merge
With I,
yes
join him, hear him out,
in clude
A nd be included--and yet depart ,
re•
freshed
And started over . . . since you must
leave .. . and I
He shall perform another deeper thrust
And sing his song, my own, and still
keep wide
The doors for he--I--outlast all who
Page 11
POSTPONEMENT OF EPIPHANY
Mr. Robert Fitzgerald, translator
and poet, addressed those st. John's
students who could manage to fit the
college lecture into their week enn_
activities.
It was a lectui'e of
promise -- promise of reward and
promise of enlightenment. The promise
of reward to come to those perservering in the study of Greek and Latin
certainly bears periodic repetition,
and Mr. Fitzgerald's recounting of the
gradual blossoming for him of the
glory of the classical masters is a
testament for which we should be
grateful. When he told us of his discovery one day of some beautiful lines
in the Aeneid, lines w~ich before had
never shone with this new-found
beauty, and of the encouragement which
this gave him to continue, I thought
of a similar experience which I h~d
had recently trying to read parts of
the first pook of the Iliad.
Since I
unfortunately was not able to obtain
Mr. Fitzgerald's selections of poetry,
I should like to submit in their stead
these two lines from Homer as an example, I hope, of what the lecturer
meant. Thetis appears to AShilles an~
finds him weeping • . "Jexvov, 1t
XACt.t£ t c::; '[( §£ OE ~.~vet.<; ,~ ~1:0 T~~v8o~;;
t~cxUOet. 'µ]j
xeUBE v~ t vet. E tbq.t.EV C4-l<fXU.."
"MY son, why are you weeping? What 1s
it that grieves you? Keep it not from
me, but tell me, that we may know it
will
together."
Moving and beautiful
Arrive, and none so far has ever lines.
Listen to the soft and gentle
stayed
sound of the Ct.t, ,cxu, EU, t~e comple(Where are You? Wh ere ) to show I am mentary• words cppeVCt.<; and TIEv8o~, the
not indestructible
slowing and emphasizing effect of the
If he is destructible, does it mean, initial accents on the last three
To love?
words. Thetis asks though she knows;
Does it mean the ungettable (?) goal she asks as a comforter.
Two lines
for which I strive?
from the whole of Greek literature.
And Mr. Fitzgerald continues to find
-Ballard
pleasure and delight.
Here is solace
Emotion.
Nalced, pure, Cold. a br azen Buddha's
impassive stare.
Si•ple movement; eternal. time leas
energy!
Quiescence amongst the nothingness,
solitude.
what love accrues from liquid air,
Sweating tears on t h e b razen ch e eks,
.
-George Robert Contos
�we use nouns.
kind'"
of ab
differ
ence:
a suh
given
hers c
dis tin
exam1
subs ti
but is
"this
defini1
tion i
realit~
abstn
tion i~
it can
ure tc
reach4
tions
edge.
The
gen er:
appar:
perce1
mind.
quirin
We g.
there
facult
jectiv1
must
fore v
have 1
befor(
as an
comm
our ff
a gre,
believ
- T1
contn
Nm
of pe1
exp re
a dire
ven's
heard
mean:
know:
perce·
re fa ti
thing
We k
men ti
gases
ment:
three
betW(
is re
Nouns are of two kinds.
One
1?____ _
~age _
_
chair and the scale of colors.
This kind of
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
for those of us still learning and relearning paradigms.
I had hoped he would talk more of
translation and read more poetry, perhaps lines less uniform than those he
chose. lines of violence and irony and
humor.
However, his sub.Ject was "The
Ethics and the Tragic Epiphany", and
so he moved on to Ar istotle.
And here
we learned of an allegiance, Mr. Fitzgerald's preference for Aristotle over
Plato, which, of course, interested
·many of us. Plato apparently "gets to
heaven too fast", as I think he put it
himself, and Aristotle is more at
grips with man's "reality", again his
word.
one wondered of' what this
judgement was born. A valid judgement
certainly, but whence came it a.~d why?
And her~ arose our second promise,
that of possible f'urther enl igh.tenment at the question period.
It was a
longer question period than usual and
Just as rambling as usual, but it had
moments of delight and insight.
The
"neat" exchange between the lecturer
Pnd Mr. Klein on epiphany in poetry
itself and in the tragedy proper, the
showing forth (of the gods or the recognition) characterizing the addition
to language that makes it poetry. The
~romise hovered in view again with Mr.
Bar·t ·•-s hopeful and concise exchange in
which he suggested the dramatic f'orm
of the dialogues ofrers possibly a
better opportunity for understanding
· than the treatise 'form of Aristotle.
Mr. Fitzgerald seemed only to make his
choice more explicit and to leave unexplored what could have been one or
the c~ari'fications of the evening.
All in all, it was remarked, a very
personal lecture.
The discussion, when it was probing the problems of Oedipus, did foretell another lecture, one in which Mr.
Fitzgerald's intimate acquaintance
with Sophocles could be shown to our
better advantage and one in which he
might further explore his insight
about the rid.d le o:f the Sphinx, that
is, whether the riddle should have
been or actually was, "Wbat is man?'" ·
G. Miller
FUNERAL
We in the trenche s between void
and the dry, black dust
count the heads of the drowning man
and drop past the willow's roots
into the ebullient clay . . •
while somewhere a tree stands
unnoticed through the passin8 night.
I knelt within the pew and heard the
Mass
For Father Michael.
Kneeling there I eyed
The robe-draped coffin, .singly in the
passage,
Eye-stroked the ones who knew him.
No one cried,
Once while the wind moved
But, each recalled---a recollection
there had been a season of sympathy
minus tears--out of the snail's heart
The incensed Sundays past of those few
as it beat past the graveyard
years
between the invisible slopes •
When all would wait the 'Ite• of the
while beating the rhyth• of glaciers
priest,
and rain drops.
The pulpit verbs, the Sign.
Gone now.
Where in the dust do the slopes shape,
Deceased.
sighing thei~ grace to the ocean waves
where rests in some low heavy dark. Now en coflined in a chapel aisle,
' A cause for black-tied men to step in
ness
the smooth heart
flow.
O heart, compel
under
the high . pulse,
the dust's slow
of the wind's great
this month-time,
file,
For nails unpainted to peruse a purse,
dim For pagan petals in a pagan hearse.
O, Father, rise!
from the roots
and
In this, your robe-draped birth,
hour.
Arise God-high upon our man-high earth!
-CRP
r.
I
I I
St. John's Collegian
Vol. LXIII - No. 8
June 7, 1950
ANNAPOLIS,MARYLAND
Once the contradiction has
been made, it must be supported, and
the saf'est support available is in the
Of' the f'ollowing articles con- use of interpretation. If the intersidered in the f'inal judging:
pretation ts believed, the original
THE REFORMATION
contradiction is f'orgotten. What has
Paul Cree
once been said, what has once been
DIALECTIC AT THE WALDORF
written, what has once been accepted,
Ranlet Lincoln & Thomaa
has been heard, read, and accepted
Si•paon
incorrectly. Only the interpreter
MCDOWELL: IDEA AND IDENTITY
knows the true meaning of' all that has
Philip Lyman & Dick
been said, end written, and accepted.
Edelman
Nothing is sacred. No one can think
ON A LECTURE ON PAUL
and reason and understand; only the
Howard Herman
interpreter is endowed with such abilTHE BLUNDERER
ity. One interpreter builds upon
Robert Hazo
another, one interpretation is placed
the editorial committee has awarded
upon another, and the whole structure
its annual prize to Mr. Howard Herman.
is top-heavy with twisted bricks. The
The article is presented below.
Tower of Babel has been rebuilt. When
will it come tumbling down?
ON A LECTURE ON PAUL
CQJ,J.RGIAN PRIZE
Once upon a time there was a
highway to Damascus. It was just an
ordinary road until one day a traveler
came along. He was on his way to buy
chains, but when he came to the place
of the brickmakers he stopped and said
to himself, nThese are better than
chains." He began to erect a monument
to commemorate his decision, and while
he was doing so, others stopped along
the road and asked if they might help.
Many hands laid many bricks, without
plumb-line and . without plan. That is
how the highway to Damascus came to be
called the road to conf'usion.
Why should a man, inspired
to be a herald of' the realm or his
God, think it necessary to contradict
the law of his God? It had been
written that God gave law to a people
newly freed from slavery. Those
people needed a way of' lif'e, and their
God gave them a means to achieve that
lif'e. Certainly Moses knew the purpose of the law, and if Moses said the
law was means to health and lif'e, why
should any contradict him with talk of
sin and bondage?
Ho..,,ard Herman
From the 11 stundenbuch 11
of Rainer Maria Rilke
Many robed brothers have I in the
South
In Latin cloisters where sweet laurel
stands.
I know the human Marys they createOf ten I dream of youthful Titian•
burning
With God who leaps through them as
fire.
But wh- n I bend do..,,n deep into myself
e
My god is dark and as a fabric ..,,oven
Of hundred roots, drinking in solemn
quiet.
I have shot up from this close warmth.
I know
No more, for all my boughs and branches
Lie far beneat~ but nodding in the
wind.
-W.B.F.
�
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The Collegian
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The Collegian began as a student newspaper; became a college community literary publication in 1952 and continued until 1969; became a student newspaper again in 1969; discontinued publication from 1980 until 1989 when it again became a student literary publication.<br /><br />Click on <a title="The Collegian" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=26">Items in The Collegian Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection.
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Annapolis, MD
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12 pages
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paper
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Collegian Vol. LXIII No. 07
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St. John's Collegian, May 13, 1950
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1950-05-13
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Vol. LXVIII, No. 7 of the St. John's Collegian. Published on May 13, 1950.
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Annapolis, MD
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St. John's College
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text
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The Collegian
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PDF Text
Text
we use nouns.
kind ~ of abE
diffen
ence a
a sub~
given
hers o
distirn
examr
subs tr
but is
"this :
definit
tion v
realit} ·
abstra
tion is
it can
ure to
reachE
tions «
edge.
The
gener~
appan
percei:
mind.
quirin.
We
g~
there
faculb
jectiv(
must
fore Vi
have E
before
as an
comm•
our di
a gre~
believ•
- Tr
contr2
Nov
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knowl
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mentE
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betwe
is re1
Nouns are of two k1'nds.
Page 10
conceiv:
penings
have ex
tions.
-particu
but not
ence, i:
tion. t
hypo the
physica·
tedly de
our spac
unlmown
balancir
speculai
in our ,
verific,
Th~
accurat1
sists o
the faci
2) a lm<
to the c
jective
ing to 1
enough
probabi:
holding
balanci
Th
formed
degrees
ext rem•
foot on
most ov
of fac
budge 1
course
unknown
matic a:
stitut1
treme,
thing t
will lJ
but wi]
side as
be enou,
posal.
One
chair an d th e sea Ie of colors.
·
This kind of
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
lhat do you think of the proposed new
dorm1tor1es?
Jack Carr-ph1loeoph1st: I am not sure that th•
new plane take account of Hegel's 1mpl1c1t
theory of tensions. L'art est toujours le
resultat d'une contra1nte.
Richard Warner Edelman- movie mogul: The new
theatre properly should have only one narrow
entrance.
Adam P1nsker-The King lilliam Player:
'l'he buildings should have the form of Berg,
the simple integrity of Wagner, and the torrential exuberance of Haydn.
Price Chatham - a youth: The colonial style
should not be crossed with the neo-pagan
·swedish Modern form.
John Alexander-the Libido K1d: Man,that's where
I'd like to live.
Louis Graff- aesthet1c1an: The cantilever construction has the highest safety factor, especial.¥ if made nut of unpainted reinforced
concrete.
Georg• John Lee-sometime student: Draw the form
of the house conformably to this synthetical
unity of the manifold in space.
Fragment
Let us prey
We 1n Adam Smith
And Marx
Are no more
Than material
And no less than
t~e
Geist
In this day
There 1s no myth
larks
And therefore
Our burial
Certain now without Christ
•o
Bosch saw
And painted
Dante
The Div1ne Commedy
las understood
In tragic form
Eliot's awe
la tainted
Vant er
Th• human tragedy
Jllble brotb•rhodd
nd •T•ry norm
___ ,
-~--~--J ·· ~---- ------~-
St. John's Collegian
----------------=----~'· /!.,'-. :. - ~.
March 15, 195 0
Vol. LXIII - No. 6
ANNAPOLIS,MARYLAND
THE BLUNDERER
With.one hand Gibanee lrnuckled
the sleep out of one eye, then the
other. He blinked once, twice, opened
his eyes wide the third time until
they drew the ceiling into focus and
finally let the lids close, but
limply. Under his shut lids he saw a
blur of red. Gradually the red turned
to blue. Then polkadots a-ppeared in
the blue. Then one of the polkadots
expanded and changed form and at last
became the face of Rita. Gibanee felt
a little saliva leave his ducts ruid
trickle over his molars. He swallowed, tu.med on his side and squeezed
the pillow against his chest in a
brief extasy that filled his legs and
groin with an unbearable pleasure. He
relaxed again. Suddenly he brought
his harrl. to his mouth and coughed into
it -- two throaty barks that left
phlegm tingling in his chest. He
arette smoke slithered upward into his
eyes, smarting them, and he tilted his
head to one side as he had seen his
father do hwen he wanted to tie his
collar without removing the cigarette
from his mouth. The action left Gib~
anee feeling like a professional. He
stood up smartly and marched across
the hall to the bathroom, the cleats
on his heels snapping on the bath room
floor.
After shaving it took hiin only a
few moments to put on his shirt and
pants. He stooped down to the level
of the dresser mirror to knot his tie.
His face looked back at him with a
casual subtlety. With one movement he
pulled his tie to, smiled at his ref1.ection in a subdued manner and went
downstairs.
Gibanee could hear voices in the
front room as he lifted his sole from
the bottom step.
"Yow lrnow", he heard his father
saying, "the story is they want duplexes. That sort of thing can't be
had. EVerybody lmows that. .Af'ter a
raised himself on one elbow and tried
to cough up the phlegm. After a few
tries his throat began to irritate
while you get tired of telling them
him. He got out of bed.
the same old story, you lrnow".
The M.nds of the square clock inGibanee was aloof as he walked
dicated six like semaphores. Gibanee
into the living room. He saw that the
shook it incredulously before he realother people in the room were Rita's
ized that it was evening, not morning,
parents.
He felt an itch in his
and that he had gone to sleep several
throat and wanted to cough again, but
hours before because of a headache.
he swallowed ani the itch was soothed
He sat down on the bed again, retemporarily.
lieved, spermy, devoid of strength in
"Hello, Mrs. McShane, Mr.
his arms • From a pack by his bed he
McShane", Gibanee said.
took a cigarette and lighted it. He
"Well ,Jack", his father excl a~
sucked the smoke in, and then reached
ed with a sure smile, "we'd about givunder the bed for his socks and shoes.
While he was lacing his shoe, the cig- en you up".
�we use nouns.
kind f:! .
of ab~
diffen
ence a
a sub~
given
bers o
distirn
examr
subs tr
but is
''this i
definit
tion v
realit)
abstra
tion is
it can
ure to
reacht:
tions 1
edge.
The
gener~
appan
percer
mind.
quirin.
We g;
there
facult;
jectivE
must
fore ~
have (
before
as an
comm1
our di
a gre;
believ1
- Tr
contr2
Nov
of per
exprei
a dire
ven's
heard
meani
knowl
perceJ
relnti<
thing
We k
ment~
gases
menb
three
betwe
is re1
Nouns are of two kinds.
One
Page 2
chair and the scale of colors.
This kind of
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
Gibanee blenched inside at the
skeletal laugh that canie from the
McShanes~
He returned a smile, and
imned:i ately felt very nuch less like a
professional. He sat down beside his
father and lighted a cigarette . It
gave him some thing to hide behind, and
he was glad of it.
"Rita's with the sodal 1 ty tonight, Jack", Mrs. McShane began.
"I lmow", Gibanee answered.
"I
called her a little while ago". A weak
suspense. Gibanee felt the half-itch,
half-tickle rise in his throat'again.
He pulled at the cigarette instinctively, necessarily, as a child might
pull at a nipple.
Mr. McShane said something that
Gibanee could not hear, but he looked
at him and grinned knowingly as if he
had heard. Mr .. McShane looked do'WJl,
satisfied.
Continued P.
DR.
COURANT
In attempting a review of the leeture delivered by Dr. C.ourant on "Maxima and Minima Problems in the Development of Mathematics" I .find myself
haunted by the shade of the lecture
that might have been given. It was Dr.
Courant' s impression that he had undertaken to speak to a small group of
mathematics students . He found himself
faced with an audience o.f sane two hundred the majority entirely innocent of·
the ~st elementary terms necessary for
a precise presentation of the problem.
h
d
·
Forbidden to use so muc as a eri vative Dr. Courant produced a pleasant
his tor ic al sketch. 1
bl
e
Three genera pro ems wer
ted The first initiated by Her:as the problem of
d e t ermming the ~th of a ray of light
·
t~
between two points . This led eventually
to Snell's law and the concept that
~:~~nAl~xandria,
light always travels along the path
which for the given conditions will
take the least time. The second problem
the isoperimetric problen, of all curves of given length what is the curve
that includes the largest area, solved
by J . Steiner lead to an extensive reevaluation of our rrethods of proof. 1he
third, a "path" problem proposed by
John Bernoulli, lead to the Calculus
invariants which will reveal those aspects of the physical world which are
in no way dependent upon the language
we use to describe them.
That Dr. Courant succeeded in
clearly indicating the nature of the
problems is a creditable achievement
considering the circumstances . No real
attack on the solutions tor these problems could have been made and none
was. It seerrs ·to me doubtful that mathematics produces topics suitable for
Friday evening lectures. We have had
interesting and provocative lectures on
the history of mathematics, on the
philosophical fotnldation of mathematics
and on the relation of· mathematics to
other fields of thought. We have yet to
have one on mathematics itself. The
chief difficulty is that to get on with
the bus1ness at hand the lecturer would
have to use the language of mathematics
which-would be about as comprehensible
to the audience as middle English.
The question period that followed
the. lecture contained one bright spot.
Dr. Courant presented Steiner's solution to the isoperimetric problem. The
-proof was simple and elegant and
on P which brought out clearly the
er inherent in the indirect -proof.
dang
.
The rest of the question period was remarkable only for the profound silence
.
f
of all those who from their reading o
Dr. Courant's Differential and Integral
Calculus might be supposed capable • of
•
carrying on an intelligent discuss ion
with him.
'ST. JOHN Is COLLEGIAN
BARR'S LECTURE
on a recent Friday night Mr.
Stringfellow Barr presented us with a
very strange lecture. Ostensibly it
was a brief survey of the history of
political philosophy in the 10th, 17th
d 18th centuries. Commencing with
an
. d
Machiavelli, Mr. Barr rapidly carne
us th rough. the basic ideas of Hobbes
and I.Dcke, with even shorter gl~ses
at the thought of Montesquieu, Mil to~,
Shakespeare, and Rousseau. Why this
textbook style lecture? This is not
the first one of its kind to come from
h"m.
It seems that Mr. Barr has
1
written the introduction on pol"t" al
i ic
Page 3
carrying out their plans for mutual
extirpation. Not so today. Every
nation is a next door neighbor to
every other one. .Arrl now there is the
a tonic bomb!
Montesquieu advocated a confede:ra ted republic as the me ans of solving
the problem of war between nations.
Therein lies the solution for Mr. Barr
too.
Can this solution be carried out,
and in time? That was the theme of
the qiestion ~riod following the lecture. How can we set up a world gpvernrnent of confederated republics? It
can't be done, said many of Mr. Barr's
audience. It nus t be done or God help
philosophy for the s?on ~o be ~~b us was his reply. All the old argulished Eb.cyclopedia Brittaruca edition
me~ts were trotted out to show Mr.
of the Great Books. For some reason
Barr why world governnent today is an
he has thought it worth while t~ preimoossibility, arg,wrents ranging f'rom
sent us parts of this introduction as
t~ tough school's, "Look at the facts,
his last two lee ID.res.
.
bud", to tnose clothed in a. more
Mr. Barr is an extremely worried
philosophical dress., "Don't you realman. The other writers he discussed
bud", to those clothed in a more
were ;ust so much stuffing for him
philosophical dress, "D:>n't you realthat ~vening. The two men who really
ize that there are basic ideological
.
interes ted hlJil were Hobbes and Montes·
differences involved?" To all of
quieu: Hobbes because of his concept
which Mr. Barr replied, first of all
of the state of nature as a state of
in too many instances too many of your
war' and Montesquieu because heh seemed
facts are wrong, and second, granted
t o have found the answer to t e pro.
these ideological differences, what
blem of war b~tween nations.
can we do but keep working, trying to
For Thomas Hobbes, tmlike Lo~ke,
understand the Russians, trying to
governnent is a positive good. With- .
are in a constant state of build the foundation for a safe and
out law men
rious sane future? What do you suggest,
war with one another. The va
.
nation al states mak ing up the world dropping the Bomb?
And what can we answer? Therein
are in a -position similar to that of
lies the value of Mr. Darr' s evening
. dividual men in a state of nature.
~: we may expect them to 1 i ve at .da~._ with us: He asked the right question.
Dut, Mr. Darr, don't hide the impor.
gers-po IDts w1· th· one another. This · is
d
the predicament Mr. Barr finds ~": tant things you have to say for so
in today' not a new predicament, it is long a time. No more textbook lectrue, but one which was mt of so de~~ \tures, if you please!
per ate a nature in Hobbes' time as 1 t
is in ours. Natural barriers and a
lesser degree of ingenuity in the. arts
of war ke-pt men from more effectively
Feinberg
�we use nouns.
kind i?.
of abi:
differE
ence a
a sub~
given
bers o
distirn
exami:
subs tr
but is
"this i
definit
tion v
realitJ ·
abstra
tion is
it can
ure to
reachE
tions t
edge.
The
gene re
apparc
percei:
mind.
quirin
We g:
there
facult;
jectivE
must
fore ~
have E
before
as an
comm•
our di
a gre~
believ~
- Tr
contr2
Nov
of per
exprei
a dire
ven's
heard
meani
knowl
perce1
rebti<
thing
We k
ment~
gases
menb
three
betwe
is rec
Nouns are of two kinds.
Pa~e
4
One
ST.
chair and the scale of colors.
.TOH NI
s
"LE COLONEL CHABERT"
In the scene with his lawyer in
"Le Colonel Chabert" Raimu replies to
a suggestion that ne consider 'patriot ism':
"Ce mot -patriotisme, je
troµve que c'est un bien petit mot des
qu'on a invente l'hunanite". Perhaps
that is not an exact quotation, but
the sense is there. And there also,
in the word humanity, is the essence
of Ra:imU the actor. He is humanity,
not only in "Le Colonel Chabert", but
in the Pagnol trilogy (which one would
like to see at St. John's) and in the
s cores of other films in which he has
appeared. He is humanity suffering,
persecuted, betrayed; gay, full of
vivacity and humor; never unpleasantly sentimental, never false, always
human.
A Raimu film is communicated almost wholly through his enormous, mal1 eable face, with his large eyes expressing endless nuances between the
twinkle and the tragic sadness; his
head set upon a body of impressive
size and grotesque shapelessness; ·h is
voice ranging from subtly modulated
whispers to stentroian conrnands and
picturesque curses. He is quite a
character, this ugly Frenchman, who
has so often made us feel that he is
beautiful.
Consider him for a moment in
terms of Hollywood actors (may his
ghos t forgive the temerity!) Wallace
Beery and Lionel Barrymore come at
once to mind, with all their mawkish
mannersims and their watery sentimentality. Raimu's voice stands out
sharply against their cheapness, as it
does against the impoverishmeht of
Barry Fitzgerald since he left the
A.obey Theatre Players and converted
himself from an actor to a movie star.
These men have become types; Raimu
was always unique.
If it is true that "J.,e Colonel
Chabert" was Raimu's last picture,
This kind of --"'-"i1L~~~-~ ~-~----
COT ,J .EG TAN
this is singularly a-ppropriate. Except in "Le Fentne du Boulanger" he has
never been more touching than as the
soldier risen from the dead of Eylau
to confront a world grown inimical and
cold. One feeis an echo of the recent
German occupation of France in his
description of the neap of corpses
from whlch he emerged at Eylau. One
·
lS reminded that Raimu the man lost,
,his son, fusille par les Boches, and
that ne himself emerged from the occupation broken in heal th, to die soon
after the victory. If i t is fair to
consider "Le Colonel Chabert" in tl1is
context of events -- and it may well
not be -- one must mm tion the dignity
with which the Colonel faces the alien
world, and above all the growth of
character that one feels must have
taken place in the old soldier who can
speak so tenderly of German kindness,
and reject the narrowness of military
patriotism for something larger and
more noble. Perhaps the key to
Ra.i.mu' s acting lay in a similar capacity for growth in Ra:imu the man, which
allowed him always to sound ~ore mature depths of human character.
In the film there is the infinite
gentleness with which the Colonel
takes his music box from the cabinet
in his forner home, the pathos of his
face as he cocks his head and allows
the minuet to evoke his past, forever
lost; there is the terror of the
chase in ilie woods during the thunderstorm, as the inane lunatics in ghastl y white hunt the crippled but extr emely sane Colonel; but above all
there is the dignity of his rejection
of the world in the final scene, of
his acceptance of the fact that a hero
who has fought with Napoleon can hope
for no subsequent life that is wor th
living; that for a man to rise from
the dead is not a miracle, but a
faux-pas.
A. W. Satterthwaite
l
ST JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
Page 5
have always had their origin in real
MR. COURANT
and specific problems of human experience. Geometry came into being from
The appearance of Richard Cour- the problem of surveying, so sorely
an t as a Friday night lecturer was needing a solution in the frequently
from some points of view the leading flooded Nile valley; Ftolemy ,s trigoevent of the winter term. Courant's nometry was developed not for its own
"Differential and Integral Calculus", sake but to serve as an indespensable
at least in the translation of McShane aid in the solution of problems in as(and with problems added by him), has tronomy and navigation; the researches
become one of the peripheral Great in probability in the seventeenth cenBooks and its auU1or has become some- tury were cornnanded of certain mathething of a Great Author. To see such maticians by their noble patrons as
an author in the flesh is nearly as possible aids in the gambling -problems
much of a sensation as the presence of of these noblemen. further, mathemaEuclid, Ptolany, or Newton would be on tics not only derives its imperus from
the platform of Iglehart Hall. Also,
real problems of ln.nnan experience, but
Courant is co-author with Hilbert
even " such seemingly purely mathemain
(whose "Foundations of Geometry" has tic al considerations as rigor in
been on the Great Books list) of a proofs, appeal can be and should be
work which is much more than a mere
constantly made to physical objects.
textr-book, "Methoden der mathematisch- This point of view is not, however,
en Physik," a monumental work which universally accepted by mathematicians.
unfortunately (Courant tells me) still There are tho~e, like Georg Cantor,
lacks a McShane to render it satisfac- who claim that mathematics operates
torily into English. That Courant 1 s best when it is completely "free", and
lecture was an "event" in local his- whether the mathematical investigation
tory is attested by the fact that the happens to have application to the namathematics faculty of the Naval Aca- t~al sciences or not is of little imdemy were present in toto. The writer portance. These points of view doubtalso saw some Washington mathematic- lessly depend on the temperament of
ians who had come over for the occathe mathematician and mathematicians
sion.
of the past fall rather clearly in to
Prof. Courant's theme was "Maxima oue or the oilier of ti1ese two categorand Minima in Mailiematics and iliysics" ies. It remains a fact that the "pure"
and the ground covered was largely ma thematiciar. is as his best in the
ilia t of Chapte,r VII of Couran t and mopping-up stage of ilie development of
Robbins' "What is Mathematics?" Fol- a science; the mathematicians who
lowing in the foot-steps of his great first set up their respective sciences
predecessor, Felix Klein, whose chair were thinking in terms of the natural
Courant occupied at Goettingen at sciences, the purists appeared at a
Klein's own request, the lecturer took later stage wiU1 their rigor and their
as his pr imary thesis the assertion logic. That there are exceptions to
iliat ma.thematics, like Antaeus, can this is seen, however, in numerous
cases. Ricci in the eighteen-nineties
not be too long separated from the
matter of the natural sciences without explored the field of the so-called
great loss to itself and without the absolute calculus wi tl1 complete disreonset of decay and sterility. The gard of possible applications to the
great :impulses to mathematical iliought natural sciences. For him the new dis-
�we use nouns.
kind ~of abE
differE
ence a
a sub~
given
bers o
distirn
exam:i:
subs tr
but is
"this :
definit
tion v
realit)
abstra
tion is
it can
ure to
reachE
tions 1
edge.
The
genen
appar::
percer
mind.
quirin.
We gi
there
facult:
jectivE
must
fore VI
have {
before
as an
comm1
our di
a grei
belie vi
- Tr
contr2
Nov
of per
exprei
a dire
ven's
heard
meani
kn owl
perce1
rehti'
thing
We k
mentE
gases
men ts
three
betwe
is rei
Nouns are of two kinds.
One
chair and the scale of colors.
Page 6
ST. JOHN'S
c1pline was exciting for its own sake .
It was Einstein, who with profound insight, saw nruch later that the Riccical culus offered precisely the analysis which he needed for his relativity
theory.
As a matter of fact, Courant
stated his thesis implicitly rather
than explicitly. As a gr-eat example he
chose the extremum problem,- tfie problem of maxima and minima. the problem
of least action. This exampJe is an
excellent one since it nas µeen a pro-·
blem of physics since the earliest
times and has at the same time given
rise to nroblems of a purely mathematical kind which have been challenging
and fascinating. It was pointed out
that maxima and minima nroblems had
appeared in Greek times. in Euclid and
A1~pollonius, and, quite specifically,
in the problem of Heron of Alexandria,
concerning the shortest path from
point A to point B, both lying on the
same side of a given straight line,
and touching the given line. The application of' this to the well- known law
of optics, of equality of' angles of
incidence and reflexion of a ray of
light upon a plane surface, afforded
the first adumbration of a least action principle, so fruitful for the
natural sciences and the very cornerstone of modern optics.
A sketch of the historical develment of the principle of least ac
orxn.ent of the princtple of least action was given, from the Greek geometers through Fermat, John Bernoulli,
Maupertuis, El.ller, Steiner to Hamilton
and Einstein. Without discussing all
of the problems mentioned, may the
writer call at ten ti on to just- 011e because of its interest to St. John's
students who read Galileo's Two New
Sciences? It is the so-called brachistochrome 1Jroblem - that is, to find
the path in the -plane, of a body A
moving to a lower position D (not di-
This kind o....__ __.,_,.,,.
I I
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
COLLEGIAN
rectly below it) in the shortest possible time with no force except gravity acting upon it (a wire which might
carry the body like a · counter on a
string which is s.upposed frictionless). Galileo thought that the path
was the arc of a c ircle but John Bernoulli -proved that it must be that of
a cycloid.
Just as the differential calculus
of Leibnitz and Newton deals with the
~rob~em of finding for what abscissas
there exist ordinates of a function
greater (or less) than neighboring
ones, so the later calculus ot' variations deals with the more general problem of maximizing or minimizing surfaces or solids. Fbr instance, of all
surfaces passing through a given
closed curve in space, which will have
the least area? Here again appeal may
be made to physical realities, and it
is Courant himsel f who has performed
experiments with soap :t'ilms in problems of minimal surfaces. Nature responds just as readily to a problem
corresnonding to a difficult differential equation as to an easy one.
Prof. Courant pointed out,
necessarily without nru.ch detail, that
the problem of maxima and minima is
also a problem of invariants under
transformat i ons, and added that the
relativity principle which says that
the laws of physics must be independent of the co-ordinates chosen, is
mathematically best stated in terms of
a least action principle. The mathematical analysis discloses the invaria nts after arduous labor on the part
of the analyst; physical nature hers elf discloses the corres-pondi.ng invariants to those who seek ru1d question her.
Since there is no way by which
the sound of the words of a lecturing
mathematician who is constantly writing on a blackboard, with his back to
the audience, can be adequately ampli-
Page 7
fied, the writer in his seat near the before. It changed to blue as before.
rear lost two-thirds of Prof. Cour- Polka.dots aweared in it as before. A
ant' s words and is fully aware that he polkadot enlarged as before, became
has perhaps attrilJuted statements to Rita's face.
He froze the image.
Courant which Courant not only did not Then his throat began to tickle him.
make but which may hci,ve been the very He coughed against his will, and the
contrary of what was said. On the image fled backward in to a pol kado t,
basis of what was drawn and written on
then polkadots on a blue field, then a
the visible blackboards and some ocblue field, then simply a red blur,
casionally audible phrases, the writer and finally the rug staring starkly up
has made his comnents.
at him as Mrs. McShane asked:
When some solution of the sound
"Honest and truly, John, how do
amplification problem has been found,
these youngsters keep it up?"
we shall welcome again to St. John's
"We were probably the same",
that genial and great scientist,
Gibanee heard his father observe withRichard Courant.
in a rising web of cigarette smoke.
G. Bingley
Cont . From P . 2
After a pause he heard his father
ask him, ''Party tonight, Jack?"
"Eldonstahl's", Gil.Janee answered
and nodded his head yes down at the
rug. He imagined that the McShanes
were looldng at him, trying to split
him open like a nut with their eyes so
that they could look at the raw halves
of him.
Gibanee had sauntered into their
house once and passed a door that was
an inch or two a,iar in the rear hallway. He had lookea. 1Il and seen Mrs.
McShane on the toilet there. Quickly
he had walked back outside before she
could see him and after a discreet
pause, .knocked. When she had come to
the doorway, Gibanee had tried to act
as if nothing had happened. It had
not worked. The attitude remained
with him. It dis tr acted from the calculated charm of Mrs. Mc Shane to lmow
that she used the toilet. Now Gibanee
could never look at her without associating her with a bathroom.
He closed his eyes lightly in an
effort to suhlue the remembrance. The
red blur appeared under his 1 ids as
"People don' t change" .
After that Gibanee did not hear
what was said. He excused himself and
got his coat. He tried to re-create,
then capture the attitude of his father -- the last-wordish decision, the
polite brutality that silenced dis agreement with an exact phrase and
brought the dull pain of forced res11ect into the eyes of the disagreers.
He held his breath determinedly as if
that would keep his attitude secure
within him.
Five minutes later he was walking
thoughtfully to church where the sodality was singing a Latin hymn that
he could Just hear. When he entered
the vestibule, a carillon began clanging and tinkling, clanging and tinkJ ing. He dipped his finger into the
fmmt and blessed himself, careful not
to wet his shoulders or his tie with
the holy water. The carillon tinkled
gradually into silentness. Gibanee
looked in at the girls. He saw Ruth
Ganey whom he had driven home drunk
the Saturday before and who :bad vomited on the upholstery before she got
out. Gibanee studied her, remembering
how she would go to parties, get drunk
on not more than two 1Jeers and for the
rest of the evening move around slow-
�we use nouns.
kind ~·
of ab~
differE
ence a
a subs
given
bers o
distirn
exami:
subs tr
but is
"this :
definit
tion ~
realit)
abstra
tion is
it can
ure to
reachE
tions 1
edge.
The
genen
appan
percer
mind.
quirin.
We gi
there
facult'
jectiv~
must
fore VI
have E
befor€
as an
comm'
our di
a gre:
believ1
- Tr
contn
No'
of per
exprei
a dire
ven's
heard
meani
know]
perce]
re fa ti~
thing
We k
ment~
gases
menh
three
betW€
is re1
Nouns are of two kinds.
Page 8
One
chair and the scale of colors.
This kind of
-~~1.;ilc---~--~--
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
ly, passively as an amoeba from room and behind the necks. How familiar i t
to room, lap to lap. His thought was was to Mm! He finished drinking the
interrupted at the mass sotmd of the beer and let his eyes settle on the
girls' genuflecting together and fil- tanned legs of the girls. It left him
ing out of the pews, each looldng down with a certain excitement when he noso they would not trip on the cushion ticed how the feet fitted snugly into
lmeeler.
pumps and how the line o.f the calf
Gibanee walked out of the vesti- would disappear suddenly upward under
bule. He 1 igl;l ted a cigarette and the hems of the dresses. He felt the
tried to look as if he bad just arriv- tickle in his throat again, took out
ed. When he saw Rita, he threw the his ,handkerchief and coughed into it,
cigarette away, -put a fresh one in his trying to be as inobvious as µ:>ssible.
mouth and waited until she saw him.
Rita walked downstairs, t~king
Then he struck a match and put i t each step with precision. She smiled
close to the unlighted tip, making a at everybody. Gibanee wondered how
shell of his harrls arouni the flrure as such a little frame could hold so much
he had seen truckers do on windy cor- vitality. It made him disgusted someners.
times to see her always smiling and
"Were you waiting long?" Rita wanting to dance and talk.
asked him.
She came to him. He put his hand
"Minute or two", Gibanee answered around her waist, feeling an old
quickly. "Let' s go".
warmth fill him at the .familiar grip.
· "Ib you have the car?"
Soon they were dancing with the
"No. It's in the garage. They o tilers in the foyer.
are trying to wash the stain out of
"Are you working, Jack"? somebody
the upholstery".
asked Gi banee.
"You mean from when Ruthie--?"
Gibanee said no.
Gibanee nodded his head yes.
"Want to see you later, Rita",
They started to walk. When they crone another said.
"Have news and stu.ff
to a corner, Gibanee guided Rita a about Corky and the kids".
little bit in front of him, placing
Gibanee just smiled at the queshis hand between her shoulder blades tions after a while. Rita, however,
and directing her until they reached was inevitably waving her hand twidthe o-pposite curb as if she were some- dle-dee-dee at someone in the living
thing entrusted to his care.
room. Finally they gave up dancing.
It was a half an hour be.fore they
"Let's get something to eat",
arrived at Eldonstabl 's. The door was Gibanee suggested.
open, and they walked into a foyer
In the dining room there was a
filled with dancing people. Feeling table with plates of cold ham and
new and self-contained Gibanee answer- bread and lettuce and salad on it.
ed general helloes to the helloes ad- Ciibanee made a three-decker sandwich
dressed to him.
for himself and opened a bottle of po-p
Rita went upstairs to preen her- for Rita. He was about to -put some
self. Gibanee had a bottle of beer salad on his plate, when a small girl
and waited for her to come downstairs. with pimples on her face ran up gigHe looked into the foyer and saw the gling to the table and seized the sabright skirts and tailored- blouses and lad bowl.
the slender hands draped casually but
"Wait", Gibanee said.
surel y over the gabardine shoulders
"F.d said he could eat the whole
I
~ ---
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
bowl", the girl with pimples answered,
still giggling.
She started to walk away, then
suddenly let the salad bowl sli-p f'rom
Page 9
flung the butt into the darlmess vigorously.
"To hell with her then", he said
to himself.
:&iging further backward into the
darlmess he sat down on the rail of
the porch. In his chest a snouldering
sensation began to .form. He let it
blushed awkwardly. Gibanee felt emgrow until it hurt him ..
barrassed for her because he thought
"Jackie?" a voice said behind
she lo·oked so ridiculous. The salad
him.
was 1 eft on the floor, mixed with bi ts
He looked around and saw Ruth
of broken dish.
Somebody led the
Ganey.
pimpled girl back into the living
"Hello, Ruth".
room.
"Where ' s the opener?" She held
"Always doing crazy stuff like
an uno-pened bottle of b eer in her
that", Gibanee said. "Shame to waste
hand. Her head moved backward and
that food that way".
forward like the head of a baby, bob1 s nu re", Rita repiied.
"There
bling on the neck. Gibanee saw that
Uibanee looked at her. "You talk ·her eyes were bleary and half-closed.
jus t like your mother", he said. Then
"I don' t have the opener, Ru th".
tie suddenly realized what he had said.
"Nobody has it".
It was out now, so he braced himself
"You' re gonna get sick".
for the answer~
"I looked in the ldtchen too".
There was no answer. Rita simp"You' re gonna get sick, Ruth".
ly got very red and walked away. Gib"I'm not gonna get sick.
I'm
anee went after her.
goin' outside".
"I didn' t mean to say that" , he
"You're outside now, Ruth".
apologized.
"Oh".
"Leave me alone, Jack".
She gave him the bottle o.f beer
"Oh, stop that. My tongue slip- as i.f it were something that she had
pe d . Hasn't your tongue ever slipsuddenly grown tired of carrying. u~
ped?"
steadily she moved away .from him.
"Leave me a-I.DNE, Jack". Arri she Gibanee watched her. At the end of
walked away
the porch she stopped, got her balance
Gibanee frowned. He stood still. and descended t h e stairs sideways.
Then he gut another bot tle of beer and Gibanee watched her. There was a
went into the living room. He sat Buick coupe parked by the curb, and
down at the end of the sofa. After he Ruth Ganey got into it.
Gibanee
finished the beer, he .lighted another watched her. Then he got o.ff the
cigarette. He smoked it sl owly, so- porch rail and walked down the stairs
berly. His mind was worldng desper- to the Buick. He looked in the window
ately, trying to lay out a plan of ac- and saw Ruth Ganey leaning forward
tion.
He remembered what she had lim-ply on the steering wheel.
said.
"Ruth", he whispered.
"Leave me a-IDNE, Jack''·
She opened her eyes and looked at
Irrmediately he stopped thinldng. him.
He got up and walked outside. On the
"Are you tired, Ruthie?"
porch he finished the cigarette . He
He waited, but she only looked at
her hands. Everyone around the table
laughed. The pimpled girl put her
hands up to her face and smiled and
�we use nouns Nouns are of two kinds. One chair and
kind ~·
of abE
Page 10
ST. JOHN'S
differE
ence a
him. He went around to the other side
a subs
o f th e car and got in quickly. He
given
moved close to her, -put his arm around
hers o
her shoulders and drew her back from
distirn
the wheel. Her l1ead fell back liTUTJlY
exami:
against his chest. Gibanee tried to
subs tr
but is
straighten her up.
"this I
"Damn you".
definit
She looked up at him, and Gibanee
tion v
kissed her on the forehead. Then he
realitJ
kissed her forcefully on the lips
abs tra
.
.
'
tion is
tast1ng the mo1stness of beer. Her
it can
lips adhered to his gummily. He pulure to
reachE
tions
edge.
1
The
genen
appar~
percei:
mind.
quirin
We g;
there
facult'
jectiv;
must
fore
\"I
have (
before
as an
comm1
our di
a gre:
believ'
-
Tr
contn
Nm
of per
expre1
a dire
ven's
heard
meani
know]
perce]
rehti~
thing
We k
menb
gases
menb
three
betwe
is re1
the scale of colors.
I
COLLEGIAN
aµproached, but his gaze keot glancing
off her.
"Ed's going home. He told me to
ask you if you want us to go with
than", she said as if she were reading
directions from the side of a c ardboard -package.
"Sure. All right with you?"
She did not answer him. Gibanee
watched her as she went to get her
nurse, wrestling with the desire to
follow her and shake her until her
hair came loose. The desire remained
led her t o him tightly, and she dril:>with him even after they had gotten
bled a little on his tie.
into the car. He sat there tensel
"What's the matter ~ Ruthie", he
with Rita on his lap. As the car
said for no real reason.
down the empty avenues the air sliced
He kissed her again. Suddenly he through the open vents, fl.attening
heard the steady sound of a horn. cleanly against Gibanee's face. It
Ruth Ganey would not let go of him. reminded him of tbe first party he had
Then he realized that she had fallen ever attended. He remembered the
back against .t he steering wheel and cleanliness of the air as it had whiphad touched off the horn. The loud, ped in against his cheeks. He did not
steady blaring continued. Gibanee smoke as much then, and seldom coughnushed Ruth Ganey away and got out of ed. But party had followed party,
the car as if he were being chased. each party passing in the same way.
He ran back for hal:f a blo c l-<: and got From ten to eleven the minutes would
on the sidewalk. He was sweating and stroke by like marching men, then
coughing and biting his lip. He wait- there would be only a smear of time
ed for five minutes or so, then tuck- and it would be two or three in the
ed in his shirt and began to go back morning. The time-smears had come and
t o the house. He smil ed i nto t h e gone, come and gone, had come again.
darkness to see if that would calm During one time-smear he had first
him. It hel-ped. He whistled, and felt the tickle in his throat. In
that helped too.
Just before he another time-smear the tickle had bereached the house he came to a dead come an itch, then an irritation, then
stop, hoping that his mind would gath- a headache, then a bunched feeling in
er itself in again. Then ht2 went up
his chest, He had had two of these
the porch stairs and into the foyer
feelings in the past year. One had
where everyone was dancing as they had
le ft him so impotent that he could
been before he le ft.
hardly lift a glass. It was then that
As he stood in the living room his fatl1er had carried h i m back and
Gibanee felt as if every eye in the forth from the bathroom for an entire
house were on horn. He could not see week.
Ruth Ganey anywhere, and he i magined
Involuntarily the remembrances
that they had taken her upstairs. Then came into existence in Gilianee' s mind,
he saw Rita. Immediately he forgo t keeping in rhythm with the easy, ada~out Ruth Ganey.
Rita walked over to hesive pulling of the tires on the
him. He tried to look at her as she boulevard.
s-pe~
--,· ~·~ -·-----------S.:::...:.._J:;_O;;:,:HN' S COLLEGIAN - T
.
_
·-·
Rit a sat on his lap like a thing
propped. Gibanee studied what he
could see of her face. noting the pulled-in jawbones that had neve r seemed
to go with a mouth that was capable
of only smiling and pouting. Then he
detected a smell of lilac rinse coming
from her hair. It reminded him of
Mrs. McShane, all prim and washed in
lilac.
Gibanee concentr:ated on what was
in his lap, the weight of it, a girl,
Rita. He felt as if a strange thing
was resting on his knees, just a
thing. He frowned and looked out of
the window. They were passing a field
where G1banee had played baseball
while in high school. The expression
on Gibanee's face passed from a frown
to a blank calmness as he remembered
the catch he had made of Eldons tahl 's
::1-Y bal~, remembering himself running
~n and in and in, then slipping, sliding forward; still keeµing his eyes on
the ball to make sure it would not hit
him, finally holding ap his glove to
protec~ hi~ face, then feelin6 the
ball grind 1tself firmly into the supple pocket, right i11to we pocket. He
faced forward and with tightened eyes
watched the road ahead as he had seen
his father do while drivi ng at night
on an. open highway. From his pocket
he took a ci~arette, mouthed it for a
moment until he felt that it belonged
to him, then cleanly, accurately,
1 ighted it. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, letting the smoke almost
ooze out of his nostrils and from l.Jetween his li"ps. It was only then that
he became aware of the occasional
~l is p e r s in the rear seat and the
silken sliding of the dress of the
pimpled girl who was sitting beside
him. He let t he cigarette dangle from
his lips at a superior angle.
He heard his name said several
times and heard trivial questions being asked him, tut he continued to
Page 11
"''--:-~------~~~
smoke the cigarette. It burned evenly • Finally Gibanee finished it and
fl icked it out of the window, watching
the sparks splinter off satisfactorily.
Five IIllllll t es passed. Then he' be·
came aware of it. Tliere was a pull
and then a relaxation, a pull and a
semi-relaxation, then onl v a TIUll
b unc h ed and throbbing in his chest.
J
~
He held his breath and the pull did
not repeat itself. A slight mustache
of perspiration covered his top lip.
He let his breath out carefully like a
man waiting to find out if bis hiccoughs were really gone.
The next time it c~e Gi banee
stiffened. The thing in his chest
pulled, pulled, tugged, relaxed but
just for a moment, and then started
over again.
It came.
It passed.
Then it did not come again. Gibanee
felt only a tingling numbness in his
fingertips. He could feel his wet
shirt flat against his wet shoulder
blades. Sweat trickled through l llS
.
b
~ows and into his eyes.
He turned
h1s head toward the driver and sn
'd
.
qu1etly but with effort:
"Stop for a minute, will ya?"
"Huh?"
"I'm a little sick. Stop for a
minute".
"Sure."
The others had heard him. Gibanee could tell because all the whispering stopped at once. Rita turned
around and looked a-.:; him.
"I'll . b ack in a minute", Gib·
ue
anee said as the car cwne Lu a. stop.
His fingerti-ps still tingled
tingled with the numbness. He opene~
the car door, tripped and almost fell
on the street. Rita put her hand out
to catch him, then drew i t back quickly as she realized that the fall was
not serious.
Gibanee got off the
sidewalk and walked across a lawn of
crab g-rass and sat down. The -pull in
�we use nouns.
kind ~of ab~
diffen
ence a
a
sub~
given
bers o
dis tine
exami:
subs tr
but is
"this :
definit
tion v
realit)
abstra
tion is
it can
ure to
reachE
tions t
edge.
The
genen
appan
percei::
mind.
quirin.
We g:
there
facult'
jectiv(
must
fore VI
have E
before
as an
comm1
our di
a grei
believ i
- Tr
contr2
No'
of per
exp re:
a dire
ven's
h eard
meani
know]
perce]
rebtit
thing
Wek
ment~
gases
ment~
three
betwe
is re1
Nouns are of two kinds.
One
chair and the scale of colors.
__
This ki d of
Page 12
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
tugging and pulling lost consistency
his chest was starting to gather itand was absorbed. It left him ·v;-eaker
self once more. Gibanee braced.
and with a frelin,g of nausea.
Back in the car Rita was saying,
"Shall I tell them to wait?" Rita
"He never did that bef'ore".
The driver answered her, "He' 11
said.
"No", Gibanee answered. "You' re
be back in a minute. One beer too
many. Let him go".
all pretty-please now, aren't you?"
The driver had embarrassed sever"Forget that".
Gibanee detected the same nicety
al of' the others into laughter and for
a moment the grip of' tension inside
in her voice. It made him want to
the car gave slightly.
swear at her. No more parties, he
"Do you think that's all?" Rita
told himself. No more smokes, no more
asked again. No one answered. She any of that. Stop looking at me that
began to bite on her thumb nail. way' d8llll.
Concentrating on his steps he be"Somebody better see".
"Let's wait a minute".
gan to go back to the car.
They sat in the car waiting,
"Are you sure it's all right
waiting, while the:i.r headlights stared now?" Rita asked from behind him.
Gibanee felt he could be firm
eagerly into the darkness ahead of
them.
now. "Come one. Are you coming?" ·
Rita caught up to him and stopped
Back on the lawn Gibanee was down
on his hands and knees. He inhaled him.
"Let me wipe your face. They'll
with effort. Once or twice he coughed ana ir. left a ga.rgling fragment in think you were mowing the lawn or
his throat.
something".
"God, God, God", he said. The
"Let them".
word came from somewhere around his
"It' 11 only take a minute".
Then Gibanee could feel the handbelly.
He managed to sit up. The car, ker chief being guided smoothly over
he remembered, was to his left. He his cheek. Each stroke made him anlooked there just as someone was o-pen- grier and at the same time sadder. He
ing the door and get ting out on the felt like a doll being groomed for an
walk. It was Rita. Gibanee, breath- occasion. It did not seem ri,ght. He
ing deeply and hw1grily as a runner rem?mbered how genuine the pain in his
after a sustained dasn, watched her~ chest had been. Now he f'el t cheated,
He tried to stand, but only got to one as if he had been tolerated, but obknee. It left him looking awkward, liquely.
bent over in a clumsy half-genuflec"Is everything all right out
tion.
there. with you two?" said a voice from
Rita came to him there. '\ Jack? the car. Gibanee could tell that it
Are you all right?"
was the pimpled girl.
She stood about a yard away as if
"All right now", Rita answered
he were something that might suddenly almost in the same tone. "We'll be
and without reason bite.
there in a jiffy".
"Jack?" she repeated.
Gi banee turned his face and
Gibanee s toad up. "I don' t feel coughed away from Rita.
so good now", he said. Just then the
"Hold still, Jack".
numbness began to drain upward from
Gibanee looked down at her mouth,
Gibanee's fingertips. Gradually the the lips convolving into a half-mock-
I•
,
I J
Page 13
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
ing, half-indifferent smite.
saint of the New Program, had returned
I thought you were going to die to give a lecture concerning "The
the way you started to scream in City of Man".
there", she said and brushed a pellet
Introduced by Mr. W~igle and the
of sand from his eyelid.
doubtlessly sincere "Sandy" - Mr. Barr
He wanted to tell her that he was i.Imnediately beset by a multitude
hadn't screamed, but he simply kept of affiictions that would have driven
looking. He wanted to rip her hand a lesser man to distraction. The
from his face and scream something at cause, and prj mary annoyance, was a
her, anything, a curse perhaps, a broken lamp fixture; the result was a
damning word. His throat constricted confusion of crowning excellence. Mr.
as if he were ready to cry. He kept Klein, judged by many to be ·the camsilent.
pus 1 s leading meta~hysician, trans"You're done now", Rita said, cended his field this night to play
putting her handkerchief away. She the part of "Young Tom Edison and the
reached up and straightened his hair. Incandescant Lamp". It was no good.
"Let's go".
He should have stuck to Plato. The
Gibanee walked silently with her audience, having jettisoned its aura
to the car.
of propriety, tittered.
"I'll bet you just saw a rabbit
The stage was set for "The City
out there that you wanted to chase", of Man".
the pimpled girl said to him as he got
The lecture, it seemed to me, was
into the car.
not quite up to expectations. Though
There were a few restrained uetter than most, somehow one had the
laughs, very restrained, testing the feeling that it could be found in any
ice to see if it was all right to go good digest of political philosophy.
flirther. Gibanee felt his lips part
The question period was tar less
into an involuntary smile. He tried -pedantic. Aroused by the dogpiatic and
to stop it. The yearning to cry was garralous statements of some of his
so tight in his throat that he thought audience, Mr. Barr levelled them witi1
it would split. The smile stayed on an ef'ficiency that would have done
his face. Then fr an way down the red grace to the Missouri in its pre-mudblur re-a~peared before his vision. bank days.
It merged into . blue. Pollradots lifted
The problem of a religious revithemselves up into the blue. One o::f val in the modern chaos, of the feedthem enlarged, enlarged, enlarged. ing of the world's hungry, of the abEverything became one white polkadot. solute need for a World Government to
Then it burst, became a tear and seep- avoid the impending cataclysm, of the
a-pparent failure of the present UN, of
ed slowly out of Gibanee's eye.
the unfortunate method chosen in the
application of the ECA, all these were
Robert Hazo
discussed. In my opinion, the question period was wortl1 its weight in
gold, the lecture in 'first class
THE CITY OF MAN
copner. Still, the alloy was pretty
The "Legend" finally arrived at valuable material.
St. John's two weeks ago - and just BS
quickly - disappeared :into the night.
Fred Wildman
String-fellow Barr, founder and patron
�we use nouns.
kind p·
of ab~
differ~
ence
a
2
sub~
given
hers o
dis tine
examr
substr
but is
"this I
definit
tion ~
realit~
abstra
tion is
it can
ure to
reach.::
tions t
edge.
The
generc
uppan
perce:i;:
mind.
quirin.
We g~
there
facult'
jectivf
must
fore VI
have E
befor€
as an
comm,
our di
a gre:
believ
- Tr
contrc
Nm
of per
expre1
a dire
ven's
heard
meani
know]
perce]
relntit
thing
We k
1
ment~
gases
menh
three
betW€
is re•
Nouns are of two kinds.
Page 14
One
chair and the scale of colors.
This kind of ----~~
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
film where the other two failed. More pe rfectly than could have been done by
SOME SHORTS ON AND OF ART
any other device, the movement of the
Great art is always unobtrusive. camera over the graphic work of DauIt needs and asks neither a'Pologist~ mier, Gavarni, Decamps and other
nor explications; it exists in its French artists contemporary to that
greatness above the skill of the ar- era recreated for us its turbulent
tist and the appropriateness of his effect upon the nation and indirectly
the world. In the case of "1848!',
medil.llil.
That is why we are embarrassed bji great art made history come alive, and
an art film such as the short on Henry because the orily "explanation" of the
Moore's sculptures;' disappointed by art w~s offered obliquely through
that on the Aubasson tapes.tries; and relating it to its time~~ the art was
delightBd and moved by a production allowed to convince us of its greatsuch as "1848".
ness.
The short on Henry Moore commitI will presume further in this
ted the sin of apologizing and ex- film review and comment on the subplaining. Moore undoubtedly stands as jects of the first two reels. If the
one of the great English moderns, but fault of the Moore film was that of
no amount of film footage showing his seeming to apologize, Moore's art is
devotees in the Musel.IlD of Modern Art too often guilty of excusing itself.
will convince us of the fact. Nor There II11St always be a reason for diswill repe~ted explanations of why he torting an essentially beautiful
distorts and how he seeks to fulfill shape. Wien Moore thickens and alters
the possibilities of his medium. The the slope of a shoulder ~o heighten
purpose of the short was accomplished the impression of contained strength,
only when the camera was allowed to no one will arg,11e with him. But when
show us the sculptures themselves, and he twists limbs into ugly pretzels and
in many inStances it failed to do pic- makes of the human skull an inane
torial justice to their beauty and fishhead, the public has a right to
validity.
suspect him of insincerity.
Where I had regretted the color
. Art that is so obscure as to have
in the Henry Moore film, I missed it meaning only for its creator is too
in that on the tapestries of Aubasson. much like a diary written in code.
This short made less pretense at being Maybe some surrealist of 1950 will
an "art" film, but fell into awkward prove the Samuel Pepys of his age, but
error in trying to recreate the in- right now I would rather not waste
spiration which revitalized a lon.g- time deciphering him to find out what
neglected art. If views of the I ca11 observe first-hand.
JJ.Ircat's tapestry designs may not
countryside about Aubasson and the atmosphere of an old Moorish ruin were always be self- explanatory, but their
all that is necessary to artistic reproduction by the mills of Aubasson
creation, we should all be Jean lllr- gives them a raison d'etre. The greatcats. As it was, we could have learn- ness of a tapestry is not alone that
ed more of his particular muse by ex- of its design, but of the manual skill
of its weavers and the mechanical
amining its manifestations.
If Mr. ID:ielman will excuse the magic of the spinning wheel and loom.
presumption, I will commend the short And again, the whole is greater than
"1848" as having succeeded as an Art the sum of its parts.
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
The producers of both these
shorts could have profited by observing a moral made in each. In the
Moore piece, we saw the wisdom of being dictated to by the pos~ibilities
:i.nberen t in one' s medium; in that on
the tapestries, we were reminded that
a once proud art had slid alnnst into
Page 15
oblivion in refusing to recognize its
artistic limits.
Each art form deserves to be
fully explored by its 'Practitioners,
but just because something can be done
is not reason enough for trying it.
Patricia Parslow
VILLANELLE FDR MR. SCHWAB
The poet is himself and also other
He pleasures ma therefore I hate him so.
You don't need Freud to know I love my mother.
Although this love enchains my libido.
He pleasures me therefore I hate him so
Eros implies the strife of same and other
Although this love enchains my libido
I treat all students as I would my brother.
Eros implies the strife of same
Conclusive thetoric is quid pro
I treat all students as I would
Goading them on that love might
and other
quo.
my brother
make them grow •
Conclusive rhetoric is quid pro quo
The meats of dialectic are my bother
Goading them on that love might make them grow
In me~sure somehow same though also other .
w.
B. Fleischmann
�we use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One
kind ~..
of
chair and the scale of colors.
This kind of
r.
I
I I
ab~
differ1
ence
a
2
sub~
St. John's Collegian
given
hers o
distim
examI
subs tr
but is
"this :
Vol. LXIII - No. 7
ANNAPOLIS,MARYLAND
THE COWARD
definit
tion v
In crowds, dreams, and anterooms
realit~
I vie with my inveigling sell.
abstra
tion is
it can
I am the man who ruminates in cramped
quarters
ure to
To be calm.
reachE
At the rail -- upon the black kneeler,
tions
1
Before the very bread and Blood
edge.
The
This poundaae hard upon the knees
generc
Deters, deters,
appari
perce:r:
mind.
Uncertain and afraid I cubby
In this necessary single grief.
No enemy is mi n e but me.
quirin
No e nemy i s mine but me.
We g;
there
facult;
jectiv1
must
fore ~
have 1
beforE
as an
comm
our di
a gre:
believ
- Tr
contrc
No\
of per
exp re:
a dire
ven's
heard
meanl
know]
perce]
rehti1
thing
Wek
ment~
gases
menh
three
betwE
is re1
deters, --- - - deters.
.
'
Bu t st i ll I
I
try to try ,
am -- yet I am not I.
"Dat 01 e Davil Sea"
Eugene O'Neill's
moral scenery has
always been stale--stale because of'
the denial of hmnan responsibility an~
guilt. A man's responsibility for his
actions is the basis of drama, and .
consequently to reject it is to court
dramatic inertia.
For this rea&on
0 1 Neill's outlook dem8llds embodiment in
vigorous action and vivid passion
as a compensation for and a relief
from this dramatic i~ertia. Also, the
lack of responsibility and the absence
of guilt are made plausible by an
environment of vi9lent action and
reaction (an environment in which reasonable action is impossible) .
So
there is a twofold need for plenty of'
movement:
as a relief from the inerti a caused by the denial of' h uman
guilt, and as a means of making this
absence of guilt plausible.
As an
indication of' this denial o:f guilt in
Anna Christie I quote the following
words of Anna to her :father:
"Su.re
I f'orgive you.
You ain't to blame.
You're just--what you are--like me.
May 13,
1950
There ain't notnln' to forgive, anyway.
It ain't your f'aul t, and it
ain't mine, and it ain't his neither.
We're all poor nuts, and things happen, and we ju.st get mixed in wrong,
that's all. •
On the basis of what has just been
posited it looks reasonable to suggest
that the screen is a better medium for
Mr. 0 1 Neill's exploits in inertia
then the stage.
The screen offers him
its manifold motive poss~bilities.
And it has been suggested that these
are just what he needs. Unfortunately
this particular movie was produced at
a time when 11 talk 11 had just been
introduced into the movies.
The consequent preoccupation with "talk"
lessened the concern with the possibilities o:f movement.
This lack of
concern with the use of motion was
clearest in the almost stake-like stasis of the part of the movie that took
place in the back room of the bar.
In
spite of this historical defect the
movie does seem to come off as a success, and one of the causes of' this
success is the screen's natural ability to present effectively 0 1 · Neill's
backdrop of incessant motion, the sea.
This iniversal backdrop o:f motion
gives a basic, vital infusion to the
action, and the screen emphasizes this
asset.
Beyond being the background and the
container o:f the motion the sea becomes an all-important symbol .
Anna
and Chris her father represent two
points of view about the sea.
For
Chris the sea is "dat ole da.vil, sea, "
an omnipotent, omniscient malevolence,
and he cringes at its power, befo r e
which the human will is an inert plaything.
Here another sort of' inertia
is underscored, that of' the human
will.
For Anna, on the other hand,
the sea is "home,• regeneration.
Not
�
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The Collegian
Description
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The Collegian began as a student newspaper; became a college community literary publication in 1952 and continued until 1969; became a student newspaper again in 1969; discontinued publication from 1980 until 1989 when it again became a student literary publication.<br /><br />Click on <a title="The Collegian" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=26">Items in The Collegian Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection.
Coverage
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Annapolis, MD
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
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16 pages
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paper
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Collegian Vol. LXIII No. 06
Title
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St. John's Collegian, March 15, 1950
Date
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1950-03-15
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Vol. LXVIII, No. 6 of the St. John's Collegian. Published on March 15, 1950.
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Annapolis, MD
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St. John's College
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English
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text
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The Collegian
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PDF Text
Text
we use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One chair and the scale of colors. This kind of
kind ~'
of ab~
diffen
ence a ,
________ , J_O__ .. s co_I.JE~G-I,_AN _ _ _~_
s_T_
lJN
..._
Page 6
a subs
given
wind ,. ·the women who ·swept the black -dust
hers o
from their walks with worncdown ' brooms ~ '
distirn
would come -to pass on these ·evenings . :
When lnf,,,.nts 1n out' c db~ of' birth 9
exami;
We knew not dream no-r goa.1 .
·Anonymous
subs tr
A room wfl~ then o ur 11 - (.le ~ar ;~ h 9
but is
A word "¥-'11-"' then oor sou !
"this i ·
GOSPEL ACCORDING TO
definit
Usually in tJ-ie eairly evenfog rhen the -air
tion v
I.
and -the sky ;.,.nd the leave. · we re at peace
realit;v
with themselves "e woulcJ walk. His gaze
'.fhink and think
abstra
would usually -be irec teci ·toward the ·chips
tion is
But fathom not
of shale and ash in the curb; ·:Occasionally _
it can
he would look at the sluices of cloud stuff~ ·
ure to
Mysteries
noticing · how some looked as if they had
reache
Of life, .love, frogs 9 of fleas ;
been juiced up while others moved with the
tions c
wind and fell apart like rapidly dividing cells
For once when close I seem to· come 9
edge.
and still others were so stilly puffed outThe
Their shadows slip . irito the Sun. :
that they could have been mis taken for
gener2
props . :
appar2
Everything was quite : casual at that time . :
percep
Son!
In the side streets he would often notice
mind.
Hanging there
men iri unders: hi!t~ sitting in a thoughtful ~
quirinj
We
g~
there ·
facult~
jective
must l
fore w
have e
before
as an
commc
our di:
a gre2
believE
-
Tri
contra
No~
of per1
expre~
a dire<
ven's
heard
meani:
knowl1
percer
refatic
thing
We k1
ments
gases
men ts
three
betwe1
is rec
sad, after.,dinner a l _ os t '.lnima1 -like silenc~ ·
some smoking straight ; black pipes ; -roost
simply plumped down in their chairs with
the weight of their sins and happinesses
and -embarrass ments balaneed -safely but
nimbly on their navels . He would turn a full
photographic ·glance at them and -continue
walking, bearing with him the image of sor
rowful eyes - grim cheeks ;. blunt bellies . The
images would tum over and around and in°
side out in his mind like dissolving · cud 9 •
then further -gradually down into the vague 9
smudgy depths of things remembered
Then there would be the quick cries . :
1
' y ~ you
hit me and I 11 tell momma ~d
you ~u catch it' .
1
' You was out. ' I tagged the telee pole , :
You was out ,5~
q 'I was not."
Q' You was . I tagged .~'
eeHow -d you know? 1 •
QCause I tagger , that's how.· r
Q
1
Q
Cause why (
QQCause ·'
QQWhy? ' .
1
'Cause . i:naf s why . ~ :'
.And the thin cries ·would . dwindle a-way
around a comer ; leaving - behind them . the
instant abstnce that a rabbit leaves when
h darts quic k- legged irito tall grass .
All these thing ; along with the fanned
out brillance of th s un se tt ing , the ants
tugging stubb -~ ly · a t tremendoc :-: toothpicks ~
the grass layi g down like blo wu 11· ir in the
In
God ~ s
strange g?ace , ·
Crucified 7
•
Dead; buried 9 yet quite alive ;
-And ear which-hears· DO' outer sound Of truth er' lasting 9 truth uncrowned
0
0
Found
-Yes 9 at last 9
·
·An unwatched- gate , ·
Liberalized
From freechm 9 s barb baited prize ;
0
Clear logos smiles and winks her eye J
And bids me come prepare · to die . :
~y!
What. weird dispatch destroys the
I lay seduced
By a demi urge
0
Louis Graff
dirg~~ ;
St. John's Collegian
Vol. LXIII - NO. 5
ANNAPOLIS,MARYLAND
Feb. 7, 1950
title of the recent lecture by Mr.
Brown was "Irony". As it. turned out,
What is the job which a reporter the title (except for length) might
of lectures is expected to do? Is he have been, "The Man who Wanted to be
to state in as clear terms as possible Archbishop of Canterbury". The lecwnat he thinks the lecturer said or ture was hardly a dissertation on
hoped to say; is he to state what in ircny, although some definitions were
his opinion the lecturer omitted to suggested, or, more exactly, some
say; or, is he to use the lecturer's questions were asked whose answers
position as a point of departure (as ~ight lead to possible definitions:
book reviewers so frequently do) frcrn (a) Is irony a statement of the conwhich to launch forth into an exposi- trary, or sane thing more than this; if
tion of some cherished ideas of his so, what more? (b) Is the purpose of
own which ne has long hoped to shower irony to mock? is it to unmask those
upon an eager and an awaiting world? who wear masks of self-protection?
All these are doubtlessly elements scrne definitions by a certain Rev. Mr.
which motivate the reporter of lee- Blair, a non-conformist clergyman of
tures. While promising himself to about 1800 , were introduced from a
abide by the first, or at most the book written for the edification of
second of these elements, he all un- youth. The classification of Jmowknowingly has accepted the third.
· ledge by this Mr. Blair into such sub-Since the art of the lecture re- heads as ornamental lmowledge, luxurporter depends both upon the lecturer ious knowledge (physics, metaphysics),
and upon himself, and upon the circum- etc., and the inclusion of answers to
stances of the occasion, and since i t problems, for tutors, shed more light
is therefore a very complicated art, (though unconsciously) upon the nature
it is probably not profitable and even of irony than Mr. Blair's attempt at
hardly possible to suggest clearly the exposition of this figure of speech.
standards of this art. To say that This method Mr . Brown himself chose.
the reporter rrust be simple and lucid, Contenting himself with merely saying
even when the lecturer has failed in that there are at least two sources of
these respects, is to state the only irony: (a) · I r ony by man, (b) Irony by
criterion to which everyone, I think, nature - usuaJ.ly called irony of fate,
would agree.
he proceeded at once to introduce an
A lecture by Mr. Ford Brown is "_jmnense specific example". This is a
always awaited with anticipations of favorite device of Mr. Brown's. One
pleasure. Qne lmows that sane inter- has not forgotten his famous lecture
esting matter will be illtnninated by on Shakespeare which took the form of
his p enetrating insight and wit. His a descrfption of Chartres cathedral,
audience will not be confounded or with slides. Except for a warning at
amazed; it will be amused and pleased, the beginning that the audience was to
and incidentally, instructed. The keep in mind at all times that this
IRONY
�we use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One chair and the scale of colors. This kind of
kind f:H
of ab~
diffen
ence a ,
P53e 2
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
a subs
given
was a lecture on Shakespeare, the word met a religious clergyman. Preferhers o
Shakespeare was never again mentioned ment was often "showered" on those
dis tine
nor was there reference to a single whose only qualification was their
exami:
play of his. This method of "an im- friendship for some great family, for
subs tr
~ense specific example", though un- example, the Churchills. Bishops were
but is
usual, has certain advantages . The to be sober and respectable but little
"this i
definit
lecturer can construct his example ar- more in the way of Christian qualities
tion v
tistically with beginning, middle, and was expected.
realit)
end. He can employ all the devices of
It was quite natural that a reabstra
the playwright, including suspense. volt against this state of affairs
tion is
He can entertain his audience while should come within the church itself.
it can
instructing it. And above all, the The low-church party constituted iture to
reach€
audience sees for itself those things self a faction of reform against the
tions c
which other lecturers might be obliged high-church party. William Wilberedge.
to say too professorially and with too force became the leader of this reThe
great a show of learning •. In ~r • form. His field of activity, however,
gen er~
Brown's method, concession is being extended beyond the Anglican Church
appar~
percep
made to the slowness with which most itself and he became a world reformer;
mind.
of us develop a fondness for abstract he advocated the teaching of Chrisquirin,
thinking. The reporter is entirely tianity in India, he :fought militantly
We g~
unwilling to say moreJ pro or con, on against slavery throughout the world.
there·
the pedagogical value of Mr. Brown's Within the church this cleavage was
facult~
device. That it is a pleasant one, no shown by the fact that for the high
jectivE
must J
one can gainsay.
church, baptism was enough as a first
fore w
Mr. Brown's researches, extending step toward salvation; for the low
have e
over more than two decades, on Hannah church a personal conversion was
before
More and the origins of Victorianism, necessary • . In the eyes of a low
as an
soon led him to a consideration of the churchman, even a Bishop might not be
comm(
our di:
Wilberforces, pere et fils. The el- a Christian.
a gre2
der, William Wilberforce (1759-1833),
Into this world of church facbeliev{
was a great reformer and his statue i-s
tions, the yotmg Samuel, our hero, was
- Tr•
to be :found in Westminster Abbey; the
contra
born. He became a brilliant young
NoVI
son, Samuel Wilberforce (1805-1873) i~ man, taking a double first at Oxford
of per1
the hero of Mr, Brown' s "immense spe- and bent on taking holy orders. The
expres
cific example". To understand the young queen made him Royal Chaplain,
a direc
story, something must be said about and he· became Bishop of Oxford when
ven's
the state of the Anglican Church at only 39 years old, and later, Bishop
heard
meani·
the time of the elder Wilberforce. of Winchester. In other words he was
knowIi
The liberality of the .Anglican Church, "showered" with preferment, and obpercer.
following the attempt to conciliate viously only by deserting the tenets
re fa tic
various groups at the time of the Fng- of his father. One can well imagine
thing
1 i sh reformation, led to a kind of how the followers of the elder WilberWe k1
easy-going habit in the church; pre- force, now dead, detested young Sammen ts
gases
lates of the church, often a place uel, who had forsaken them.
men ts
where the younger sons of the upper
The plot is hastening to its ~on
three
classes found refuge, were frequently clusion. The Man who Wanted to be
betwe•
anything but devout or pious. Dr. Archbishop of Canterbury is now thwaris rec
Johnson once said that he had never ted at every step. The appointment of
--- '-~-- ~
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
the Archbishop is made by ·the prime
minister, but Lord Palmerston, whose
interest in church and religious
affairs was so slight that it was said
of him that he was not even an atheist, by a long concatenation of circumstances which the reporter will
omit, left decisions on church appointments to his step-son Lord
Shaftsbury, who was low-church!
Disraeli who followed, was a convert
to Christianity, a man of whom Mr.
Brown wittily remarked that it was
clear from what he had been converted,
but that it was not at all clear to
what he had been converted. Disraeli
in matters of church a-ppointments continued the policies of his predecess or. Gladstone, who t"oflowed. Disraeli as prime minister, might have
been willing to offer Samuel the
covet ed appointment but the incumbent
refused to die. And so poor Samuel
never won the longed-for place where
he might have fol.lld a suitable outlet
for the full force of his Christian
activities! And the last "smile of
the Gods" at him was that his brothers
and a brother-in-law had gone over to
Rome on the wave of the Oxford movement.
Such is the "immense specific
example" of irony. Some will wish
that something had been said about
ircny in Greek tragedy as contrasted
with irony in Shakespeare. And one
might ask a huge rn.nnber of such questions on matters left tmtouched by the
lecturer. But to have expected answers to such questions would have
been to have misunderstood the lecturer's artistic purpose. It is upon
the basis of the artistic structure of
his specific example that the lecture
must be judged. And upon that basis
no fault can be fol.llld.
G. B.
THE ADVENTURES
Page 3
OF CHICO
The process of growing up commonly kills in us some admirable sensi ti vi ties toward our world that we
enjoy as children, particularly that
feeling that the human child has for
Nature's child. One of us is rarely a
st. Francis; instead we keep pets
(that is, animal substitutes for the
offspr ing we don't have or for the
slaves we may not have), and as a rule
we assume these pets to be inferior
creatures.
It is to avoid this state of mind
that my wife and I prefer to have a
cat in our menage, for a cat brought
up with the dignity, freedom and minimum pampering that is his due as a
personality and a life will, more than
any other tamed animal, obey and insist on our obeying the fundamental
Law of Nature that respect among creatures be Dlltual and equal.
Can we tacitly decide who is the
hero of the enchanting adventures of
Chico? Is it Chico's friend (never
"pet"), the roadrunner, or is it Chico
himself? The latter does predominate
the action, but his function is of a
necessary device to exhibit all the
actors and provide an understandable
narrative - Spanish being at least
Indo-Ellropean in descent as opposed to
the obviously rneaningf\Jl but exotic
Whirro-Cocorican of tile Paisanito.
Dick Etlelman has suggested that Chico
perhaps represents God, a hero nonpareil, in this little terrain, administering justice and necessity to
its denizens; but how can this God be
subject to his own greatest necessity,
death? Whatever happens to any animal
can also happen to Chico, who is,
after all, an animal too.
Let us persist in thinking of
Chico this way, an animal among animals; we shall arrive at a more in-
�we use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One chair and the scale of colors. This kind of
- -'!""
kind ~'
of abs
diffen
Page 4
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
ence a,
a subs
ti.mate understanding of the lllliversal- the junior critics as the good guys
given
bern o
i ty and permanence of emotions and and the bad guys. Undue characterizadistirn
uassions in the living world. Chico tion must be avoided. No member of
exam:i=
~cts as mother to the orphaned road- either group can have any l.lllders tandsubs tr
runner, but certainly with not more able past before the film begins, nor
but is
affection and patience than the posslIDl any reality that will permit him to
"this f
or the doe. The boy and the bird play have a conceivable fUture after the
de:finit
tion v
and fraternize much like the two close of the film. Both good guys and
reality
coatis do. And when death enters the bad guys must be portrayed in black
abstra
drama, boy · or cat can effect it cal- and white and their perceptions of
tion is
lously, doe or bird can fight it their world must permit no shades of
it can
bravely. But in any event, there is grey. At the beginning of the film
ure to
reach€
really no action or reaction peculiar the bad guys must be engaged in .some
tions c
to one of the actors which might set utterly nefarious, illegal and unjust
edge.
him apart as protagonist or manipu- project. They set about this project
The
lator. This is the world, and these with all the subtlety of a large bull
gen en
are its inhabitants, remarkably alike critically inspecting a set of fine
appan
percep
in temperaments and lives and equi- Dresden. From the beginning the good
mind.
valently subject to a nDrality that is guys are required to be so obtuse that
quirin,
neither artificial or disparate.
they do not even suspect what is aWe g~
We should see more adventures of foot. Since the audience has fathomed
there·
this sort, fran Pain-Levy's microcosms the whole thing some half hour before
facult~
jectivE
to the planetarirnn's macrocosms, and
the good guss even suspect, the degree
must J
thereby acquire a sense of humor and
fore w
proportion that can never even be -0f density required of the good guys
have e
imagined in the excess footage of sur~ is readily ap-parent. However, once
before
the good guys do begin to move, law,
realistic psychoses, Hollywood pana~
as an
justice, and the eternal fitness .of
commc
ceas and the sel:f\o-consciousness shadow
things rectifies the whole matter with
our di:
-boxing of the art film.
a majestic and overwhelming display of
a gre2
beliew
force. (Perhaps the moral to all this
Bob Parslow
- Tri
is that force, exercised by good guys
contra
of course, solves all problems and
*
No~
eradicates all evil.) The trappings
of per1
for this American morality play inA
THE WESTERN TRADITION
expres
a dire<
elude lots of horses, enough powder
Of the three movies, The Great expended in blank cartridges to have
ven's
heard
Train Robbery, The Last Card, and The suwlied the Meuse-Argonne offensive,
meani:
Covered Wagon, offered as a program of and at least one antiseptic saloon
knowl1
"Westerns", only the first actually dance hall and gambling hell. There
percer
alified as a "Western". The "West- may be a girl involved. If so, she
refatio
qu
.
. 'd
ern" is a form that is r1g1 and unthing
varying. If the elements are omitted had better be the object of the
We k1
ments
then, 'though the picture may be very schemes of the bad guys and not the
gases
good and very interesting, i~ must object of romantic interest for the
ments
have these qualities as considered hero. After all, the hero's best
three
friend is his horse and it would be
under some other category.
betwe•
Every true "Western" must have too bad to have anything come between
is rec
two clearly defined groups known to them. If all of the above items are
0
_____,___..,......__~_____.,___ ____ l~-,~~-.
s·T. JOHN' s COLLEGIAN
Page 5
pr esent and the producer can manage to
include several howling anachronisms stay home and read a book. If you
f or the delectation of the more alert have any interest in female wrestlers,
patrons we have a real "Western". A the encounter between the ladies is
little thought might be applied to the interesting as a fore-runner of the
problan of why this particular stereo- classic in Destry Rides Again where
t yne has so much popularity in this Dietrich does some fancy grappling.
country. Personally I suspect Pan- Personally, I'll take Dietrich.
gloss of inventing the whole thing.
These three films suggest to me two
To turn now to some specific problems. First, if the "Western" is
comment., The Great Train Robbery was an American morality play, what can we
no t only the only "Western" on the infer about our concepts of law, jusbill but it was the only one of the tice, force, and evil; and second, how
f ilms shown that seemed to understand did the movies manage to forget so
t hat a moving picture should have much so fast?
m
otion. The sense of motion was
Blair Kinsman
achieved without moving the camera and
w
ith the lnnited technical facilities
*
,available in 1903. Perhaps it would
be a good thing for Hollywood if techMR. KLEIN'S LECTURE
nical matters weren't quite so simple.
To put it bluntly, most producers of
A lecture is like a book in that
1900 had a better idea of what the
the measure of its benefit is proporshooting was all about than those of tional to the degree of inspiration it
1950. The Covered Wagon is a case in has produced in its reader or listener.
point . It might very well be renamed
I t is this inspiration which gives the
An Evening on the Couch with the
impetus to the reader or 1 is tene r' s own
St er eop ticon. Motion has been largely thinking, and this is the primary aim
lost . Perharis this is a good thing if
of all education, whether through the
the rate of progress of a trir> over-- medium of books, lectures, or the
land in an ox drawn wagon is the sub-o- classroom. Inspiration is produced by
j ect. The -picture certainly cannot be
our views' being suddenly widened and
called realistic b~t it does achieve,
deeoened by the superior understanding
par ti cularly by long distance diagonal
and grea fer de11th of thought of the
sho ts of the wagon train, a sense of
lecturer, author, or teacher. Excited
slow massive relentless movement. The by the new realms upened to us, we work
characterization of the guide given by
in them, comparing with our former
Torrence is well worth noting as being
views, explai11ing facts by them, relatunusually well done for any period of
ing, questioning, extending: in short,
111ovie nroduction. The snooting match th inking. The result is dee-rer undershows some familiarity with early standing for ourselves.
frontier stories where such bouts are
In a lecture, a necessary prePortrayed with some frequency. The requisite to the inducing of this inLast Card, a Bret Harte sort of thing, sniration is that a. lecturer have eni s just unfortunate. The story is too tl1usiasm tor his subject. Unfortw1atecanplex to be carried by the action, ly too many lectures are given at St.
and the film resorts to excessive use John's and elsewhere by misplaced perof subtitles. One might just as well sons,-persons misulaced in respect to
�we use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One chair and the scale of colors. This kind of
kind f?.'
of ab~
diffen
Page 6
ence a ,
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
a subs
their subject, which is at a good dis- and how 8ocrates deals with Meno as he
given
bers o
tance fran the sphere of their life and shows himself in these implications.
distirn
natural interests, and for which they But how much of all this we see is deexami:
haven't the necessary enthusiasm. Such uendent upon our own thinking on the
substr
lectures are a waste of time for all problems the Dialogue is concerned
but is
concerned. However' when a lecturer with. we cannot see the difficulties
"this I
definit
speaks on a subject of vital interest of Meno until we have tried to define
tion v
to him (this often is not the profes- for ourselves what virtue is, and then
realitJ
sion he is occupied in)' his own enthu- his necessity for constant relapse into
abstra
siasm is conmunicated to tne listeners enumerating .virtues will be understood;
tion is
and induces a like interest in them. and in turn we will wonder at the sop~
it can
He has successfully established the istry of Socrates in not accepting such
ure to
reachE
tions
c
edge.
The
generc
apparc
percep
mind.
quirin.
We g~
there·
facult'
jectivE
must
J
fore w
have e
before
as an
comm<
our di:
a grec
believE
-
Tri
contra
No~
of per1
expree
a direc
ven's
heard
meani:
knowl1
percer
rebt ic
thing
We k1
men ts
gases
men ts
three
betwe
is rec
1
true teacher-learner relation, and a definition, only to find finally his
henceforth the measure of his benefit
ulterior pur~ose in trying to bring
is unlimited, being proportional to the Meno to a true confronting of the probdepth of his thinking on his subject. lem by shaking his confidence in his
Such lectures stand out in the memory a renemberings and laying him open to re-long time after the others have sli-pped collection. When we have reached this
away, and serve to make the Formal T)lane of understanding of what Plato is
Lecture one of the mo~t important func- ~aying, we can see how Socrates' rnations of the St. John s program.
neuverings digressions definitions
.,
'
'
Those of us who hear d Mr. Kl ein s are all under the control of this ullecture last year on the Seventh Book terior purpose, and are not sophistries
of the Republic could have expected no as we thought before, nor playful
less than to have a number of insights s-porting with a less adeut antagonist,
opened to us during his recent Plato nor simply serious attem~ts to find
lecture. The subject this time was the wha t virtue is, as we should suspect on
understanding of the Dialogues, and the the first reading. Meno speaks the
-particular Dialogue he chose to exem- truth but does not lmow it, as Socrates
plify what he had to say was the Meno. realizes from the first.
For this
We ~re not to sit back and passively reason he sets traps for Meno in the
read the Dial ogues, we were told, but attenpt to turn him f rom considering
must enter into them activel y , consid- the subject of virtue with his surface
ering the questions asked in the course intellect only,-with regard to logical
of the Dialogue as being aimed at us, consistency and agreement to others'
trying to answer them ourselves, and definitlons, and to bring him to really
watching closely as the drama unfolds. wonder what virtue is. It is an atPlato is communicating more by the teJJlflt to change a soul.
If we turn to the question of what
action of the Dialogue than oy the
virtue is itself, r a ther than to the
words; by the human drama enacted as
Socrates bares the soul of Meno and
tries to teach him, than by the mere
answers to the questions raised in the
Dialogue. To understand what Plato is
communicating through the action requires that we look very closely at the
Dialogue, that'we understand the implications of such questions as Meno asks
playground the question provides for
the drama enacted, we fin d that this is
also taken care of in the unfolding
Dialogue . Mr. Klein showed how Meno
implied in one of his first questions
that virtue was lmowledge. And the
episode of the slave boy showed that
whether it is taught or had by nature
Page 7
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
are not alternatives: though Socrates
as teacher was a necessary concomitant
to the boy's learning, he could not
have learned without having the truth
in him by nature. Here again we are
taught by the action of the Dialogue
rather than the words.
The magnificence of Plato's art
was amply shown during Mr. Klein's lee~
ture as we saw how the Dialot,rues were
wrought to communicate Plato's meaning
on the finest 1 evel as well as on the
grossest. No matter how closely we
look, even to the turn given to the
words to show the expresser's nature,
and to the apparently chance choice of
cognates, we find Plato communicating
A
•
DRAMA
'hhat screaming demon's precipice
I..ocms through sulfurous miasma,
Mocking, portending abortiveness,
00 violent 'gainst the stoic drama's
Cold, impassive, rigid -peace.
What belching, sick, polluted beast,
Existing in the crude emotions,
Twisted in moribund convulsions,
Longs its death, remains to be
This gory, insane scene of sordid
Souls slowly dying, bathed
By the macabre mist's . abjectity
A peasant's horror, a mad man's dream,
Amidst the irnperturbity.
G. R. C.
to us. As Mr. Klein said, the content
and fonn cannot be separated.
Mr. Klein divided the readers of' a
Dialogue into three classes. The first
consists of those who read or listen to
the Dialogue for the first time. To
them everything is dark. The second
cl ass are those who have read this and
other Dialogues enough to recognise recurrent themes and to be able to reconstruct the Socratic doctrine. Classical scholars belong to this class. The
third class consists of those who aim
at the level of mderstanding of those
in the Academy, who knew Plato. This
degree of understanding is approached
by examining the complications, recognizing the -problems, the artful distortions by Socrates,-by watching every
letter. This is our task, said Mr.
Klein, and his lecture was certainly
such as to inspire ,us to it.
An ton G.. HarJy
Where there is death
And flights of nightingales
And usually the stillnesses of
Stark-pure angels
I would charitably find this
Alone
Without even you beside me
(Whoever you are Then)
On some infinite moon.
And, 0.., to return this image
I flew upon
Unviolated to your now
Adoring breast--
***
Farewell to ht.mility, may you ever
Rest in the bosom of your own paradox.
Loved One: mystify this secret
We lead the best lives, eat the best
I withhold deep
Food, do the best things and die the
Deep beneath our most
1est deaths; of course it's still death. Gradually violent tongue!
In honor of FLAIR - by the printer
C. R. Powleske
�we use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One chair and the scale of colors. This kind of
kind ~·
of ab~
diffen
Page 8
ST. JOHN'S COLLEG IAN
ence a
a subs
Cle crly the mistake to which we
MCDOWELL: IDEA AND IDENTITY
given
are all p one is to assume that lll1ity
hers o
Serious discussions about archi- among the buildings is the same as
distirn
tec ture have been set off by the new
examr
unifonnity, a uniformity which is alPresident's projects for the developsubs tr
but is
ment of the College. In order of im- ready sadly comnromised. oy the notion
''this i
portance, a new heating plant, a lab- of a Georgi an boiler-house. Furtherdefinit
oratory, an auditorium and a dormitory more, the assumpticn that fl a t roofs,
tion v
blank walls, glass bricks, steel and
realit~
abstra
tion is
it can
ure to
reachE
tions 1
edge.
The
gen er~
appan
percep
mind.
quirin.
We g:
there·
facult~
jectivE
must.
fore V\i
have e
before
as an
comm<
our di
a gre~
believe
-
Tri
contra
Nov
of per
expret
a dire•
ven's
heard
meani
knowl
1
percer
rehtic
thing
We k1
men ts
gases
men ts
three
betwe
is rec
are envisaged. In this way a p.,.Aetical
problem of a different nature from the
idle talk about an ideal St. John's
comnunity confronts us and challenges
our capacity to translate our ideas
about the way men ought to live into
the specific consideration of integr ating new buildings built for the
activities of the New Program with
ones not so designed but al ready adapted by our usage and growing conventions.
Granting that there are already
these many buildings on the campus,
several of them of considerable dis~
tinction, it is obvious that the style
of the proposed new ones is somewhat
restricted. Everybody will agree that
any construction must harmonize with
what is here already. But it seems
rather inappropriate that the pseudo-colonial style so well-adapted to the
State University should intrude itself
upon the ftmdamental integrity which
St. John's by now represents to the
whole country. The popular mistake
about st. J Ohn IS haS been to asStnne it
recommends a sentimental and slavish
imitation of the ancients disregarding
the modern scene; whereas, of course,
it only insists that the problems of
the past are alweys with us, demanding
a constantly fresh statement and new
resolution. What greater confirmation
of our critics could be folll1d than for
us to attempt pallid copies of the
great architectural achievements of
eighteenth century .Annapolis, instead
of restating and renewing the ideas
which are responsible for this greatness?
concrete are synonomous with contemnorary architecture is false and deceptive. The real accompl ishment of
modern architecture is that for the
first time since the Renaissance architects no longer plunder the buildings of the past putting together
Greek and Tudor, Gothic and Roman into
a cons tantly shifting potpourri, but
instead resume the tradition begun in
the remote past and dominant until the
Renaissance, of designing buildings
whose every aspect has a strict connect ion with the special character of
the life in and around it. With reference to the particular problem on the
campus, i t is conceivable that the use
of red brick and white trim in the design of these new buildings might
satisfy the basic demands for coherence with the old, without rneru1ing
that we must build "colonial". After
all, what besides these materials
unites the library and McDowell? (The
reader is referred to the new brick
law office on Duke of Gloucester
street, just off Church Circle.)
Actually the question of material s and indeed of all these architect ural details can cloud the real probJ -:.>m and prevent its consideration altogether . The greatness of the architec ture that flourished in Annapolis
was both to reflect and define certain
ways of life and ideas about living
that have dignity for us when we view
both their public and private buildings. The vitality of St. John's is
contained in its also having definite
ideas about how men should act and
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
many formalities that attempt to embody these ideas. If its architecture
fails to respect their originality and
independence, it will impose on us
false and degrading postures. Instead,
our presumption at the saninar table
where we speculate and define freely
for- ourselves, in tl1e presence of So&rates and Shakespeare, should give us
courage to find and make an architecture of our own in Annaoolis.
Page9
sis? \\hen the anti-hypothesis reaches
zero, proof is attained. To take some
example, Harvey's hypothesis of the
circulation of the blood most will say
was more favorable thru1 the anti-hy-
pothesis at the time of his expounding
of it. The beam was tipped even more
in favor of the hypothesis when the microscope enabled us to see the capillaries. Until we have seen the blood
circulating in a whole body, however,
(the microscope showing movanent in
Phi l ip Lyman
only one small segment at a time and
Dick Edelman
telling us nothing of what is going on
in the rest of the vascular system) ,
there is still anti. . .hypothesis, however
ANTI-HYPOTHESIS
slight it may be. This anti-hypothesis
Every hypothesis conceived has its would become zero on sensible perc~
anti-hypothesis. By the latter tenn is tion of the circulation and the hypothmeant the body of facts and considera- esis could then be said to be proved.
tions opposed to coorplete acceptance of
the hypothesis. In considering, or Another example is if we connect two
hollow glass rods by a rubber hose, and
judging, we place the hypothesis on one
rlll1Iling a colored liquid through one of
side of a balance, the anti-hypothesis
the glass rods we see it come out of
on the other, and according . to which
the other, we hYl)othesize that the
way the beam ttps, declare ourselves in
liquid has also run through the con~
favor of or against the hypothesis.
necting hose. - ~ have not seen it, but
However, since all hypotheses are fonn- other possibilities are so impossible
ed when there is incomplete knowledge
of consideration that the anti-hypotheof facts vertaining to the case, there
sis is almost zero . The argument for
will always be a factor, more or less
the existence of a prime mover is of
large, consisting of the unknown, and
it is what is done with this that d~ this nature. Al though we don't lrnow
termines whether we aimroach our bal- the cause of all movement, we are unancing scientifically or not. The ex.... able to conceive of a -possibility other
istence of this unknown is what allows than a first unmoved mover and so hyfor so nruch argument and discussion in pothesize it as the cause. We cannot
the world, for usually it is a large say that the existence of a prime mover
enough factor to determine the tlpping is proved, however; we can only say
of the beam, making possible the hold- that in our state of experience and iming of either the hypothesis or a con- agination the anti-hypothesis is low.
trary. The most fertile and everlast- But our state of experience is all.... 1Jn...
ing subjects for discussion are those vortant. Since it extends to the hapwhose unlrnown factor is the largest, penings during the time of only a few
such as the existence of God, or (worse million years and to the space of the
yet) the character of God, existence of irrmediate terrestrial surface plus what
the soul, life after death, etc.
extensions the telescope and microscope
\\hat is proof in terms of hypothe- give us, our imagination or hypothesis-
�we use nouns.
kind ~·
of ab::
differ~
ence a
a subs
given
hers o
distirn
exami:
subs tr
but is
''this I
definit
tion v
realit) ·
abstra
tion is
it can
ure to
reachE
tions 1
edge.
The
genen
appar~
percep
mind.
quirin.
We g:
there ·
faculti
jectiv€
must l
fore w
have e
before
as an
comm<
our di,
a gre~
believE
- Tri
contra
No\I
of per'
exp re~
a dire«
ven's
heard
meani
kn owl'
percer
reht ic
thing
We k1
ments
gases
men ts
three
betwe
is rec
Nouns are of two kinds.
Page 10
One
chair and the scale of colors.
This kind of
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
conceivi ng can deal only with what happenings in this limited space~time we
have experienced and their extrapolations. There is much outside of our
particular space-time that cou ld be,
but not being subject to our experience, is totally outside of our conception. Consequently, in the prime mover
hypothesis as well as many other metaphysical questions where we are admittedly dealing with happenings outside
our space-time, we have to say that the
unlmown factor is too large for any
balancing. This, in effect, limits our
speculation to such things as have come
in our experience and are possible of
verification by it.
The scientific method consists of
accurate weighing, which in turn consists of 1) an accurate lmowledge of
the facts on both sides of t.he balance,
2) a lmowledge of what facts pertaining
to the case are unlmown, and 3) an objective disp:>sal of these facts according to probability, or if there is not
enough information to determine the
probability of the individual facts, a
holding them in suspension during the
balancing.
These three disciplines are performed by different people in varying
degrees. Some are predisposed toward
extreme hypotheses. They put their
foot on one side of the balance and the
most overpowering and patient piling up
of facts on the o ther side will not
budge them from their views. And of
course tney cl aim the whole body of the
unknown for their side, becoming dogmatic about the unverifiable facts constituting it. Other ~eople, less extreme, will allow that there is some~
thing to be said for the other side and
will listen patiently to an opponent,
but will stick tenaciously to the one
side as long an the unknown factor will
be enough to outweigh the other's proposal.
A method is scientific in inverse
proportion to the degree of emotion
that is brought to the balanc ing.
Likes, dislikes, fears, desires, hates
and all classes of emotion are of
course prejudicial to an objective dis-posal of the unknown facts, and recog~
nition of the known. Since knowledge
is accurate according to the degree in
which it has been approached scientifically, can we say that those two parts
of man, his knowing or intellectual
part, and his emotions or that part
which lends what warmth and happiness
life has for him, are opposed? Must
the advance of the one always be at the
expense of the other? Each pers?n has
his own answer to the problem according
to the degree of emotionality and intellectuality he has by nature, and
needs expression for . We place a dividing line at some point separating a
realm for science from a realm for
faith. In the former sphere, it is
agreed that objective weighing of hypothesis and anti-hypothesis is the
best method of procedure; in the latter, however, since the lll1known factor
is too large for any detenuination by
balancing and since we need some belief
about such things for our happiness, we
believe to be true what we would like
to be true (often adding a priori rationalization) • Sane need a belief in
most of the things the doctrine of the
Christ ian church has for objects of
f a i th; othe r s , such as Emerson, don't
car e about t he particulars but pos t ul ate only the supremacy of the good in
t he unive r se: still others forbear
j udging these, to them, hypotheses, but
occupy thernsel VP,S with the lmowable
world, needing only the fa~th that 1)
the world is knowable or ordered, and
2) they can in some measure know it.
Anton Hardy
*
,....
I
I
•
II
)THE REAL
~=COLLEGIAN
Volume II, Number 2.
.... :..-~~ ·. -~ --.-
1950
into his
Alf TI POLIS
llD.
March 3, 1950
RA GR AROK
Mr. c. D. Lewis, \he REAL Dean of John's
College in the twilight of the Golden Age,
frequently remarked to us in private conversations that.the world is going to hell. On
this point we are inclined to believe him. In
fact, this 1s our explicit editorial policy.
We are concerned only with the Man1chaean
principles. The revival of
Satanism is the
main aim of our contributors, and we are sure
that their efforts will not be 1n vain.
DEMONOLOGY
Professor R. N. Courant was prevented from
giving his lecture as scheduled by a maximum
audience, a minimum time, and a mediocre cold.
A somewhat condensed version of the lecture he
was to have given follows.
In Fortune Magazine (March 1948, June 1949)
some applications of the theory of probabil1t1es to §ames and Strategy were discussed.
Strategy was defined as: ~interaction ~•tween
two or more persons , each of whose actions 1s
based on an expectation concerning the action
of others over whom he has no control • The
policy followed 1n aaking these moves 1s strategy.~ The best policy is one that will hold
an
opponent•s maximum possible gain below your
minimum possible gain • The mathematics of this
max1mum•min1mua problem has been captured by
ll ted his
seen his
tie his
~igarette
_eft Gib.:.
mal.
He
d across
.e cleats
bathroom
Lm only a
hirt and
:.he level
his tie.
h:i with a
vement he
t;
his reand went
es in the
sole from
ls father
want ducan' t be
After a
.ing them
fw".
te walked
' that the
re Rita's
1 in his
gain, but
s soothed
exclaimlbout giv-
1
�
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The Collegian
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The Collegian began as a student newspaper; became a college community literary publication in 1952 and continued until 1969; became a student newspaper again in 1969; discontinued publication from 1980 until 1989 when it again became a student literary publication.<br /><br />Click on <a title="The Collegian" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=26">Items in The Collegian Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection.
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Annapolis, MD
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
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Collegian Vol. LXIII No. 05
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St. John's Collegian, February 07, 1950
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1950-02-07
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Vol. LXVIII, No. 5 of the St. John's Collegian. Published on February 7, 1950.
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Annapolis, MD
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St. John's College
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text
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The Collegian
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PDF Text
Text
we use nouns Nouns are of two kinds. One
~hair and the scale of. ~olors. This kind of
kind sr
·
of abs
differE
ence a
a subs ·
ST. 'JOHN' S OOLLEGIAN
given
be1·s o:
St. Jobi •s JUblicatim might be tenned· the .questim: "l'bat should .a St. Jolm• s
dis tine
examp
the "literary fellows." 'Dlis is, I an publication be?" Let us, at , the risk
subs tr
a.fra.id, a rather large group al th:m~p of being somewhat ponderous, rephrase
but is
I lunp t.ogether here a whole spectrun the question: "'Die St. Jolm •s program
"this ~ ·
or opinion, all subject to at tack on is an idea which has been shining for
definit
roughly the same gromids. The spect-- twelve years; tbe St. Jolm'·s conmmity
tion v .
run extends from t.nose who feel that is a group of people who have been exreality
abstra
sane rea..l. good would be served by an- :posed to the light of that idea for
tion is
other publication on the order of the over a decade; is there anything that
it can
Sewenee. Review. The Kmyon, The Bard, we have seen; dQne, felt, learned or exure to
pressed, ·that deserves or demands exetc. etc. reviews~ ·mm mere are the
reache
less conservative ones who want to out-- pression to the .outside world?
tions <
If there is, then we should plar;
edge.
Partisan the Partisan Review. Finally
for a review, a quarterly, a publicThe
there is a small lunatic fringe of
genera
super avant gardists :ror whom. the St. ation of some kin1.1. .tr there 1s not,
appara
John •s program is apparently a step- then I tllink r..nat we must ·admit t.o
percep
ping-stone t.o Greenwich Village .bohen- <:>urselves tna.t in the - final reckoning~
mind.
ia, and want to incorporate this into St. John •s is nothing but an miique,
quirini
yea interesting, experiment in didactWe g~
a publication.
there,
It hardly seems necessary t.o say ic methodology
facult3
I suspect that the answer is in
that the coom.nity itself would be utjective
terly incapable of me~ting the stand- the affirmative, however, and that
must l
ards of even the worst of the above with sane skillful synthesizing of' our
fore w
type of publications, and if we were three schools of thought,plus,perha:ps,
have e
before
t.o rely ma'.inly on outside contributions a look at Mr. Buchanan's recent ~t
as an
our function in the review dwindles to tanpt to find a relatimship with the
commc
.world, we mey find the answer.
merely collecting manuscripts.
our di:
In a subsequent article I pro-
a gre2
believ~
-
Tri
contra
NOVI
of per•
expres
a dire<
ven's
heard
meani1
knowl1
percer
refatic
t hing
We ki
men ts
g ases
men ts
t hree
betwe1
is red
The 1 ast group of opinion on a
st. John's publication is the "Educ,a tion Review" group. This feeling is
strongly represented in the faculty
and adninistration as w
ould be expected. They feel that St. John's main
contribution to the world. is in its
turique approach t.o education, and that
its primary expression to the outside
world should be a running commentary
and attack on present trends in education, with a concurrent defense and
explication of the Program. Perhaps I
paint their view too strongly but I 8Dl
afraid that a publication too exclusively devoted to the above aims would
tend to become an all-faculty production~
and . hence limited. .
'1hese are the edstt.ng . ~ to
J _ _ _ ,f _ __
St· John·!
Vo lo bXIV = No,
4
· April 4 r 1951
A Quic k Atinomy
A lecture in. Baltimore sponsored by the
Americans for Democratic ·Action on
October 11 was a political speech ~ · a tut
orial ~ and at times ; a sermon. The ADA
invited Mr. Stringfellow Barr to lecture. ·
He did 9 and deliyered an extremely impor
tant lecture . · .To . a . half filled auditorium
Mr. • Barr spoke on Foreign Policy ~ , its
problems and its function . · Because ·of
the lecture ' s importance · this review will
attempt ·to recapitulate and extend the
essentials of Mr. Barr 9 s talk so that it
may be •considered by the student body.
Primarily; Mr. Barr said that a realistic .
foreign policy should be based on a clear
and precise · statement of what problem
the world faces . • This presupposes 9 ·, of
course 9 ·the solution of what the world 9 s
basic problems are 9 ·and the for~ulation
of plans ·in accordance with that view. ·
But we have two worlds , . separate · and .
opposed 9 ·not Hone Wcrld 99 • · These two
worlds are battling for power, ·and there
fore , · their foreign policies clash , ·each
offering the world a solution to her prob
lems . • Foreign policy deals essentially
with foreigners ·. • •· we forget that some ~
·
times • •. •. •
and who are most foreigners?
The world has 2. 2 billion people and most
of these are ·neither ·Russian nor Ameri
cans , .nor are they white . • Three quarters
of these people , ·or over one and a half
billion, .are sick, .hungry , ,. illeterate , and ·
carrying diseased bodies ·for : their . brief
time on this earth . •They live ·in continual
misery . and it is extremely difficult for the
well fed western. mind to conceive of their
plight. . Nearly all of these people . belong
to the colored ·races . of · the earth a.nd . all
are · terribly oppressed. · ' These are . the
people we intend to lead in our crusade
against Communism, • Our policy is anti
Communistic ,, ·but much to the embarass
ment of the State Department, • he world 9 s
t
problem · is misery. ·
When these people look · at · Russia they
see liberation from landlords ~ · money
0
0
•
G. M. Van Sant
0
0
0
0
Did you know that Marshall Petain
once received an Honorary Doctor's
Degree from St. John's College??!!
CGIE 10 1HE BLACK MAS<:AJE ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Have you ev er 100ked within yourself'?
Last night I did
And f'ound a stranger
Whose i dentity dangled like a crust
Of sleep
·
From uncertainty 0 s heavy lid.
0
0
pose to examine this synthesis more
closely and in addition, to give an
accmmt of some of the practical advantages and disadvantages of a college publication. Meanwhile, perhaps
sane more talk will be generated.
Col fegian
0
0
Louis Graff
changers and ·corrupt politicians. They
also see a planned development of their
country on an industrial basis . · When we
.
look at Russia we see Totalitarianism. ·
To the oppressed people of the world this ·
means nothing. • They have always known
tyranny. • They want to live 9 ·and to end
their exile from Life and to leave their
inheritance of misery. · Russia ' s solution
to the problem ·is Communi sm. · ·But it
offers also to mankind freedom from pover·
ty 9 starvation ~ · plagues and ignorance . ·
Our solution is an almost unheard and ·
very weak cry to the starving of the world :
Point Four, ·the economic aid program to
underdeveloped countries . But , ·Mr, Barr
le t us know , the Senate Co~mittee 9 s funds
appropriated for this brave plan was not
as much as New York City spent in 1949
to sweep its streets and dispose of its
garbage 9 that is ~ ·when it get s a round to
dispose of its garbage . To the twoethirds
of the world 9 s populacicin that live in
misery ·how does this sound? ·Russia
offers revoluticin o • Russia offers planned
industrial e(;onomy. ·Our Senate Committee
offered garbage sweeping .funds e · Obviou~
sly 9 · Communism has no competitiOn in
the world today. ·
.
Yes, ·you can shoot a · Communis t 9 but
can you kill an idea? Communis m is an
idea.·
This idea Russia ·claims is the only
solut ion to save mankind from this walkirig
death of 1nisery., • She offers a positive
program. • ·Mankind has slowly . become
~wakened and is ·convinced ·that misery
1s no longer · necessary : ·With scientific
0
�we use nouns.
kind 81'
of abs
differE
ence a
a subs '
given
be1·s o:
dis tine
examp
subs tr
but is
''this ~ ·
definit
tion v ~
reality
abstra
tion is
it can
ure to
reache
tions <
edge.
The
genera
appara
percep
mind.
quirin:
We g~
there,
facult~
jective
must]
fore w
have e
before
as an
comm c
our di:
a grea
beliew
- Tr•
contra
NoVI
of per1
exp r es
a dire<
ven's
heard
meani·
knowl4
percei;
rehtic
thing
We kt
men ts
gases
men ts
thr ee
betwe•
is red
Nouns are of two kinds.
Pag e 2
One
chair and the scale of colors.
This kind of
-·--- '--~---
STo JOHN" S COLLEGI AN
knowledge and · mass production she see s r ebuilding from the c ha.:;s of War to .a stand~
mi sery ·need · not be tol e ra ted. Knowing . thi s da.rd for which they can . only dream. • Ye t,
t he underdeveloped · countries . a re . s truggling Mr . ·Barr let it be · known that .if we . were to
for .the freedom they need to bring about this ~ °'wattch n over governments to which we
end; which .is why the policy of i solation is l oaned money ~ the c harge of imperiali sm
nonsense . ·This . is the new factor; the wod d · mi ght be justified. • The oppressed resent
i s ,awakening and · is de tennined · to solv e its i neffec tive plans and a re thinking . and ac ting
economic problems · with Oi.'.' wi thout us . What more towards rebelliOn. ·
is the sol ution the Wes t proposes to · the
Third ~ ·that Hfree enterprise H can · do rhe
p roblem? Anti°Communism ~ ·but anti°Commu job bette r than government . ·But ~ ' free enter
ni sm is guns and .not breado Is it an· answer ? p rise !' 9 -which . mos t E uropeans call p rivate
Is our Foreign Policy dealing wi th the real ente rpri se (for they realize that even before
world?
Pearl Harbor only 250 Corpora tions owned
Mr. Barr . offers another alternative ~ a 2/ 3 of -the vas t manufacturing • facilities of
positive p · realis tic policy. ': Firs t 9 •we mus t t he United States) c an not attempt the job
.
enquire why Point Four _offe red the world and i f it did it would only be capable of
so much and received so little from · the Sen° building temporary shacks for what i s the
a t e Committee . • Mr, • Barr suggested · the hi story of man. • Private capital ~ or capi tal~
a nswer lay in what he considered to .be fou!i i sm 9 - oes where it c an make moneyo : And it
g
false assump tions governing our thought and moves where the maximum profit i s possible . ~
t he thought · of · the Senate Commi ttee : That To have profits one must · have · cheap labor ~
Russia i s all that is in the way of mankind no currency res trictions s and a friendly gov~
and a s table peac e ; That America c an r e u ernment ••. To the oppressed peoples thi s
build the world economy ~ o r enough to s top spells Exploita tion and Colonialism. Essenu..
Russia i n the world struggle ; · That free- tially, -it i s the wrong job for private ente re n te rprise . can do a be tte r job t han · gove rn~ p rise , for i t hasn 9 t worked and it won ~t work. ·
ment ; That ·the job can be ·done :on ·small They need a re turn for their moneyo An inu ·
yeatly appropriations . ·
ves tor who demands a return on the dollar
If Russia and all the Communis t s · were to is going to do some serious voting against
vanish tomorrow, ·would not the problem be the corporation director who endorses hi s
here ? Would not t he hungry millions s till funds for non°profitable ends . And he i s
seek equality or would ~ with the Communists, . right, he wants a return.
·
the hungry . mi llions vanish · too? These milThe underdeveloped countries · need roads ~ .
lions are going to s truggle with or without schools ; hospitals , ·electric power and irri
Russia for they have nothing to lose . But ~ , gation be fo re there a re these thirigs ·i n a
Russia is not gone and she offers to two country. •The business man who does not
.bi llion peopl e fr eedom from misery o.Mr. Barr con sider this does not de a l with the wodd.
asks us ~ , HWhy allow the Communists · t o A country · mus t already be healthy and pro ~ ·
be the only · people to whom the oppressed ductive to enjoy ·· American business . · You
and hungry :can turn _.fo.t .understanding and can 9t sell gasoline to a man on a donkey
ac tion? 9 '
t ravelling on a dirt road. ·
The second premise when investigated
The concept of American Business ·is
came t o this . · That the addition of Point that corporations are fo rmulated for profitbu
F ?~ program for world devdopment ·to our t he qui cker the bette r. This profit•,drive ·can
mll.ttary and arms program :would leave to not build schools , · roads ~ · hospitals ~ ·irriga
Powt Four just what we did · leave them .. ~:• · tion or electric power projects ~ -simply be ~
garbage funds . : Nor . would the government cause i t does not pay c .If. they were . to inves t
. abolish the Army ~ ·Navy and Air Force a t in these plans there would be : no check from
this time to facilitate world development. • your Corpora tion to buy Christmas presents
·What of the · Marshall Plan? . To the As ians or anything else for quite awhile . Nor i s
i t allowed t he F rench and Dutch · to figh t Uncle Sam able to provide for the worid when
Col onial Wars ; for the Asian t hought i t we ourselv es are not fully developed. The
was not a c o.incidence that Marshall Plan Tax~payer would have a legitimate gd pe if
Funds to the F rench and Dutch equalled the money were to be spent in North Afri~a for
war funds spent in Indo~China and . Indo"' schools when not enough· is spent in hi s own
n esia. • Agairi~ ' the Asi ans ·watched · E m op·e c ommunicy ·. for . the · run.,down s chool ~ house.
0
0
0
0
Only ~he combined effor~ of the wodd can the ans weK' without · g1nng any ahemative .
sW'mount tliis problem, For it is ~he wodd 's The poor and· hungry will still be without
plt'oMem, . One world~ We must li:ebuHd ouir bl!'ead , -and a de cen t p lace · to Hve " The last
wod d economy, h . will take massive . funds wait' cost us,_ if we c an talk of money nex&: to
of all nations " The only · suitable agency forr Mood ; ten itdHion dolla.lfs " , • what will tthe
next cost? ShouXd · we c on~ain Russ ia or em
~ hi s plan ·is the Unitted Nadons be ie am~ e
nations of the · wodd lack a common · govern- birat:e the World? Ouir wodd neigbboirs · nius t
rnen~. •Butt w e are faced with wodd gowern- be consuhed and planned wi?h foir wod d
development or for wodd war, Whkh will it
men ~ of anoihe!' kind , - ~crualliy ~., govem ~
mentts , · tlie ·two wod ds _ . each desirfog to be? F-c o!!' u:,':h? ML Barr looked up and said
.
'
almost :i:elu.:tan dy ., for I .i:hink he might hav e
force h:s own kind of peace upon the ll'es (!; of
the wodd; whkh is wairo In the nexit wm: th·~ t hough ~ that the time is· a11ready getting late , .
, :The dav the · UN sets aside t he funds for a
vktl:oir must mle as · ~he conquerer and ti;ha t
is t!:o t!:ali~adanis m , ·E ach · is seeking · to sway World D~velopment Coipoiration to plan for
t he ecfree nations '' but when · have · the plea s t he world , hope would a gain sweep the wodd
of the poor been · hea!!.'d by the deb? Will the where now there is nothing but fear a nd that
opptressed believe in a Point F our ithrrough day wo11l<l be marked as one of the gi eates t
the United Nations? Or will they think this dates i n the history of man e.~
The UN woul d have to iss ue Bonds - l ow
too has s tirings · a u a c hed ? ·Could [he U. ·N. ·
tackle the job?
. · pdced bonds , - o that the wodd' s popul~tion
s
The Un~.teed Nations is stm a group of r-ould buy-th-e-m ?ttt of us . n .e inteirest c ould
be paid i ri " wod d~ pea ce" , The funds would
irepresentativc§ from · national govemmenil:s
and subject to die dictates of thek state s, • be used tto illiga-re me des.er~~ d _ :J;~ >
An agency of such importance as a wod d Afrk a , c ontrol the rivers of China ; and build
development corporation should not be fou · i ndus try and nations so that war would not
nded upon the shaky stability of national be a necessity
I; too ~ believe ; M~ . Ba!l'g'; the people would
whims ,. Mr~ Barr here suggests we l ook for
buy , ·,
they would invest< Nation s would
~ he key to this problem in OW' Tennessee
VaHey Authority., But what did TVA do ? It fall in line People all over the earth would
gave us the basic answer to the proble m of bear and , .if theb: rulers would not re~pond ,
poverty in the Tennessee Valleyc :By dam , a ctions would- be taken against these rulers . :
B
mfog up only one tributary river system of Is Mr , _ arr s plan too idealistic? No . I t hin k
t he vast Missouri R iver it brought prospedty most of us wonder · why it has not been put
to the · valley. The funds c ame from the p ublic forth before this time , \Y/e have been awaitof which the Valley was only a part, ·an ing this challenge , ·It is out. challenge ··We
undeveloped section of the counur ~ actually ; · hav e offered too many · war speeches : too
an q'unde rdeveloped country "~ Dktatoirship muc h time has already gone down the drairi ,
a nd foirced labor baualions were not · neces ~ we must act togethei::c ·
The re is a n alterna tive , The third world
sary ~ but we di d it, a nd there are now many
more smilirig pe opl e in the va lley_ Here is war . Mr. Bau oudined that - .too . Then whe n
our answer to Communism_ The TVA was a it is oveI, .if a nything · is left, -including us ~
product of Congress and responsible to ,it , . we might well have learned · that we a re not
ye t was free to deve lop 9 ·make ·c ontra cts , · alone and mus t work toge ther. :·.Jt woul d in~
with · mu,Ri of our resand make a · Hpro fit n. I t. did not live on gar· deed be harder · then , bage funds and · there f~re those living .·in the ources and men gone ;. but ; perhaps -we · would ,
valley were not made to fee l like poor re la , be c ompensated by a · little mm:e wi sdom · in
tions . : The d ~re ctors were Congre ssmen, · our poverty, Ye s ., Mr Barr; ·r ich folly mi ght
voted to offic e by the people ; ·re sponsible have to , fail where ·s i mple · tools . and · men
to the pe ople of America . The T .V.A.wa s _ mi ght not, but the price would be tre mendous
the devestation of a Third Wodd Wa r .
Amerka ~ s answer ~o poverty .and misery in
~ir, Ban finis hed; fol ded · hi s papers ; ack
t he Valley. The wod d is a sking , us when we
will be a ble · to give the world a wodd T V A. . nowledged the · applause and s a t down " The
Is this realistic . or is war realis ttk? If it s peaker from the .A DA said a few wo!"d s to
i s war ~ -then we .aire planning fozr t he wodd Mr . Barr, then paused ·and addre s s ed · the
what is best for it. N ot w irfh ' it. We · will . be group . • He re mirided : them t.ha t · there : were
dictating · to the · wodd that· Communism: is· not some petitions · iri ·the , rear · to s ign . a s · t he y ·
0
�we use nouns.
kind ~I I
Nouns are of two kinds.
One
chair and the scale of colors.
This kind of
:_~..;i,~J.___.-----------
Of abs
diffen
ence a ,
· ST o JOHN c 8 COLLEGIAN
a subs
given
hers o
dis tine
exami::
subs tr
but is
"this ~ ·
definit
tion v :
reality
abstra
tion is
it can
ure to
reach€
tions c
edge.
The
gener2
appar2
percep
mind.
quirin:
We g~
there·
facult~
jectiv€
must l
fore w
have e
before
as an
comm<
our di:
a gre2
believ~
- Tri
contra
No~
of per1
exp res
a dire<
ven's
heard
meani·
knowl~
perce:r=
refatic
thing
We k1
ments
gases
men ts
three
betwe1
is red
walked out. : As we passe.d · ilie deair dooir · I .
· · l . pledge ?.o resi st ag!t'ession and
tyra.nny anywh~re ia die wodd ~ 15 Buts agres ·
sion and tyranny arre born from misery and
man' s indifference · to man. ·To resis t aggre ·,
s sion and tyranny is only £:0 slay the product
with us. ·
I notic.ed that · I was reading the thii:d line
c•f the '"Crusade for Freedom ' ' petition . ..
Curious that the third line will lead us to
the Third Wodd War. ·
read ~
Pierre_ Grimes
occupadons .' '
From this ~ we can ali: least considell'. the
phrase ~ ;'. · < the ·rreal functioning of thought,: :
. '", somehow.
· The ireal foo.cdoning of adol escent and
pre adolescent thought · cannott be thought. to
differ essentially tirom nmre ·mature thought
processes. The continuum; or;. more sr:d.ctly1
the evolution of thought behaviori etc . r: must,
in all reasonableness ! be thought to be just
that· an evolving of cause and effect.actions
and K"eaCtiOnS through time I aS One UfiCeaSe
ing!y pardcipaees in some kirid of thoughtful
integra-ti.on wim exflernal and absolute irea·
life Jn general~ -~and
never think (we intimate)
that the woman stays . for food
alone 9 ·
whatever the wits say
about women ~~has
a high survival potential ~
and that
can overcome a very great deal
of.
pain. 9 '
L o Ron Hubballd
Charles Powleske
0
lity,,. , :
ZERO FOR CONDUCT
Freud ,says ~ (' (Leonardo da Vinci ' ~ , Ran~
q Zero for Conduce " demonstrates a pre - dom House, · New York ~ · 1947) ' ;Important
sumption . about the reality . of childhood biological analogies · have zaught us that the
(essentially fantastic) ; an audacity about .. psychic development of the individual is a
the stature of maturity 1 a violatioo of sur ·
short repedtion of the course of developi:'ealism (which .in turn; may well be a vio
ment of the xace 1 and we shall therefore not
lation of Art) the story has no theological , · find . improbable what the psychoanalytic
philosophical , psychological or pathological invesdgation of the chlld 1 s psyche asserts
meaning; and; at last the words of the pro
concerning the infantile esrimadon of the
logue submit to a certain immense vacuity genitals. ·;
·
with the candid (and, I suspect, .desperate)
hubbard, . however; · saysi .· ( "Dianetics -: 1
statement: ''This is an ode to childhood;
hermitage · House i ·New York) · ·Persons 1 ·as
First; childhood as such is not reaL and they live forward from childhood, ·suffer . . <I·
anythi.ng said a.bout · it is necessarily pre · losses «, and each loss takes from them· a
sumpdous :PaKticularly when one goes so little more of this @ (life force) . ~ quantity .. :
.s ;
far as iro say it is urueaL If. it were unreal ·
· In either e-vent} that this (R . F. of £bought)
i.t certainly c ould not then be fantastic . for
what is more real than phantasty? And such should be expressed iri te!1'ms of nose ~biown
a phantasy as that · is always in the special toy p:umpets i balloons , boundug · rubber
balls , . swinging lanterns and floating fea. ~
province of a Cervantes , .
thers is un€hinkable . A childish sensitivity
In this way , we proceed to · maturity ·(not
h e!:e ; . audaciously 7 • but with some kind of which cannot extend beyond an adomtion of
merely Chaplinesque qualities in one "s
disc;retion), Maturity , after all , is not some ..
thmg between train smoke and cigar smoke tutor; . for example i (otherwise ; a rather
which sleeps and ·is proclaimed · dead by excellent fellow 1 I must say), is a lamenta·,
blase' moppets (who later we.re heard to say , · ble-· rather~ a disturbing possibility. :
.
( •• ~ tiowever , there was with this Hugert . •a
in effect~ . ·~ Don st wake him! .If you wake
him; . you ' ll kill him! n ) ·Nor is it bearded singular kind of.. .()f rapport•• ~);
dwarfs ~ . dumb thieves ; . oi' glass<entombed
In fact ~ ·Bireton peremptority ·states . in : his
derbies, ·It. · is ·wrong to associate · maturity " Second Manifesto / P (1926) ' Everything
with blind-folded lamp=lighters ·and · corpu, suggests the . belief · that· there •is a · certain
lent , ·homosexual skeletons ~',it is . ,.inaturity point of the mind where life. and · death ~ ·t he
.
is ••·. ··
real and die imaginary 9 ·t he past and the fu~
(Q'est~ce~que je dis !?)
tW'e s ·the ·communicable and the · incommuni
And!~ Biretonfs 1924 - c .l\'1anifesto '~ defined cable t ·the high and the low are no. long~r
surrealism as · " A psychic automatism with perceived as contradictions . It. would be vain
the · hdp of :which we -pwpose · to .expJress to look for any motive in surirealist activity
the real functfoning· of thought~ · either. orail y 1 oi:her than me hope of detenni~ng that
or .iri writing ~ oLin any ' other way.' :A.1d"ic · pohu. H
g:ation of thought without any ·control . by
Or (Really) ;
~ A pleasant and more hopefuli
reason , .outside aH . aesthetic . oir moral pre ·
0
0 0
7
DIALECT I c· IN LIMBO .
Suppose moTning
Closed the frail petunia Q 1 ips 9
s
An~ dreaming v iolets were
Hledj
Could you be sure?
Inside the visceral pains
Betray
Tinkerings. of a frigid
Head.
Suppose you woke
Feeling dew on your pillow
And heard echoes of last night Q
s
Tears'
would you tremble?
.
Oftimes impatient streams
Annoy ·
.
Proud Pacific 0 s .whi te-c.apped
Seer.
. Suppose the qark
Agreed to polinate God 0 s breath
But earth ref'use,d to join the
Rite;
How would you Imow?
Jupiter shoots his arrows
Cleanly
And robs Achilles of his
F lig ht .
Suppose the bridge
Let loose his aching hold
And broke the arc. from truth to
Truth'
Could you :recall?
Determined Corioli
Rurned
T.he corn where· once. sobbed
Ruth.
Louis Graff
Page 5
PORTRAIT ' OF A MAD'PAINTER
A scrapof"peeling fresco illustrates the Talnntt
And teases impatient eyes for stolen light;
· The rapid glance of impious yout~
Otherwise pledged to vowelless blight 9
Beholds the vision of' a prenatal period~
While canvas soothes .the beardless demigod~
Parchnent buries de.ep the priestly truth.
As nomads feast on f'lat bread and fetid garlic,.
And practice the convenant a10011.g the sphinx 9
Their children toy. .wi.th Euclidean means
Of f'reeing the tribe .f'ran what it thinks
Is Jaweh ~ s sequestered kosher picnic:
3.4~ 21 becanes the golden chemic
Frooi which is brewed a graven scene.
A head annointed with wormwood oil
Cons.trues an elongated Ubangi dre~
J\Jrl..srneai:.s her dress with jtmgle juice;
Instead of breasts 9 a sermon screams
Serving up God a reborn gargoyle;
The spirit leaps from soil to soil,
Leavi..-lg at altars fresh prepuce.
A stolen pear.ma1'es us saints,
Whose magic confuses
The artist with what he paints.
Louis Graff
A
FREUDIAN ' MA.GN I TUDE
I Tony
Prevents me fr-o.m sounding the well'
The depths return
A somber knell
And leave me
With an ominous vision
Of death 0 s taciturn
ParodyG
Viet imager>y
:Exposes my rat.tonal . flight~
tl·he heights· unveil
Al raw insight
Into the
Indecencies of a . mind ' s
Passion for' frail
Novelty.
Louis Graff
�we use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One chair and the scale of colors. This kind of
kind ~'
of abE
differE
ence a .
Page 6
ST ~ JOHN ' SCO.LLE---.-GI-AN--.~~~~~~
a subs
given
wind., ,the women who swept the black · dust
A F r'lgmernt:
hers o
from their walks with worncdown brooms ~ '
distirn
would come · to pass on these evenings.
When lnf11.n ts in our c d.b~ of' birth 9
exam:r:
We lmew not dN}am no·r g oal .
· Anonymous
subs tr
A room ~R ~ t he n . ,ur 11 · d e MU" ~; h 9
1
but is
A word "'"'-~ then our sou .:.
"this ~ ·
GOSPEL ACCORDING TO
definit
Usually in t"1e eady even;ng rhen the · air
tion v
and ·the sky <:t nd the leave ~ we re at peace
realit:y
with themselves "'e would walk . His gaze
abstra
.Thirik and think
would usually be ir~ ctec.l · toward the chips
tion is
But fathom not
of shale and ash in the curb ~ · occasionally
it can
he would look at the sluices of cloud stuff~ ·
ure to
Mysteries
noticing how some looked as if they had
re ache
· Of life , .love, frogs > of fleas ;
been juiced up while others moved with the
tions c
wind and fell apart like rapidly dividing eel.ls
edge.
For once when close · I seem to· come P
and still others were so stilly puffed out
The
Their shadows slip into the Sun. •
that they could have been mis taken for .
gener2
props . :
appar2
Everything was quite : casual at that time . :
percep
Son!
In the side streets he would often notice
mind.
Hanging there
men iri unders:hirr : sitring in a thoughtful ~
quirin:
sad 9 after.,dinner. aL_os t anima l -like silence; ·
We g~
In Godss strange girace ; ·
some smoking straight , blac k pipes ,· wost
there·
facult~
jective
must J
fore w
have e
before
as an
comm<
our di:
a gre2
believE
- Tri
contra
No"
of per1
expre~
a dire<
ven's
heard
meani:
knowl1
percer
refatic
thing
We k1
men ts
gases
ments
three
betwe1
is rec
:t
simply plumped dm~:n in their chairs with
the weight of their sins and happinesses
and embarrassments balanc ed · safely but
nimbly on their navels . He would turn a full
photographic glance . at them and ·continue
walking, bearing with h i m the image of sor=
rowful eyes. grim cheeks , blunt bellies. The
images would turn over and around and in ~
side out in his mind like dissolving ·cud ~ ·
then further · gradually down into the vague ~
smudgy depths of things reme mbered
Then there would be the quick cries . :
'q y M
you hit me and I 11 tell momma md
you 9U catch it 1 '
n You was out -I tagged the telee pole . :
You was out ~ ~
HI was not . ,~
q' You was . I tagged. ':
qeHow ·d you know? ' 1
q qCause I tagged , that· s how ' r
qq
Cause vhy t
qecause ·'
qqWhy? '
q(Cause . ~ hat's why ' -'
.And the thin cries · would . .dwindle away
around a comer ; leaving behind them ' the
instant abstnce that a rabbit leaves whm
h darts qukk-legged irito tall grass . •
All these thing ; al ong with . the fanned
out brillance o f th - s un se tting ; the ants
tugging stubb · .nly· a t tre me ndou.. t o:thpicks ~ .
the grass la yi
down like blc rm li ir in the
0
1
o
Crucified ~
Dead ,
·
buried ~
yet quite alive ;
·And ear which hears: no· outer sound .
Of truth er' lasting. truth uncrowned .
Found
· Yes ~
at
last ~ ·
An unwat ched gate ; ·
Liberalized
From freecbm ss barb=baited prize ;
·Clear logos smiles and winks her
eye ~
And bids me come prepare· to die . •
~y!
What. weird dispatch destroys the dirge ;
I lay seduced
By a demi=
urge
Louis Graff
_ _ _ J _ _ __
I
·· ~-------------,
St. John's Co legion
Vol. LXIII - NO. 5
ANNAPOLIS,MARYLAND
IRONY
What is tile job which a reporter
of lectures is expected to do? Is he
to state in as clear terms as possible
wnat he thinks the lecturer said or
hoped to say; is he to state what in
his opinion the lecturer omitted to
say; or, is he to use the lecturer's
position as a point of departure (as
book reviewers so frequently do) fran
which to launch forth in to an expositi on of some cherished ideas of his
own which ne has long hoped to shower
upon an eager and an awaiting world?
All these are doubtlessly elements
which motivate the reporter of leetures. While promising himself to
abide by the first, or at most the
second of these elements, he all tmknowingly has accepted the third.
Since the art of tbe lecture reporter depends both upon the lecturer
and upon himself, and upon the circumstances of the occasion, and since i t
is therefore a very complicated art,
it is probably not profitable and even
hardly possible to suggest clearly the
standards of this art. To say that
the reporter Jin.J.St be simple and lucid,
even when the lecturer has failed in
these respects, is to state the only
criterion to which everyone, I think,
would agree.
A lecture by Mr. Ford Brown is
always awaited with anticipations of
pleasure . One knows that sane interesting matter will be illuminated by
his penetrating insight and wit. His
audience will not be confounded or
amazed; it will be amused and pleased,
and incidentally, instructed. The
Feb. 7, 1950
title of the recent lecture by Mr.
Brown was "Irony". As it. turned out,
the title (except for length) might
have been, "The Man who Wanted to be
Archbishop of Canterbury". The lecture was hardly a dissertation on
ircny, al though some definitions were
sugges ted, or, more exactly, some
questions were asked whose answers
might lead to possible definitions:
(a) Is irony a statement of the contrary, or sane thing more than this; if
so, what more? (b) Is the purpose of
irony to mock? 1s it to unmask those
who wear masks of self-protection?
Sane definitions by a certain Rev. Mr.
Blair, a non-confonnist clergyman of
about 1800, were introduced from a
book written for the edification of
youth. The classification of lmow-ledge by this Mr. Blair into such subheads as ornamental lmowledge, luxurious knowledge (physics, metaphysics) ,
etc., and the inclusion of answers to
problems, for tutors, shed more light
(though unconsciously) upon the. nature
of irony than Mr. Blair's attempt at
exposition of this figure of speech.
This method Mr. Brown himself chose.
Contenting himself with merely saying
that there are at least two sources of
irony: (a) · I r ony by man, (b) I rony by
nature - usually call ed irony of f ate,
he proceede d a t once to introduce an
"inrnense spe c i f ic example". This is a
favorite device of Mr. Brown's. One
has not forgotten his famous lecture
on Shakespeare which took the fo rm of
a descri~tion of Chartres cathedral,
with slides. Excep t fo r a warning a t
the beginning tba t the audience was to
keep in mind at all times that this
�
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The Collegian
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The Collegian began as a student newspaper; became a college community literary publication in 1952 and continued until 1969; became a student newspaper again in 1969; discontinued publication from 1980 until 1989 when it again became a student literary publication.<br /><br />Click on <a title="The Collegian" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=26">Items in The Collegian Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection.
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Annapolis, MD
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6 pages
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paper
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Collegian Vol. LXIII No. 04
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St. John's Collegian, September April 04, 1951
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1951-04-04
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Vol. LXVIII, No. 4 of the St. John's Collegian. Published on April 4, 1951.
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Annapolis, MD
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The Collegian
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Text
w_e use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One chair and
kind sr-1.... - ~ "--~;:i" "..._~--" "----1-" ~-- "' ~~..._ l.rT\n,nlo~O"L\ the scale of colors. ;n This kind of
t"H:l"'1 hn i-nnn-h.f- nnA
TT?l-.n+ 4?'-,,..~nl
of abs
differe
ence a
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
Page 10
a subs
given
of great sldll in the running of a
Plato left offo To choose the apparhers o:
dining hall, they have managed to turn
instead of the real is sure indidis tine
out probably the worst foodiin St
examp
. c~tion of ignorance. With reference
1
subs tr,
.~9 . ri~ f ~d wrong, h~weyer, it is John s history:j even. thollg)=l hampered
by lower food prices- rrl.~j'mcmey fro:n
;
but is
per.tiqe~t ~ to question wh.ether vice
the students ; and n ew ~a:chinary
"this ~
has its roo.t in the mind «>r in the
definit1
From reliable s"cm:rces we have
willo Th~· story of Pi rwcchio,I think,
tion " '
learneci that the footVcoming into the
reality
lends Sl.lpp9rt to the f onne r view .
Dining Hall is of the finest quality
abstra1
For , ~- 'Jiminy Cricket t and Pin.
It seems t o the author a minor miracle
tion is
occhio se_ out. on the wicked road to
t
that such a transformation. can take
it can
virtue, one might anti_
Cipate future
ure to
place while the food is on its way to
clashes b e tween the t wo - goi ng . on
re ache
the tables o Could i t be that the cook
tions c
the assumptio~, r suppo~e , that viris on the payroll of the Univer s ity of
ent
o
edge.
The
genera
appara
percep
mind.
quirini
We g2
there 1
facult3
jective
must 1
fore w
have e
before
as an
commc
our di:
a grea
believi:=
- Trc
contra
No"
of per1
expr es
a dire<
ven's
heard
meani1
kn owl«
perceri
reb.tio
thing
We k1
men ts
gases
men ts
three
betwe•
is red
tue and vice ·are ways of talking about the will in harmony wi th consci~ce or agains t it o· As it t u rns
, o_ t, surprisingly _enou gh?_ J .C.. either
u
,, r~ains ·~oof, as w
hen Pinocchio lies
to the fairy princess; or else h e i s
f a r remov ed, as when the stringl e s s
puppe t selfishly go rges h imself on
Pleasur_ I sland . Tha_ consci en ce
e
t
s hou ld h ave signific ance only after
and no t b efor e the comnittal of these
wron gdoings impl ies the notion tha t
vice is only ignoranc e" If so, then
J . C. .' s r o l e is a coni.ic and perhaps
satirical one Dlt if not, then wher e-:
in does the guil t lie?
Maryland?
There are eight school months a
year , . Since· each student .pays four
hwu:lred ·and: fifty doll.Glirs '.~,e~_rly fur
board' the price of da,ily m~~ls";.works
out to be approximately tw<? dc?_
llars o
The seniors and other ~tudentj.s who re~
turned before school opened, found
that i. t is possible to eat off campus
very vell for less than two dollars a
daJ
'l\iJ,; can not the Dining Hall come
ru 1y11uere up to this standard?
The situation is made more annoying when we discover that we are not
allowed to eat off campus because, in
the words of the great campus metaphysiclan~ "It is clear for certain reasJOHN J . . COFFEY
sons that. it is impossible to support
-o-o-o- o -o-o- o -0-0- 0 the excellent staff and equiµnent that
we mrJ.ntain if only part of the s tudANTI ANT I - GAS TRONOMY
ent body eat on campus o " As I see it,
To . the great delight of Geo r ge
the excellent and extensive equiµnent
Wash ington Carver, Greg, and .~~e makhas accomplished nothing insofar as
e r s of Pepto Bismol , h arpies nave rethe CB.use of edible food is concerned,
turned to t h ei r fo rmer positions of
It seems to me that one could lay off
.
..
power m t he Dining Hall . I t seems
part of the staff and_just not .use
that by this appoin tment, t he acir11n1ssome of the extensive equipment if a
tra ti on is making its firs t s t ep
smaller group of people is being fed.
back towar d the Gol den Age . Their acWhat the administration apparent-.
~.,,
t ion s""""""' successful i n that s tudent s
ly ooes not realize i.s that SL John s
.
do not f eel the urge to leave thei r
is not a Rabelaisian society, so that
.
work m or d e r. to go to the Dining Hallo the servm'g of tripe three times a day
. As i s usual with s o many St . accomplishes no desi rable resultsJohn's metamory:hoses ' the harpies h~ve
l)(JJLINO
lived up to tbefr ;reputation o ~ dint
0
-St:. John's Collegian
vo L. LXIII - No. 3
ANNAPOLIS, MARYLAND
9:30 THURSDAY NIGHT
I am sit ting in seminar, slunped
in my seat as thoughts wander
lazily through my mind. Ever and anon
a particularly intriguing wisp of
sroolre is wafted my way and momentatily
occupies my attention as i t curls and
dissipates itself in the · g~neral haze.
I have decided the mental effort of
following the topic is just too much,
and am content to watch the changing
smoke patterns and indulge in uninhibi ted. reverie.
Drone number one is occupied in
an expo~ition of some opinion or
other, I don't quite lmow what, but he
seems to be convinced of its import ance and so I •m glad he' s so usefully
and happily anployed.
This state of peace and general
aura of goo·d will is presently interr upt;ed by Drone number t w Who feels
o
it incumbent upon him to challenge
Dron e number one, probably not being
ve ry sure wha t he is saying either,
but a.roused by his presumption to sa;y
i t so confidently. Taken by surprise
i n the wannth of .h is most con· i n cl;ng
point, Drone number one listens i ncredulously as Drone number two induces a vague generality meant to demolish all his well-considered arguments and rouse the very Gods by its
profundity. Drone number one is
visibly grieved at this mm1ifestation
of doubt on the part of one of his
beneficiaries, and painstakingly and
magnanimously builds up his case
again. Before lon,g ,be is interrupted a
second tim
·Y his tnconsiderate antagonist who now :reels he has enou8'J
~:f .a . hold on Drone nunber one's preju~~ . t:o ask a direct cpestim. No un-
aown
Nov.
=->,
1949
derlying feelings are concealed as the
two engage in exchanging heavy-footed
1-lanali ties in which Shakespeare and
several others are quoted.
BaletUlly surveying the situation, a Tutor stirs in his chair
slumberously, and rumbling in preparation, attempts to help out by s ynthesizing the two points of view and
showing it leaves no difficulties
whatever. Being now stimulated, he
cannot refrain from ma.king some observations on one or two sentences that
have filtered through to him in the
course of the last half hour. An
Intellectual is aroused at this and as
the smoke accelerates alarmedly, his
mortal enemy, Intellectual number two
joins in and the three engage animatedly in extensive demonstrations
and questionings of each other's
logical ability. MU.le not very clear
of its relation to what they were saying, Drones nunber one and two feel
they are involved somehow and hasten
to defend what they have said. Another
member now stirs in his sea t, blows
away the enfolding smoke, and feels
suf':ficiently sympathetic to clear Uf>
the problem and enlighten everyone
present with his long-con&idered
opinion. The opinion not being only
long-considered rut long, and the :indi vidual capacity for being enlightened short, the rest of the Sfminar begin to feel they must assert
their independence and join in.
The situaticn is showing signs of
becoming a first-class brawl and
passes to the higher echelon for handling. The Seminar Leader tactfully
catches at one o:f the short and :fast
opinions that just went whizzing by,
and !"&stats m ·its perpetrat:or t.o :rind
�w_e duse nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One
k in sr~
of abs t.. ~~ "~~~..t ,, " +-~ ~~ ,, " ~~~~ ~ " ~~~ " :~.i1
differe
ence a
a subs '
given
hers o:
dis tine
examp
subs tr.
but is
"this
E ·
definit1
tion VI .:
reality
abstra1
t ion is
it can
ure to
reache
tions c
edge.
The
genera
appara
percep
mind.
quirini
We g2
t h ere,
facultJ
jective
must J
fore w
have e
before
as an
commc
our di:
a g re2
believE
- Tr'
contra
N OVI
of per 1
exp r es
a dire<
ven's
heard
meanil
know I«
percep
refatio
thing
We kt
men ts
gases
men ts
three
betwe ~
is red
.... ,
chair and the scale of colors.
1,. ... ,..., nloncra
r> c:> n
..
ST. JOHN'S CQLLEGI.Alf.
~
+. . ,,..,..i.+
~-..t ·-
This kind of
-
L
_..._
_,.
~
Page 2 ·
· · out just what. he aeGn~. The Perpetra.t.or has no intmtim of' relinquishlng his~ upm the ·tormer subje~~
however, and utilizes the attention
oow ·thrust upon him in 'expl~g the
whole problan and grinding all other
opinions t.o dust.
That does it. Rocking, ra'ring,
th.mdering, roaring, Homer• s inspired
im8g:lnation never envisaged such violent :forces as these. Every Achilles
sees in his_neighbor his m>rtal enE!fnlT
Hector and never tmdertook to drag him
through the dust so thoroughly.
Opini()ns clash and ring, anns brandish 91 the table is pounded, and all
the Gods 1hrn Jupiter tD Aphrodite are
called upoo. ()le violent member stan~
up and declaims at the top of his
lungs, then stamps ou t in sel f'righteous disgust. In the hall outside
passing Seminars pause in ·surprise as
-succeeding students g r imly s talk ou t
and··march downstairs, never to speak
to each other again.
Gradually the. r oom is emptied o:f
its seething 1.nhabitants. Sighing, the
Seminar Leader turns out the light as
t.he dust gently settles on the scattered chairs, and the last wisps of
dishlrbed Smoke n.o-at ot1t the winoow.
Anonyaous
nsi
It is so good to know
love
Fbr you bas gone ·
And in the sun o:f truth
My heart is witness to the lies
I lied t.o i t when r oses bl eel
Warm blood across the melting snow.
I cicles stab the edges of the wouid
lily are the7 red and poi nted? And
'Mien will they melt aga.:tn?
C. R. Po•leske
·'
T#E SCHOOL ·<JF · ATBBNS
.. 11r.··· WJnd projjos~f t.o
oo the
meaning·· of' a p8.int1ng: · R~phael •s . ·'
sPeaic.
•scllool of' Athens• :In the Vatican at
8ome •. ·Th1s was a rare treat :for St.
John's and, indeed, f'or any aUdieriee
since, as Mr. Klein's remarks bef'ore
the lecture indicated, very f'ew people
had ever had the good sense to 1 ook
seriously at painting in this ·~. Mr.
Wind is not quite unique· in the :field
of art scholarship, but ·very nearly
so; a distinction 1n which he probabll'
takes snall pleasure. However. f'or St.
John's, if' not for the rest 01· the
academic world, his remarks should
thus assune a special importance as
pointing the way to oth~r things that
can be done in this f'ield and demonS""t;r8.UDg tne real intellectual excitement possible when results are obtained.
One -may, o :f course , look at a.
painting without any ref'erence to what
its visual images mean when translated.
into concpets . I would even a f:firm
(and so would Mr. Wind) that this
manner of' looking, an inexpressab1e
awareness or what is saisuously sati~
fying in the art object, is ,tssentia.l
to an ultimate tmderstanding of it.
'lhere need be, however , no conflict
between this m8lD'ler o:f seeing a painting and an awareness or at least an
hypo thesis coocem.ing the intellectual
content contained in i t. I was a .
little surprised that some members o:f
the college revealed in the question
neriorl that they h8.d never done both
~sand, in fact, ooubted the very
possibility of <bing them tog ethe r.
M Wind declined, however, fo r
r.
good rea~ons , t o attempt a :formal
analysi s of the composi t ion , color ,
line-arabes que s , etc . o~ Rapha el' s
t'resco. The t radit ion :for ci.olng so in
public is at present very poor, as M
l'.
Klein rana.rked, but that does not di~
'
ST . J OHN ' S COLLEG I~
Page 3
credit the activity itself. We must and Gennanic way of saying "ideas",
,ai t until philosophers of beauty involves something further and is by
succeed better than they have in pre- :far the most rewarding activity of the
sen tlng terms and methods t"or aes- three.. It requires a general educathetic analysis and for St. John's, in tion, a :fmtiliarity with the "Western
any event, the deciphering of symbols Tradition", whatever it is, and a
and the examination of ideas is of faculty"for logical analysis sharp
greater importance. In final explana- enough to curb the extmsive powers of
tion of Mr. Wind's restriction to the ima,g:ination one must also possess.
meaning alone, he had merely slides to Needless to say, the truth of .any conconvey the appearance of the original, c1usions in this third level must be
not the original itself, and, although f'innly founded on the other two. Givm
visual symbols can be corrmercially re- criteria like these, I think it perproduced, visual beauty generally can- haps becomes easier to evaluate what
not.
Mr. Wind did with a single picture
The lecturer's principle col- like the "School of Athens".
league in the science of Iconography,
The appearance of the figures ,
Pror'essor Irwin Panofsky of tl1e Insti- their expression~ ~c:i their setting
tute for Advanced Studies, has written are the facts pre s e nted to the e ye s;
a fine essay on the search :for meaning the "Given" (like a description of the
in ~rks of art (Introcilcti01:1., Studi es figure in a. proposition) and the ac~n Iconolo gy, Oxford Press , 1939). He tua l work of solution begins at the
distinguishes b e tween three strata of n ext level. Since , very wisely, st.
meaning. the pre-iconographical, or Jcihil' s do es not encourage the ta.king
purely factual analysis, the identifi.- of' notes, let me , a:s brie fly as I can,
cation of images, s tories and all&- attempt to summarize the principal
gories, and, lastly, iconographic syn- identifications Mr. Wind made of spethesis, or the examination of' intrin- cif'ic figures in the scene.
sic content or symbolical values
The crowned figure holding a
(what Panofsky later calls "cul tura1' globe of the world is Ptolemy, consymptoms" or "symbols in general"). :f'used then with the later kings of
The first stratl!Il, the pre-iconograph- E,e:ypt. Deeper into the picture, f'acing
ical, ;w)uld indicate, for example that
there are men in the picture grave
out, is Proclus, turbaned and holding
'
'
d or happy, dressed. in loose gar- a celestial globe, conversing w1 th the
sa
ar tist himself and Calcagnini, his
men ts and set within a 0~reat marbl e
humanist adviser and sometime astronohall, the size and appearance thereof
mer. Ellclid among his pupils is elabvaguely realized from a mental comorating a proposition on the ground
parison with experience: Grand Cmtral nearby (the construction of the orld
Station, or a similar structure. 'lll.E out of' triangles;, er. Timaeus 54); and
secopd stratun (or level , if you will) above them, on the steps, lounges
involves research into books, docu.Med.icine, or Hippocrates, in the faments and the classics of' literature -cetious guise of the Renaissance ed.iin order to determine, from certain
hints and attrihltes, exactly who the tor of llippocrates• text, called the
f1 gures are meant to be. 'Ihe examina- "New Diogenes" for his sloppy habits.
ti
On the left-hand side the brooding
on of' "cultural symptoms" or "symbo ls in general", which is .iust a long figure of' Pythagoras, isolated in his
concentration on the lll1Seen and the
�we use nouns. Nouns are of t
k" d
kind sr-t.. ~~ "-~~.-3 ,, "4-··~~,, "wo in s. One
of abs
~~~~l~ " -~- 0 ;,,J,
differe
ence a
a subs '
given
be1·s o:
dis tine
examp
subs tr
but is
"this ~
definit·
tion " ' :
reality
abstra
tion is
it can
ure to
reache
tions c
edge.
The
genera
appara
percep
mind.
quirin~
We g2
there,
facult3
jective
must J
fore w
have e
before
as an
commc
our di:
a gre2
believE:
- Trc
contra
NOVI
of per1
exp res
a dire<
ven's
heard
meani1
knowl4
percep
r ehtio
t hing
We k1
men ts
gases
men ts
t h ree
betwe1
is red
Pa;.:;e 4
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
unheard, sits large and conspicuous. itself is divided vertically and horiTo the left of him ooethius who, as he zontally between inspired philoso-phy
declares at the beginning of De Con- of the inner man and the search for
so latione, is grown prematurely old enpirical truth rooted ir> the actual
with sorro w, reads numerical books world, and again, the concerns of
while a follower holds up his pytha- moral philosophy as against the
gorean di agr am o f the musical scale science of Nature. But for the Reand the triangular perfec t number ten. nai ssance, and for ourselves as inNext to him i s Granmar, tradi t ional l y terpreters of it, i t is o f primary
shown with children, but since i t bal- signi ficance tha t those divis ions are
ances the figure of Raphael, who r e- trans c ende d in Raphael's pai nting,
presents the art of pa:int1ng aroong the allow'_illg the whole i ts necessary unity
spacial arts on the right, Grammar of ide a as we ll as space in a great
here, among the numerical and musical sweeping s ynthes is of P l atonic and
arts, must also represent metre or ~ristot el ian systems. These last remarks are my lame attempt at illuspoetry.
On the upper level, from left to trating what I meant by the third and
right , we have Phn.edrus and Lysias as highest l evel of interpreting pi cture s
orato ry and s ophis t ry (cf. Plato's and I hope n o one will misj udge t h e
di alogue); Socrates ne xt, wi th Al ci- pro cess by my inadequa cy.
As th~ conveyor of large ideas in
b iades , Gl au con and Cepha lus and a
subtle ways and possessing its meaning
soldier, a "Si lver Citizen" on guard
to k eep sophists out of the Republic. on s eve ral leve l s , a gr eat paint:ing i s
r
Pa s t the central group of P l ato'-s no t unlike a great b ook. M . Edgar
W:ind i s p e rfonning a magnifi cen t s e r ~cade:ny and Aristotle among his Peripat e tics , we fl.nd History eagerly vice to t hose i nte reste d in showing
transcribing the -proceedings while how great paintings can be understood.
Pyrrho the Skeptic watches him skep- If he is able to show St. John's that
tically, and a Stoic, tall, unmoved great paintings are worth being underand coldly serene surveys the crowd. stood, he wHl perform an additional
In the corner at the extreme right is service and one near to my heart.
an allegory of the "golden mean" in
Eugen e Th au (Columbia Univ.)
Ari s t ot elian thought shown by the
t hree ages of man, a concept di splayeG.
THE BOYS FROM JUL L IARD
fr e qumtly in art after this time .
Th e whole room of whi ch t he (or, A Presump tuous Cri t ic Di gres ses)
"School of Athens" i s but a -p ar t, it~.
'Iher e is a t radi t ion an:nng stri ng
four wall s covered with fre s cos of
quar t e ts , with the llidapest i n partioPhiloso-phy, Poetry, Theology and
Jurisprudence with corner lunettes ular, which demands that modern works '
containing transitional subjects that i f they must be played, be played Just
connect adjacent wall~, forms a pie- before intermission. Thus, having dispatched their comrade's embarrassing
to rial version of the Renaissance "Enoffspring, they are able to follow it
cyclopaedia~ the circle of i n tellectual µ.irsui t in which, starting at any up, after intermission, with a. soothpoint, one can arrive elsewhere on the ing syrup of the romantic brand to
circle by the interdependence of the restore the reactionary's outraged
liberal arts. The "School of Athens" tongue to its accustomed state of
\
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
health. This adnirable procedure not
only secures for the perfonners an
audience after the break, but sa tisfies the sophisticate in the audience
that his pet has bem given the place
of honor on the program, that is to
say, dead in the middle of it. The
Julliard Quartet, aggresively modern
as it is, broke the tradition and/or
hypocrisy some Fridays ago and insisted on a logical and strictly chr~o
logical order of arrangenent, whether
in deference to its audience or for
principles held, I cannot say.
Haydn's Quartet Op. 50, No . 4,
or rather merely the first move:nent of
it, provided the Julliard group with
an adnirable finger wanner and :introductory piece. fut it was not as well
suited. to its µ.irpose as it might have
been, inasmuch as there are more selfsufficient and brilliant Haydn first
movements to be read. They did, however, bring out most of the work's intrinsic value with a performance,
sometimes rough and thin in tone, but
nevertheless quite exciting .
The four nnvements of Schubert's
<Partet in G major, Op. !Pl, got
rather uneven treatment I thought. A
.ve ry dynamic and powerful going-over
is what the first movement requires,
and this is the sort i t got, plus much
more by way of variety. 'Th.e boys from
Julliard with tl1eir extremely soft
t.one played those mysterious pages
in this movement, which seem to be
manufactured whole out of a few tremolos and not much else, in a manner
very seldom equaled. The la.st movanent
w~s admirably done also, thougp the
first violinist, it seened to me, had
trouble with his intonation. It was in
the middle two movements that the per formance seemed to fall apart . The
lyricism of the second mov ement and
the trio of the Scherzo was not quite
Page 5
adequately sustained, nor was the
~cherzo proper given its :full value
in the way of a fleet and light t.ouch.
Enough of' this carping criticism, however. TI1e Julliard's performance was,
on the whole, a fine one, quite different from the extremely polished one
which a Budapest Quartet- might give
i~, but, since what was lacking in polish was rrore than made up by a peculiarly catching sort of ent.husiasm in
their approach, an equally valid one.
Apropos of the Berg, let me make
a snall and possibly relevant digression on the charming subject of games
for children or for adults, intellec~
ual or otherwise. Games, as anyon e
might tell you, are invented. as a rrore .
or less pleasant way of passing time
when no more pressing business or more
profitable pleasure is at hand. As
such, from bean-bag and spin-thebottle, through bridge and canasta, to
Russian roulette, tl1ey perform certain
valuable functions in life, not the
least of which is concerned with per. petuating it. But as any number of
well-paid pundits will tell you, the
way to get the most out of a game is
t.o play it yourself. Now Berg, it
would seen., plays a game called twelve
toning, but the trouble is that he
won't let us play too. ·My suggestion
is: get a copy of the rules (Alhambra,
California %Arnold Schoenberg), apply
yourself diligently, and soon, who
lmows, you may be able to play.
So much for the digression (small
and possibly relev ant). I could not
possibly quarrel with the performance
of the Lyric Suite . It seemed t o be
very authoritative and sure footed .
And I cannot even quarrel wi t h t h e
t welve- tone system itself, sin ce I
have heard certain compositions wri tten :in that style, some of them , such
as Wozzeck and the Violin Concerto, by
�~~~ss~· ~i.ou~i:s."-::_~u!!s"!1::e~ ~! ,~~~~ki~~s. O:ne
~
of abs
differe
ence a
a subs ·
given
bers o:
dis tine
examp
subs tr
but is
''this~ ·
definit
tion ~ ·.
reality
abstra
tion is
it can
ure to
reache
tions c
edge.
The
genera
appara
percep
mind.
quirin1
We g2
there,
facult3
jective
must J
fore w
have e
before
as an
commc
our di:
a grei:i
believE
- Trc
contra
No~
of per•
exp res
a dire<
ven's
heard
meani1
knowIi
percep
refatio
thing
We ki
men ts
gases
men ts
three
betwe•
is red
Page fl
~ """'-"-2-d+
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
Several speak~rs toyed witt
characterizations of our special kind
- -party goveITlIDent, which seems to be
.of
a fairly elusive thing. Most agreed
with Professor Rogers, of Columbia
University, that we ha.ve in fact two
bottles with virtually the same (if
any) contents. The two parties are
alike in that boU1 .intend to represent
everyone by Eitit?Qdying everything. To
the universal complaint of .the frustrated citizm, "Why don't our parties
stand for something?", Representative
Case of New Jersey re-olied that they
do -- only or course it is the . same
thing. By this he referred to those
supposed first prineiples on which all
Americans agree and our democracy
Paul Cree
rests, or perhaps · to ·certain maxims· of
freedcm on which we certainly do some'DIALECTIC AT THE WALDORF how agree. Within the fram ework of
this basic a.i:id resounding agreement,
The lBth annual Herald Tribune then, each party endeavors to incorForum, entitled "What Kind of Govern- porate all the divergent opinions and
ment Ahead"?' to which the senior interests of our society.
The
class .last month dispatched a. couple speakers were fond of' repeating that
of spies, was a dismal dialectical our parttes are thus not monolithic
t:!lorass. As such, it seemed to reflect but all-inclusive, and therefore con~
the failure of l.ts suhj ect, our tain within themselves dJs tine tions
American -political machinery, to offer more genulne than those which exist
the voting citizen the intelligently between them. lli t thus to stand for
fonmilated alternatives essential to everything, is to stand for nothing,
significant choice and democratic and so we arrive at our two similar
process. '!'.hough billed as a "forum"
parties, neither of whose principles
the. program involved little exchang~ or programs a~e well deflned. 'Ibis
of ideas, parading rather a three-day Professor Odegard, of ti1e. University
chain of set speeches which bore to of Ca.lifomia, quite sincerely extoled
one another a minimum of relevance. as "the wisdom of Tweedledee and
Ye t, despite tLe fact that most Tweedledum."
speakers thus concerned them.selves
Professor Rogers related this
with interests of their own, some lack of definition to certain el011ents
common problems evolved.
This of our political mechaniSJD., and to the
opinion-aligrment, or ~~~
imnlicit-debate ' American t/ind. He j us ti fi ed it in
.
centered, curiously enough; about the terms of Madison and the Federalist
very question of the nature and place Papers.
o~ dialectic, logic, and first
National parties are defined in
principles in our traditional twoterms of matters of national imporparty system.
tance. Thus those aspects of our
Berg himself, which made considerable
sense and which appeared to be worth
hearing often. Rathe~, it is merely
that, oonsidering the rarity of these
triurrphs and noting that other modern
composers, ffioch, Prokofiev, and Hindanith to name a few, turn out equally
respectable work with considerably
greater frequency, I think there might
be better techniques to be used. As
for the Lyric Suite itse11-, since
better examples of his nrusic, such as
the two works mentioned above can be
heard, I simply conjecture t~at this
time he slipped. I will say, though,
that I enjoyed the titles tranendously.
ST. JOHN'S. COLLEGIAN
Page 7
elec tive process which tend to concen- fessor, scof'fi,1g at -proposals that our
partieB hold regular conventions in
trate attention on state and local
addi tlui to the mminating . conventions
issues, as does the requirement that
re-presentatives be residents o_ the for the purpose of formulating their
f·
districts from which they are elect~ principles, pronounced that the
bl 1.Jr the forms o :f the na tionaJ American ;\Tind is allergic to cerebration on principles. 'lhe Representaparties. The fact that parties, to be
tive, having admitted that the twonati onal, must straddle sectional
cii fferences has the same effect. narty systP,fTI as he had painted it was
no1.. a particularly logical arrange~urther, varties have little meaning
ment., reli-eved. us of all qualms on
if their platforms are not in fact
that score by declaring that "life is pledges of actioo, while oor Congressnot logical either." There is also
ional procedure, nlacing power in the
the argument of practical wisdom: "We
hands of cormnittees and conrnittees in
have contented people," he concluded. tl1e pawer of seniority rules, -prevents
The opposition to this concept of
effective majority-party control of
tl1e party as a nebulous entity took
the legislative process.
two essentially different forms, one
The theoretical .iustification of
of which by fat out-:-weig,hed the other.
S'..lch a state of affairs stems from the
Only one speaker at the Forum advodanger of factions. Factions result
cated, in the face of Rousseau, the
from the alignr:!ent of the citizenry on
Federalists, and his fellows on the
the basis of divergent interests, and
TJlatform, that political narties
such a split of the state destroys the
should represent distinct interests;
conditions for a. true general will,
this was ~·fr. Patton, of the National
and raised in the minds of Forum
Farmers' Union, whose specific thesis
speakers the spectre of minority
was that tl1e Democratic Party should
oppression, street-barricades, and
·become a farm-labor coalition. The
civil war. 'lhe es sen ti al virtue of
other form of onposi tion wa.s led by
our pa ty system becomes that of reHubert Humphries, senator from ,\f:inneconciling; such dangerous divergences
sot~, and by Governor Peterson of
of i.n-terest (and, incidentally, of
Nebras1rn., who maintained that each
opinion) within the party masses, and
party should set forth in "well
of thus avoiding their becoming
defined, carefully reasoned statenational issues. In the legislative,
ments" its principles a<'l.d its position
as well as tne elective, µroo. ss,
e
on issues. The difference between
intra-party conproinise replaces L11ter'~r. Patton's -position and that of
party contest. 'lhis, incidentally, ,\( r. T-lumphries and Mr. Peterson can be
rele gates tl1e aemocratic process of
regarded as the dis tine tion between
decision to the party nrimary and tl1e
parties which represent "interests"
party conference. But it insures, as
and -parties which re-:Jresent "prinMr. Case cieliE,h tedly pointed out,
ciples", provided that we cb not imply
smooth-running goverrvnent. 1:i'rance, he
thereby that -principles are not
willin61Y ad~itted, is uetter at diamatters of interest or that interests
lectic -- tut look at the chaos into aq not give rise to princi~les. Insowhich this throws t.heir government!
far · as we have distinct interestThe last-ditch defense of tl1is
groups wi.thin the nation, we wi.11 have
concept of the narty systan is an C1utcorrespondin6 oJJinion-groups as well,
rigJ:1 t denial of dialectic. The Pro-
�we use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One chair and the scale of colors. This kind of
kind sru~
"
"
of abs
diffen
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
ence a
a subs ·
as it is contrary to the spirit and vote should detennine public -policy.
given
theory of daoocracy to separate one's To achieve real party responsibility,
hers o:
interests from one's principles. But however, he believes party discipline
dis tine
examp
it is c·l ear that the interests to ts needed; the majority party must
subs tr
which parties appeal, if we are to have authority to pu~ its platform
but is
allow parties to take shape at all, into action. 'Ille traditions of sen"this ~ ·
must be some common interests in iority and conmittee rule in Congress,
definit
res-pect of 't\hich we are all equal, not no part of our law or Constitution,
tion " :
such particular interests as those of must be reformed to make committees
reality
abstra
farmers, in respect of which we are responsible to the majority party; and
tion is
obviously not all equal. Our· parties the party- "caucus", which once insured
it can
will not differ, theoretically, in the that party membership would be responure to
. interests to whl ch they appeal, :rut in sible to party leadership, should be .
re ache
. the principles for . which they stand as restored to the status it had, he
tions c
edge.
ways _ attaining those· interests. said, forty years ago. In line with -~ of
The
The advocates of undefined parties tJJ:is concept of uopul ar democracY.~ _;
genera
were right, then," in their argument Sena.toe Kefauver proposed to · ·t he . Fort.~
up para
against parties which represent fac- the obvious amendment of tl1e electoral
percep
tions, but they may be wrong in college system. Asking for ~arties
mind.
supposing that parties wh!ch seek the answerable to their own memberships,
quirin~
We g2
same end might not be quite distinct Mr. Peterson praised a requirement of
there,
in respect of the principles of' Nebraska law that -prirnary candidates
facult3
government by which · they pro~ose to a~pear in person in the state to
jective
achieve these ends. Mr. Patton may be debate the issues of the election,
must l
said, then, to have advocated -parties thus he said bringing intra-party
fore w
have e
which stand for distinct ~nds, while politics out of the Sllioke-filled
before
the others advocated -parties which room.
as an
As for the rest of the Forum
stand for distinct~ to one end.
commc
Under the slogan, "party respon- speakers -- there must have been
our di:
sibility", Mr. Humphries set forth a fifty or so more -- some were polia grea
believE:
scheme :for the revision of the present ticking, some urged programs upon
- Tr•
party system to make our democracy their parties, some pretended their
contra
more democratic. He sees a trencl away parties had programs, some described
No"'
from the federal concept of govern- the activities of their women's clubs,
of per1
~ent, lessening interest in sectional some discussed international affairs,
exp res
problems, and correspondingly growing while some, drawing a very reasonable
a dire<
ven's
interest in national issues. In the conclusion from our present party
heard
face of this, parties which are not arrangffilent, urged all those interestmeani1
clear about national issues seem to ed in democracy to work within some
know]~
him anomalistic; narties should hold party, since they would find no sigpercep
conventions every two years, commit- nificant choice between them. Some of
rehtio
thing
ting themselves to ~lat.forms and these last explained that the innards
We k1
"integrating" their now heterogeneous of our parties are much nicer than you
ments
membership. Voters would then have think they are.
gases
the oiroortuni ty of considerin1f ·issues
We have saved for last mention
men ts
rather than mere personalities, the
the first s-pea.ker, whose words of
three
deoocratic ideal in this resoect being darkness suggest the severe shortbetwe1
is red
simply that a majority of the -popular coming of our presffi1t democratic
1
-
- -
" -- - -
--- '~---
_, "
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
Wind blown news print thickens the hedge.
Trees stand in naked defiance,
fisted branches against the grey.
Soggy leaves follow me from door to desk,
where sitting I watch the frantic rain.
The muddie sash drip hurls skyward
rn last rebellion.
Soon all will be white,
for a moment ~eace.
Lyric Suite
Decadent Sexuality
in forms contrived by swinish wit
Impotent expression of soulless impotence.
Other forms, a different artifax
might lend you potency
to express the soulless impotence of cr~wling death.
Washburn
A sky of blue above a crowded world of dust
Sunlight streaming through a windowpane
Pregnant clouds bursting, rain ticking
Snow falling and tickling.
People strutting forth and slaving
Side by side
Brothers loving working craving
Side by side.
Pi ero
t
NGfICE
1he Baltimore "Sunday .American" has offered to print the next issue of the
Co ZZegian on an entire -page of their Sunday Supplement.
Reprints of this
page will be distributed on Monday, December 12 in lieu of a regular issue.
THE EDITOO
�we use nouns.,, Nouns are of two kinds. One chair and the scale of. ~olors. This kind of
kind sr •
, ·· ,, ·
·· ,,
. ..
of abs
differe
ence a :
Page 10
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
a subs ·
given
technique. Dwight Eisenhower, of worse kind; hence to it is given the
bers o:
Columbia University, joined those.who na~e of anti-criticism. The word
dis tine
favored logical analysis, but with a criticisu. itself is abandoned for "The
examp
difference: he didn't want to incor- New Criticism" which turns out to be
substr
porate logic as a proper -part of the The Kind of Cri ticisr.L W
hich the Avant
but is
"this ~ ·
democratic process, but saw i t as a Garde Artist_Likes. FUrther it was
definit
task for experts. He advocated a con- pointed out that Whereas the bond betion ~
clave of "leader s from every field" tween neasantry and poet may be
reality
and "faculties of somP. of our gr eat fruitful, that between the masses and
abstra
universities" for the purpose of find- the poet may only be debilitating.
tion is
it can
ing out the best way to protect the '!he distinction between peasantry and
ure to
citizen frcm his governme~t . He p ro- masses appears to ·be political rather
reache
posed to do this by drawing a line t han occupational.
tions c
where one cannot possibly exist in a
It was in an attempt to find out
edge.
functioni ng democracy -- t h e lin e more about The New Criticism (I ca~
The
separating the citizen from his gov- i talize it because I am not sure what
genera
appara
ernment. Eisenhower's concern can relationship it bears to the new
percep
only reflect a basic mis1mderstanding criticism which I already know somemind.
o f democracy . It may be well that thing about, the criticiSin fathered by
quirini
We
g :;
ther e,
facult3
jective
must l
fore w
have e
such a mislU1derstanding is inev itabl P.
in a democracy of amorphous parties .
Ran.l et Lin col n
Thomas Si mp son
before
as an
commc
our di:
a gre2
beliew
- Tr'
contra
No"'
of per~
exp res
a dire<
ven's
heard
meani1
knowld
percep
r ehtio
thing
We ki
ments
gases
men ts
three
betwe~
is r ed
CRITICAi .CAUSES
The most important question s
which a person may ask a critic ar e
probably "What does a cr itic do when
faced with an a r t work? " "Why does
he do it?" and "How does h e know a
good work from a bad?" All these
questions were demanded of Mr. Kar l
Shapiro in a memorable and quer ysome
session follo wing his lectur e on
n Anti-criticism. II
With t he lecture
itsel f, I, by choice , do not concern
myself here except to record that in
it MI. Shapi ro laid cbwn some qualification to his now fanous pos ition (t o
be found set f or th in Poe try Magazin e
o f April 1948) that .for poe try cri t i ci s m on th e wh ol e i s us el e ss , or
worse. The qualification which enero._
ed seems to b e : .tiat t he c r i ti c i;m
t
o f antimodernists is the useless-or-
'L S. Eliot and godfath ered by T. E.
Hulme) that the question period got
under way.
Now it is conmon for people to be
hat they are and to do what they do
w
without knowing just what i t is they
are being (formal reason) , just why
they are doing what they do (final
reason), or just how this gets done
(efficient reason). And critics on
the whole are no exception to this law
o f Voluntary Ignorance . I real l y bel i eve that Mr. Shapiro is an exception. h'ut I must show in what sense
there are exceptions to such law : To
.s
supersede a law is a Christ-like act ion and such an action was perfonned
by Socrates as r egards this one I have
just mentioned, in the place of which
he set hi s faroous formula. The I.aw of
Self-Knowledge s tands .near The Law of
Love as a thing of an analogous ld.nd,
but in or der to oper ate bo th must b e
applied, in the c ase of any individual , with utmost pain and diffi culty.
Or els e t he lesser law operates y e t
for that individual , and citi zenship
i n t h e lesser s tate i s conse quently
rP-tained.
I
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
...
J _ _ __
Page 11
.
Pain and difficulty are fearsome of any known criticism. Having failthings, and this accotIDts for the fact ed on the issue of "how's," or effithat M Shapiro succumbed to fright dent causes. Mr. Shapiro toyed a bit
r.
in the question period foll owing his with the more sl i-ppery-or more thorny,
iecture. I believe it was a lapSe to ~1ichever it is-ball of formal
be sure and that Mr . Shapiro ac tually c auses. Peopl e started asking what
hol ds citizenship in the critic 's pre- kind of t hing a poem is and what kind
ci nc t of The State of Philos ophy. of thing the New Cr iticism of a p oem
What Mr. Shapiro was asked to do (and is. They phrased the i r questions in
he migh t have expected it from st. the less direct wa~ of asking for inJohn's people) was to give an exposi- stance what in Mr. Shapiro's opinion
tion of the causes of his habitual ac- the primary meaning of a lingu~ica.1tivities, poe try and criticism. For ly obscure poem might be. His curious
those who do not understand the quest- answer was that a linguistically obion. it is a meaningless one, and such scure poem is a bad poem; now this is
a person continues in felicity while a perfectly good answer to some quesadding more names to his growing list tion, but not to the one asked. In
of fools. To one who ~derstands the the same area of inquiry some people
question, it is the most frightening asked what happens to a poem in transone in the world and may send one into lation: hasn't (~ome aske d) a satisa nigbtmare stat e of mental paralys is fac tory translation of the p roposition
i n which the onl y motion is sideways of a poem done the essential job? or
and in which the only direct answers perhaps a translation evoking the mood
are precisely those he wishes he were of the poem has done the job? or -pernot making. I be lieve the latter is haps one reproducing the music and
what happened that Friday night to a rhythm of the poem has done the job?
man who has done quite enough thinking So far as I recall Mr. Shapiro replied
and enough non-,:nt;; easily to merit our s9mehow to each case, "No." Asking
what a translation does to a poem is
respect..
I have made the thtory outlined one of the best ways to ask what a
above in an attempt to save the phe- poem is, and "no" is a fairly useless
nomena of that l a te Friday evening. way of citing a formal cause. It aFollowing are the phenomena I singled mounts, I say, to another aberration.
out for a t t ention because they seemed If he had even gone s o :far as to add,
to me to b e t he most marked aberra- "because a poem is not simply any one
t ions :tron the usual performance of a of thes e things, nor the sum of all of
man of M . Shapir o 's s tat ure and a- them," i t would have been much less
r
sad, al though the apswe r were still in
chievement.
When asked what a New Critic does the negative. And s001ething like that
when faced with a poem, Mr. Shapiro is what at the very least any new
answered by saying that he reads it. critic (the ones, without capitals,
Now this is far from being necessarily that I know about) would have done.
There was no separation of the
an evasion, as anyone knows who tries
to find out how properly to "read" an discussicn of the ends of poetry frOIJl
art object made with words or other that of the ends of criticism, and so
materials . But i t t urned out to be an it t.appened that the final caus es of
evasion for Mr. Shapiro; I call this both came to be called for about the
an aberration for any known charnnion same ti me. It was here t h at Mr.
�we use nouns.
kind sr
of abs
differ€
ence a
a subs '
given
hers o:
dis tine
examp
subs tr
but is
''this ~ ·
definit
tion '1 :
reality
abstra
tion is
it can
ure to
reache
tions <
edge.
The
genera
appara
percep
mind.
quirini
We
g~
there,
facult~
jective
must l
fore w
have e
before
as an
commc
our di:
a gre2
believ~
-
Tri
contra
No"
of per4
exp r es
a dire<
ven's
heard
meani1
kn owl~
perce:r
rel:J.tic
thing
We k1
men ts
gases
men ts
three
betwe4
is red
Nouns are of two kinds.
One
chair and the scale of colors.
This kind of
1,•
~·"
'1!i.h
Page 12
ST. JOllN'S COLLEGIAN
were; and- when someone still trying to
find out asked the obvious questicn of
what it was that Mr. Eliot doe R or
says, Mr . Shapiro gave the astounding
answer that for one thing Eliot uses
r het orical devices. This is not astotmding be ause it is false (on the
c ontra ry it is marked.ly true, as witness the "Hamlet" essay or the
"Baudelaire")-; it is astounding because i t is almost the least important
thing .<me can say of any good writerit i s somewhat equi valent to sayi ng
that he writes well .
Such responses to c r ucial questions about the ends of poetry and
criticism given by a powerfully infiuential lecturer and writer of and on
poetry and criticism amount, I repeat ~
to aberrations and therefore need to
be accounted for.
I have tried to
suggest that philosophical yellowness
may have been the reason and not philosophica.1 ignorance. Some have suggested to me that Mr. Shapiro was in
bad form because· the blurring and the
tongue-tripping effects of politics
(not the science, of cour~e, but the
goad) played such a large role in his
lecture. Upon this I do not have the
fac t s nor the means to judge .
The most pitiable thing t o me is
t hat no t only was Mr . Shapiro quite
inart iculate about his own position,
but his r eferences to the positions of
such critics as Eliot and Brooks were
far from l ucid.
(He spoke o:f Allen
Tate's cri tica l exposition of a metaphysical image in MacBeth; in fact the
~.,-.---~si t i on to which he r eferred is
Cleanth Brooks' and in the context of
Brooks' exoosition, which turns on the
organic or holistic nature of poetry
considerable light could have been
thrown on the problems which were
posed.) I sa~ this is pitiable because these men could (as also could
Shapiro) be of great value to us at
:
·-• i
~
..
-
.. ~ -
,·:
~ -
'l.
;.
ST. JOijM'S COLLEGIAN
.1.
Shapiro began to speak o:f the New
Critics as "using" criticism :for their
own ends-to make some point (presumably about the nature of liter ature.)
This was another shoc k for me when I
recalled one of El iot ' s sentences, "Ne
exponent of criticism has, I presume,
ever made the -preposterous assumption
that criticism is an autoelic activity." At any rate to maintain this
s trikes me as a highly lHlSatisfactory
way of interesting us in the New Criticism and an even more unsatis factory
way of telling us what that criticism
is really for.
It was also here (in the probing
of final causes) that Mr . Shapiro crune
to speak of poems as "beautiful obj ects," but this required the qualification of good poems as opposed to bad
poens. And that was where Ur. Shapiro
went into an ivory fox-hole. When he
was asked what the criterion for beauty was, and for good and bad, he said
that it was a s ub jective criterion.
As in most cases where this word comes
up it was here an evasion of the issue. Tne issue was what is the end of
poetry? and on what criteria then do
you criticize it. To say tha t the
criteria are subjective is t o supp ly
a p:;ychological answer t o a me ta.physical question: th at is, t he quest ion
fai ls t o be answered at a ll. When
someone asks how you judge a p0em bad
or good and you say, "It's subjective," what you really me an is, "I
won't tell," but you yse a ps ycholog ical term t o e xpress the notion t hat
somehow you doo' t have to tell. That
he coul d have told is shown by th e
fact that Mr. Shapiro :immediately began to remind us that some people agree on tl1eir subjective criteria and
f'urtber that the New Critics more or
less generally agreed with Eliot.
Nevertbeless he did not go on to tell
(Eliot could have) what these criteria
~'"'("
;k•(,;;";."· ,. ......
• •.11-·
.
Page 13
...
St. JoJJrl'S in bringing bef"ore US Wbat
practically -never getS treated here at
all: n~t poetry as message or poetry
as emotion or poetry as r~ligion or
poetrY: ~ a kind or understanding
which is (rightly) in current .disrepute here;· but poetry as poetry.
· '!he first school is ..nat I would
terOJ.· the '"back to the Golden Age"
school. This group (and I must sq it
is, 'f ortunately, small) feels that the
1rivium represented the highest - and
best fonn or creative action the f.ollege can possibly take 1n a publication fonn. It feels that a piblication
of, by, and for the College, which is
John Logan
what the Triviµ.m. amotmted to, is the
desired end. A publication l'lhich, by
means of poetry, criticism_, articles,
reviews, etc. is a rwming, 4though
somewhat extended., comnentary on the
CLOUDLAND ANTiqlPATED
C.Ollege, fulfills al~ o:f the College's
needs for expression, they .:feel •. 'lllis
On two occasions in my life I view is subject to question, I think,
have come across copies of the 1riv- on at least two counts." ' The first is
ium. - the College's f'irst and only purely practical: There ' iS not a11d
attempt at a monthly publication which will probably never be -a combination
appeii.rea. almost a decade ago. The of students and faculty at St. John's
first occasion ' was in ili.e SlDill1ler of ca~able of sustaining the feverish
1943 when, in o:xnpany wiili. some fellow pace of creativity required for putfreshmen, I was exploring the musty ting out even a DK>derately good pubdelights of the McDQwel~- attic. The lication of this sort;
the Trivium
second was late last summer when I died for this reason and that was in
came across it in a battered suitcase the days of the Gods. (This o:f course
in the closet of a condemned. East Side also pre~ses that frcm a practical
tenement.
(As I was the only person standpoint, a pUblication,; circulation
who had :lilhabited that apartment in 9 400,could be managed, for it would ceryears, it is :fascinating to sunnise taiilly have very li~tle interest outhow it might ·have gotten there.)
In side the C.Ollege.) The second objectthe six year interval ,between these ion to a publicat~on of this standard
two occasions nnch has happened to ili.e is the subjectivity about the College
College, but the Trivium has never which 1 t would engender. 'llle College
reappeared.
in the years since the pre-war era has
However, a constant memory has beccme increasingly aware of the nee- ·
been desultory talk of publishing. the essi ty o:f :finding some workable rela't7rivi1Ht again and this talk still ionship with the world at large.. Cergoes on - a kind of sentimental r."...- tainly we have bhmdered in attempting
bination of reminiscing and amhit101i:.. to find this relationship and will
This article is 50(00 more of that talk probably cont:i.Jue to ~ so. The point
As the situation mw stands there is, a highly St. Johnnsy publication
a.re three schools of thought, I have will do little towards that end and
fm.nd, on a St. John's nnnthly public- would seem to be a step in the opposation. I propose to examine these i te direction.
three ways 01· thin~ng w1 th some cri- ·
· 'Ihe second scmol of t.OOught on a
ticism of each.
�we use nouns.
kind sr
of abs
diffen
ence a
a subs ·
given
hers o
dis tine
examp
subs tr
but is
''this ~ ·
definit
tion v .
reality
abstra
tion is
it can
ure to
reache
tions <
edge.
The
genera
appara
percep
mind.
quirini
We g~
there
facult3
jective
must l
fore w
have e
before
as an
1
comm<
our di:
a grea
believ(
-
Tri
contra
No~
of per1
exp res
Nouns are of two kinds.
Page .14:
One
~hair and the scale of_ ~olors.
refat ic
t hing
We kt
ments
gases
men ts
t hree
betwe1
is red
St~ John·~ Col f~gian
ST. -JOHN' S- OOLLEGIAM
St. Jobi's JUblicatim might be tennedthe "literary fellows • .• ibis is, I sn
af'raid, a rather large group al tlx>l1~1
I lunp together here a wlx>le spectrun
of.. opinion, all subject to at tack on
roughly t.lle same grounds. 'lbe spectrllD extends from uiose who feel that
sane reai good would be served by another publication on tlle order of tlle
Sewmiee. Review. '!he K~on, 'lhe Pia.rd,
etc. etc. reviews.. 'lnen mere are the
less conservative ones who want to outPartisan the Partisan Review. Finally
there is a small lunatic fringe of
super avant gardtsts :for whom . the St.
John ts program is a-pparently a stepping-stone to Greenwich Village .bohenia, and want to incorporate this into
a publication.
1 t har<Ily seems necessary to say
that the coommity itself would be utterly incapable of me~ting the standards of even the worst of the above
type of publications, and if we were
to rely mainly onoutside contributions
our function in the review dwindles to
merely collecting manuscripts.
The last group of opinion on a
St. John's publication is the "F.d.u<;ation Review" group. This feeling is
strongly represented in the faculty
and adninistration as w
ould be expec ted. They feel that St. John's main
a dire<
ven's
heard
meani1
knowl1
percer
This kind of
contribution to the world is in its
unique approach tD education, and that
its primary expression to the outside
world should be a rururlng cormnentary
and attack on present trends in education, with a concurrent defense and
explication of the Program. Perhaps I
pa.int their view too strongly but I mi
afraid that a publication too exclusively devoted t.o the above aims ~uld
tend to become an all-faculty productian~ and, hence limited. .
'Jhese are the edstlng .mswers to
the questim: "Wlat should a St. Jolm•s
publication be?" , Let us, at . 1;h.e risk
of being somewhat ponderous, rephrase
the question: •'Jbe St. Jolm •s program
is an idea which has been shining for
twelve years; the St. John'·s conmmity
is a group of people Who have been ex:posed to the light of that idea for
over a decade; is there anything that
we have seen; done, felt, learned or expressed, ·that deserves or demands expression to the .outside world?
If there is, then we should -plar;
for a review, a quarterly, a publication o:f some Id.nu. .ir there ts not,
then I tbink mat we must -admit w
ourselves t.hat in the -. :O.nal reckoning;
St. Jolm' s is nothing but an tmique,
yea interesting, experiment in didactic methodology
I suspect that the answer is in
the aff'irmative, however, and that
with SCflle skillful synthesizing of our
three schools of thought,plus,perha:ps,
a look at Mr. Buchanan's recent ~t
tenpt to find a relatimship with the
_
world, we mey find the answer.
In a subsequent article I propose to examine this synthesis more
closely and in addition, to give an
accmmt of some of the practical advantages and disadvantages of a college publication. Meanwhile, perhaps
s001e more talk will be generated.
G. M. Van Sant
Vo l, LXIV
~ No ,
4
April 4 2 1951
A Quick Atinomy
.A lecture in. Baltimore sponsored by the
Americans for Democratic ·Action ·on
October l l was a political speech 9 ·a tut
orial ~ ·a nd at times , a sermon. · The ADA
invited Mr. ·Stringfellow Barr to lecture. ·
He did 9 and delivered an extremely impor
tant lecture. · . To . a . half filled auditorium
Mr. • Barr sp~ke on Foreign Policy 9 , its
problems and its function . · Because ·of
the lecture ' s importance · this review will
attempt ·to recapitulate and extend the
essentials of Mr. · Barr 9 s talk so that it
may be considered by the student body.
Primarily; Mr. Barr said that a realistic ·
foreign policy should be based on a clear
and precise · statement of what problem
the world faces . • This presupposes 9 «of
course 9 ·the solution of what the world 9 s
basic problems are 9 ·and the formulation
of plans in accordance with that ·view. ·
But we have two worlds , , separate and .
opposed ~ ·not qqOne Wcrld 99 • · These two
worlds are battling fo r power, and there
fore , their foreign policies clash 1 .each
offering the world a solution to her prob
!ems. • Foreign policy deals essentially
with foreigners • • • we forget that some
· ·
times . •· •· • nd who are most foreigners?
a
The world has 2o2 billion people and most
of these are ·neither ·Russian · nor Aineri
cans , ·nor are they white . • Three quarters
of these people , or over one and a half
billion, .are sick, .hungry, . illeterate 9 and ·
carrying diseased . bodies ·for : their . brief
time on this earth . : They live in continual
misery and it is extremely difficult for the
well fed western. mind to conceive :oftheir .
plight. . Nearly all of these people . belong
to the colored ·races . of the;! earth a.nd . all
are terribly . oppressed. · ·These are . the
people we intend to lead in our crusade
against Communism , : Qur policy is anti ~
Communistic ~ ·but much to the embarass
ment of the State Department, ,t he world 9 s
problem · is misery< ·
When these people . look : at · Russia they
see liberation from landlords ~ ·money
0
0
•
0
0
0
0
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Did you know that Marshall Petain
once received an Honorary Doctor's
Degree from St. John's College??!!
<XME 10 WE BLACK MAS(VE ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Have you ever lo@ked within yourself?
Last night I did
And f'ound a stranger
Whose i dentity dangled like a crust
Of sleep
From uncertainty 0 s heavy lid.
0
Louis Graff
changers and ·corrupt politicians . They
also see a planned development of their
country on an industrial basis . ·. When we
look at Russia we see . Totalitarianism. ·
To the oppressed people of the world this ·
means nothing. • They have always known
tyranny. : They want to live 9 ·and to end
their exile from Life and to leave their
inheritance of misery. · Russia ;s solution
to the problem ·is Communi sm. · · But it
offers also to mankind freedom from pover·,
ty 9 starvation 9 , plagues and ignorance o ·
Our solution is an almost unheard and ·
very weak cry to the starving of the world·
Point Four, .the economic aid p rogram to
underdeveloped countries . · But , ·Mr, -Barr
le t us know , the Senate Co~mittee ~ s funds
appropriated for this brave plan was not
as much as New York City spent in 1949
to sweep its streets and dispose of its
garbage 9 that i s ~ ·when it gets around to
dispose of its garbage . ··To the two~ thirds
of the world ' s population that live in
misery ·how does this sound? ·Russia
offers revolutiono : Russia offers planned
industrial economy. · Our Senate Committee
offered garbage sweeping .funds . · Ob-viou=
sly 9 , Communism has no competition in
the world today. ·
.
Ye S p , you can . shoot a · Communis t 9 but
can you kill an idea? Communism i s an
idea.·
Thi~ idea Russia ·claims is the only
solution to save mankind from this walking
death of misery, : She offers a positive
program. . ·Mankind has . slowly . become
?wakened and · is convinced ·that misery ·
1s no longer · necessary: ·With scie ntific
�
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The Collegian
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The Collegian began as a student newspaper; became a college community literary publication in 1952 and continued until 1969; became a student newspaper again in 1969; discontinued publication from 1980 until 1989 when it again became a student literary publication.<br /><br />Click on <a title="The Collegian" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=26">Items in The Collegian Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection.
Coverage
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Annapolis, MD
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14 pages
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paper
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Collegian Vol. LXIII No. 03
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St. John's Collegian, November 30, 1949
Date
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1949-11-30
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Vol. LXVIII, No. 3 of the St. John's Collegian. Published on November 30, 1949.
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Annapolis, MD
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St. John's College
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English
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text
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pdf
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The Collegian
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PDF Text
Text
we use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One
kind such as "road," "tree," "people," consist
of abstractions as do adjectives but with this
difference: in order to be brought into existence and signify some reality they do not need
a substratum but a space-time relation. When
given this relation, these nouns become members of the second group and we recognize this
distinction by capitalizing them. To give an
example, "straight" is an adjective needing a
substratum, "straight road" is more definite
but is still an abstraction and has no existence,
"this straight road" or "Lincoln Highway" is a
definite thing, having taken on space-time relation which give it uniqueness and therefore
reality. No matter how many adjectives and
abstract nouns are strung together the abstraction is never lost and reality obtained, although
it can be asymptotically aproached. The failure to recognize this - that reality is never
reached by abstraction - causes misconceptions concerning the communication of knowledge.
The capitalized nouns are percepts, and the
general nouns and adjectives are concepts. Our
apparatus for dealing with reality and gaining
percepts consists of the five senses and the
mind. (The function of the mind in the acquiring of percepts will be taken up later.)
We gain percepts from experience and from
there we go to nouns of the first group by our
faculty of abstraction, and from there to a,djectives. The direction is never reversed. We
must have experience of particular Roads before we gain the notion of road, and we must
have experience of several groups of substrata
before we can abstract their common attribute
as an adjective. Each step ofthe percept-tocommon nouns-to adjective process increases
our distance from reality. Pla to is asking for
a great act of Faith when he would have us
believe the superior reality of the abstraction,
- Tree, Chair, Triangle, Beauty, for this is
contrary to our experience.
Now the first kind of knowledge, consisting
of percepts and acquired only by experience ~ i.s
expressed in speaking by the verb "know" with
a direct predication. We say we know Beethoven's Fourth Symphony, meaning we have
heard it, or we know the Statue of Liberty,
meaning we have seen it. The second kind of
knowledge, dealing with concepts in relation to
percept s or concept s in knowledge of a t hing's
refat ions and attribut es rather t han of the
t hing itself, and is expressed by "know that."
We know that hydrogen and oxygen are elements, expressing the relation bet ween the two
gases and t hat group of t hings we call elements; we know that the product of three and
three is nine, expressing a particular relation
between two t h rees; we know that this chair
is red, expressing the r elation bet ween the
chair and the scale of colors. This kind of
knowledge can be taught and is what formal
education concerns itself with.
To show the impossibility of transmitting the
first kind of knowledge, an example will be adduced which may seem trite but it is hard to
find one that serves the purpose better. If I
should try to give a South African Negro who
has never seen ice the knowledge of what an
ice cube is, it is probable I would proceed by
telling him different things about it. I would
say that it was frozen water, explaining freezing as a process by which liquid things become
solid, that it was hard, cold, slippery; I might
even try to draw a picture of it. None of these
would give knowledge of what an ice cube was
for he would be trying to reconstruct from certain of the things attributes the thing itself.
The more concepts such as hard, cold, slippery
I gave him the closer he would be able to approximate the real ice cube, but he would have
knowledge of it only when he could see and
touch it. This is because the concepts I have
given him are common to many things, and
singly or together do not constitute what is
unique about the ice cube - that by virtue of
which we call this particular thing an ice cube
and not a tree or something else. It is the
knowledge of that particular quality, which being unique is untransmittable by any symbol
whatever, that makes the difference between
knowing and not knowing the ice cube.
·
This ex:::1.mple is taken from the material realm. Plato's Theory of Ideas can no more
be taught than the ice cube. We have to arrive at it, if we do, by the original questioning
and thought analogy to the direct experience
knowledge of physical objects requires. Plato
in expounding his Theory of Ideas uses concepts or words common to many things, but
the theory itself cannot be communicated for
it is unique. Knowledge of the theory consists
in arriving at it in one's own thought, thus seeing it from the inside and grasping thereby all
of its relations at once, rather than trying to
synthesize the theory from its relations. When
,~!e have gained this· primary knowledge of the
'f1"1 0 ory of Ideas we c;.i,n analyze and express it
in our own way, as much as Plato, choosing
whichever of its relations we wish to expound.
Our knowledge then, depends on our store
of percepts. One cannot be taught that the
sum of the angles of a triangle is equal to 180°
until he knows what "angle," "triangle", and
"deg-ree" m e::i.ns; nor c~m he know "the Truth
811 -::i,ll m'lk e you free" until he is far enough
;:iilvHnced i.n hjs thinking to have realized ~t1is
for himself. Knowledge depends on individ11 <l1
e:ffod ultimately, and this is why the good
tc::i cher h~s alway8 been recognized as the one
who stimulates and inspires.
Anton Hardy.
St. John's Collegian
. .. Vol o '-..... VTII .u:n-..1.
r
_....
F
.
• .J
-
No /·~2;q
(,..t
ANNAPOLIS, MARYLAND
in
·. -~~, Nov o" i5 ~ · 1949
[ 0...:.~ ~
mward
tr~lating
such an end
one very. iloon susp~~~sl' th~t English
lacks the necessary· tn:~ te_rials
~ere
'and there ane words9 key ·words , whi~
WhenT·was a fresbman and he was
seem to have· m0re meaIDng than one can
· a sopholl!ore · teaching Greek, Mr. Ba~t give them o That is to· say , for inloathed l.ectilrers, or_ -~~t least he said stance, that ·.m .d'oG a word was fo~nd
<;
e did He would have preferred being whicli. . joined the no tion of" ' that w
inch
known as one of St. Jo~'s better stu- a thing is v with the ' no tion of u tha t
dents tllan "on~· of our better lectur- which a t h ing looks like '. M c Bar t
r
~rs . The Friday night of his lecture,
suggests tha t in the coupling o f t wo
while giving us one of his best of tile
such. ·n.crtions ' the· Greek was _?i ven a
.
t three years; :Mr, na.rt proved his
a
way of 1 'l~oking · .t:' things .Wfl.i~h to u s
~~n-~. ')118 ti tj e':.{¥·8.s. translation, and . . . · 0s sib1:·~ - Such a: coincifieftee does
1S lIIlp
•
-,
d
his subJ ect matter is best described
not exist b e tween our wo~ s~ing an
as an inquiry into our interest in
imowi.ng Considering fur thet :that one
language here at St o John'S c we a~e
c~t ~ or
i t a l s o become s clear
wor d , o u "'
_ _
.
al! ,familiar with that photograph m
that it comes out 01· Pl a to merunng
the catalagQ.e where thf Program is all more than it meant when he f.j_rst used
hooked- up by Strfiigh t,...:edge cons trucit: that in a sense, its definitions
.
t 1on, but few .of us are sure just what
ar~ changing and movmg things; that
those straight lineS represento
. 1
one spec1 f. c definition holds the word
Translation, Mr. Bart suspects,
static for a moment, but that such a
is an art and an art .like carpentry holding is imposed and hypothetical .
'
,.
'
,.
is an arto .Elue-{frint:Original Te~t::
Mr - Bart believes that the proWood-tNails-tToo.· Dictionary+Grarmnar+ cess of defining is one belonging to a
Rhetoric : :'!he Chair:The"Given Transla- pure imagination which operates on a
tion" At st. John• s) wi ti. tne treatsupra-dictionary plane . We are to alment we give language, th~ last tenn
low our imagination to operate as t...he
of that proportion is found to be organic scientist allows hid imaginalacking. We do not hav·e a finished
tion to operate when he is .confronted
translation in mind•. We dJ not wish to
. th a fact in nature till then not
W1
'd ...-.h
supplant the existing.ones. our transnoticedo Our attempt is to avo1 P'.~anlation is done for'· t)le sole pµ.tpoSe of
tasy that subj ective kind of imagmabetter unde~standing the t~~t we
" ' h . ch has the word me an what we
t:ron w
+>
•
translate. we are as the. _carpenter who want it 1 to mean wi tl1 no regar d .1.or 1 ts
builds his chairs from a ~µperlative
own exi stence.
.
blueprint followed with difficulty.
In analyzing what h appens . i n the
The carpenter begins with the assumpt;...
process of .observation within the ortion that his bl uepr:lnt· is the pat tern
ganic sciences , several step s can ~e
from ~hich a fine and beautiful thing
seen . We merely l ook . to accept wha~ is
:·it
can b e , bu1 , · .an·.d ··he builds and re.
there, we attempt then to generalize,
builds until he feels'.· satisfied with
we tiypOthesize what we' re not sure of,
his attempto
· 1;l-I E .-··-ECLJ Pt· -c
-. J
O'F RAMBLING MOTION
I
s:
. ,
0
�w_e use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds One
kind sr"i.
"-""..:i " "+
,, "
•
of absi
-"'"'
~""~ 1 " " ""~<;'!~N+
"N
differe1
ence a 1
a subst
g~:,~~i
dis tine·
exampJ
substr~
but is:
"this s·
definitf
tion w
reality.
abstra<
tion is
it can
ure to
reache1
tions c
edge.
The
genera
appara
percep·
mind.
quirin!
We ga
there i
faculty
jective
must 1
fore W
have e
before
as an
commc
our di~
a grea
believe
_ Tn
contra:
Now
of per<
expres
a direc
ven's
h eard
meanil
knowl(
percep
relatio
thing
We kr
mentsi
gases
ments
~~~~~£
is red
chair and the scale of colors. This kind of
h,.. f.nnnol-.f. n-nrl ;.,. -•aTnnr ,.
,
,
l.rnAuc o,-10"a '"~'1
d
T'rl'llt"r\;"\n,l
?age ·2
1
~=--~-:::--~---:---------~·'!IZ6,.·~~PiR!ll.:'J · cp~1~J~ lllT1A••1.............................-.
. ftLJ ·'
ot
.md we exp&r.lment in hopes
wrttlo:a tion • . (We . experiment, in other
1'0rds, :In hopes o'I' gettt:rc as close as
oossible to the 'any• of' the 'an
1
'.'.: quimul t i pl es• o-r the familiar
phrase, being aware in ·both cases that
~
~
predication itself' is a myth, quaJce
or laugh a bit at the thought, and re..
tum to wrestle with their Proteans.
'I
II
80 · inf'1n1 t.e
Tu Book IV, in the telling of the
story of' Odysseus, Homer pauses ~
h~ve Menalaus tell of' his struggl e
with the Egyptian Proteus, the ancient 1
one of' the ,sea, a person of' ever~ .1.
changing shape •. Menaiaus must seize
ooe · ypothesis as to t.llll IDel!lning ~f' a
h
him and hold him firmly' while he
•ord into a gi~en context and seeing
changes :form in hopes of freeing himwhat h&ppals. Bmce we have Dat.a:Hypo·Sel :f from Menalauso grasp o Menalaus
thesis: :Cmtext:Detlnitim. Hence also
clings to each shape, never doubting
can the experiment in science be
that it is Proteus he holdso In the
spoken of' as a kind of' translation
,
end, Proteus subnits and tells Menaand f'rCJD there the probl ems of' the
laus what it is he wishes to Imow ,
s cientist ·and the translator draw
Perhaps here Homer has l.lllcovered th~
closer . Fbr instance, me might make a
process of understanding Itsel:fo In
·Jrilliant hypothesis as to the causes
science, each fact is a Proteus to be
·Jf disease, but mtil, SEJ¥, -genns were
fought with until it reveals its true '
c;em and their f\mc tion guessed, such
self; or until we can identify it
a .hypothesis would be subject to serhypothetically 3 for our purposes and
ious CJ.leStim. In terms or translation
ch
quit that struggle f'o r a new one: .And
su a.problem could be expressed in
here we see two sorts of' hypotheses
our wondering whether the .translator
possible . We can think of them as a
sees the .Entirety or a word9 s meaning:
grid clamped on to the changing thing,
in 'idea• did Jowett see what can be
a . deSparate attempt to stop what is evs een in ~too~? .And .the analogy goes
t i l l ·f'Urther: the scientist .must say
er changing We can also consider
s
the hypothesis as cause ~ uno1tA ~µt ;
that t..~e 'ecliptic or rambling motnot to impose but to suppose, to put
ions' must not really ramble, while
something undemeatho Then, with the
the translator seys that the words or
latter view, hypotheses appear not
P lato nust have more content than he
pale but, concentrated, a sourc e of
i s able to get from Jowett• s equigeneration containing the ·substance of
vaJ.ents; i t can be adnitted that maththat arol.llld us o The idea becomes rnore
ematies but talks of' the world in 1.mclear when we suppose such a procedure
wo rl~ terms as 1 t can be admitted
to be the procedure of' poetry A poem
that the specif'ic context of' a sen.. 81
be
has ~ story, and a story is a hypo\; .~ can never. - Jbl.17. grasped; that
thesis about life .· In Homer's story
We:. t~l ~~~ OUJ:'>differ-tial equaabout Achilles we have but f'ive days,
ti~ of' the~ st&Ps' .JbQ.tiORs,:;DJU~:t-have
and with such a concentrate Homer
some mean:tng can be t.lnlgbt .of as. tbe
makes his meaning ch:arer than i t posanalogue. of our. feeling th~t Plato
sibly could b~ were we to know all of
11USt ha~e a notion that our- eti~rts
the ra.ctso
cm reveal • .And here .both t.be :11
At 'tp.is point, an idea symbol.t ist -and trmslator nu;t susp8ct. that
ized by the lines in the catalogue
7e · . ace
number o:f repetiConsider here words as . the
ana.logue of the natural :fact, the dtetiona.ry as the sum of' experiments . to
date, Verif1cation is the pl•--•-... 0 4"
!..10ns
0
}
0
0
cJ.en-
BT · JQHN'S
Page.
photograph becomes clearer o In the
dialectic of the seminar, the student
is asked to translate his experience
into the terms of the book, into an
author Qs hypothesis about life o When
the books are g reat ones, they contain a vocabulary which makes the student 0s own OXperience expressible in
some new way . He understands more
clearly, in knowing Plato 0 s hypotheses,
what the substance of his own experience is, what his experience means o
As the student of' dialectic rm.ist i:f he
is to translate that me.a ning , . the
right meaning, into right actions .
3.
di. e el ass prosperity which made the
rift between the Old and New not so
parent to the eye as ·m previous yearso
Aft.er my fif'th cup, of alcoholic pllll.ch,
the en tire hall seened united in one
continuum of' conversational lrubbub and
gave the impression of any ·normal cock. tail party, with all that this implies . ·
Certainly, people f'r6m different years
kept among themselves, ·certainly the
matter of the conversations varied, but
the general ef'f'ect was not socially
l.ll1adjusted9 as many St . John 9 s events
were in the paste If the reception was
an accurate symbol of the rest of' Hane-coming day, the New has shown the Old
DOUG BOYLE
that i t is as nonnal as the rest of'
our society c.
'!he dance,on the same evening, tended to confirm this impression ol doubt
EDITORIAL
whether I have ever attended a social
aftaj.~ in an insti tu.tion o - hi3her
r
Le Week-E nd Retrouve
· learping which was more staid. o·.-,;ing
r
Fbr me, it all started with the name to M . Klein 1 s anti-liquor law, no intoxicating beverages were consumed on
tags o Af'ter sane one had pi.ruled a blue
one on me and I had. mistakenly swal ~ the dance floor o Yet, what was more
lowed a cup of non-alcohol ic pl.lllch ~ lad surprising, there was not too much
led out by a menber of the class of Q
91 drinking outdide the dance either o
Parties in the dormitories were innoI t~Tm i ;_
.yself observing homecoming
cent
hard liquor to such an extent
day and what followed after with an
th~:t ijlere were no open Bacchic ri tinterested eyec Of the many altmll1i in
uals. performed at all. Many couples
the Great Hall,onl~a fraction had in
actuality come homeo'll1ese were the stu- danced. six inches apart; whatever rem~.Jffi · I . O.Verheard, even at three o'dents of the New Program (an archaic
cl~}!. i.p the ,moming, made me suppose
·word, come to think of' it), returned to
that people had been to a clrurch supan emotionally charged locus full of
per, or, at best, a seminar . Whatever
reason,not yet age . It seened painfully
obvious that Sinclair Lewis' dictum, that infractions against connnon morality
occu_ re_ , nrust have happened discreet~
r d
only the more successful alunni return
ly e By four in the morning, all was
on such a day, applies to graduates of
dark o
new vintage St . John'S as well a.s to
the wee~end, of the 29th of' OctYale men : Most of the recent graduates
ober . Sl'IUW~a Ula.t. a oonnal adult world
at the reunion looked most rrspectable
(at ~'e: ~ku+1i. p~rty) and a normal
and reasonabfy adjusted, in speech and
childr.oo vs .world- (at the dance) can be
dress, to a society wl1i~ had not learnproduced here at St. · John's by opported of distinctions between form and
Un.e cl1emistryo It demonstrated that we
matter o
are able to conform to society here.
Perhaps it was a conrnunion in mid-
aP-
or
�w_e use nouns. Nouns are of t
k.
kmd sr~i.. ~~ "~~~rl ,, "+
,, ""'~~..,.1~ " ~ One ~~~!!:ioand the scale of colors. This k1·nd of
wo 1nds.
• •
rlcr~ "':l'} hn -f-on,..,.l-.+ nnrl .;- TTThn-f- -4!,...,,.....,,.nl
~·
a s
~~1;1·~
Of b
differe
·sT JOHN' s coLLEGIAN
ence a
a subs
the Government .o f the Government Camp
St· f ohn' s has refonnd itself in the
given
were a true government, the first
bel's oj
bosom· of 1949 nonnalcy, as far as socdis tine
transient camp would not exist side by
ial mores gQ o How good is this? That
examp'.
side with it; that 1 t does exist makes'
is another story o
substri
the other one a fake or a fairyland
but is:
neither of which has any meaning i~
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o"this s
the context -of this film o)
definitE
tion w
There are other thoughts, howTHE GRAPES OF WRATH
reality,
ever, . coming up when one sees this
abs tra<
The editors of the Collegian have
picture today, which could not arise
tion is
asked me to write this review becauseten years ago. Then, we had no con- ·
it can
so they said - they were interested to
crete Jtnowledge or the Nazi concenure to
know what a European's reaction to
reachej
tration camps . We knew the word, it
this pie tu re would be o This pre-tions c
had no reality for us. Since .then, we
edge.
supposes a difference of rea'-' tion
have seen the photos, we have read the
The
between an .American and a -Euro~ean.
stories o I don't believer was the
genera
Tm years ago, whm I had just arrived
only one whom the Transient Camps
uppara
in this country, I saw the :picture
percep·
reminded of those more atrocious
with a European's eyes; the other
mind.
places. '.Ibere are no gas chambers and
quirin~
night I believe I saw it from an
no medical experiment stations in the
We ga
.American's viewpoint . I find no
Transient Camps; b1:1t is this real~y
there 1
difference o How could there be one?
the all-important difference which
facult;v
The subject matter of the picture, the
jective
exculpates us. -I wonlie~ just how much
must 1
problem it is primarily concerned
.comfort an irmate of . these .camps would
fore w
with, has the same significance on
get frcm the assurance that ·he will be
have e
either side of the Atlantic o Man at
neither gassed nor used as a guin:ea
before
tbe m~rcy of economic forces let
pig. Al.so, we expect different things
as an
loose : where in the Western world
commc
from a democracy ~ich believes in the
could we find a people that would not
our dh
value of the individual; and a total~ .,
a grea
in:mediately recognize this situation
tarian regime which dmies that value .
believe
as its own?
It is true that such camps do no
- TrE
(Because this is a picture about
longer exist in this c~try; but they
contra:
the fight of man against the action of
Now
did exist ten years ago, that is, coneconomic forces, the Government Camp
of per<
tempo.raneously with Hitler's camps.
exp res
is a weak spot in its otherwise
Could it be that our unpreparedness
a direc
strong s true ture. The way the Governf or the war and our confusion regardven's
ment camp is presented, it seems to
ing i .ts real issues had something to
heard
express the idea that in order to save
do with the fact that these camps did
meanh
kn owl(
oneself from the action of economic
· thm exist among us, that our state of
percen
forces one has just to move over a
mind was such as to make it possible
re1ntio
little into the field where political
for them to exist? Arld if the cail).pS
thing ·
forces are a·: ting more beneficially ,
have by now disappeared, has the menWe kr
This may be t~1o rally desirable, but
tal attitude which brought than into
men ts,
there is neither truth nor artistic
gases
being disapp~ared together with than?
men ts
goodness in _
it. If there existed a
Has our state of mind undergone the
three
place where devil Economy and angel
major revolution which would make; it
betweE
Poli tics could sit peacefully side by
(continued
'7)
is red
side, there would be no problem. If
"'""
...
J
o
p:
ST. JOHN'S 'COLLEGIAN
Page 5
I.
The ones who have no ulcers . I would love
·NO healed or bleeding. ·gashes, I would know
In polity with them ·I then would. move
In that song in which flawless creatures ·go;
Only you who ·have a history I can touch
Who breathe and eat and sleep · and think, deal with,
With ah forgive what awkwardness, without much
Music, and so I say as Faith is Faith~
·If it is not love that I demonstrate
And locked from knowing, ·crudely take and give
I will . give then and take and celebrate
For -this lopsided harmony -we have
Nor, or at least not really, dream to dwell
IN Avalon, with Helen and Israfelo
One time when we were beautiful we spoke
Fraternally, or stayed silent - yet as brothers
That was the time when out of all the others
It was you I was with, and you with me
Sometimes near morning when the moon is low
And floats on fog, it seems, I think of some
I love and broke with, and the -heart is numb
Yet, and I think ·the hurt will never goo
BALLARD
II
My ·Lord was ·cancelled on the ·hill of skulls"
o s d
, n , un ay morning, Mary Magdalene
~
·And others "rune to wh ere the · corpse had lain
But it was gone desnite the sentinels·
Despite the punctures by the spear and nails
The Temple stood i,estated out of ruin
He freely took, so that He might ·alone
Enable each to cure his cureless ill .
D .
s.
omine: 0 Redeemer: In Your own
Foreverness, not in our fractured time
But in Your own perfection, look upon
Thes~ harming hands, this frozen pride-sick heart
Nothing -can heal while they remain apart
However slightly, from Your Holy Name .
BALLARD
�w_e use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One
chair and
kind sr~t.. ~n "~~ ... ~ " "+~,...,..." "~,...,...~1,..." ~,... .... C;! ~n+ 1,...,.,,..,...,.,Jo~ O'O the scale of colors. ;ct This kind of
.no '1. hn -1-nn nol. f. nn.rl
...... i, nf. -4?,...,.......,. n l
of abs
differe
ence a
a subs
given
._Page 6
ST • . J OHN v S COLLEGIAN
bers oj
dis tine
Mr Smith tell man not
Should man believe
examp
that God in his own image
substri
not .knowing but fated
but is
created man
never to rmderstand
o
"this s
definit1
tion w
r eality
abstra1
t ion is
it can
ure to
reache1
tions c
edge.
The
gener a
appara
percep·
mind.
quirin!
We g::i
t here 1
facult)
jective
must 1
fore w
have e
before
as an
commc
our dii
a grea
and ordained him with
i-eason, intelligence and .sms e
and yet wi th all of this
man can not gain, nor
then proclaim
a glimpse of Him
·If s in, missing the mark is
and freedom man has none
but to miss ·Him9 thm
an :inferior world this creationo
fut, free dan is in this
i n man us r ight
to walk s traigp t,
a lone ,
to Hi.mo
It i s not they who search
for they have fonnd
But, we who haven v t yet walked
So why should they walk for us
When it is each of us
who must walk
alone .
belieVE
-
Tn
contra.
Now
of per<
exp r es
a direc
ven's
heard
meaniJ
know}(
percep
relntio
thing
fut bl ack in ·darkness shrod
like death?
W
ithout knowledge God is darlmess
·ignorance, his prince, breeds doubt
and doubt blackens faith
breeding superstition and hate. ·
Knowledge confidence gives
and confidence smiles on the
growth of faith.
and to r ealize fully o ·
·Be does not accept the
faith that slows,
For kn.owl edge is in the essEnce
of things
and does n ot cling
t o the faith .that
kill S o
P .. CRIMES
We kr
men ts,
gases
men ts
three
betweE
is red
IN THE
(continued from p. 4)
absolutely impossible for such places
to exist? Bow far have we Dl)Ved away
from the dogma that "the value or
worth of a man is, as of all other
things, his price - that is to say, so
much as would be given for his powt:!r"?
It may be that we are ~ungling the ·
post-war issues precisely because such
a change of mind has not occurredo· ·
VICTOR ZUCKERKANDL
- o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o - o - o-o-o-
·ON A LECTURE ON PAUL
Is · it too much to ask
to know the tirings you
are to believe?
Some say it can not be known
fac things you should believe
b "'. L they rattle ta.I es ·in the wind;
For what you can not know
can not be told
can not be written
bu t must be forever -unknown. a·
For what you can not know
is what you can not believe o
Man seeks to know
There is in thif" world
but two
God and man
of all others we guess
So who are those
who .know of Him
and then tell us
"have faith"?
Irr. : JOHN'~ S : COLLEGIAN
I SSUE OF
NOVEMBEh
15,
1949
Page 7
the s~fest ~unport available is in the
use of int.erpretation o If the interpretation. is believed, the original
contra.diction is · forgotten o l\hat ha:_s
once been sai4, what has once been
written, what h~ once been accepted,
has been heard, read, and accepted
incorrectlyo Only . the interpreter
knows the true meaning of all that has
been said, and written, and acceptedo
Nothing is sacred. No one can think
and reason . and understand; only the
interpreter is endowed with such abil·i ty o One interpreter builds upon
another, one interpretation is placed
upo~ another, and the whole structure
is top-heavy with twisted brickf!J. · The
Tower of Babel has ·been rebuilt. When
will it come t1Jmbling down?
Once upon .a time ther e was a
highway to Damascus c It was just an
or dinary road until one day a traveler
HOWARD HERMAN
caine along. He .was on his way to buy
chains, but w
hen ·he caine to the place
- o- o- o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oo f the brickmakers he. stopped and said
to h imself, "These are better than
ONE ASPECT CONCERNING
d mins n He began to erect a monument
to conmemorate his decision, and while
FORMERLY SAUr'
he was doing so , others stopped along
the ro ad and asked if they might help
It seems to me that M . · Smith 0 s
r
M
any hands laid many bricks , without
inquiry is primarily concerned about
plunlrline and wi thout plan o That i s
understanding the character of Paul as
how the highway to Damascus came to be
a man of extended suffering, and also
c alled the road to confusiono
as a symbolic representation of embodWhy .should a man, inspired
ied thought pertaining to the awareto be a herald of the r ealm of his
ness of a higher poes1bil~ty in all
God, think it necessary to contradict
men which Paul termed
" Spiritu al
th e law of his God? It had been
Man. ·"
written that God gave law to a people
Regardless of any one pe r son ' s
n e wl y freed f r om slaver y o Tho~e
religiqn, and mor~. so to those a.round
people needed a wey of life, and their
us who might aspfre to be Liberal Art God gave than a means to achieve t.hat .
ists, whatev.e,r <that might be, at l eas t
lifeo Certainly Moses .knew the pursome of the ·varied and numerous subpose of the law, and if Moses said the
j ects touched upon in Mr . Snith ' s inlaw was means to health and life, why
quiry certainly concern our own inshould any contradict him with . talk of . quiry about the problems that daily
sin and bondage?
. confront us, .and give cause to our
Once the contradiction has
wondero
been made, it mu5t be supported, and
'!he inqui,ry is not concerned with
0
0
�we use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One chair and
of
kind sr~t... ~n "-~~;:J " "+··~~" "~~~~1~" ~~~Q~n+ lr..,AnTlO~O"O the scale of colors. ~"' This kind...,....,.]
.r>'.'.1"1 h,.,. f-nnnol-.t- n ..... .-1
,.,..i,.,.t- ~.......
of abs
differe
Page 8
ST.: JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
ence a
a subs
given
defending the subJect, wt rather with
one :further element in actionc
hers o:
an attempt to understand his life and
It is well at this point to :foldis tine
letters of humanity, which are conexamp
low the spirit of Paul's truth of recemed with the truth in man's rel•tsubs tr.
lations as a humanitarian, and considion to man and God , · Consequently,
but is
er what might be the primary IOOtive of
"this s
· through this inquiry, we tend to ethis spirit that will pe:rmi t such a
definit1
. vol ve towards what we hope will make
person . the hope and guidance in his
tion V\ ·
us good men in common in the eyes or
reality
inquiry, and still be just in so doingo
Godo In other words, as Mr o · Srni th
abstra1
It is a fact, that at times probstated, Paul does :not represent a systion is
lems and opposing solutions arise for
it can
tem, b..l t rather seeks · after the truth
various groups of people, which would
ure to
or relations.
seem to engender a poisonous influence
reache1
Briefly, what can I say about one
tions c
directed at the spirit of truth for
aspect or this method or inquiry and
edge.
all conmonly concemed o When we conits objective? In so far as this is
The
sider man's relation to God, we must
genera
an inquiry for us, someone might conalso remanber that this spirit is also
appara
sider a doubt:f'ul position and reject
a relation of man to mano .
percep·
religious dogpia, and try to lmow th~e
mind.
Thus positions are maintained:
quirin~
We g2
there 1
facults
jective
must l
fore w
have e
before
as an
commc
our dii
a grea
belie VE
- Tr~
contra
NoV\
of perc
expres
a direc
ven's
heard
meani1
know}(
percep
refatio
thing
We kr
men ts.
gases
men ts
three
be twee
is red
relationships and their consequences
regarding truth by one's reason . However, this person must first of all
believe (he need riot have faith, due
to the nature of his inquiry), that
his inquiry will lead him towards some
level of truth by the action of his
own wonder and doubt upon his reason o
Thus, from such a premise, he might
-arrive at conclusions either true or
false within its own system of know1 edge, and no longer be with any doubt.,
but still left wondering about whether
or not this truth is based upon his
own folly c Consequentl¥, it would
seem that he can only hope that the
spirit of truth is really within him
(in terms of Paul), or else hope that
his inquiry will be acted upon by this
spirit of truth in the future c
So, if . we agree with this bit of
reasoning in terms of the position · of
his inquiry, we realize that he has
rationalized his way to seeking the
truth of relations through hope,and
not faith , · This woulq seem to be a
right step for such a person, who represents a conmen bond of hlllllanitarian
inquiry rut in order for this represe~tation to be just, there must be
0
Knowledge of the Law gives us only
knowledge of God's wrath and our sin.
The Law makes manifest our sin, but
does not chastise us . The Wt.i tten Law
is life for some and not constraint;
for others it is a constraint and prevents them from seeing the Faith o For
some it is given; for others it is received in their hearts. Sane Emphasize
the Letter of the I.aw; sonie the Spirit
of the Law o Etc.
And so i t would seem that we be-I
come involved in these problems, that
we sometimes fail to regard the element of Charity towards. one's neighbour, 'Mlich is conmon to most all religions, and applies to all men" Consequently, we should abide with this
Charity, when such a person wonders
and doubts in this type of inquiry,
and hopes that the spirit of truth
will act upon him, and show him the
way
This much at least we all have
in comnon without the initial problans
which sometimes tend to disperse the
effort of our inquiry o
However, is this way just; and
would you want to be such a person?
What do you think?
b k
P,. Wester e e
0
STo JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
VOICE IN THE WI.LDERNESS
Page 9
- A TOMB
Sarcophagus of living trees:
A muse had died, a soul had bled,
. Indulging .blood <· .
A trinity once who le had severed its
·Thei ~tro vei~ of Present'' s skeleton
connecting thread; . . f
A flaming asteroid, a spark
Forget·s; _.:....
Had screaming split the wiiverse , sati.guine against the damning Jar~~
Defining gi'"owth
The infant .breathed
What falling star was seen to burr:i
Througlwut the wondrous forest
Again, ,its roaring flames to chu.rh
Of the Past.
Our memories searching our intellect ,
sieved
OR
For embers of fire having lived?
:~
I love to find a petiole ,
·The petiole's for me;
·But sirrah., sirrah,
HelpJ.ifte ..~o find
The,Jf9r.t!st in the tree .
;J'
h
; , .1·
C~. R. FOWLFS<E (A Freshman)
- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 _ ..
PINOCCHIO
Good stories are works of art
whicll, lik~ nature herself, need only
to be experienced to be enjoyedo The
Disney-ized version of Pinocchio is
for me such a story, pleasant and enjoyableo 'lhat it is but a translation
or more properly, a revision of the
original, is not to be denied; for
present purposes though, this probian is not my concern. What does concern me rather than things about the
story, ~s the story itself, as I witnessed ito
Pinocchio, in a state of absolute ignorance, sets out to become a
real boyo Real boys are honMt, ,.courageous, and selfless; and so, to. the
attainment of this end, the semces
of Jiminy Crickett, peanut-sized man
of distinction (moral)' are enlistedo
The action of the rest of the story
l.Il1dertakes to show us how Pinocchio
arrives at ·his goal o The course is a
Sympathetic sparks may grow,
Reflected from some phoenix glow
Smoldering 'neath the ash of time,
To flare when kissed by a breath
divine .
GEOOGE ROBERT mNIOS
- o-o-o-0-0-0 -o~ o-o-o-o
familiar one o By nature he seeks selffulf'illment through possession; but
experience reveals the shortcomings
of this innate tEndEncy to himo It is
only through surrendering 9 . through
placing his frame of reference outside himself, that Pinocchio comes
to be ,
What are we to make of this
theme? Somewhere Plato says that all
men do what seems good for them o But
what seems good need not necessarily
be so c Like Pinocchio,we do make mistakes o But strangely, Pinocchio comes
to know through 2xperl.ence what is
really good for bim; then ht:~ proceeds
to love, On the natural level, it
does seem true to say that knowledge
precedes love. 'lb~ joy of translatbg
Plato col1les only ~fte.r the bore of'
lea.rrUng Greeka Where God is concemed, though, this order is invertedo
Christians, at any rate, must first
love Go.d before they can lmow Him o
This distinction between di vine
and ~~tu.ral brings us back to where
�w_e use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One chair and
kind sr ~t.. ~- "~-~;J " "+-~~" "~~-~1- " --~ "':~ + lrn.n-.n]Q~O'A the scale of colors. ;.,. This kind of
"""'1 hn fnnn-l,f .. ,...,.::i
TTTl-.n.f.. ~"""~nl
of abs
differe
ence a
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
Page 10
., St. John's Collegian
a subs
given
be1·s o:
dis tine
examp
substr.
but is
"this : :
definit1
tion Vi '
r eality
abst r a1
t ion is
it can
ure to
reache
tions c
edge.
The
genera
appara
percep
mind.
quirini
We g2
t here,
facult3
j ective
m ust J
fore w
have e
before
as an
comm c
our di:
a grea
believE
-
Tri
contra
NoVi
of per1
expr es
a dire<
ven's
heard
meani1
knowI~
percep
relatio
thing
We kt
men ts
gases
men ts
three
betwe~
is red
Plato left offo To choose the appar:instead o:f the real is sure indi.· ca""U<;m _ f ignoranceo ,wi.~ reference
Q_
- ~9 . righ t lµid wrong, howey e r , it is
per.tiq~t ~ to question wl!ether vice
has its roo.t in the mind ·or in the
wilL lll.~" st.ory ~f' ..Pirwc~hio, I think,
lends SUJJP.Jrt to the f'o nne r view c
.
For , a5· 'Jiminy Crickett and Pinocchio se_ out. on the wicked road to
t
virtue, one Inight anti_
cipate future
clashes b e tween the t w - goi ng . on
o
the assl.IIIp tion, I suppo~ e, that virtue and vi c e ·13:re ways o f talking about the will i n harmony with conscience or agai n.st it; As it t urns
, o_ut, surjlr~sin~y enou@?. J, C. . either
-r emains 'aloof BS w
hen Pinocchio li es
'
'
'
.
· t o the fairy princess; or else he is
far remov ed, BS when the stringless
pup~e t selfishly go rges h imself on
Pleasure Is land. Tha~ cons ci en ce
s hou ld ha ve significance only after
and not befor e the comni t tal of these
wrongdoings implies the notion tha t
vice is only igno r ance, If' so, then
J . C .. ' s r ol e is a comic and p e rhaps
satirical one o Dlt i f not, then w e-:
her
i n does the guilt °lie?
ent
.
JOHN J . COFFEY
-o-o- o - o -o-o-o-o-o- o -
ANTI ANT I - GAS TRONOMY
To . the great delight of George
Wash ington Carver' Greg, and fae makers of Pepto Bismol , h arpi es na ve r eturned to t h ei r former po sitions of
.
. .
power m t he Dining Hall . I t .seems
tha t by this appointment, t he aamllllstra ti on is making its firs t step
back toward the Golden Ageo Their ac.
t ion seems successful i n that students
h .
A
t fee l the urge to leave t e1r
uo no
. .
all
work in orde r t.o go to the Di.IlIDg H
As i s usual with s o many St.
· 1 s metamorPhoses , the haroies have
.J ohn
, ..
c
•
0
iived up to their ;reputation o llY' dint
of great sldll in the running of a
dining hall , they have managed to tum
out probably the worst food~in St
John ~ s history} everf. thcilglcl hampered
by lower food prices; rriar.e~meney fro:n
the students ; and new f!_!a:chinery
From reliable sbuirces we have
learne(i that the footLcorn.ing into the
Dining Hall is of the finest quality ,
It seems · to the au-Lhor a minor miracle
that such a transforma tion_ can take
place while the food is on its way to
the tables o Could it be that the cook
is on the payroll of the University of
.Maryland?
There are eight school months a
year ~ . Since· e a ch student .pays four
hw1dred ·and: .fifty doll.~rs -~~,ea;_rly fur
board' the price of da,ily me~lSi_ ..works
out to be approximately tW? doJlars o
The seniors and other studentrs who returned before school opened, found
that i. t is possible to eat off campus
very well for less than two dollars a
<:la~
'lhJY can not tl1e Dining Hall come
an;{\\Jiere up to this standard?
The situation is made more annoying when we discover that we are not"
allowed to eat off campus because, in
the words of the great campus metaphysict an~ "It is clear for certain reassons that. it is impossible to support
the excellent staff and equipnent that
ve maintain if only part of the s tudent body eat on car:npus o" Af3 I see it,
the excellent and extensive equipnent
has accomplished nothing insofar as
the cause of edible food is concerned
It seems to me that one could lay off
part of the staff and just not use
some of the extensive equipment if a
smaller group of people is being fed.
What the administration apparent·-·
ly mes not realize i.s that St o John r s
is not a Rabelaisian society, so that
the serving of tripe three times a day
accomplishes no desirable results .
U(J]LJJ\V
vot. LXIII - No. 3
ANNAPOLIS, :MARYLAND
9:30 THURSDAY NIGHT
I am sit ting in seminar, slunped
1n my seat as thoughts wander
lazily through my mind. Ever and anon
a particularly intriguing wisp of
srooke is wafted my way and momentatily
occupies my attention as i t curls and
dissipates itself in the · g~neral haze~
I have decided the mental effort of
following the topic is just too much,
and am content to watch the changing
smoke patterns and indulge in uninhibi ted reverie.
Drone number one is occupied in
an expo1'1 ti on of some opinion or
other, I don't quite Jmow what, but he
seems to be convinced of its importance and so I'm glad he's so usefully
and happily anployed.
This state of peace and general
aura of good will is presently interr upted by Drone number t w Who feels
o
it incumbent upon him to challenge
Dron e number one, probably not being
ve ry sure what he is saying either,
but aroused by his presmrrption to sa~
it so confidently . Taken by surprise
i n the wannth of .h is most con · 1nc~ng
point, Drone number one listens incredulously as Drone number two induces a vague general! ty meant to demol ish all his well-consi dered arguments and rouse the very Gods by its
profundity. Drone number one is
visibly grieved at this mm1ifestation
of doubt on the part of one of his
benef'!ciaries, and painstakingly and
magnanimously builds up his case
again. Before lon,g -.be is interrupted a
second tim
.y his tnconsiderate antagonist who now :feels he has enough
~:f . a _ hold oo Drone nunber one's prejucµ.~ . to ask a_direct cpestim. No urr
aown
Nov. 3>, 1949
derlying :feelings are concealed as the
two engage in exchanging heavy-:footed
l.lanali ti es in which Shakespeare and
several others are quoted.
Balefttlly surveying the situation, a Tutor stirs in his chair
slumberously, and rum.bl ing in preparation, attempts to help out by s ynthesizing the two points of view and
showing it leaves no dif'f'iculties
whatever. Being now stimulated, he
cannot refrain from making some observations on one or two sentences that
have filtered through to him in the
course of the last half hour. An
Intellectual is aroused at this and as
the smoke accelerates alarmedly, his
mortal enany, Intellectual nunber two
joins in a.pd the three engage animatedly in extensive demonstrations
and questionings of each other's
logical ability. While not very clear
of its relation to what they were saying, Drones m.mber one and two f'eel
they are involved somehow and hasten
to defend what they have said. Another
member now stirs in his sea t, blows
away the enfolding smoke, and feels
suf'f'iciently sympathetic to clear up
t he problem and enlighten everyone
p r esent with his long-con&idered
opinion. The opinion not being only
long-considered tut long, and the :indi vi dual capacity for being enlightened short, the r est of' the Seminar begin to feel they must assert
their independence and join in.
The situaticn is showing signs of
becoming a first-class brawl and
passes to the higher echelon for handling. The Seminar Leader tactfully
catches at one of the short and :fast
opinions that just went whizzing by,
and !"astais m ·its perpetrator to :rind
�
Dublin Core
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Title
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The Collegian
Description
An account of the resource
The Collegian began as a student newspaper; became a college community literary publication in 1952 and continued until 1969; became a student newspaper again in 1969; discontinued publication from 1980 until 1989 when it again became a student literary publication.<br /><br />Click on <a title="The Collegian" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=26">Items in The Collegian Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection.
Coverage
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Annapolis, MD
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
Text
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10 pages
Original Format
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paper
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
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Collegian Vol. LXIII No. 02
Title
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St. John's Collegian, November 15, 1949
Date
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1949-11-15
Description
An account of the resource
Vol. LXVIII, No. 2 of the St. John's Collegian. Published on November 15, 1949.
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Page 12
ST.
JOHN'S
COLLEGIAN
love? How probable was his existence in time or out of
painted a dull black, the walls and ceiling were gray
time? Could Al Quinn have been serious when he said
as was the floor which was covered entirely by a soft
that I was incapable of playing games, that I took life wool rug. Only books with the most brilliantly colored
of covers were in evidence and the pictures which hung
too seriously by playing it like a game and disbelieved
his avowed success -··-- :_ _._~-~ ..:-- ..~ ..:ll:C.. ~ .. rt
~" +-h<> m.,llc ,_.,,_, .. h,,. f'nll f"!>M<T,P nt !> nnrP' n::ile.ttP:. On
exalt the artificial'
as king or courtit
long as he was all
a costume pref era
THE UNINVITED GEIST
velvet touched her
Je suis le tenebreau ...
fur of an otter. .I\
slarped across Cle
AI'AGO~ has wavered thru the years
being left alone w
wash the pain of
The long 9 long 9 years 9 the freshman years o
tears when I am
man? Clement he
Werd~ich zum Augenblicke sagen:
So wandering t
he remembered on
Verweile doch! du bist so sch{Jmf
and avoided the g<
had returned to tl
I yearn 9 Real truth to learnafraid of the d:'ly ·
or madness, and sr
l'esprit de finesse ...... ! guess
more distant past
his world. But wl
i l un g a t r a t t a
denied had little ·
Now at this morr
di ·gente , ch'io non avrei mai creduto
future perfect. Ct
sand, let the days
che morte tanta n'avesse disfatta
member for if yoFor some positive
My world 9 this world 9 the sterile world
others. I will proc
it. Ascend then tc
cold and lonely. c
not succeeded. I r
Gerry
He turned to a
heavy string and
light which came
SEMINAR
and how he wished
was the only Eure
had known it too
I think I mean " co
granted that he we
I hope I mean . o o
any event never al
I try to mean what Plato means
he thought, if one
(or in some sense what he sought)
How graceful one
the shade. Think
t
It doesn Q matter what words you use
with August, but
much so that you
I t doesngt matter what methods you choose
such museum and
As long as you get where your going
famous feet and :
AS long as you Jmow where your going
and breasts and Jc
gre-e toothpick. 1
and nervous finge1
Can you make this clear?
severed the cord, ;
Can you illustrate?
swept back the tis
Well cc oman ~ man ~: State : State
gazed at the conte
(understood, of course 9 the courses of fate)
A few moments j
rtus ~etting late
is not brass dragge
ItQs getting late
the room to .his tab
hundred and sixty ]
Well c v o man ~ . . tate ~~m an ~ State
that in this room I
ting. Except for ti
It is nearly ten
,., .. ~ ::-. .: , happens then o.
c
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
October, 1949
Annapolis, Mary land
Vol. LXIII, No. 1
Editorial
What we have to say is a repetition of what
has been said before, officially and unofficially.
("We" means generally, "the Editors of the
Collegian," and specifically, "the people who
wrote, typed, and proof-read this issue.") The
repetition is our saying once more that the
Collegian is an organ of the whole St. John's
Community, depending for its very existence
upon the creative contributions of that community. The repetition is necessary because
contributions so far this year have been so very
slight.
We are assuming, of course, that the Collegian should exist this coming year. We have
no comment on its past history, wondering just
what should be expected from such a child. We
are sure that at no time past has any publication in any way represented the whole St.
John's Community, and now we are only hopeful that such a publication is even possible.
No doubt Collegian suffers a bit from lack
of definition. The only definition we have to
offer is this issue itself. The definition, we
realize, wants amendment. That can best be
accomplished, we feel, by contributions from
the different segments of the student population.
tributed after dark by Leroy. Leroy, as a matter of fact, found the whole thing sadly lacking.
He had hoped that its editors would have hit
upon a more "discerning editorial policy." Duns
Scotus was of the same opinion. It was certainly neither a new errata sheet to the old lab
manuals, nor a fragment from an un-found
Plotinus. (Almost four people have pointed out
that no Plotinus they know of would use a
kappa where a chi would do.)
We suspect that the true story is closer to
the Tale that finds the paper in question to be
an old Enabling examination, minus the page
with the questions on it; the page 5 referred to.
This examination was confused in the Treasurer's Office with the copies of the New Financial Policy, which in turn were sent to the
decorators responsible for the yellow furniture.
The furniture requirement went to the boiler
people, who then forwarded it to their headoffice, who returned it to the switchboard.
There Pat Davis appeared, saw, and the Art
exhibit of last Spring was the result, together
with the brass lamps and the new lights. Pat
left, as we all know, just last week. At sometime, an order recalling Miss Alexander was
given, and it seems to have been executed with
no confusion.
If further evidence makes itself available, we
shall certainly make ourselves so, again as always.
Comment
Toward the ideal of an Informed Community,
let us attempt to find order in the recently witnessed bit of what seems to be Chaos herself.
We refer to the once-folded bit of paper found
one week ago in truly odd corners of the campus buildings. The origin of the bit is still in
question, but we can at this date stamp-out a
good many of the rumors.
First, it was not a selection of type-face samples passed out by the Veri-type people to show
off their machine, nor was it written and dis-
Sansefiera
Crowded they stand
In the wide pot,
All wanting and taking
The best place,
But not looking
For better places.
Such is nature and creature,
The sun laughing upon all.
Robert J. Pierot '53
�Liberal-Education And The Liberal Arts periods.
Mr. Klein started the lecture year with his
lecture "Liberal Education and the Liberal
Arts." I have heard it called a freshmen lecture and I guess that is a good name for it.
Here it is difficult for one to lecture on the liberal arts for so many lecture on them that if
he were to say something new or well, it is surrounded by repetition. This was the strength
of the lecture for those who enjoyed and the
dullness for those who didn't. Those who enjoyed it did so as one enjoys a good meal, they
were satisfied and complacent.
Those who didn't like it, said it was obvious,
unorganized, etc. They plainly didn't like it,
as the others plainly enjoyed it. With the tradition of lectures we have here, I don't think
one can expect a well organized, formally presented lecture. Then how can the lecture clearly state something true and not be deemed obvious? Suppose someone for whom we have
great-respect lectures to us saying, "And I have
found from my studies and experience that man
must live moderately, putting everything in its
proper place." This is obvious. De we only
want to know how this man solves mathemati·cal problems, what he judges of a work, or how
he made his money, some particular point
which brings to focus his experience and insight?
Mr. Klein spoke of the relati on of man as an
individual to the existing order of things, i. e.,
the tradition, how one can become free to be
ones-self.
He stated that Achilles, through his shield
became free, and as himself, went into battle.
Then he quoted Plato as saying man becomes
free through knowledge, that one can only know
that which is unchangeable. Yet, to be a free
man, man must know the basic assumption on
which life is based. This along with the seemingly two-fold place of tradition gave much
food for thought, which, of course, was not discussed in the question period.
It is strange that the question period of a
lecture aimed primarily at the freshmen should
allow the freshmen only one question. I hoped
at one time that the reins might be given over
to them for a fresh, a new point of approach.
The question period was like most question
It did not discuss the questions on
hand, but as if that which was said was the
impetus for their minds to wander far away
and bring to the fore their favorite theme.
Whether it be a haughty distance, treating a
small point with its cosmic or semantical implications or the - that may be so, but what
about this attitude.
The question period shows that once knowledge does become established it sediments,
modifies, and petrifies itself. It wasn't that the
freshman year was so wonderful, but that we
were so wonderful our freshman year.
All in all, I had
pleasurable evening, as
most Friday nights are pleasurable; somehow
hoping that Mr. Klein would have given eight
lectures or cut to one-eighth the one he gave.
a
Room Service
Room Service was originally a stage play, and
the Marx Brothers movie of the same name has
many of the familiar faults of unimaginative
film adaptions. It is too static, too talky, and
in general the peculiar virtues of the screen are
uncultivated. By contrast, in Duck Soup the
resources of the camera are used fully and with
great effect; most strikingly in the battlefield
scenes. Some of the early Marx Brothers pictures are, however, translated from the stage
with even more crudity than Room Service; and
yet, in their case, it would be trifling to complain.
The main trouble with Room Service is that
it's plot is considered something important,
rather than a mere pretext. The very special
Marxist Muse is ignobly in the service of ordinary situation comedy. The great comic moment is viewed, not as an end in itself, but as a
way to advance the story. For example Harpo
is called upon to present his conception, of
death, and it's a remarkably intense and funny
conception, that reaches to the heart like a horror, and yet the movie here insists on centering
its attention on the wearisome circumstance of
the hotel man's confoundment.
So, because of the necessity to keep the story
moving along, Chico and Harpo are not allowed
to exhibit their musical skills. Groucho, who
is, as somebody once said, a splendid caricature
of something unknown, can't step outside the
story to parody it. And there are no· rapid
sequences of dialogue and/or action bou_ d ton
gether with a strange and inexorable necessity
which are as brilliant in totality as a mathematical proof. Instead we are offered little
snatches here and there: Groucho cheats at solitaire, Harpo indefatigably pursues a turkey,
and in the eating scene and a few other places
we are battered into helpless laughter. But the
ultimate effect is not the comic ecstasy of their
best work.
We grieve for the stupidity of the producer
of Room Service and trust that the lesson of
it is plain enough: the comedy of the Marx
Brothers is somehow above this world of struggle and frustration. (Harpo, especially, is a
thoroughly self-sufficient man, blonde-chasing
and all.) Just what world it's really in is another and greater subject.
Robert Hill.
The Surf
Beneath the pallid moon's sick glow,
Framed against an ashen space,
With rythmic regularity Surf swirls amongst the ragged rocks,
Recedes and flagellates once more
A purposeless song persistently,
That melody, monotony.
G. R. C.
Film Review
at least five additional dimensions of its subject through the train of instants on its strip
of retina, remembering Bernhardt as a ham
(however divine a ham), Lamar as a proponent
of Machaty's admirable idea of ecstasy and
Chaplin as a peculiarly unpathetic anti-Chaplin.
A lady who has seen more Chaplin screened
than I said, "I didn't like the picture because I
couldn't cry for Charlie." The picture was
"Tillie's Punctured Romance" and the Lady was
perhaps over-sensitive. But seeing the older
Charlie without the warmth and ambiguous
innocence of the old Charlie is discomforting.
The Comedian cannot, however, fail to evoke
some admiration. He still dances to perfection
as he moves and, walking with Tillie, executes
the world's only pas de deux in counter-point.
Tillie pains us somewhat: if we must choose a
woman to laugh at, let it be Phulladulla rather
than Grishkin, the form Spinster rather than
the form Mother, who is the butt of pedal
indignities.
I laughed hard at the Keystone Cops coming
to· Tillie's rescue toward the end of the film,
and thought of the similar geometrical confusion of the franc-chasseurs in "A Nous la Liberte."
The meaning and moral of this ''Tillie's Punctured Romance" is lost in antiquity. The only
metaphysical question I can think of: in 1913
and Iglehart Hall, what were all those people
laughing at all the time?
Borromini's Dom
Image in the stone of the cold God of the
By Robert Parslow
cavernous
The Camera is a merciless machine for travTerror now bound in Acquinian logic and
elling in time. It cannot retrieve polyploid
chrysanthemums from the future, but it is cap- Aristotelian space, compasses Mystery,
able of wedging the visible past awkwardly into Life and the Ultimate Reality. Facade is an
the present. You and I on occasion come face
to face (this latter "face" a patent synecdoche) Inlay of stone in a cosmical screen; infinite
with ourselves clad as jaybirds at half a year Extension, known but as felt, is uncompreand then blush with this flesh for that flesh to
hended; and
show that film's artifice has collapsed the line Nothing outside of the jeweled walls has exof time to a point of currency.
presion.
More irksome than this are the potentialities
P. Lyman
of the movie camera's vehicle equipped to haul
�The Reformation
t?ok to build up a fleet of racing boats in addib~n .to the day sailors it already has. Since
this is a long process where money is difficult
to come. by and where no member can give too
T.he blessings of S~. Cecelia, or her Germanic
eqmval~nt, h::i':e. once more been invoked and a much time to Club work, we began to look
har:r;iomol_ls Jo~mng of music with the six oth- ?-round for a way of getting some racing dur~rs Is agam bemg attempted. Masculine voices mg the period ":hile the fleet was being built.
The Inter-Collegiate Yacht Racing Association
m other ~ords, have sounded in McDowell Hall
was the ans~er here. Members need not have
fter fallmg to achieve the perfectly possibl~
ast year, as. Mr. Zl_lckerkandl remarked, he at- a fleet of their own and can sail boats of those
te~pts the impossible this year, with an im- ~ortunate enough to ~ave a fleet. Considering
the s.tate~ent of President Barr printed as Apposnw ~egr~e of success, if the first meeting is pendix Cm tl1:e St. John's College Catalogue of
a~y md1cahon. of what's to follow. Not only 1947-48, particularly the last paragraph it
d!d he lure us I~to demonstration that we could seeme~ reasonable to ask the Administrative
smg great :r;ius1c (Need I name it?) without
even e;xtendmg ourselves, but after dispellinO' Coun?Il of th~ 9ollege if the Club might not be
a few 1~lustrat~ons f?isted on ~s by second-rat: permitted to Jorn the Association. The Council
ro~1anhc mus1colog1sts concerning major and afte:r: .careful consideration, agreed that th~
mmor. modes, he eve? had us singing a Bach cond1t10ns under which the Association operAlleluJ ~h (the .same m a very minor mode) in at~d were ~ot. pe~nicious and that the Club
m1~ht race m it without
a fashion which would have made Martin pohcy as expressed by Mr. changing the College
Barr.
~uther summon up the maximum of whatever
It should t;>e u~derstood that the Club proJOY he was capable of.
poses to contmue m the Association
:\~l this is merely to say that, in one man's its own .fleet is sufficiently large toeven after
maintain
op1mon at least, last Wednesday's chorus was
?- good mtramural program. Sailboat racing
pr~tty wonderful. The spirit was there the
voices were there, and, by God, even the t~tors is analogous to ~he soluti<;>n of a mathematical
were there. Long may they flourish, and with f~oblem. The given conditions are the course
~ weather and the boat. The problem is t~
them, the chorus.
ha~ the course, come back in one piece and
r{ng t.he boat with you. The problem can be
~~~~-o~~~~so ved m many ways. On a very low level you
~an break out a paddle and get around that
Kinsman's Rationale
wa~ Once .some rudimentary skill is gained
sue a .solut10n, not being very elegent is not
Since St..John's 9oll~ge is located very fav- ae~thebcally satisfying. The man who' wins a
orably for it, boatmg is an activity that the ~~Ilboat race has the satisfaction of knowing
Coll~ge could reasonably be expected to provide h ~at of those who attempted the solution he
as been m~st nearly perfect. In some ve
for its stud.ents. Unfortunately boating is a
very e~~ens1ve recreation and the College is in feal. se~se sailboat racing is the pursuit of pe7no pos1b~n to make it available without sup- . ecbon m an art. To continue with the analo
port. This support so far as the students are I~ter-collegiate racing provided a wider ra.!i~
concerned, takes the form of labor given to the o problen;is for ~olution than any one Club
could provide for its members.
College by those who are interested in boats
Thi:: Cl~b does not conceive of itself as an
A year ago a survey of the real property of th~
Boat Club sh?wed a serious deterioration from o:r:gamzat10n of racing men. It is concerned
lc;tck of or?'~mze~ care. To halt this deteriora- with the problem of making boating of any
~10n and, if possible, to reverse the trend was typ~ the students. really want available. The
the problem.
racmg men are neither subversive nor reactionI~ has been my experience based on an obser- ary. The fact is that they are a group of men
vat10n of ~ number of boat clubs that the only who are coe_rced into the necessary work of the
group wluch ·can be depended upon to pull to- Club by their need for an organization.
gether and stick together long enouo-h to get
Blair Kinsman.
the re3lly. unpleasant labor done it the
. er
p Pn
Th 1 ·
l
rac1n
~' :- :
~ IS pe~ l~J?S natural since, while all
ot.ner boatmg activities are individual and can
Contra
be pur~ued ?lone, racing of necessity means cooperation w1th a group. For that reason it was
proposed to the Club that it would be wise to . There is, elsewhere in this journal, an article
find a way to promote racing. The Club under- m defense and explanation of the action of the
Boat Club in joining the Intercollegiate Racing
By Paul Cree
f
0
Association. I have not read this article, and
so do not know all of the arguments that may
be put forth in it. I have, however, heard some
discussion of this issue, and propose here to
examine one of the arguments that has been
used to support the Boat Club's action.
The proponents of the Boat Club say many
things with which I entirely agree, such as that
sailing is a great sport, one actively beneficial
to man's body and soul, and one that is perhaps especially fitted to the liberal artist. I
also agree that sailing takes money for boats
and upkeep, and that the College cannot afford
the full burden of this demand. I would like
it to be clear that on these points I have no
differences with Mr. Kinsman and the Boat
Club. The Club's supporters go on to say that
the only, or at any rate the best way to get
this money is to attract it from the Alumni by
making a glorious name for themselves in intercollegiate racing. They say that furthermore,
intercollegiate sailing is entirely within the
spirit of Mr. Barr's general denunciation of
intercollegiate athletics in Appendix C of the
catalogue. This is where I differ with them.
The Boat Club does not propose racing with
other colleges as a thing primarily desirable in
itself, but rather as a means of attracting
money for its support. I think this is a dishonest way of getting money. For they will be
saying to the Alumni that they want money to
race, when the truth is that they want money
to sail, and are racing to get money. Mr. Barr
says in Appendix C that he hopes that the day
will come when St. John's can play games with
other colleges as naturally as such games ever
were played. Mr. Kinsman argues that that
day is here, at least for the Boat Club. I do not
think it is here, because to race with other
schools to impress the old grads and stimulate
financial support, is not the natural kind of
playing games that Mr. Barr was talking about.
Mr. Barr was talking about sport for the love
of sport, from which this sort of thing is a far
cry.
In answer to this objection of mine, it has
been urged that this racing for money is only
a necessary means to the end of sailing and
racing for sailing's sake, and is really being
done, therefore, for the love of the sport. I
answer to this that it is my conviction that any
means to an end, which is in its nature contradictory of that end, is not a suitable or efficient
means. I therefore believe that sailing for
~oney is not a proper means to the end of sailing for sailing.
That is the substance of my objection to the
Boa,t Club's action and its defenders. As to a
Positive contribution, I suggest to the Boat
Club that if sailing is as worthwhile as they
say, and I believe it to be, that we try to sell
it to the Alumni on its own merits, and persuade them to support it for its own sake instead of fooling around with this false rea~on
ing about racing.
I think it can be done, and I would much
rather have a real try at it than to see the
students here involved in the implied sanction
of this attempt to bamboozle the Alumni.
C. R. Lincoln.
Beams From The TOWER LIGHT
"Hallowe' en all of the freshmen dormitory
students will undergo the second annual initiation. Each freshman, or "spook," will be assigned to a room of upperclassmen. The program will begin at 4:00 P. M. and will be continued throughout the evening.
Hofmeister gave me the evil eye the other
day. He says, "Now look, I want you to give
the lowdown, this chair is getting hard."
Dean feels that education should benefit an
individual in many ways. A truly educated
person has to desire within himself to be of
service to his community. He takes care of his
own health in order that he may be better able
to do this.
-
On Knowledge And Its Acquisitions
The question is often asked at St. John's
"What do we mean by 'knowing'? What is
knowledge?" It seems to me that there are
two answers to this question - two kinds of
knowing, and that a number of interesting
ramifications grow out of this distinction.
The first kind of knowledge consists of percepts, cannot be communicated yet is the primary object of teaching, and is the basis on
which the other kind of knowledge is built.
The second knowledge deals with relations, involves concepts as well as percepts, and can be
communicated. First what is meant by "percept" and "concept" will be taken up, then the
impossibility of communicating the former and
the bearing the kinds of knowledge have on
teaching.
The meaning of the terms percept and concept can be approached by looking at the word
classification "noun" and "adjective." Adj ectives signify abstractions. Such words as
"straight" "dry," "hollow" have no existence
in themselves but have been lifted out as something common to a number of things we have
experienced. They need a substratum before
they become existences and for this purpose
�we use nouns. Nouns are of two kinds. One
kind such as "road," "tree," "people," consist
of abstractions as do adjectives but with this
difference: in order to be brought into existence and signify some reality they do not need
a substratum but a space-time relation. When
given this relation, these nouns become members of the second group and we recognize this
distinction by capitalizing them. To give an
example, "straight" is an adjective needing a
substratum, "straight road" is more definite
but is still an abstraction and has no existence,
"this straight road" or "Lincoln Highway" is a
definite thing, having taken on space-time relation which give it uniqueness and therefore
reality. No matter how many adjectives and
abstract nouns are strung together the abstraction is never lost and reality obtained, although
it can be asymptotically aproached. The failure to recognize this - that reality is never
reached by abstraction - causes misconceptions concerning the communication of knowledge.
The capitalized nouns are percepts, and the
general nouns and adjectives are concepts. Our
a.pparatus for dealing with reality and gaining
percepts consists of the five senses and the
mind. (The function of the mind in the acquiring of percepts will be taken up later.)
We gain percepts from experience and from
there we go to nouns of the first group by our
faculty of abstraction, and from there to ::J,dj ectives. The direction is never reversed. We
must have experience of particular Roads before we gain the notion of road, and we must
have experience of several groups of substrata
before we can abstract their common attribute
as an adjective. Each step ofthe percept-tocommon nouns-to adjective process increases
our distance from reality. Pla to is asking for
a great act of Faith when he would have us
believe the superior reality of the abstraction,
- Tree, Chair, Triangle, Beauty, for this is
contrary to our experience.
Now the first kind of knowledge, consisting
of percepts and acquired only by experience, is
expressed in speaking by the verb "know" with
a direct predication. We say we know Beethoven's Fourth Symphony, meaning we have
heard it, or we know the Statue of Liberty,
meaning we have seen it . The second kind of
knowledge, dealing with concepts in relation to
percepts or concept s in knowledge of a thing's
relnt ions and attributes rather t han of the
t hing- itself, and is expressed by "know that."
We know t hat hydrogen and oxygen are elements, expressing the relation between the two
gases and t ha t group of t hings we call elements; we know that the product of three and
t hree is nine, expressing a particu,ar relation
between two t h rees; we know that this chair
is red, expressing the relation bet wc:i.en t he
chair and the scale of colors. This kind of
knowledge can be taught and is what formal
education concerns itself with.
To show the impossibility of transmitting the
first kind of knowledge, an example will be adduced which may seem trite but it is hard to
find one that serves the purpose better. If I
should try to give a South African Negro who
has never seen ice the knowledge of what an
ice cube is, it is probable I would proceed by
telling him different things about it. I would
say that it was frozen water, explaining freezing as a process by which liquid things become
solid, that it was hard, cold, slippery; I might
even try to draw a picture of it. None of these
would give knowledge of what an ice cube was
for he would be trying to reconstruct from certain of the things attributes the thing itself.
The more concepts such as hard, cold, slippery
I gave him the closer he would be able to approximate the real ice cube, but he would have
knowledge of it only when he could see and
touch it. This is because the concepts I have
given him are common to many things, and
singly or together do not constitute what is
unique about the ice cube - that by virtue of
which we call this particular thing an ice cube
and not a tree or something else. It is the
knowledge of that particular quality, which being unique is untransmittable by any symbol
whatever, that makes the difference between
knowing and not knowing the ice cube.
This ex~.mple is taken from the material realm. Plato's Theory of Ideas can no more
b2 taught than the ice cube. We have to arrive at it, if we do, by the original questioning
and thought analogy to the direct experience
knowledge of physical objects requires. Plato
in expounding his Theory of Ideas uses concepts or words common to many things, but
the theory itself cannot be communicated for
it is unique. Knowledge of the theory consists
in arriving at it in one's own thought, thus seeing it from the inside and grasping thereby all
of its relations at once, rather than trying to
synthesize the theory from its relations. When
v.re have gained this pr imary knowledge of the
T 1-. 1?ory of Ideas we c.qn analyze and express it
in our own way, as much as Plato, choosing
whichever of its relations we wish to expound.
Our knowledge then, depends on our store
of percepts. One cannot be taught that the
sum of the angles of a triangle is equal to 180°
until he knows what "angle," "triangle", and
"de?"ree" I'1e:-tns ; nor c~m he know "the Truth
Bl1 g,l} mrike you free" until he is far enough
;:irlv:::i.nced in his thinking to have realized t 11is
for himself. Knowledge depends on indivict w~ 1
effod ultimately, and this is why the good
tc::i cher h~. s alway~ been recognized as the one
who stimulates and inspires.
Anton Hardy.
St. John's Collegian
ANNAPOLIS, MARYLAND ,.
. .. VoL ,'. JJXIU
,.. -..... F
in
·· -~', N_ c " ~s ~ ·· 1949
ov_
"'· -~ ·~ '·
tr~lating Tuwar'd such an end
one very. "oon susp~c~?/ that English
CJ'F RAMBLING MOTION
lacks the necessary'· materials
Here
'a nd th.ere ar,e words 9 key ; wo'r ds ' whi tj1
-a freshman and he was
seem to have· rore meaffing than one can
. a sophomore . teaching Greek, Mr . Bart
give them o That is to· say, for inloathed l.ectlli"ers, or -~~t leas t he said
stance, that in £1.'aor,; a word \f.aS fo~d
e did He would have preferred. b eing mucll' joined the ootion of ., that w
inch
Irnown as one of St. Jo~'s better sbla thing is v with the . n otion of 9 that
dents than one' of our better lectur- which a t hing looks like v M~ a Bar t
ers The Friday night of bis l ecture,
suggests t hat in the coupl ing o f two
while giving us one of his best of the
such .·n crtions ' the· Greek was g i ven a
. ast .three years~ ~Mr, ~t proved his
f ''lboking at:' tiimgs . Wfi.i fh to u s
O
•
~oir1t. ')!is titi~-·{¥8.s ·t:ranslation, and Wa:'jimPo.s sibltit~ Such a:. coinc_ifieftee does
is
hls subJ ect matter is best described not exist be tween our worctsi. seeing and
as an inquiry into our in tel'~~t in
imowing. Considering furth'~t -that one
language here at St o John'S c we a~e
c~t ~O C
i t a l so b e come s clear
wor d , a u "'
.
al! .f'amiliar with that photograph m
that i t comes ou t o1' Pl'a to meaning
the catal<.:@»e where the.Program is all more than i t meant when he ·f.j.rst used
hooked-up by Str<iJ.gh t-edge cons trucit: that in a sense, its defi nitions
.
t ion, but few ·of us are sure j~t what
ar~ changing and movmg things; that
those straight lineS represento
one specific de finition holds the word
Translation, Mr. Bart suspects,
static for a moment, but that such a
is an art and an art .like carpentry holding is imposed and hypothetical.
'
"
'
,.
is an arto .lllueprint:Original Te:ic:t::
Mr- Bart believe s that the pro~
Wood+NailstTools:Dictionary+Grarrnnar+ cess of defining is one belonging to a
Rhetoric: :The Cha..ir:The -mven Transla- pure imagination which operates on a
tiono At st. John's) witi1 tne treatsupra- dictionary plane . We are to alment we give language, th~ last term low our imagination to operate as the
of that proportion is found to be organic scientist allows hid imaginalacking. We do not hav·e a finished
tion to operate when h e i s .conf ronted
translation in i:nind.. We do not wish to
with a fact in nat ur e till then not
supplant the exis tin~ .ones. our transno t i. c·ed o tnn• at tempt is to avoid phanv \.,U
.
l a ti on is done for"· the sole p1\rpose of
tasy' that subj ective ldnd of imagmabetter unde~standing tne t~~t we
...
t:rnn wh. ch has the word mean what .we
i
U=
t ranslate. we are ·as th~._oarpenter who
wan t it to mean with no r egar d for i s
builds his chatrs from a ~µper la ti ve
own exist01ce.
.
blueprint followed with difficulty.
In analyzing what happens · in the
The carpenter begins with the assumptp
process of .observa tion within the o rt ion that his .bluepr:lnt · is the pat tern
ganic sciences, several steps can ~e
from ~hich a · fine and beautiful thing
se01 . We merely look · to accept wha~ is
can be · built, ·.and 'he bui~ds and re.· ·
-·ttempt then to generalize,
there, we a
f
bu ilds until he f eel s :satisfied with
we byr}Othesize \\hat we ' re not sure o '
h is attempto . :.. · ~
lfIE ' E·CL'lPti·c
.·"' - •• ,
I
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The Collegian
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The Collegian began as a student newspaper; became a college community literary publication in 1952 and continued until 1969; became a student newspaper again in 1969; discontinued publication from 1980 until 1989 when it again became a student literary publication.<br /><br />Click on <a title="The Collegian" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=26">Items in The Collegian Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection.
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Annapolis, MD
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Collegian Vol. LXIII No. 01
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St. John's Collegian, October 1949
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1949-10
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Vol. LXVIII, No. 1 of the St. John's Collegian. Published in October 1949.
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The Collegian
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Page 6
ST.
JOHN'S
COLLEGIAN
as is the act itself to society. And this, the lecturer re- Christian is not much farther along than the Pharisee
who practiced his pi·ety before men and received his
marked, "makes adulterers of us all."
While the third state is an interpr·etation of the law, reward.
What then is the Christian answer to this paradox?
the fo urth state is a fulfillment of the law. The peace
If, even knowing the law, man transgresses, if right acof God comes with the resurrection of the body because
tion alone is insufficient , if sinful pride is purged only
it lies outside of time. It is beyond history. Most philoby greater pride, how is man redeemed? Throu,gh the
sophical and political systems, either implicitly or ex- Grace of Jesus Christ, and through faith, thes-e sins of
plicitly, point toward an ultimat·e fulfillment of man in pride and ignorance are forgiven. Eliot, in anothe r
history. This is impossible in Christian t·erms, for
work, "Dry Salvages,'' points towards the solution of
Christ's very im.erpretation of the law emphasises the the problem saying: these ar·e "1-!ints and guesses, hints
inherent tendency of man to sin. A law which penalizes followed by guesses; and the rest is prayer, observance,
an action thereby demonstrat·es that the nature of the .discipline, thought and action."
action is evil and also that the inner motivation which
G . H. COLLINGWOOD.
prompts the action is evil. Even when man does develop
his best potentialities, he also heightens the possibilities
- - ' - - -0•- - - for sin which lie about him. Since man in time and history must sin, the fulfillment of man must of necessity
lie beyond these. As to what the fulfillment is, one can
not be too explicit. When the promise of fulfillment is
pressed too far, absurdities of dem-golden-slippers-onEvery man at St. John's is a cr·eator . . . or should be.
This program is a skeleton, that indomitable, age-old
golden-streets variety, result.
Christ sums the Ten Commandments into two; "Thou skeleton man- stript bare and rdabricated and given
shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and life by every man that really lives. He's here, lying perwith all thy soul, and with all thy mind." T he s·econd haps within us . But our proposition at this school is
is: "T hou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." On these that we can hest look at him through Alic·e's lookingtwo commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets. glass ... the world of the great books. But, and this
T hus, by obs·ervance of this commandment, the Mosaic must not be forgotten, the looking-glass only gives an
Law is transcended. The scribe's social interpretation is image, and a strange one at that. Just the image of a
not discarded but is embraced in a larger definition. If skeleton . As we . step through the looking-glass we are
one truly lon s God, he must love his neighbor. Not "temporarily" absolved of time . But we are creators ...
because there is an inherent goodness in the neighbor, and creation takes plac·e in time. So we've got to pass
or fo r rhe possibilities in him, nor for the attrition of back and forth through the strang·e mirror, firs t gazing
love, but because God also loves the neighbor and as a at the skeleton-image and seeing its bones and their
child of G od one desires to imitate his Father. Through articulation, and then coming out and putting flesh and
imitating the Father, who is th_ God of Love, the blood and a heart in the real one, and finally, breathing
thoughts which would prompt sinful action are impossi- life through its nostrils.
ble. It is only in so far as the child fails to imitate that
This poor, bleached specter lying on the sands within
us, is the same one that Plato found, or any of the
sin is possible.
An action is good only to the degree that it is others. But when he is given the muscle fabrics and
prompted by love. Even doing the right thing is not nerve fibe rs, when his heart starts to pulse and he
enough if the r·eason governing the act is without love. stumbles to his feet- then he is single and particular;
As an example of right action for wrong reasons, the one man and one man alone. One act of creation.
lecturer cited the Tempters and Thomas a'Becket in
We are glad for our St. John's looking-glass. But
Eliot's ''Murder in the Cathedral." The first three don't forget that what lies on the other side is not alive,
Tempters offer him power and wealth which Thomas not by itself. And it isn't worth a thought unless it is
easily refuses. The four th Tempter, however, tempts the basis for something to come to life.
T homas with his own thoughts; "Seek the way of marSo where does the tissue, the blood pulse, the vital
tyrdom, make yourself the lowest on earth, to be hiih br.eath come fr om? I don't mean the originals, I mean
in heaven." Almost in despair, he answers in terms of the particulars for this particular act of creation- you
the Christian paradox, "Can sinful pride be driven out and me. Where from. From the wind, I say, fr om the
only by mor·e sinful? Can I neither act nor suffer with- wind. From that gleeful, warm breath, from that howlout perdition?" Mr. Mollogen answered this with an ing round blast, from that wistful sigh, from that soft
emphatic "No." Man's good actions prompted by love whisper at night. Listen to the wind that fans your '
become sinful through human pride. To demonstrat·e flame. Listen with att·ention. Listen in quiet. Listen
this the lecturer invited the listeners to try a t·est. Try with courage. Then you will be able to create.
giving a large donation to a charity, and see how long .
s. LINTON.
you can remain quiet about it. In this respect, the
Looking-Glass
St. John's Collegian
VoL. LXIl-No. 6
ANNAPOLIS
By Way of Explaining ...
that the CoLLEGIAN comes to you this time looking
slightly different, we can cite two reasons: This year the
CoLLEG
IAN had a great dearth of "creative" material,
and the contributors to it were a small handful of people instead of a sizable section of the whole student
body. We have attempted to put together one last
issue which would attempt to remedy these two defects.
This has not been easy because many former friends of
the CoLLEGIAN had given it up for moribund, operating on the assumption that a dying man should be left
to end his ways in peace. We do not begrudge them
their skepticism in the least, but it is a rewarding thing
to find them wrong: In the course of the last month,
great amounts of poetry, as well as some prose work,
have come in, and many of these contributions were
given to us by students who had never appeared .in the
CoLLEGIAN before. Also, general interest in the paper
is visibly mounting and has shown itself in a range
of manifestations from a write-up in the Annapolis
Evening Capital to numerous queries about "how the
paper was coming."
Perhaps ther·e will be some "dial.ecticians" among
us who, when they see this issue will not think that real
creative work has been printed here yet because, in
their opinion, only that which is explicitly put into the
dialectical fr amework of trivium and quadrivium, and
which can be questioned about its assumptions is truly
ceative. W e take the liberty of referring then to some
of the Gr.eat Books of the Western Tradition: What
did H omer sing about grammar? Where will any one
find an expose of rhetoric in Shakespeare? Who, in
Tom Jones, speaks about logic? It seems to us that, if
we make it the CoLLEGIAN's business to employ statements on the liberal arts as creative work, we are mistaking the means for the end. If the study of these
a~ts do-es not help us to understand works that are,
like . :he majority of human thinking, precisely not
explicit about their ends and purposes, means and form,
the pursuit of this study is" useless and without content.
There might be some surpris-e, as well, at a number
of outside contributors who have, in a highly profitable
manner, increased the volume of this issue. We have
solicited their work so that the literary ferment on
campus might have some outside standards to set its
?a~ge~ by. In a plac·e where there are only 200 people,
lt 1S h.1 ~hly .possibl.e that what could be done in the way
of_ wntmg 1 handicapped by the predominance of cers
tam ~ogmas and viewpoints. Since we are to become
free n:en here, the knowl.edge of many forms without
necessity of adhering to any one for expression is, we
PRICE: lOc
fe~l~ implied ~ the aim of our study. Only through
mixmg fresh views and formulations with what we talk
about among ourselves can such an end be achieved. T 0
a!l of our c?ntrib~tors from outside, St. John's College
sincere grantude is due for trusting their work to an
uncharted ·experim·e nt. A list of their names follows:
RoBERT FLoTTEMESCH was at St. John's College in
1942 and in 1946.
D. L. HAMMERSCHMIDT is the wife of a tutor at St .
John's Col1eg·e.
GEORGE JoHN is~ former student of St. John's College.
He _
has had hts work published in Poetry, Hopkins
Renew, and other periodicals.
F. L. ~AN~EE is a classicist who is also a physician. His
pubhcanons range from Vergil to linguistics to histology, and he is now practicing medicine. He was a
tutor at St. John's College in 1946-47.
M AR VA~ DoREN is Professor of English at Columbia
K_
~n1v.ers1ty, as well as a noted poet and essayist. He
is also a member of the St. John's Board of V isitors
and Governors and a frequent lecturer at the College.
The World Waits
The ~orld waits, holding its breath so quietly,
Deaths rattle sounds like prophet's bones.
No desert rav·en ever was so raucous;
No other end threatened so many thrones. ·
Of
Of
No
No
big and . little kings, of poor maids' men,
farmers m the field, of mice in burrowsovereignty now, no subject sand;
world, for there will be no more tomorrow.
So possibility, with half its voice,
Suspends the whole of this most panic time.
The held breath hears nothing but the croak
Of glories that were proper in our prime.
The song nobody sings-what did it say?
Goodness is difficult, and y-et can be?
Death is certain? But the terrible raven
Says that, says that, too, unstoppably.
Was there no different thing bright angels knew?
Still was it thus when gods walked here as men?
Always the world has waited? 0, white bird
Of morning, tell the dark truth more sweetly then.
MARK
vAN
DOREN
�Page 2
ST.
JOHN'S
Whippoorwills cry in the sunset,
Lurk in the garbage of eaves;
Dying winds rustle the tree tops,
Asking for nothing but leaves.
Twilight releases the darkness,
Turning the mind on itself;
Under the trees are no violets,
But the malignant, an elf.
Cunning, he speaks in the shadows,
Of the mythical glitter of night;
Offering fairies and fun .
For the loss of intelligent sight.
Slyly, he lies, oh, so sweetly,
"Darkness is not what it seems.
Light is not all of life's pleasure;
Death is not dying, but dreams."
Darkness is warpin .5 the spirit,
Darkness is moulding the bread;
Night is a cowardly function,
Night is a dream of the dead.
TED OTTESON
- - - - o- - - -
Prose Piece
A bouquet of parsl.ey :i1oats by,- refus·e which I cannot refuse! - the green fronds waving in the water just
as they must have waved in their prime over the soil
from which they came, the whole seeming, in its smallness even, like a towering mass of jungle flora wrenched
by a hurricane from the shore of some southern isle.
But everything is beautiful in this sun: before me there
is no water, only water with light, and equally, I suppose, there is no light but light only unalone and with
water, (- for who shall divorce these great forces from
~ne another?) And it is not the wat·er enjoining the
light or the light enjoining the water, (- for all of this
is done without argument,) but it is the two joined out
of sight somewhere in the infinite. Moreover dirt is not
dirt in this light then ·either, but is dirt with light and
too we cannot avert it in this incandescent speculation
and dissertation; for our speculation even is not speculation, but is speculation with light and cannot help but
be unmuddled and bri3ht then so that mud even could
not disperse or frig hten it!
GEoRGE JoHN.
----o----
Poems from Atlantis
I
Bloken toown est friken gouff
nester queerton brister bouff,
frilin, frilin, tou rier, tou rier,
keckter, keckter pournee.
Werie tits·en allin ho~
bernin frougen darrie lou,
gallin, gallin, si ninen, si ninen,
keckter, keckter, pourne.
P. D. D.
COLLEGIAN
ST.
The Banana Boat Took Three Years
to Dock
Mr. Santillana said that Parmenides wrote of space,
space with the Dedekind property, not being. Plato
and Aristotle misunderstood and read "being" for
being. Because the point continuum, with which the
ancients had not the mathematics to deal, was misunderstood, metaphysics was born.
Man as an active agent in a passive universe was
what was sought. The logos provided that passive world.
Plato and Aristotl.e were looking for truth and the good
life. The passive universe of logos, demanded by curious
and naive minds, gave it to them. Parmenides and Zeno
were not looking for the good life. They were logicians.
Unfortunately man is not alone in space, nor is man
only active in a passive world; both man and the universe are active agents. So that the logos world, derived
from man's attempt to classify the real, is not the
true.
Howev·er pressing the demands .of the mind, man
and the universe are each processes, and all that the
mind can do is understand the limits of the interaction
of the two. The good life has no place in, nor can it
be derived from an understanding of these proc·esses.
The inability of the Physicist to discover the logos is
the tragedy of modern science. Plato knows this. I
think Aristotle did too. It would appear that the logos
must have an a priori derivation. But this is just how
Plato and Aristotle proceeded.
STEWART
wASHBURN
----o----
Applebaum
Beethoven was, perhaps, an unreasonable ·man in his
demands upon pianists. Perhaps too, by regarding him
as unreasonable, pianists may feel free to do with him
as they like in matters of interpretation, no matter how
expressly his wishes are indicated in the score. Nevertheless, certain demands, reasonable or unreasonable
must be met for an adequate, not to say fine, int·erpreta:
tion of his piano sonatas. Mr. Applebaum, in my opinion, did not meet these demands in playing four of these
sonatas for the coll·ege.
As far as rhythm and tempi go, Mr. Appelbaum was
on shaky ground, to say the least. Not only did he
destroy the outlines of the last movement of Op. 111 by
repeated distortions of time values, but also, when he
returned to the original subject of the W aldstein' s opening movement, he found his pace considerably · accderated and had to slow down before going on. Beethoven
wasn't reluctant to indicate what he wanted in the way
of tempi; and while leeway is certainly granted, there is
not as much of it as Mr. Appelbaum allowed himself.
Then too, in merely making the notes heard, ther·e
were certain difficulties. The W aldstein' s last ·movement was considerably mutilated in this respect. Often
the ldt hand overshadowed the right with relevant but
· · what should hav.e been subordinate figurations·. And,
JOHN'S
equally as often, the entire picture was blurred by sbppy
pedal work, causing one to wonder whether the nght
notes were actually there or not.
Much of what Mr. Appelbaum did was in questionable taste, in addition. Although, he undoubtedly had
a very warm and beautiful piano tone, I for one, in the
last movement of Op. 111 felt that he was heaving entirely too many musical "sighs," in the form of slight
retards before important chords. Furthermore, the entire first movement of this same sonata was gone
through with an indifference which hardly furthered
the composer's intentions.
Mr. Appelbaum did have his good moments, though.
The very beautiful sonata in F sharp, Op. 78, was
given a performance which could hardly have been
bettered. In this work, his tone was beautifully rounded
and full, his finger work dean, and his dynamic shading
impeccable. Similar things could be said for his playing of B.eethoven's early rnnata, Op. 10, No. 3, though,
the firs: movement was played too slowly. If he had
done the same by the Waldstein and Op. 111, the
whole concert might have been much better than it
was.
PAUL CREE
----01----
A Biologist Looks at Poetry
One who has a sufficient interest in the study of
living things to find hims·elf giving a good deal of time
and interest to creatures may, by a certain license, be
said to be a biologist. Now a biologist brings from the
study of cr·e atures to the study of poems certain dogmas
of which he may not be shorn and to which he shows
such sure loyalty that he may not look upon those who
are without them except he look in scorn or in compass10n.
For instance, to such a student of poetry it is elementary first that a poem is a structure made up of parts
to which functions may be assigned. Second, that nonfunctiona l parts while they may be ornamental are usually not even that, but are always dependent on the life
of the whole, which they thus deplete. Third, that the
poetry does not reside in any one of its parts nor does it
result simply from summing them. Finally that a poem,
being more than the sum of its parts, finds its proper
sensible analogue not in a hous·e nor in a pie but in a
living thing, and its uniqueness is comparable only to
that of this plant-never also to that plant nor simply
to a plant.
Some of the parts of a poem are the proposition, the
narrative, the imagery, the rhythm, the music . These
are actually composite parts made up of simpler ones
as rhythm is made up of meter, the character of the
accents, the length of syllables, the planning of pauses,
etc., and as the music is made up of consonance, asson~nce, alliteration, rhyme, etc. The function of the
imagery is to make the poem concrete and of the proposition to give it s·ense. The function of the rhythm is to
a.id the imagery and the propostion by freeing our attention from distractions and by setting the tone of the
COLLEGIAN
Page 3
whole. The function of the rhyme, besides its being
musical, is to bind the parts together. These functions,
if they are the true ones (and of course they may not
be) are inter-dependent and furthermore they are ins·eparable from the needs and the character of the whole
poem. All these parts may not be present in every poem;
other parts may be present in some poems; but all are
alike in being fashioned from the material of language.
Now several things follow from such an approach to
poetry. One such thing is that the poetry may not be
thought of as equivalent to ((message" or "universal
truth," although such a part may be present. When
Auden writ·es:
Too soon we embrace that
Impermanent appetitiv.e flux,
Humorous and hard, which adults fear
Is real and right, the irreverent place,
The down's cosmos
he is stating a proposition not different from one stated
by hundreds from Parmenides to St. Antoine-Exupery
in prose or poetry and by many in other arts than
poetry, such as Rouault in painting. Yet there is much
more to Auden's lines than the fact that here is an old
story. Another way to show this is to consider that of
all the things which are lost in translation, it is probably
the propositions that are retained if anything is.
The first two lines of Rilke's "Die Engel" read, "Sie
haben all·e miide Munde/ und helle Seelen ohne Saum."
This is the translation by Norton, ''All of them have
weary mouths; and bright souls without seam." This is
a literal translation and the proposition is therefore
unchanged; yet Rilke's poetry has departed. And this
despite the fact that the met·er is retained in the translation, which reminds us of what we already know,
that of course the poetry does not reside in the meter
anymore th;~tn in the proposition. There is nothing
mystical about the fact that the poetry departs in the
translation, for the combination of music, proposition,
rhythm, imagery, is much changed. For instance, the
vowel pattern, or such importance to the music, is quite
different in the translation. It is even more important
that, although the meter of the second line is unchanged, the rhythm is altered due to the juxtaposition
of t and s in exchang·e for e and s in two cas·es; as
a result of this alteration an essential thing is lost, for in
the original the even, "seamless" flow of the line is
organic to the sense-a relation which is lost in the
literal translation. The substitution of "weary mouths"
for "miide Munde" is also a sorry one for the poetry,
however true it is to the proposition.
We may find that the difference between a good
verse and a bad verse is associated with one part, but
this does not mean that the poetry inheres in that part;
rather it means that one part may affect the balanced
relation between parts: Thus in free verse, when it is
good, the breaking of a line may be all th::: t is necessary
to wreck the poem; for, in a verse of Amy Lowell's for
instance, the functional relation between the imagery
and the versification is altered to the detriment of the
�Page 4
S T.
J O HN'S
poetry.
As a further example of the importance of functional
relation of parts in poetry, notice how valuable are the
alliteration of "f's" in the first line, the change of
rhythm, and the choice of long vow.els and initial consonants in the second line for establishing the sense and
rendering the imagery of these lines concrete:
"We can lean on a rock we can feel a firm foothold
Against the perpetual wash of tides of balanoe of forces
of barons and landholders."
The lines are from Eliot's "Murder in the Cathedral."
If one of the things that follow from the biologist's
dogmas is that poetry or any art is never a matter of
this part or that (no matter how important the part)
but a matter of the organic unification of parts in a
whole, his is by no means the only implication of his
creed. Another thing which is apparent to him is that
the s·earch for the essence of a poem, that is for the
definition of a poem, is as hopeless as is a comparable
seacch in biology in any absolute sense . And for the
same reason, which is that it violates a dogma-in some
way making the po-em equal to the sum of its parts and
the poetry identical with one of those parts. It does not
however follow that ignorance about poetry must remain
invulnerable to any attempts at analysis or at composition any more than it follows in biology that diss·ection
and experiment are usel·ess means of learning. ''Final
knowledge of a po-em" like ''final knowledge of a cat"
is a thing laid up in heaven and denied forev·er to the
damned. Meanwhile there are some things saint and
sinner alike may learn about each.
For instance the re are some t hings that Mr. F. 0.
Matthiessen may teach us about the poetry of Macbeth.
His lecture is not the last chapter about that great
poem ; it is not even a chapter as lat'.:: (and lat·er does
not mean better) as is Cleanth Broo'.cs' piece in The
Well-Wrought Urn. However, it is c·ertainly an excellent earlier chapter, which doubtless is what it was meant
to be.
It is a ~hapter on one of the parts of a poem-in
particular, the sense imagery. Such a lecture of course
could not ignore the proposition. T he final proposition
of Macbeth, whatever else it may involve, surely must
account for the movement from "renown and grace is
dead" (II, 2) to "what needful else that calls upon us,
by the grace of Grace we will perform" (V, 7); the
movement from " why do you dr.ess me in borrowed
robes" (I, 3) to "now does he feel his tide/ hang loose
about him, like a giant's robe/ upon a dwarfish thief"
(V, 3) ; the movement from "brave Macbeth . . . disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel ..." (I, 2) to
''this dead butcher" (V, 7); and the movement from
"the heavens, as troubled with man's act, threatens his
bloody stage:" (II, 4) to "the time is fre.ed" (V, 7) .
Thus baldly stated, even in Shakespeare's language,
we may think there is little to interest us and so turn
in revulsion from any attempts at further exposition,
expecting only to be sermonized or to be referred to
similar themes in a hundred works of ancient and mod-
ST.
COLLEGIAN
ern literature. Even as we come at last to be unable to
bear the sight of a "great idea of the western world''
when we feel it is the only reward got from the recur.
rent Herculean labor of digging up various seminar
sites.
But precisely what Mr. Matthiessen did was to show
that poetry is not primarily an idea to be compared
with the Iliad and with Newton's Laws of Mechanics,
nor an urn to be disinterred from the recalcitrant soil
of a poem. It is not merely that he turned our attention
to the scenery of the site. For imagery is not scenery . It
may well be that he appeared to treat it as scenery--or
more generally as atmosphere-but this was in order to
show that it is not just this. The imagery of blood,
darkness, sleeplessness, and the counter-point themes of
natural beauty and innocence provide the setting for the
,
propositions of Macbeth· it is true; but they also tutn
out to be the very means of communication- and yet
more besides, since the communication of propositions is
not the end of a poem any more than it is the end of
any work of art.
One analyzes a poem into its parts precisely in order
to show that in so far as the poem is good the parts are
not separated. The end of the separation of form and
matt.er in aesthetics is to show how they are fused, and
thus that they are fu sed. And it is in the awareness of
the greater or lesser happiness of the marriage that our
criteria of criticism are formulated. If the fo rm and the
matter are finally divorc·eable, the two have not after all
become one flesh; and we know we are dealing not with
a poem, but with a temporary rendezvous.
Mr. Matthiessen's triumph was not the identifying
of certain images and the citing examples where they
are found, a task which any literate person may perform, but it was the showing of how these images are
related to each other; how they develop; how in the
sleep-walking scene we are dealing not only with the
dramatic climax and most popular scene but also with
the consummation of the poetic art; how in a tru·e compound of action, proposition, and imagery we may get
at any one of the three from any other; and finally how,
when this is true, we may know we h ave before us a
dramatic poem.
The eminent lecturer's work reminds us implicitly
that there are three kinds of illiterates: thos·e who cannot read the trees for the forest; those who cannot read
the for.est for the trees; and those who cannot read . The
last ar·e the simple illiterates, and they are found at all
academic levels. Of the two more complex cases, the
form er usually do not occur before the sophomore level
in college, but the latter crop up earlier and may then
be perennial. It has been recorded that some mild cases
of the two complex varieties have now and again been
reached by the simpl·e therapy of considering the statement and converse of an ancient Mongolian reprimand.
Some of the poetry but little of the force is lost in
translation. "You may be philosophically astute, Chung
Chow, but philologically you've naive."
JottN LoGAN
Page 5
JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
Sans Euclid (Before St. John's)
1.
Streets in the rain,
Like a dusty cheek washed clean,
Smelling of drowned heat and trouble,
Stop still the moment, pa~se,
.
Weary minds, driving hearts, innocent JOY ·
2.
The lamp leans left to light,
A hand of cards, a table,
A glass half full, two faces,
And a forgotten hour.
3.
Money lost, money earned,
Wept for, earned, lost again,
yearned for, carried careless,
The money lost, remembered less.
4.
A cool wind coming in the heat,
As sleep after labor;
A cool wind in the heat,
As sleep from trouble,
Came that hour.
The hour troubled with
.
Light lost from the day;
The hour troubled with darkness coming,
A beast after prey.
The troubled night on the tracks of the sun,
Joined by a cool wind.
.
The beast night came to the stillness to creep,
Gathering its fellows to the hunt,
.
The beast bringing Darkness, Fear, Loneliness.
The beast night bringing sharp blades
Sheated in a cool wind.
J. 0. DuNN
Penumbra
It is fulfillment, people say, but I
Turn and see nothing now determinate
Not landmarks nor the holy tracts of sky,
By which the bearings of the world were set.
Needle and Thread; Esquisse
(Continued from page 12)
but he returned to the box which he had recently op:ned
and lifted out a dark blue velvet jac~et a.nd a. camisole
of tan linen. He took off his own shirt hngenngly b~t
overcame any further reluctance and. quickly dropped it
on a chair. An excitement ran to his fingers as he put
on the camisole. He fastene~ the ruff at neck a~~
wrists, and again caught a glimpse of the book stt
lying at the other end of the room. He walke~ over ~o
it, stooped down and picked it up, replaced ~t on t e
shelf, walked to the lamp and dimmed the hght, and
then switched on the music.
l d
Saxaphones coughed and ~issonant trumpets grow e.
and then a plucking harpsichord softly s_ettled at his
hand and quietly filling and slowly becoming the rlom
was transformed into a stately antichamber of a pa ace
facing the Apennines. On·e feels the snow yet, CI.eme~t
spoke aloud. He put on the jacket and ~oved abo~t t e
room this time in time with the ?1-usic. How like a
Titian I feel, no, more like a Bronzmo I must look. He
had to put a stop to the music, and then sat on t~e bed
to weep, to cry over the past. He. took off the 3acket,
but as he was unbuttoning the camisole, the second bu~
ton from the throat fell to the floor an~ he sob~ed as ~t
rolled toward a floor register' hurt!ed down into t e
furnace, into the black pit to melt into dust, to freely
commingle with the ashes of the wood, the paper, t~e
coal and occasional scraps of garbage not fed to t e
rabbits the dogs and the yellow cat.
Alb:rt will be angry, I promised to have my aunt
look ov·er his costume and s·eW all torn seams and match
any missing buttons, Clement sighed. He turr:ed up the
light and pulled at the table draw:er so that it tottered
at the edge of its runners. Ther·e m back of the paperbound copy of Calderon he found a little box and took
from its varied contents a needle and thread and a frest
piece of twin·e. He picked u_p the button ~rom the tab e
and clumsily sewed it on the costume shirt. Almos~ a
perfect match except for the thr~ad which was olive
drab. He fo lded the shirt and peke~ carefully and
neatly arranged them in the box; the. ltd. r~placed and
the twine straightened and intact h~ tied it mto a kn~t
which all the force of his ingenuity would allow his
fingers to devise.
RoBERT FLoTTEMESCH .
-
- -- 10--
--
Hoodlum
Before deception over mountains tossed
A zealot dawn, as if the gods had met.
To gather brands for heaven's holocaust
And tint bewildered valleys violet.
Man, the rational animal,
Blots out his spark
And throws his doting father
Into an early grave.
Our loss comes bringing late tobacco cans
And pipes and all utensils of regret;
It is fulfillment, people say, of plans
T hat seem to me indeed penultimate.
Leaving his bits of bone
At every intersection
He tears the street names down,
Or twists to forty -five degrees
.
The thing whereby he could have saved himself·
F. L.
SANTEE.
G. M.
SHEPHARD.
�Page 6
ST.
JOHN'S
Sonnets (Continued)
v
III
If you would turn your heart towards the sun
Whose glow gives shadows now to earthly things
But then makes past the future deeds undone
Whose doing comes from dreams where we are kings:
If you would be free from Death's congealing fears,
And know the warmth of mirrored hidden love,
Fulfilling wildest hopes of tearful years,
Protected now: the hand in silken glove:
Then listen to the song of shepherds fair,
Addressed to Love, yet born of love's caress,
And feel the gum of arak in your hair
And breathe the pale incense of loneliness.
The love baptized in rays of mid-day sun
Cannot, by Luna's madness, be undone.
IV
When youth has fled unseen with setting sun
And age dictates the queries of my heart,
(Of what has been, which way the passions run)
To halt the ebb which orders us apart:
When with each day your misted mirror clears,
Unbroken yet, though all enchantment fliesOf too pure hands now stained with blood of years
Which tried too late to make love out of lies:
Then Holy Blood of Christ is our refuge,
Received from hands ordained to our one hope,
That, saved from flesh's ensnaring subterfuge,
We may, in love, hide 'neath Our Saviour's cope.
Thus, love revealed in sacrifice and pain
Absolves us yet, to r·e nder less the stain.
When hearts have ceased to beat taboos of pain
And night becomes for us the crib of fear,
When sherried plumage drives us out in rain
To seek in sodden leaves at half-past year
The woven dreams now sprung in mystic web,
Which yesterday were one with soft green hill,
Becoming now, yet flowing on the ebb
With nymphs of madness waiting for the kill:
Then chant, my dr·eamer, now of crippled loveThe wound by haunting images lain bare,
Instilled by cruel reminders from aboveWith A Ye' s, dose to soul-mate of despair.
Before the gulf of tim·e had cast us out
The bridge of time destroyed itself in doubt.
VI
I now can repent to gods of Nature's Being,
Repent the blindness born of earth's despair
With shadow pains, dancing without seeing
Suns whose light made shepherds, once, aware:
And shrouded thus in shadows from false light
They fled from gods whose image they had cursed
To find in man a god of vicious might
And clothe him in hope, the quencher of their thirst.
But now my love is found in tender fields:
We sleep ~t last, laughing at frauded wrath,
And lyre and lute protect us here: Pan's shields,
And dancing nymphs insure the careless path.
The shadows of false faith have lost the race
To noon of love, eternal noon of grace.
ANDREW DEWING.
----o-- - -
Parallax
Sinc·e there are so many bad lectures, it was wonderful to hear Mr. Klein (who, of course, never misses)
giv·e a good one. In the first place, it was instructive.
That is to say, it contained things that none of us knew
before, things important for us to learn, things that we
could hardly have learned otherwise. In the second
place, it was clear. In the third place, its clarity was
not such as to leave us with the impression that we
had seen or understood everything about the Copernican
revolution.
The problem that was the basis for the lecture was
the problem of why Copernicus' theory came to be generally accepted among reasonable men by 1620. When
Rheticus in 1540 published the first account of Copernicus' theory was any more right than Ptolemy's. Copernicus' transformation of Ptolemy was not based on observations. I t was accomplished, not through looking at
the sky, but through looking at Ptolemy's geometrical
diagrams and shifting the circles about. In 1610 Galileo did look at the sky with a telescope, and while he
saw c·ertain things that made it impossible any longer
to accept Ptolemy's account as true, he did not see anything that made it necessary to accept Copernicus' account as true . The phases of Venus and of the other
Page 7
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
COLLEGIAN
planets could not be explained unless the planets revolved
around the sun. But it was not necessary to suppose
that the earth revolved around the sun. One could have
held the theory of Tycho Brahe that Mercury, Venus,
Mars, Jupiter and Saturn revolve about the sun, while
the sun with its system of planets revolves about the
immovable earth. N ·evertheless, while all educated men
knew of Brahe's theory, none of t hem accepted it. E vidence for the rotation of the earth was not given until
1661 when the Foucault pendulum was anticipated. It
was, therefore, not on the basis of evidence that thinking men of the 16th and early 17th centuries took Copernicus as true.
Then why did they? Mr. Klein made four interesting guesses as to the answer to this question. The :first
was that these men were fascinated with the idea of
:finding in man or in man's home, i.e., the earth, the
measure of the universe . In Copernicus the apparent
diurnal rotation of the sphere of the fixed stars is understood as the rotation of the earth. The apparent annual revolution of the sun around the earth is understood as the r·evolution of the earth around the sun.
The Ptolemaic epicycles for the outer planets all become identified with the one orbit of the earth. Rheticus informs us that Copernicus calied this the ''great
. " If we once gain the . initial understanding that
or bit.
h d·
the appearances are due to us an~ to our eart an its
· n we have a basis for mapping the system of the
motio '
.
Kl ·
· d
em pomte o_
ut
world. In the question period Mr.
that for Copernicus it was not so much that the apearances are false and the theory true as t~at the ~p
p ranees have to be interpreted from the pomt _of view
pfea n as the measure. Copernicus' thinking, like that
o ma
d
. 1. h
f 0 many moderns was secon intennona m t e sense
~ha~ the theory which makes it possible to understand
the appearances is not directly related to the appearances. Giordano Bruno opposed the acceptanc·e of Co.
pernicus ' astronomy as hypothesis rather than 1truth on
b
h ground that unless it were true, man wou d not e
~h: measuring creature. Johann Kepler, who accepted,
modified, and enlarged Copernicus' astronomy, fou:id
among terrestrial things all kinds of meas.ures .with
which to attempt the measurement of celesttal thmgs.
The second possible reason for the acceptance of C?pernicus' astronomy was that it mad: the sun _cent~;l m
the unive rse. Mr. Klein quoted Rheticus as saymg, Ur:der the commonly accepted principles of astronomy 1t
would seem that all cel·estial phenomena correspond to
the mean motion of the sun . . . . Hence the sun was
called by the ancients "lea der " and " gove~nor. " · · ·
Whether it does this as God rules the umverse or ~s
God's administrator seems not determined. I leave this
to geometers and philosophers . . . ." ~y teacher (C~
pernicus) is convinced that_ the re1ect10n ~f the suns
rule mu st be revised." This and other ev1de~ce sh?w
that Copernicus thought of the sun as ~he way m w~ic~
God rules the whole universe. Rhet1cus, Copernicus
pupil, directly influ.enced Campanell~ who wrote "The
City of the Sun" (a title that immediately suggests that
"Sun" is substituted for "God" ) and in it taught that
in order to know God we have to contemplate him in
the image of the sun. This meam a rejection of the
traditional Christian teaching about God.
It was connected with the third reason for the acceptance of Copernicus which was simply that his new
astronomy was in opposition to the _ old. The gr·e at
thinkers of the 16th and 17th centuries were poss·essed
by a spirit of eristic.
It is ther-efore somewhat strange that the fourth
possibl: explanatio'n for the fact that , people so quickly
believed Cope~nicus without evidence is that they assumed a certain point of Christian teaching, namely
the infinity of God. Plato and Aristotl·e had tau~h~ t~at
God is :finite and that t he universe is. The Chnst1amty
of the Middle Ages had rejected the first ?ut not the
second. During the century after Copernicus c:rtain
men came to the conclusion that there was an inconsistency in this. Bruno argued, "If the first principle
is the creator of the world, he is an infinite one and the
creator of an infinite eff ect." Copernicus had not asserted that the universe is infinite, but he had suggested
that it is. Moreover, he had taken a step in the direction of such an assertion. For if his theory were to be
true, the sphere of the fixed stars would have to be at
a distance from its center many, many times greater
than it would have had to be in the commonly held
Ptolemaic theory. Indeed, it was on this ground that
Tycho Brahe rejected the Copernican theory.
.
Now I suppose that most of us accept. C?pemicus.
Why do we? We might want to say .that_ it is because
we now have evidence that was lackmg m 1620: the
Foucault pendulum, Bessel's observation of the parallax
of the stars. On the other hand, it may be that some of
the factors that entered into the thinking of the men
of the 16th and 17th centuries are present in our own
thinking. Mr. Klein's lecture makes us ask such qu~s
tions as: How can the universe be measured, that. is,
known? Can it be measured by man's turning to htmself? And if not, is there some ot~er w_ay; Is th~ sun
the ruler of the universe? Is God m:fimte. And if so,
does this imply that the universe is infi~ite?
Can we with our small measure of mtellectual cour'
·
·
age wrestle with these questions ? G o11 Y·1
.
J. w. s.
'
----o-----
Nativity
maddening!
Maddening fray . . . to wit:The thing has passed
has gone to find itself
amongst the bones.
All cry the heartiest from the
tops'l:
Find' it yourself!
What? . . . Is it only a few?
Realty . . .
if
you-
T ouching my fore head and enveloped
by my two hands
I feel
the cold sand-finished
steel of my typewriterWitch! Omen of
my destruction!
Chiding me with your cold response!
. . . Your light
facility, your narcotic
facility beckons
and I am numb with rejoicing.
R.
D rxo N
Fox.
- - - - o -- - -
A Repo rt on the Meeti ng
"The Future of Negro Highe r
Education in Ma ryland"
Equality of opportunity is one of the m~st distinctive of American ideals . We boast that ours is the land
of equality, of opportunity for all, yet, whi.le we_ exalt
this noble ideal, we violate it at a most crucial pomt of
action-the provision of fair educational opportunity fo r
all. We know that the quality and amount of education the person receives will largely determine his fut~re
success. We know that education should be a ma1or
�Page 8
ST.
JOHN'S
force in dissolving class lines and in equalizing the condition of men, yet, in many parts of our land, it accentuates class differences and creates disparities in the
condition of men which strike at the very foundation of
our American way of life. No pattern of education
which fails to take account of this un-American situation can be called sound.
In seventeen stat·es and the District of Columbia, separate schools for races has been fully determined by
decisions of the United States Supreme Court. However, it is held by the Supreme Court that equality of
educational opportunity for all is required. It is alarming, however, when we examine America's universal educational set-up to discover the vast inequalities which
exist between the education of whites and the education of Negroes. It is a matter of common knowledge
as well as of statistical fact, that equality of educational
opportunity in most of the states maintaining separate
and equal schools has not been a reality. Adequate
funds have not been, and within any reasonable length
of time, cannot be made available for educational purposes in a majority of the states affected by this problem.
Approximately two hundred interested citizens assembled in the Annapolis Town Hall, Tuesday, April 20,
to witness a discussion of the problem as it affects the
State of Maryland-a discussion of ''The Future of
Negro Higher Education in -Maryland"-a discussion,
not a debate, as was made explicitly dear by both principles involved. Dr. Martin D . Jenkins and Dr. H. C.
Byrd, presidents, respectively, of Morgan State College and the University of Maryland, shared the platform during a two hour s.ession which was crowned with
an extremely heated period of questions and answers.
In his forty minute address which opened the discussion, Dr. Jenkins viewed both graduate and undergraduate education for Negroes in Maryland, placing emphasis on the condition of Princess Anne College, a Negro undergraduate school, now contro!l.ed by the University of Maryland. He noted that there has been
much controversy as to how long the college has been
under the control of the University of Maryland, but
over the fact that it has been shamefully neglected by
the university and is a very poor institution, there has
been little controversy. Dr. Jenkins then spent considerable time discussing whether this college at Princess
Anne should be developed as an institution for higher
learning for Negroes.
There followed next, a discussion of the regional plan
of education for Negroes, a plan which Dr. Jenkins
rejects, believing it to place Negroes in no better a place
than they are in with the out-of-state scholarships. Under this regional plan, fourteen states are expected to
pool their resources in order to provide educational opportunities which alone they could not afford. It is
interesting to note that if the regional plan were to be
put into operation, serious legal questions would be completely ignored. It has be·en ruled by the Supreme Court
that thes.e states must supply educational facilities for
ST.
COLLEGIAN
Negroes which are equal to those provided for the
whites. This necessitates the admission of Negroes to
white universities and colleges or the development of
separate but equal facilities for Negroes. The court
says, however, that the states must provide equal facilities within the borders of their own state. Obviously,
the regional plan is a contradiction of this law.
Dr. Jenkins included in his talk a statement of the
policy of the University of Maryland with regard to
the acceptance or rejection of Negro students. The
statement began as follows:
"Students apply for admission to the graduate and
professional courses and degrees of the University of
Maryland are now being accepted or rejected on the
basis of their educational qualifications, character, and
other factors that are common to the admission of students, regardless of race, color, or creed. This is the
present policy of the University as indicated by the
president's explicit instructions to the dean of the professional and graduate schools."
The University's purpose in issuing this statement is
unclear, as Dr. Byrd was heard to say later on in the
meeting:
"It is perfectly true what the Board of Regents says
about not going to exclude any student because he is a
Negro, or because of race or religion. What the Board
didn't say, but what it had in mind and has sinoe amplified on, was where the boy or girl is to be educated.
Whether at Morgan G:illege or Princess Anne or Bowie
or College Park is another question the Board has not
decided."
At the conclusion of Dr. Jenkins' address, Dr. H. C.
Byrd took the platform and outlined his side of the
story, attempting throughout to impress upon the audienc·e that he is merely a creature of the legislature,
having no influence in it, whatsoever. Dr. Byrd maintains that he has consistently supported Negro education. Indicative of the type of improvement for which
Dr. Byrd has been responsible is the College at Princess
Anne, Maryland, which is under the control of the
University of Maryland. Despite the fact that he is,
as we all well know, interested in the improvement of
Negro education, there are powerful interests which
prevent him from enrolling Negroes at the University,
and Dr. Bryd feels that it would be very unwise to arouse
the antagonism of the preponderant public opinion which
opposes uns·egregated education. Dr. Byrd is an honorable man, and we have no just reason to doubt the validity of this statement. However, someone of the
audience seemed to doubt whether the preponderant
public opinion does oppose an unsegregated system and
challenged Dr. Byrd during the question period. Dr.
Byrd suggested to the gentleman that a bill be submitted to popular referendum to test the truth of his
statement.
Although Dr. Byrd maintains that higher education
should be made equally accessible to all citizens of
Maryland, he believes it to be economically impossible
at the present time, to establish a Negro school in the
JOHN'S
the equal of the University of Maryland. It seems
state ,
h U ·
follow from this statement that the doors of t e m~~rsity should be .op:ned to Ne?roe~; <?f this,. Dr. Jenkins had said earlier m the me·etmg, It ts amusm~ to .me
h t the community won't allow them at the Umvers1ty,
n they attend the Naval Academy, when they attend
~t.e John's College, wher: ~hey. attend ~ohn~s ~opki~s
University-the most distmgmshed university m this
state-when they attend Loyola College without question and nothing happens."
But admitting Negroes to the University of Maryland presents too many difficulties to be feasibl·e, said
Dr. Byrd, failing to find time to enumerate them.
During the fiery question period which closed the
Town M·eeting, a gentleman in the audience presented a
case involving himself. He stated that he is working
on his Ph.D. in educational science, and that because
the Univ·ersity of Maryland failed to permit him to pursue his studies there, he was forced to arise early in the
morning, twice a week, to attend classes at the U niv·ersity of Pennsylvania. Dr. Byrd replied that the University of Maryland does not offer courses leading to a
doctorate in educational science. The man in the audience then stated that he knew it to be a fact that there
is a white student now working on his doctorate in
education a the University of Maryland.
Another one of the audience point.ed out to Dr. Byrd
that the Supreme Court handed down a decision in
1938 (in the Lloyd Gaines Case) that all states must
establish equal educational benefits for all its citizens.
"This was eleven years ago," the questioner pointed out,
"how much longer is it going to take this state to establish equal educational benefits?" Dr. Byrd replied,
"Where're you from?"
t:
MARTIN
A
DYER.
----O ---•
You Shall Well and Truly Try
A
DocuMENTARY
The sun cut a slating mote-filled streak through the
dry air of the courtroom. It touched the shoulders of
Colonel Roberts, the prosecutor, warmed the polished
alnut benches on the south side of the room, teased its
way through drawn vene.tian blinds and splattered on
the heads of the jurors in the box and the civil offenders
before the bar.
It was the fourth day of superio~ court. The five
panels of jurors had listened to ·cas·es of spe·eding, theft,
perjury, manslaughter, violations of the public school
law and the liquor law, and forty-s·even divorc·es, all of
which they had granted. Then men in the box rocked,
chewed, spat, swung their feet, picked their teeth, sucked
snuff, and rubbed their chins.
Colonel Roberts, sitting bullnecked over his files,
checked his convictions smugly and called the next case.
Mary Ann Jones. Come around, Mary Ann.
. She was a stocky little woman, nervous, her hands
tight on her black purs·e, the sweat starting on her black
face even before she stepped into the barred rays of
COLLEGIAN
Page 9
t!-ie October sun. The few colored spectators on the back
benches of the far left corner shuffied in their seats.
Mary Ann, do you hav·e a lawyer? No suh, ah
haven't. Ah ... Colonel Hutchins. Colonel Hutchins,
will you act as lawyer for Mary Ann?
The charge wasn't pronounced loudly enough for any
of the spectators to hear. Colonel Hutchins, holding his
brown-rimmed pince-nez, questioned Mary Ann briefly,
shrugg·ed, and motioned her to the prosecutor's desk to
sign her plea.
She enters a plea of guilty, Your Honor.
The judge stopped swinging his glass·es and put them
on. Lawyers continued their whispered bantering in
front of the bar, and Mary Ann stood silent and tense,
her hands moving over the fabric of her purse. Two
hundred dollar fine and thirty days in jail, the thirty
days to be suspended pending further order of the court.
I don't want to hear anything more from that house of
yours over there, you understand.
Colonel Hutchins rolted his unlighted cigar to one
corner of his mouth and motioned Mary Ann to the
clerk's desk, then settled sardonically to his paper again.
A juror shifted in his chair and looked cynically at his
neighbor. Two hundred for illicit relations! Lord, wonder why they picked her outa all those niggers? And
the sun descended slowly, its brightness crossing the
courtroom, the jovial camaraderie of the lawyers, the
rustling impatience of the spectators, almost reaching
the left benches wher·e the Negroes sat in respectful,
sober silence.
On Friday morning the courtroom was restive with
people. Negroes shuffied in, fac·es quiet as black water,
and filled the benches on the left side. On the middle
and right-hand benches were alternat·e jurors, loafers,
painters, carpenters, farmers, and some women. A few
unchaperoned school children straggled in, took the best
seats they could find, fidgeted, giggled, decided they'd
learned enough about court, and left bdore the proce~dings started. And John Crumpy was led in through
the swinging door at the left of the judge's hench, a
big fellow with cropped hair and dark smooth skin, led
in and seated beside his lawyer. He sat there, arms
scrunched to his sides, while the prosecutor' tentorian
question "Are you conscientiously oppos.ed to capital
punishment?" echoed and reechoed from the mottled
granite walls, trembled heavy over mumbl.ed consultations by defense and offense, over the judge's crisp "Accepted by the defendant," "Excus.ed by the defendant,"
until the jury of twelv·e white men had been passed and
seat·ed in a sobered silent courtroom.
John C. Crumpy, colored, accused of the murder of
Andrew Jackson Henry, colored, on the fifth of September, this year.
Mary Ann Jones, come around.
There was no doubt that Andrew Jackson Henry was
dead, no doubt that he was dead as a result of cuts
made by John C. Crumpy. Mary Ann was the prosecutor's witness, and she told her story in a low pursed
voice.
�Pag·e 10
ST.
JOHN'S
Yes, suh, ah run a boa'din house. John Crumpy had
a room there. No suh, Andrew Henry didn't room
there. Bout leven o'clock that mo'nin John come in the
back doah and went in the bedroom. No suh, the front
doah wasn't locked. He said it was but it wasn't. Ah
went in the be.droom after him an he had Andrew Henry
on the floah back of the bed. He was makin strokes
at him with a knife. Mary Ann rubbed a handkerchief
across her forehead, but she answered the questions
steadily. Yes suh, he was sayin somethin. He was sayin
"Ah'm goina kill you." She held the handkerchief in
her hand, crumpling it. Yes suh, that pocketknife, that's
the knife.
Exhibit one, Your Honor. Prosecutor Rol::erts snapped
open the two inch blade and placed in significantly on
the table. Proc·eed, Mary Ann.
Well, he was jus makin strokes on Andrew Henry
with the knif.e, on the leg, ah guess, but ah couldn't se·e
cause he was behind the bed. Then he pulled him from
behind the bed an went after the doctor, but Andrew
Henry was dead when the doctor got there.
The defense took over then, Colonel Mitchell, in -a
faultless brown suit and bow tie. And the audience
stirred a little, brightening. He's a good o~e, he is .
He'll pull something .
Colonel Mitchell glanced jovially at his audience, then
at Mary Ann. Now, Mary Ann, had Andrew Jackson
Henry been in the house before? Y.es suh. And had
John Crumpy warned him to stay away? Yes suh, he
had. Now then, Mary Ann, tell us how you wet·e
dressed at eleven o'clock that morning. Why, ah was
dressed, ah had on a dress . No suh, ah wasn't in the
bedroom when John Crumpy come in. Ah was someplace else. John jus come in an went in the bedroom,
but ah wasn't in there.
Colonel Mitchell paused to half turn to his audience,
one eyebrow cocked, waiting for attention. Now, Mary
Ann, you and John have been living together as man
and wife, haven't you? Mary Ann's mouth pursed up
a little tighter m her plain black fac·e, and she looked
away. Now come, Mary Ann, we know you have; you
just have to say yes. The lawyer turned again, half
toward his audience, half toward the jury, his eyelids
lowered mockingly. Well then, have you be.en sleeping
together? No suh, John has his bed and ah have mine.
Well, now Mary Ann, we don't want to embarrass you,
but have you, say, been visiting from bed to bed? The
audience tittered and the judged rapped for order, and
Mary Ann Jones answered low, yes, we have.
Yes, suh, for thryee years. It was earier to answer,
now she'd said it once. Yes, suh, ah've been married
befoah. Al Jones, first . He died. An then ah married
Geo'ge Peters an we got a divo' ce after a while. Yes
suh, ah r·eckon people knows about John and me.
Colonel Mitchell took the audience into his confidence with a glance. Your Honor, I wish to bring it
to the attention of the court that people knew of the
relation between John Crumpy and Mary Ann, and accepted it. John's employer and his wife here (white),
COLLEGIAN
this juror over here (white) , the police (white) , and
the negrahs who lived around them. These people have
known and tacitly approved their relation for three
years. And in this state, Colonel Mitchell tapped at the
place in a law book, a common law marriage can be
made by two parties making such an agreement followed
by cohabitation. I submit that a common law marriage
existed.
Prosecutor Roberts ros·e scowling, whipping at Mary
Ann with questions. You pleaded guilty to illicit relations with John Crumpy yesterday. Do you mean to
tell me today that you are his common law wife?
Mary Ann rubbed the white fabric of her handkerchief above the rim of her glasses. Ah never knew what
common law marriage meant. Ah didn't know til ah
asked mah lawyer. He to! me to plead guilty yesterday
and ah never knew ·about common law marriage. No
suh, ah don't remember when ah asked him. Ah don't
know whether it was befoa!1 or after ah pleaded guilty.
No suh, ah don't remember.
This made good listening. The audience leaned forward eagerly w!-iile the prosecutor blustered and Colonel
Mitchell banteringly objected to Ro~erts cross-questioning his own witness. And Mary Ann stepped down,
wiping off her brow with the crumpled handkerchief.
The sheriff gave his testimony, the date, the cuts on
Henry's leg, that H .enry was dead when he got there.
Then John Crumpy took the stand, raising his hand
while Colonel Mitchell gave him instructions. You are
allowed to make a statement in your own defense. You
are not under oath and you will not be asked any questions. Make your statement.
Yes suh. John lowered his hand and gripped his cap.
It was mah house. Ah bought it an Mary Ann ran it as
a boa' din hous·e. Ah come home from work bout leven
that mo'nin an tried the front doah. But it was locked
so ah went round an went in the back doah. Then ah
went in the bedroom an found Andr.ew Henry in there,
round to the other side an under the bed. So ah pulled
him out an began cutting on his leg. Ah didn't want
to kill him, jus hurt him a little. Punish him. He'd
been there befoah an ah'd tol him to stay away. Then
when ah saw he was hurt bad ah went for a doctor, but
the doctor din't get there in time . Ah didn't mean to
kill him.
Suddenly he was crying, a twisted lonely sound in the
high-c·eilinged hostile courtroom.
When Mary Ann came down from the stand she was
crying a little, and he had reached up and caught her,
patting her awkwardly on the shoulder, while she leaned
ov·er and pressed her face against his cheek. John came
down from the stand to sit beside his white lawyer, crying uncomforted, his sobs muffled in his handkerchief.
He pulled himself together enough to listen to the
case for the state. Prosecutor Roberts gave his speech
with a kind of bulldog persistence, worrying each statement with humorless repetition. He pounded his fist
in his palm and waved the boarding house license a11d
Mary Ann's indictment in front of the jury. Would
ST.
JOHN'S
COLLEGIAN
Page. 11
Mary Ann be using her name of Jones, or the name of
her s·econd husband, Peters, on this boarding house
licenS<e, if she really felt she was che wife of John CrumPY? Of course not, she would call herself Mary Ann
Crumpy. She would take out this license in the name
of Mary Ann Crumpy. She would be known to her
neicrhbors as Mary Ann Crumpy. And would a reputabfe lawyer, as we know Colonel Hutchins to be, advis.e Mary Ann to enter a plea of guilty to a charge
0 f illicit relations, if, in reality, she were John Crumpy' s
common law wife? He would not. If he did, that
lawyer ought to be disbarred. No r·eputable lawyer
would advise such a plea if he really thought a common
law marriage existed. No, Mary Ann and John Crumpy
were not living together as man and wife, and John
Crumpy attacked Andr.ew Henry in jealousy, not in defens~ of his wife and his home.
The prosecutor rose to the height of dogged oratory.
I would not take the power of mercy from the jury,
not if I could. But John Crumpy showed no mercy
toward Andrew Henry, and he should pay for a life with
his life. He went after a doctor, he says. I could shoot
a man in the heart and then go after a doctor, but that
wouldn't be mercy. Let's not make human life so cheap,
he cried, shaking his fist at the jury, not even if it is a
warning not to come in his house again. But this shiftless negrah enters John Crumpy's house, the place which
John has a right to def end. You would do the same
thing if you were in John Crumpy's plac·e, and you
would be right to do so.
The sun was again slanting across the courtroom,
brightening the dusty air, reaching toward the quiet
black pool of negroes. And Colonel Mitchell spoke to
the people under the touch of the sun. .This is a white
man's country, and I hope to God it's always a white
man's country. This is a white jury, a white prosecutor,
and a white man defending this negrah before a white
judge. And that's the way it should be. But even a
negrah is entitled to the same justic·e as a white man,
and that's what I'm asking, a white man's justice.
John Crumpy was crying again, almost silently, sitting before the bar with white people all around him.
He heard his sentenc·e later, quite calmly-five years at
labor for the state. He had already heard the harshest
part when his lawyer spoke for him. This is a white
man's country, and I hope to God it always is.
D. L. HAMMERSCH MIDT.
nigger's.
John Crumpy, Negro, sat with his head bowed, his
face a dark blank. And Colonel Mitchell got up for the
r,ebuttal.
As he leaned over his work table a button dropped
from his shirt and bounced several times before coming
to rest, and shining with the lustre of imitation pearl
reflected the late sun catching those rays which seemed
to linger across the red stained surface of the oak table.
Slowly losing its hold the sun nevertheless made him
feel: I will return to strike bold outlines, to sharpen
contrasts, to brighten up your life, to expose everything,
and if I must I will destroy you whether you remain
in that tiny room or come down into the familiar street.
Your ally is the night but it gives you no comfort, and
will proclaim to you only the loss of your own identity .
He picked up the button and at the same time smild
at the tableau conjured up of the three fatal ladies
mechanized and producing more than was demanded
of them. He laid the button aside and the image faded
as the symbol died, but he looked for the position on his
shirt at which the button had come loose : second below
the top, and then pulled at the drawer of the table and
exposed to his eye and hand a calendar which could be
reshuffled for centuries, a deck of cards, a pair of scissors and a Buenos Aires edition of a Calderon play. He
remov.ed the deck and had laid three cards face down
when a telephone began to ring somewhere in the house.
He counted to six and it stopped ringing. What am I
doing with these cards, what do they mean, what can I
possibly make them mean? It was no longer a question
of probability.
Clement Martel had been wandering for two decades
and that they had been two of the most important of
his century he did not doubt, but in reality it was not a
... question of time for in retrospect engulfed by dream he
might hav·e come into the room twenty minutes ago.
What was a lifetime in man's most sensory ·experience:
He was a casual master of defense. He looked whimsically at the jury, the audience, the prosecutor. He
shouted, whispered, joked, slapped the jurors on their
kne·es, shook his index fingers like a boy playing machine-gunner. He flourished the boarding house license,
the indictment to which Mary Ann had pleaded guilty
the day before, and the law book.
Mary Ann didn't know what the term common law
marriage meant. Colonel Mitchell's voice punched an
irregular emphasis. Of course she used the names of
Jones and Peters. Those were the names by which she
was known; the names under which she had taken out
iicenses for a boarding house before she knew John
Crumpy. But Mary Ann and John have lived together
as husband and wife. For three years. John testified
that he owned the house which she ran, and . under the
law he has a right to defend his habitation and his wife
from attack. You would have that right, he leveled his
arm at the jury, you would be justified in killing a man
who entered your house with the purpose of violating
your property or your wife, and you would be acquitted
u.nder the law. John Crumpy should have the same
tt.ght, even if he is a negrah. John could have made
his cuts to Andrew Henry's heart, but instead he cut
the back of his leg, where he was least likely to kill.
~olonel Mitchel's voice became smooth. John Crumpy
is a good steady negrah. He has a job, and he works
stea~y at it. And while he is gone, working, a good-fornothing, shiftless negrah enters the home where he has
been forbidden to go. John Crumpy had given him
----o----
Needle and Thread; Esquisse
�Page 12
ST.
JOHN'S
love? How probable was his existence in time or out of
time? Could Al Quinn have been serious when he said
that I was incapable of playing games, that I took life
too seriously by playing it like a game and disbelieved
his avowed success even in attempting to villify and
exalt the artificial? A. S. Quinn was preparing his rol.e
as king or courtier or traitor, no matter which just so
long as he was allowed the greatest freedom in choosing
a costume prderably of satin and paste, or pearls and
velvet touched here and there with a patch or two of the
fur of an ott·er. Monstrous conceit Albert had screamed
slapped across Clement's face and had walked off. But
being left alone was the embarrassment for Clement: 0
wash the pain of dying friendship from my face with
tears when I am not alone. Will I learn to trust no
man? Clement hoped.
So wandering through the cold chipped years, since
he remembered only the coldness of the temperate world
and avoided the gatherings of heated discussion, Clement
had returned to the tiny room and locked himself away
afraid of the d.:: · fearing it as a harbinger of the plague
or madness, and set about the task of returning to a far
more distant past in which he felt more like a man of
his world. But what was his world if he as he already
denied had little to do with past, present and future?
Now at this moment ther·e is no past, no pr·esent, no
future perfect. Certainly I have no time for clocks and
sand, let the days measure off themselves, and don't remember for if you do you will have to admit a past.
For some positive is as bad as negative in the minds of
others. I will proclaim the symbol only by rising above
it. Ascend then to the top of the mountain where it is
cold and lonely. Cold and lonely are symbols: I have
not succeeded. I miss the sun already.
He turned to a large pasteboard box tied taut with
heavy string and proceeded to untie the knot. The
light which came through the windows was soft, hazy
and how he wished he could have thought parisian. That
was the only European city he knew well, perhaps he
had known it too well and had taken it so much for
granted' that he would never be able to go back and in
any event never alone. That would be the place to die,
he thought, if one wer·e old and tired and still reasonable.
How graceful one might be there in guittin:s the sun for
the shade. Think of all those lovely shade trees dusty
with August, but remember how bored you were so
much so that you had to visit the Carnavalet or somesuch museum and gaze at the cast-off finery of once
famous feet and shoulders, delicately infamous thighs
and breasts and Johanna the Mad's ivory and gold filigre·e toothpick. The knot defied his well-pared nails
and nervous fingers. He reached for the scissors and
severed the cord, and pulled off the cover of the box,
swept back the tissue paper and falling under a spell
gazed at the contents.
A few moments later Clement thinking all that glitters
is not brass dragged a tall lamp imitation Italian across
the room to .his table and 3ooded his presence with three
hundred and sixty light bulb watts. He immediately f.elt
that in this room he would always find the correct setting. Except for the writing table all the furniture was
COLLEGIAN
painted a dull black, the walls and ceiling were gray
as was the floor which was covered entirely by a soft
wool rug. Only books with the most brilliantly colored
of covers were in evidence and the pictures which hung
on the walls ran the full range of a pure palette. On
successive days Clement might conceive for himself the
neoessity of a stained glass setting or one of breughel
madness or mockery or the dry dust of a choking death,
but at this particular moment the room belonged to no
period and yet could very easily have fitted into any.
He pulled from the bookshelf a thin leather-bound
volume: green-dyed leather smooth to the fingers, soft
to the cheek, strong to the eyes, weakly aromatic to the
mind. It was a copy of The Lover Pursued by Cassandra Maria Helena Esdava of Torino and Touraine.
Clement was in the proc·ess of translating the book and
opened to the triangular marker of rough brown leather
Here I Fell Asleep embossed in gold leaf to page twenty.
six and began to read aloud the translations of three
poems on that page which he had rendered through the
heat of the previous summer. He read:
''I begin the day bountifully, from midnight no sleep;
all has become diabolic planning, and yet it is as if all
of the past belongs to the d·evil and now that I belong
to the devil I belong to myself: no longer does evil
exist becaus·e I am evil."
·
He continued:
"The dance of death is the only music which r·eaches
my ears, my blood: I wish today as I balk with a
growl at the rim of the lake with a kitten at d:e fo ot
of the way . . . ."
Another \lersion of the same:
" I stalk and I prowl, I grimace and I shake, but smitten with the thought I walk upright into my way·
wardness . . .."
I wonder who Esclava was, he thought, and wrote this
in the margin. And finally:
"When I go in search of love it is like setting out on
a voyage to discover if it has all been a dream."
He stopped reading and slammed the book shut and
hurled it across the room. There it lay conspicuously in
the corner. His averted eye still caught a patch of green
which ate into his consciousness, a sadness p rovoking
him to find a place for the patch: a green lawn carefully bounded and neatly set-off by shimmering poplar
trees before the soot-begrimed day building, small because it had been an over-crowd·ed school. And that
was the only time we were not lonely, and if I might
stop here, recall no more, go on living the lie, but sentimentality is a weak emotion and it was nothing more
than the spring and a dream of sailing away. Perhaps
I will go to Italy in the summer next or after and live
in a room with rain-stained walls and have a wobblylegged little table on which will stand a cracked white
rerra cotta pitcher filled with potable water.
Clement tipped over the carafe beside his bed and
water a week old spilled over the table sweeping particles
of dust and cigarette ash in its path. He had to move
a ~out the room again to destroy the pattern or purpose
o~ his thoughts in an attempt to forego the inevitabfe,
(Continued on page 5)
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
October, 1949
THE
REAL
COLLEGIAN
Volume I, Number l o
October 14 9 1949
As .the n ew year commences, we 9 the ·Real editors 9 feel
that a statement of policy should be forthcomtng o t t no cnil"
desi're to p r esent to our readers the Real t _
ruth a11d .10t
Truth in any real sense o As Admiral Farragu t once almost
said 9 " Damn the Qu al i fic at ion s!
Ful 1 speed ahead! " o
Due
to t he absence of the St , John vs Collegian 9 th e c ategorical
imperative reveaied· to us that we h ad a duty to the Freshmen
namely 9 to guide t h em t hr ough the necessary perplexities of
the First Year t o t h e Real tru t h ~
This is our policy and
with d e ep de Yo tion to the aims of the Real p rog r am ~ we shall
succeed o
T.11e Parable of the Returning
Seni ors
At the end of the third year
Father Kle:in called his Children
toge ther and said ~ "Long have we
labored in the vineyards and oµr
Vines have tender gripes c Press
them before me therefore~ that I
may know whereby to judge you o"
And they pressed 9 t!iey trod
Upon the fruit of their three
Years . Of the fruits did He see
and did lmow what was lacking
He spoke unto his children sayirg~
." I would have you g~ forth :into
the world this summer and count
the tr easur es which ye hav e
received a t your Father 1 s house o
In the Fall you will r eturn and
we shall judge who is worthy of
the honor of tne House o"
And his children left o Some
went :into the Vi l lage and r i otoIBl y live d on t he substanc e of
their Father 1 s hous e c Some 9
in to the val l eys weeping for
they were filled wi th the f ear of
their Father ' s j udgements , Some
went unto the sea and were happy ,
And some went l.Il1 to the mollll ta :ins 9
meditating day and n i ght, hoarding unto their hear ts that which
had been given " They were
disconsolate o
I n the fall, the harvest
time , the faithful returned and
they qur:lked with fe ar i n th e
secret p l aces c Four full days
their Father sa t in judgffilent and
ma'ly were fmn d wan t ing o
:Jnto them who went into the
mo:mt airL:·~ and meditated was shown
the error of their ways, for
roy. Leroy, as a mat,1e thing sadly lacking.
ditors would have hit
editorial policy." Duns
opm10n. It was certa sheet to the old lab
1t from an un-found
1
eople have pointed out
mow of would use a
do.)
:'°,·t>e story is closer to
aper in question to be
;i.tion, minus the page
the page 5 referred to.
afused in the Treasures of the New Finantrn were sent to the
r the yellow furniture.
mt went to the boiler
'.ded it to their headto the switchboard.
·ed, saw, and the Art
is the result, together
d the new lights. Pat
: last week. At some. Miss Alexander was
we been executed with
,kes itself available, we
·selves so, again as al-
tiera
king
creature,
pon all.
ert J. Pierot '53
�
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The Collegian
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The Collegian began as a student newspaper; became a college community literary publication in 1952 and continued until 1969; became a student newspaper again in 1969; discontinued publication from 1980 until 1989 when it again became a student literary publication.<br /><br />Click on <a title="The Collegian" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=26">Items in The Collegian Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection.
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Collegian Vol. LXII No. 06
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St. John's Collegian, [April 1949]
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1949-04
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Vol. LXII, No. 6 of the St. John's Collegian. [Published in April 1949.]
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Page 4
ST.
JOHN'S
philosophers. There are, according to Mr. Cherniss,
many other sources available to the scholar which in
their additive aspect are quite important. But enough
of sources.
It is not the reviewer's intention to reproduce even in
sketchy outline the lecturer's exposition of the successive
opinions of the pre-socratics. This would indeed be presumptuous for one whose naive opinion used to be that
Greek philosophy began with Plato. Those who are
interested in such a reproduction would best turn to
Burnet's ((Early Greek Philosophy" which contains a
good deal of Mr. Cherniss' lecture and some of this
review. I would nevertheless like to record a few impressions that were made by the lecture and· Mr. Burnet.
I was principally struck by the almost universal concern of the early Greeks with cosmology. Each seemed
aware of the transitory nature of things and each seemed
bent on discovering that permanent and indissoluable
stuff out of which all things are made or that first principle by which all things are governed. This concern
and awareness can surely be exemplified by the various
doctrines of Thales, Anaximander, Anaximines and
Herakleitos. Thales believed water was that stuff of
which all other things were migratory forms. He is sa1d
to have imagined that the world process was reHected
in the transition that came to be when water assumed
its various forms, i.e. vapor and solid. For Ananximander this principle was an "indestructible, ageless, deathless" something (usually called infinity) out of which
everything arose and into which everything returned.
This is, as Anaximander says, "as is meet; for they
make reparation and satisfaction to one another according to the ordering of-time." Anaximines thought it was
air that gave life to things; an air which was boundless
yet determinate and which, under varying conditions,
assumed the character of water, earth and fire.
This concern with permanent stuff and governing
principles arose from a view of nature as a continuous
process of generation and corruption, of change and
becoming, of contending opposites. Things in nature.
though constantly changing as seasons do change, seemed
to do so in somewhat of an orderly manner. There
must then exist some underlying idea that orders change
and makes it intelligible. This view of nature is best and
fully expressed in the doctrine of Herakleitos. He conceived nature as a constant flux in which nothinq; is anything but a different degree of everything else. For him
everything was one and many, itself and its opposite and
"kindled according to measure and according to measure
extinguished." He was consequently in need of some
such stuff of a permanent nature which would pass into
everythin5!; and into which, in turn, everything would
pass. This stuff was Fire. ccAll things are an exchange
for fire and fire for all things."
Unlike Anaximander, Herakleitos thought that the
cont·ention of opposites was not unjust. He says son;i.ewhere, "Homer was wrong in saying: (Would that strife
might perish from among Gods and Men!' He did not
see that he was prayincs for the destruction of the universe; for if his prayer were heard, all things would pass
COLLEGIAN
away . . . ." But this eternal contention, this unrelenting
becoming takes place according to a hidden harmony
which renders the world intelligible to man. The fo:st
reality is not the continual processes of growth and
decay, of change and {fox, of contending opposites, but
that formula, that hidden harmony which govern those
processes. Wisdom for Herakleitos was not the percep.
tion of the processes themselves, not the knowledge of
many opposite things, but rather the knowledge of the
underlying unity of the opposites. Wisdom became
something apart from all, and truth is to be found in
introspection.
Hence in Herakleitos as in his three predecessors we
find a struggling to order and make understandable the
transitory nature of things according to some such stuff
or principle: which is either a part of that nature (as in
the case of Herakelitos) or independent of it.
The second impression made chiefly by Mr. Cherniss
with the help of Mr. Burnet was the progressive development of early Greek thought. Each successive doctrine
seemed to develop more fully the implications of its
predecessor a!J.d to add a few of its own. This process
was neither rash nor headstrong, but was continually
checked for dilemmas and contradictions. To give just
one example, Herakleitos made explicit the implicit
virtues in the theories of Thales, Anaximander and
Anaximenes and carried them along with his own to
their proper conclusion. In contrast to or as a check
against the common sense view of nature as flux and
knowledge as a subjective affair, the logic of Parmenidies
arrived and brought to a head the everlasting problems
of being and becoming, of appearance and reality. The
logic of Parmenides was a direct denial that we can
know anything at all about change for ((since nothing
but being can be, beincs is all that is." If anything is
hot, it can not be anything but hot, in fact, it can't be
anything but being. Change does not exist and the
world is forever doomed to the same fate.
It was left for Plato to reconcile change and Eleatic
logic, to reconcile appearance and reality, to assert
reason, solve the paradoxes and synthesize the virtues of
his predecessors. If he stood on the shoulders of giants,
he was nevertheless cceingrosser Cagliostro." (For reasons
other than Nietzche's.)
At this point I would like to conclude with some
general comments about the lecture. Though Mr.
Cherniss added much information and some excitement
to our already fascinating experience with Greek thought, ,
he nevertheless confined himself too strictly to that
sort of lecture that one can read in a good book. If he
had been less recitative and more analytical, I think the
lecture would have had greater value. Information in
the sens·e of fact is much more easily and less precariously learned from some precious document for facts
are less susceptible to misunderstanding when read than
when heard. At St. John's we have a great respect for
scholars, but an even greater respect for enthusiasts.
Perhaps this is wronq, but I'm inclined to believe as
Parmenidis in that nwhatever is, is,'' and let's let it p-o
at that.
P. A. CAMPONISCHI
St. John's Colleglan
Vol. LXII---No. 5
ANNAPOLIS MARCH 13th, 1949
Price: lOc
On the Mis use of Analogy
It occurs to me that when an analogy is made between
any two objects . . . between a concept and a series of
actions, for instance . . . in order for it to be worth
more than a nice exposition of wit, this analogy must be
concemed with shedding light for deeper understanding, and with persuading for better actions. Now if the
analogy is concerned primarily with deepening the understanding, then it is an explanation in itself. Plato's
analogy of the sun to the "good" is an example of this
kind of use.
On the other hand, if the purpose of the analogy is
to encourage better actions, then the grounds for the
relevanc.e of the analogy must be argued. Mr. Hammond's l.ecture on "Happiness and Divine Illumination"
seems to me an example of this use of analogy. For
surely the parallelism he demonstrated between God's
rdation to man as the concept, and man's various "partial" activities as the actions, did not deepen the understanding of the concept of God's relation to man. On
the other hand I believe that Mr. Hammond used his
analogy to argue for a certain way in which a man
could act in exercising his ((partial" activities. But if
what I said above is true, then it would have been
necessary for Mr. Hammond to show the relevance of
his parallelism. In so far as he dev.eloped the subject,
he did not, nor I believe, could he have argued the
validity of the analogy. He just made the analogy, and
that was that. It is for me to show why I think the
analogy is not well taken. What I say is not to be interpreted as refuting the position of where Mr. Hammond stood, but rather his argument for standing there.
H is argument was roughly that God-the Christian
God of sin plus grace plus redemption-penetrates into
all of man's various activities, and gives them order
and direction ... namely, towards Himself. Mr. Hammond devoted himself to illustrating how this was the
case by listing man's c•partial" activities alongside the
activity of theology. The "partial" activities are medicine, psychoanalysis, economic, political, and acquisition
of knowledge. In each of these activities he discovered
a sin, an act of grace, and a redemption which he
likened to the theological concepts of sin, grace and
redemption. This he said is a way of demonstrating
how theology-and hence God-penetrat·es and orders
man's fi.elds of action. Further, he said it would be
g?od if we acted accordingly. This was the essence of
his argument as I see it.
. Underlying Mr. Hammond's argument is the ddinitlon of sin, which he explained as the endowment of a
pa.rt with the importance of the whole; the whole in
this case being divine illumination. Thus to act rightly
we perform all of our ''partial" activities toward the
final end-the whole-of divine illumination. Our sins
are thus expiated and we move toward happiness.
But suppose we change the "whole," or end, from
divine illumination to full development of the individual self. Sin then becomes a development of some part
of the self to the exclusion of the development of the
full self. Under this supposition our "partial" activities
of health, self-knowledge, material acquisition, social
intercourse and learning proc·esses are ordered and given
direction by the idea of the full development of every
individual self.
Mr. Hammond found the "sin" in each of man's activities at that point where the action becomes '(selfcentered," opposed to the "self" losing itself in a universal concept-or God. To illustrate the several cases
of sin he took an example of a diseased individual operating in each of the given fields. For instance, he took
a sick person in the r.ealm of health, a debtor in the
realm of economics, a criminal in the realm of politics,
and so on. One would infer from this approach that
the healthy individual-or one moving towards healthacting in psychoanalysis, politics and the others, was
therefore moving towards •cselJessness" -getting rid of
a view of the world with the "self" at the center. In
other words, he was saying that the path to: healthy
participation in the c•partial" activities is to identify one's
aim with a goal beyond one's "self"- that is, divine illumination. However, it is not difficult to conceive of
healthy and balanced activity being achieved with no
goal beyond the concept of the fulfilment of the "self."
Indeed it can and always has been present in human
endeavor.
We have, then, two of the possible arguments for the
manner of bettering our human action and achieving
happiness: by moving away from the "s·elf" toward the
divine illumination, or by moving toward the c•self" for
self-fulfilment. Mr. Hammond argues for the theological direction by interpreting the various fields of
human action in such a way that they are analogous to
the field of theology. On the other hand, these same
fields of action can be looked at in the entirely diff er·ent
way I hav·e mentioned; namely, as controlled by the goal
of self-fulfilment. This way definitely does not allow
the analogy to be made with the theological activity.
Because one of the terms of the analogy can be interpreted so as to def end tow opposing positions, I do not
consider the analogy a very useful one in establishing
Mr. Hammond's position.
I have not «overthrown" Mr. Hammond in his position, nor have I attempted to establish a position of my
�Page 2
ST.
JOHN'S
own. I have argued against Mr. Hammond's trying to
estdblish his position by the use of a certain analogy.
It may be said that this is an unduly harsh tr·e atment
of an analogy, but since the one Mr. Hammond made
was directed toyard persuasion of a certain kind of action, and also made up the bulk of what Mr. Hammond
said, I feel it warrants analysis. For, as the proverb
has it, "Mony a mickle maks a muckle." S. LINTON.
- - -- <O· - --
-
The Inferno
Whom do we find in Dante's Hell? No strangers to
us, that's sure. I propose to talk about some of them
and will start with those we find in upper Hell. Here
is the excessive love of the incontinent, who do not exercise the control of reason over the natural appetites,
and their sins are carnality, gluttony, avariciousness and
prodigality. The carnal sinners are twin love birds in a
tempest, who hope that they will not be separated by
the buffeting winds, but who cannot hope that they will
cease to be buffetted: their whole desire is to be together and this very desire is their tempest, for they will to
be sustained only by each other, whereas only God sustains. Therefore they are led by their love hither and
thither, but find no rest. The gluttonous pollute their
bodies, and the stench is diffused through their souls, so
that they cannot profit therein. The soul of the avaricious is full of the prodigal's goings, and the prodigal'
full of his, and both are empty thereby.
As was said, "love is the s·eed of every virtue in us,
and of every deed that deserves punishment." The
loves which are the seeds of virtue in us are those that
are proper to the intellect: that love by which the intellect is perfect·e d and which is towards God Himself,
and that love which directs the intellect to His splendour, which is, for Dante, the light of God rei1ected in
the things that are made. For God made all things that
they might cry "I am," and hence they are good in
themselves. Yet when they are pursued as the incontinent pursue them, the soul becomes "a plac-e void of all
light," for then the good of the intellect is lost. Our
knowledge of things excels our love of them except in
the case of God, for our love of Him excels our knowledge of Him. But the incontinent alter this, seeing that
they love what it is the intellect's business to know, and
make their love excel their knowledae of it.
The proper object of the sense of sight is color; of
hearing, sound; of touch, bodies; of smell, odors; of
taste, that which has taste. The proper office of the
senses is to notify the soul by the impressions that come
through them, so that the soul may delight therein and
the intellect abstract what the thing was that was perceived. But in the incontinent the whole soul is poscessed by the love of objects proper only to the sens·es,
and is so affected by this lust that the intellect cannot
operate. For the whole is rendered turbulent by the rule
of such affections, and the good of the intellect is surely
lost. The good of both the sentient and intellectual faculties is smothered and ill-used- must not the soul be
sorely punished then, if these goods are swamped, as it
were, in a howling tempest? The form of man, the
intellectual soul, becomes less than it ought to be, and
ST.
COLLEGIAN
in the same degree the man becomes less a man . Such
is the punishment of the incontinent.
The sinners whos·e loves pervert them are more hateful
to God and are punished in the lower regions of Hell.
These commit the sins of malice, by which we injure
those whom we should love even as ourselv.es. What is
the cause of malice except love? but, because they love
evil obj.ects, the men are evil. Here they love the imaginations of their own hearts-imaginations which have
to do with honor, power, glory, wealth. They worship
their own idols instead of God and they vainly presume
on His offices. Here they act as tho' they were their
own masters-but there is a Master over us all. Here
they seek mastery over other men-but all men are in
the image of God, and it is not for a creature to meddle
with it. Here all is done with regard to the opinions of
men- but only God judges. It is no wonder that God
hates the excesses of upper Hell less than these: those
love God's splendors that reflect His light, tho' to exc·ess, but these set up their own idols in the place of
God and imagine themselves to be something other than
the creatures He in fact made them.
What a fine lot we find in Dis! The hypocrites are
bright in gilded cloaks, but within are heavy as lead.
The flatterers befoul themselves continually and never
change their diapers. The foxes of this earth am taken
by their own counsels. The thieves run about naked and
terrified, hounded by all that know them, or by the
fear that they will be known; and so they take no pleasure in the things that are made, not to mention their
Author. The things that should delight men are not
very much enjoyed by these, to mention only a few of
those who live by this rule. They are so full of their
own idols, or of other men's opinions about this or that,
that they cannot taste the salt of the ea th for their
own dung. Their eyes cannot s.ee, nor their ears hear,
nor their intellects know, for they are always fornicating
with their own inventions.
The sinners we have mentioned just now are examples of simple fraud, according to Dante's classification;
they break "the bond which Nature makes," that bond
by which men are one and all in the image of God, and
therefore not to be injured by violence or by fraud.
Those guilty of "treacherous" fraud break not only this
bond, but also the bonds that tie man to man over and
above this. Such are the bonds of love and friendship,
of comrades and citizens, of kinship and hospitality.
When treachery is dealt, men renounce the image of
God in them for an idol of their own invention. Thes,
e
renounce their manhood, for it is because their manhood
is in the image of He who by His mercy makes cove-
JOHN'S
COLLEGIAN
Page 3
"th men that some worth is imputed to the ity only, and the humble man a mean and worthless
an ts wt that men make with each ot h er. Th ey are soul?
'
.
.1
covenants th ic-" of Cocytus an d t1e1r 1
The same, says Dante, which enables us to see through
·
1· . oves w1t1 t hem.
b h· ·
frozen m e ich make men men are frozen y t. etr sm, all the lovers of honor enabI.es us to se·e through him.
b
T 1e laves wh
1
hardly alive. Ther·e can e none wors-e w.e traverse the burning sands of the violent and great
an d t h ey ar e
.
h
h
nless it be the trimmers, over w om even t e souls only by a path cleared by the smoke of the rivulet
t h ant h ey U ome glory. For t h e Tnmmers never ha d whose waters are the tears of the human race. There is
·
f rozen h ave S
d b
·
t all· or rather, they had them from Go , ut an old man who stands in a hollow mountain of Crete,
d es1res a
'
·h
d and exc·ept for his golden head his whole body drops
ed them that they used them for nett er goo
so neg1 tTh-"r·" is ro report of t h-em an d t h ey l"tve d wit1
. 1- the tears of the pathos of the human race. For all except
·1ec ~ nor evl ·
bl me and without praise. \Ve are creatures of love man's Golden Age gave cause for tears. The infirmity
:~~ U:tellect, and tho' all the blamed lose the good of of man since the fall gives caus·e for tears, and there
the inteU.ect and the treacherous ~ave their loves frozen, has been no man since who did not partake of this infirmity. But the noble .:lights of the im~ginat~ons in the
t these do not even have something that can be froz·en;
yh cannot be said to desire anything, and therefor.e hearts of the great spirits obscure the mfirm1ty present
r. Ziot be said to know what must fir.st be desired, and therein, and they live a lie both to themselv~s a~d to
~~ they are, and yet ne_ver were, alive. They are faun~ others. Proud and furious Roland, who to his friends
· great numbers busymg themselves; but you needn t was swe·et and gentle, is in Paradise. But his trust ~as
:k them to what end, becaus.e they will not know. But in God, in whose name he fought and who hel2ed him,
and he wept when the Peers and the other knights were
enough of ice and dried up creeks~
laid out row on row.
We also find the violent among the pervert-~d in Dis
Only through the smoke of the pathos of human his-the violent against God, Nature and Art. Their sin
tory, then, by the tears of men born to suffering, can
is sometimes hard to perceiv·e; outwardly, they have so
"quel grande" be seen. All the rivers of hell are of
much to r·ecommend them. The clerks so overpower us
these waters-waters which show that men do not suswith their learning that we do not r·eckon that they
tain themselves. These are the tears that came with
despise God's gift to all of us in the things that He
Adam's sin, and they are added to by all those who
made. All of God's creation was given us for our defollow him. Yet they are despised by all sinners, for
liaht when He made us sentient and intell·ectual, but
they are all, their fear changed to desire, eager to cross
they are unnotic~d by those who seek in erudition,
Acheron, that they may sin on the other side. The sulhonor and renown. They burn the midnight oil and
len, with their morose looks and morbid sweat (there
find no delight in men, women or anything that H e
where they should be joyous) make a bog of thes-e wa made, but in what they make and do. Such, (for deters-the marsh of Styx. They bathe in the mud they
spising God's works and therdore also God Himself,
have made of the tears God assigned us, tears that are
for it is by His works that we know Him), have for
honest as clearly depicting our nature. The angry, heedreward their "ill-strained nerves," which are as burning
l·ess of the tears they stand in, some up to their necks,
sands to them.
fight with one another, and by their thrashing make it
The same sort of thincr is true of those who seek mud.di.er. All thes.e waters pour into the rivulet by which
honor in war and in cou~sel. They are indeed great- we traverse the burning sands of Hybris; but the rivulet
souled and great respect is due them; yet their fiery is red, for Phlegethon stands between it and the marsh;
spirits so scald our eyes that we cannot see their sin for
and in Phlegethon the tyrants and murderers boil in the
the glory they have with men. Can they not be lusty blood that reddens it. And this is only proper if we
men and very much concerned with the good things of consider that, tho' the heroes are not tyrants or murthis life? Perhaps, but the lover of honor will discard derers, still it is the sword that chiefly serves honor, and
them for honor's sake. Perhaps they seek the opinions blood the sword.
of m~n rather than God's judgment? This too is true
It is the smoke of the boiling rivul·et whose waters are
but we will not class them with the hypocrites and such tears and scowlings and wrath and blood that clears the
ilk- there is nobility in them, and courage; and men the lie that the great-souls live in the world of their
follow them as heroes. How then do we see what sin is air so we may see wha.t pride is made of. It is a li~,
in the lov·ers of honor, if ther·e is any in them? Espe- the lie that the great-souls live in the world of their
cially, how do we dispel our awe of such as "quel grande" own making, as if they who were made were t~e makCampaneus, "that gr·e at spirit," who in his pride is suffi- ers· for the imacrinations of our own hearts are hes. No
cient unto himself? He is the one who is violent against ma~ is suffici-entbunto himself, but they do everything as
God, at one and the same time acknowledging His if they were, and so renounce the God Who made them
power and blaspheming Him? Tho' God slay him he and to Whom they owe all their gifts and all their
will maintain his own ways before Him; and, unlike
fortune.
Job, he puts no trust in Him, but meets his death standEm1oR's NoTE: The preceding article is a selection
ing and despising. How can we help but stand in awe
of him? How does he not make humility to seem servil- from an essay which interpreted Dcm.te' s Inferno as a
n
�Page 4
ST.
JOHN'S
Hell on this earth; i.e. that the character of each of the
sinners we find in the Inferno together with his condition or, rather, his plight is drawn from the liYes sinners
actually lead in this life, and need have nothing wha·tever to do with a Hades that awaits us after death. It
is contended that it is highly improbable that any of us
are wholly remoYed from the plight of someone of the
sinners here described. Perhaps the treatment depcient
in itself, will encourage edch of us to open Dante'; book
again to see what part of hell we are in.
This is a matter which appears more in keeping with
the present self-examining temper of the community than
the omitted portions of this essay which dealt with
Dante's doctrines concerning loYe and intellect or reason.
Written by Edmund di Tullio, it was judged tf1e best
undergraduate thesis of 1947-48.
o----
Roots in Hell
Mr. MaUett had a fresh, although not well organiz·ed, approach to the Divine Comedy. He emphasized
an allegorical aspect, shied away from the anagogic and
built up an analogy with epistemology. In Hell we have
the certainty of our sense-impressions, all too certain.
In Purgatory we become aware of the defect of sense,
and by prayer and :lire are purged of the cobwebs over
our vision to let new vistas open up. In Paradiso, there
is a burst of intuition into things independent of sense.
The Divine Comedy has a geography. There is the
inverted funnel of Hell, the upraised seven story mountain of Purgatory, and the heavenly essences moving
round a luminous point on a wheel of fire .
The point of referenc.e in Hell is the icy core. In
Purgatory it is r.errestial paradise won after a long ascending pilgrimage and in paradise, the po'.nt of brightness.
The concept of motion plays a leading role in the
Divine Comedy. The kind of motion proper to Hell,
Mr. Mallett called 'writhing.' It is significant that
the trimmers outside Hell have enforced mobility. At
the core, motion is reduced to the sluggish flapping of
Satan's wings. The tendency of motion is thus to gr.eater and greater stasis as we descend.
In Hell one is imprisoned in his respective circle forever. In Purgatory you moYe up the stories. One moves,
Mr. Mallett suggested, linearly from hypothesis to hypothesis, supplanting a relatively good one for a relatively better. History happens in Purgatory and only
there. In Paradiso there is rhythm forever.
The moral philosophy of Bell is an egotistic hedonism. Egotistic is int·ensive since any hedonism is self.
centered. It seems to solve all the moral problems easily.
The corresponding epistemology is a 'solipsism of the
specious present' as beautifully described by Santayana.
If solipsists are men whose point of r.eforence is themselves, who do not accept the 'reality of the universe,
men radically isolated, this is an anagogic meaning of
Hell as Mr. Mallett recognized in question period.
COLLEGIAN
The story of Purgatory is the story of any hypothesis
From Hell to Purgatory is the transition from the s-econd to the third stage of Plato's divided line. Hypotheses are respectable but not sufficient, and one needs to
make the leap to paradise, the fourth part of the line.
There is the comedy element. As Oedipus, the tragic
hero replaces hypothesis with hypothesis until he gets a
realization of events which is both beyond his control
and his understanding. He gets the illumination which
is the condition similar to a comic hero, but he is enmeshed in history. He s·e·es he must get disengaged
from his past but can't help himself. Purgatory's journ·eymen likewise need to go beyond themsdves and are
helped by gifts to the theological virtues-gifts not obtainable thru sheer effort.
In comedy, diverse, irreconcilabl.e parts jive together
and somehow get reconciled. In the Divine Comedy love
harmoniz.es all elements, even Satan survives thru his
love, however decayed, for God. In the comic vision,
there is harmony, togetherness, all the parts mirroring
the whol·e, as in the Monadology.
Leibniz is a comic poet as are all mathematicians. The
mathematician selects his point of reference and exercises
ccmplet·e free wheding provided he honors the law of
contradiction. There is a lot of Euclid in Dante. He
needed him just as the demiurge did, to create a universe.
FRASCA.
----•o----
"Roots in Heaven"
Was Dr. Irwin Strauss pulling our leg? What he was
saying did sound a littl.e ridiculous, but he said it in a
way which made one want to listen attentively. There
was something in his manner of expression which made
one fed that he was saying important things. The feeling one had was the same kind an upperclassman might
have in the first reading of Leibniz' Monadology. One
could understand little of what Leibniz was saying but
it was clear that he was saying somethin.'5 worthwhile.
Strauss' meaning soon became clear and during the lecture he gave a reason for this first affection that some
of us felt. He emphasized the expression with which
words are framed into sentences and that oft~n times
that expression exce·eds in meaning any possible under·
standing which the words themselves might bring.
Strauss attacked one of the most cherished ikons of
physical anthropology today. He denied that the upright posture of man is detrimental thereby making him
less fit for his existence. On the contrary, his point was
that this upright posture is the most important expression of man's existence. It is toward this upright posture that all men tend. This is not to say, as he pointed
out in the question period, that any deviation from that
position is departing from man's nature, but rather that
from any non-erect posture man always endeavors to
arise upright. In Dr. Strauss' own terms on·e could disagree with him on this point.
It seems to me that since it is man alone who assumes
St. John's Collegian
II-No. 6
By Way of Explaining .. ·
PRICE: lOc
ANNAPOLIS
feel, implied in the aim of our study. Only through
mixing fresh views and formulations with what we talk
about among ourselves can such an end be achieved. To
all of our contributors from outside, St. John's College
sincere gratitude is due for trusting their work to an
uncharted experiment. A list of their names follows:
he COLLEGIAN comes to you this tID:e looking
nt we can cite two reasons: This year the
diff ere ,
f "
. ,,
. l
IAN had a great dearth o creative materta '
contributors to it were a small handful of peoead of a sizable section of the whole student RoBERT FLOTIEMESCH was at St. John's College in
We have attempted to put together one last
1942 and in 1946.
ich would attempt to remedy these two .defects.
D. L. HAMMERSCHMIDT is the wife of a tutor at St.
t been easy because many former f nends of
John's College.
s no
'b
LLEGIAN had given it up f or mon un d, operat- GEORGE JoHN is a former student of St. John's College.
rhe assumption that a dying man should be left
He has had his work published in Poetry, Hopkins
his ways in peace. We do not begru~ge th~m
ReYiew, and other periodicals.
epticism in the least, but it is a rewarding thmg
F. L. SANTEE is a classicist who is also a physician. His
them wrong: In the course of the last month,
publications range from Vergil to linguistics to hismounts of poetry, as well as some prose work,
tology, and he is now practicing medicine. He was a
ome in, and many of these contributions. were
tutor at St. John's College in 1946-47.
us by students who had never appeared .m the
0
IAN before. Also, general interest in the paper MARK VAN Do REN is Professor of English at Columbia
University, as well as a noted poet and essayist. He
ly mounting and has ~hown ~tself in a rang~
is also a member of the St. John's Board of Visitors
nifestations from a write-up m the Annapolis
and Governors and a frequent lecturer at the College.
g Capital to numerous queries about "how the
.
"
was coming.
aps there will be some '~dialectici:ins" among
, when they see this issue will not thmk that re~l
e work has been printed here yet because, m
pinion, only that which is explicitly p~t. into the
The world waits, holding its breath so quietly,
ical framework of trivium and quadnvmm, and
Death's rattle sounds like prophet's bones.
can be questioned about its assumptions is truly
No desert rav·en ever was so raucous;
e. We take the liberty of ref erring then to some
No other end threatened so many thrones. ·
Gr.eat Books of the Western Tradition: What
omer sing about grammar? Where will any one
Of big and little kings, of poor maids' men,
n expose of rhetoric in Shakespeare? Who, in
Of farmers in the field, of mic·e in burrowJones, speaks about logic? It seems to us that, if
No sovereignty now, no subject sand;
ake it the CoLLEGIAN's business to employ stateNo world, for there will be no more tomorrow.
on the liberal arts as credtive work, we are misthe means for the end. If the study of these
So possibility, with half its voice,
o·es not help us to understand works that are,
Suspends the whole of this most panic time.
the majority of human thinkiqg, precisely not
The held breath hears nothing but the croak
it about their ends and purposes, means and form,
Of glories that were proper in our prime.
ursuit of this study is· useless and without content.
ere might be some surprise, as well, at a number
The song nobody sings-what did it say?
tside contributors who have, in a highly profitable
Goodness is difficult, and y·et can be?
er, increased the volume of this issue. We have
Death is certain? But the terrible raven
ted their work so that the literary ferment on
Says that, says that, too, unstoppably.
us might have some outside standards to set its
es by. In a plac·e where there are only 200 people,
Was there no different thing bright angels knew?
highly possible that what could be done in the way
Still was it thus when gods walked here as men?
riting is handicapped by the predominance of cerAlways the world has waited? 0, white bird
~ogmas and viewpoints. Since we are to become
Of morning, tell the dark truth more sweetly then.
n:ien here, the knowl·edge of many forms without
MARK VAN DoREN
ss1ty of adhering to any one for expression is, we
The World Waits
�ST.
JOHN'S
this upright posture, and that it is in this position that
man is most noble, dignified, self-assured, it follows that
any bending from that position makes him less a man
and more like other animals. But one may rightfully
ask if love is animalistic? Strauss mentioned the incongruity of a man professing his love to a woman without
deviating from the upright position. However, if man's
essence is rationality, although no man can be wholly
rational, one is more a man when he is as completely
divorned from the passions as he can be and therefore
the more upright one can maintain himself the less he
is subjected to animality. This is the way in which Plato
would couch Strauss' lecture. Of course, it is true that
all men "are partly animals, but insofar as man can draw
in the reins of the black horse, that much mor·e is he a
man.
However, in opposition to this, Strauss' point is that
this rationality, this awareness of spac·e and time, springs
from the most important aspect of man's biological structure, the upright posture.
Strauss' idea was not a n·ew one for Plato in the
'Timaeus' says (Cornford: 90B):
"As conc·erning the most sovereign form of the soul
in us we must conceive that heaven has given it to each
man as a guiding genius-that part which we say dwells
in the summit of our body and lifts us from earth towards our celestial affinity, like a plant whose roots are
not in earth, but in the heavens. And this is most true,
for it is to the heavens whence the soul first came to
birth, that the divine part attaches the head or root of
us and keeps the whole body upright."
Plato here answers the question which Strauss did not.
Why is it that the child does try to stand upright?
Strauss was more concerned with the fact that the child
does stand upright and what the consequences of such
an action mean.
At any rate it is refreshing and worthwhile for us to
take off on this idea of man b·eing the way he is (in a
large measure) because of this biological phenomenon.
Strauss points out that the emptiness of one's hands, the
gestur.e of hrugging the shoulders are both evidences of
man's dissimilarity with other animals. Can we say then,
that he who works with his hands is therefore less man?
For is not this desire for full hands somehow related to
man giving up in his opposition to the forces of nature
and desiring to have his whole body at one with the
earth? Strauss' answer to this seems to be, no, that
filling one's hands with work requiring skill is not the
same as hunching over on all fours.
Let us take Oedipus and this notion of the upright
posture: At the beginning of the play, Oedipus is proud
and self-sufficient, but flexible enough to bend from the
upright posture in expressing the love and warmth of a
good king. Confronted with T eiresias and later Creon,
he loses this happy faculty of being able to bend from
the erect position. Emotion has overcome him so that
instead of his bending his body he has iced into an in-
COLLEGIAN
Page 5
flexible, irrational being. But now we are saying that
because of emotion, man is sometimes not compelled to
bend from his upright posture, but rather to fix him in
that position so that he cannot deviate from it.
It appears then that there are many emotions which
work in opposite directions. Perhaps we have thus far
confused the action with the effect of the action. In
order to love, one must be Jexible, but the effect of love
may very well give us that feeling of sufficiency which
would make us tend toward the upright posture.
What thw about this emotion which iced Oedipus?
I choose to call it fear and immediately we see that her·e
the emotion can not be explained away so easily. A weak
person does indeed bend from fear, vainly clutching with
those empty hands, for some support, some security
(earth). The strong man, however, feeling secure within hims·elf, never having n·ee.d to return to earth for renewed strength battles his fear without help and consequently remains upright.
Dr. Strauss is a delightful man and although many
disagree with his thesis, none can doubt that his idea is
a fascinating one .
BoB GoLDBERG.
- -- -O•--- -
Hin ts and Guesses
"What shall I do to inherit eternal life?"
Mr. Mollog.en, lecturinz on "Law and Grace," gave
the historical development of the Christian requirements
for eternal life. First then:! was man in a stat·e of innocence, without conscience. Moses brought man under
the law; this was the second state. But with the law
came the knowledge of sin, for man willfully transgresses God's commandments. Christ offers man the
third state which is grace. The fourth and final state is
the inheritance; the peace of God which passes all und~rstanding and which comes through the resurrection
of the body.
Without law man could not sin for there was no
knowledge of right an.d wrong action. God's revelation
to Moses gave the true criterion for action. Under the
Mosaic Law it was enough if one did not commit murd.er, or steal, or commit adultery. If one could restrain
the urge to transgress the commandments, the scribes
would hold him guiltless. Christ came teaching the law
of love which is not so much a law, as a principle of
action through which one may find the inner and absolute law of God. This principl·e forced a different interpretation of the commandm':!nts. They formed a basis
for social justic·e but Christ shifted the emphasis from
the social to the individual sense of justice. It is no
longer enough merely to refrain from committing murder or adultery. The anger in a man's heart, which
prompts him to contemplate murder, is as se!"ious to
God as is the act of murder to the civil cou rts. The
committing of adultery in .the heart is to God as serious
Page 6
ST.
JOHN'S
as is the act itself to society. And this, the lecturer remarked, "makes adulterers of us all."
While the third state is an interpr·etation of the law,
the fourth state is a fulfillment of the law . .The peace
of God comes with the resurrection of the body because
it lies outside of time. It is beyond history. Most philosophical and political systems, either implicitly or explicitly, point toward an ultimate fulfillment of man in
history. This is impossible in Christian t·erms, for
Christ's very int·erpretation of the law emphasises the
inherent tendency of man to sin. A law which penalizes
an action thereby demonstrat·es that the nature of the
action is evil and also that the inner motivation which
prompts the action is evil. Even when man does develop
his best potentialities, he also heightens the possibilities
for sin which lie about him. Since man in time and history must sin, the fulfillment of man must of necessity
lie beyond these. As to what the fulfillment is, on·e can
not be too explicit. When the promise of fulfillment is
pressed too far, absurdities of dem-golden-slippers-ongolden-streets variety, result.
Christ sums the Ten Commandments into two; "Thou
shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and
with all thy soul, and with all thy mind." The s·econd
is: "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." On these
two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.
Thus, by obs·ervance of this commandment, the Mosaic
Law is transcended. The scribe's social interpretation is
not discarded but is embraced in a larger definition. If
one truly Ions God, he must love his neighbor. Not
because there is an inherent goodness in the neighbor,
or for the poE
sibilities in him, nor for the attrition of
love, but because God also loves the neighbor and as a
child of God one desires to imitate his Father. Through
imitating the Father, who is the God of Love, the
thoughts which would prompt sinful action are impossible. It is only in so far as the child fails to imitat·e that
sin is possible.
An action is good only to the degree that it is
prompted by love. Even doing the right thing is not
enough if the r·eason governing the act is without love.
As an example of right action for wrong reasons, the
lecturer cited the Tempters and Thomas a'Becket in
Eliot's "Murder in the Cathedral." The first three
Tempters offer him power and wealth which Thomas
easily refuses. The fourth Tempter, however, tempts
Thomas with his own thoughts; "S.~ek the way of martyrdom, make yourself the lowest on earth, to be high
in heaven." Almost in d·espair, he answers in terms of
the Christian paradox, "Can sinful pride be driven out
only by mor·e sinful? Can I neither act nor suffer without perdition?" Mr. Mollogen answered this with an
emphatic "No." Man's good actions prompted by love
become sinful through human pride. To demonstrat·e
this the lecturer invited the listeners to try a test. Try
giving a large donation to a charity, and see how long.
you can remain quiet about it. In this respect, the
COLLEGIAN
Christian is not much farther along than the Pharisee
who practiced his pi·ety before men and received his
rew::trd.
What then is the Christian answer to this paradox?
If, even knowing the law, man transgresses, if right action alone is insufficient, if sinful pride is purged only
by greater pride, how is man redeemed? Through the
Grace of Jesus Christ, and through faith, thes-e sins of
pride and ignorance are forgiven. Eliot, in another
work, "Dry Salvages," points towards the solution of
the problem saying: these ar·e "Hints and guesses, hints
followed by guesses; and the resi: is prayer, observance,
.discipline, thought and action."
G. H.
CoLLINGwooo.
- - - -o - - - -
Looking-Glass
Every man at St. John's is a cr·eator ... or should be.
This program is a skeleton, that indomitable, age-old
skeleton man-stript bare and rdabricated and given
life by every man that really lives. He's here, lying perhaps within us. But our proposition at this school is
that we can hest look at him through Alic·e's looking·
glass ... the world of the great books. But, and this
must not be forgotten, the looking-glass only gives an
image, and a strang.e one at that. Just the image of a
skeleton. As we . st·ep through the looking-glass we are
('temporarily" absolved of time. But we are creators .. .
and creation takes plac·e in time. So we've got to pass
back and forth through the strange mirror, first gazing
at the skeleton-image and seeing its bones and their
articulation, and then coming out and putting flesh and
blood and a heart in the r·eal one, and finally, breathing
life through its nostrils.
This poor, bleached spector lying on the sands within
us, is the same one that Plato found, or any of the
others. But when he is given the muscle fabrics and
nerv.e fibers, when his heart starts to pulse and he
stumbles to his feet- then he is single and particular;
one man and one man alone. One act of creation.
We are glad for our St. John's looking-glass. But
don't forget that what hes on the other side is not alive,
not by itself. And it isn't worth a thought unless it is
the basis for something to come to life.
So where does the tissue, the blood pulse, the vital
br.eath come from? I don't mean the originals, I mean
the particulars for this particular act of creation-you
and me. Where from. From the wind, I say, from the
wind. From that gleeful, warm breath, from that howl·
ing round blast, from that wistful sigh, from that soft ,
whisper at night. Listen to the wind that fans your
flame. Listen with attention. Listen in quiet. Listen
with courag·e. Then you will be able to create.
s.
LINTON.
to
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to
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ere
th
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wh
c e
of
di
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To
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The Collegian
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Page 4
(~
ST.
JOHN'S
Sonnet
i_
Here by the riverbank the frogs complain
With Communal damp callings in the gloom
Some lost things CQ weakly through the broom
Endlessly sending as if not in vain;
Or .the first magnitudes and all the train
Of heaven stand: the stars abide, by whom
The sailor bound for Asgard and for doom
(:an navigate the sensible domain;
Their music lattices the lightlessness
Always ~nd. Ilghts always the bitter sea
For eac~ 'm1arl'who will hear: not marble nor
The gilded monuments of princes-or
Drowning, bl'ind Homer and that coterie
Enchoir releaS.e from bearingless distress.
.
.i.
: i:!
JI
BALLARD
.
More on Strauss
., · Bertefi~eilf tyranny is the tyranny of man counselled
by: the wise. It is tyranny because it is outside of law.
!tis ·arbitrary rule above laws. Rationally speaking this
fypothetically is juster than rule under law, i.e., Monarchy. ' This was adroitly demonstrated in the question
period, where Mr. Strauss also made it clear that this
government of the wise apart from law, can only be an
inspiration, a theoretical image. Practically speaking it
is a different matter entirely.
It seems strange for Mr. Strauss to point out that
Simonides wants to control a previously oppressive and
unjust tyrant. He is hot concerned with how he became
k: ·tyrant. To Mr. Strauss then, beneficent tyrannical rule
is, · in :theory at least, as legitimate as constitutional rule,
if the tyrant listens and acts on the advice of the wise.
Admitting that beneficent tyranny is merely a theoretical
~'inspiration" for the purpose of clarifying the danger of
laws, their staticness, does not, establish a reason for
favoring . such a situation. Tyranny cannot exist for
citizen as citizen. Socrates was a citizen philosopher so
~~ could not advise the unwise and selfish tyrant. Only
a wise stranger could show the tyrant how to gain this
love of the · people. The tyrant is still satiating his
desires. It is interesting to note, according to Mr.
Strauss, that there is no reference to a previously exist·
ing· beneficent tyrant in any of Xenophone's works.
,According to Mr. Strauss, tyranny and laws are "mutually •exclusive." Wise men do not wish to rule. This
has necessitated the rule by an unwise, advised by the
wise. The wise does not wish to rule because such rule
~ntaik ~ing a slave. The philosopher accordingly is
obligated tp rule only in a perfect society. Since there is
never such .a state of things, he is never obligated.
The question prime in my mind is the legitimacy of
advocating a goal for just and good government (a
theoretical inspiration which is admittedly unobt~in
able). This justification is based on the static character
and rigidity of law and the clumsiness and delayiJ.?-g
action of a governing body of imperfect men. I do not
see how :the conclusion follows, that if the body of
persons are wise enough to recognize the beneficence of
COLLEGIAN
the tyrant, i.e. his governing for their good; they arc
nevertheless unfit to govern themselves; It is, according
to the lecturer, because the people recognize this bene.
ficence only by right opinion. They are-le.SS fit to govern
than the tyrant who is outside this realm of opinion
since he is illegimate, even if not wise himself. Is no;
right opinion both possible and desirable? The rule of
the single wise man is admittedly unattainable · and )
wonder how desirable?
I~ other w~r~~-sin~e ,,this government by a. wisely
advISed tyrant 1S Utopia, I cannot see how one 1s justi.
fied in advocating or even presenting this as· an "inspi.ra.
tional" goal. I certainly agree with Mr. Strauss when ·he
emphasizes the need of morality and "formation 0 j
character" in addition to the raising of the standard of
living, but as Mr. Buchanan once said, it is the dialecti.
cal method which attains this. · I cannot help finding a
certain cynicism prevalent in the advocacy of the Phi.
losopher King or the wisely advised · tyrant. I do ·not
confuse the two forms.' of "Wise Rule"; the first in the
Republic, · ruling by law, the later, illegitimate :ind out·
side of law. · But this distinction is unimportant in· ob.
serving the cynicism of both these schools.
Perhaps I am governed by the contemporary notion ol
democracy but I recognize the limitations of formal law,
the need for an action on the part of the people against
bad laws, against a law which may help to plunge the
world into war, however it is the "right opinion," if y~u
like, of the people themselves that is necessary to just
and peaceful government. The cynicism of setting the
wise to advise the illegitimate, or the advent of the phi·
losopher king, leads to dangerous paths of action on the
part of those who acceptthis, even as an unattainable
absolute. Such a discussion may point out the short·
comings of a constitutional government. . Such a dis·
cussion may separate practical from theoretical politics,
but does it establish a good, which we must recogni:u
though can never attain? I would like to hear M r.
Strauss dealing with the problem of government by the
dialectical give and take of the people themselves, as
well as those necessitating the unwilling return of the
"Wise" into the cave.
Mr. Strauss' lecture was an invaluable example of
"how to read a book," but I wonder; are the implica·
tions inherent in the conclusions not to be questioned?
PETER DAVIES
Pity the man, the hater
The rotten hater,
Calling Superiority to himself:
Looking at the masses,
Seeing affirmation,
Knows he is right,
They no wiser than he:
Each little man,
Lost in the mass,
Faith in his hate,
·· No Christian.
ToM FROMMH
St John's Collegian
Vol. LXII---No. 4
ANNAPOLIS, FEBRUARY 17th, 1949
Price: lOc
Pagan and Christian Ethics
Mr. Jaffa characterized his lecture as being the attempt of a political scientist to rid his science of its most
outstanding dilemma, the problem of morals and politics.
This problem stands in the same relation to political
science and its allied studies as the method of inductive
reasoning stands to the natural sciences. The relation
is one of despair. The social sciences are not wholly
impotent with respect to problems of value, for they
can act as a critique of the truth or error of judgements
following out of theories of value, but they cannot
legitimately criticize the moral right or wrong involved
in entertaining such judgements. Anthropology was
able to provide a refutation of the Nazi racial theories,
but it could furnish no }!rounds for the moral condemnation of the belief in German superiority. The social
sciences must content themselves with being a laboratory
in which theories about ethical values can be put to the
test.
Pragmatism accomplishes a tentative solution of the
problem by relegating different theori.~s of value to the
limbo of opinion, and advocating equal toleration of all
these theories. This solution, however, becomes paradoxical since the principle of toleration is incomoatible
with several of these opinions. Catholicism and Marxism
to name two, are built upon doctrines which assert their
absolute supremacies over their n·~i"'hbors. They both
claim to be more than opinions. Pragmatism is then
comoelled to deny these claims to suoremacy, and by
so doing;, it destroys the tentative solution which it
oriP.;inally proposed.
This paradox is not imminent in the nature of ethical
theory. It only becomes immanent when all ethical
theories are treated as opinions. To vitiate this paradoxical result, Mr. Jaffa investigated the claims of one
of these ethical doctrines to be something more than an
?oinion. For his examnle, Mr. Jaffa turned to Catholicism rather than to Marxism, since Catholicism has,
~pecially in the writings of St. Thomas, a more highly
systematized ethics.
A condensed expression of one of the assumntions
underlying the structure of Aristotelian and T'1omistic
Ethics is the quotation from the Metaphysics with
which Thomas introduces his commentary on the
Nichomachean Ethics.-"Wisdom depends uoon a perception of order." Order is here taken in its most !'Yeneral sense, as being synonomous with 'relation.' The
application of rdation to phvsics is calll".d 'cause and
effect,' its application to mathematics, 'function,' and
its application to human affairs is called tlaw.' Law is
so~etimes used in a generic sense, but it is properly ap-
plied to ethics and politics. The perception of order in
human relations can be subdivided into these two
branches, ethics and politics, without prejudice to their
multiple interconnections.
The science of ethics, like all others, has its proper
subject matter, the passions of the soul as determinative
of action. The passions are the genus of the science,
the manners of acting are the species.
The truly scien!ific character of the Nichomachean
Ethics is indicated by Aristotle's method of approaching
the definition of a virtue. The definition first takes the
form of a question, twhat are the passions of which
courage, for example, is a mean?'. This question has
implications which go far beyond the science of ethics
itself, and these implications constitute the right of ethics
to be called a science. One of these implications is that
the science of ethics is a science of contraries, just as
Aristotle's physics is a physics of contraries. This relation of the ethics to the physics also implies that either
of the ethical extremes, the falling short of the exceeding, involves the destruction of that which the mean
tends to preserve. The definition of a virtue is completed
when the passions of which it is a mean, and the end
to which this mean tends, both become known.
Another implication contained in Aristotle's mode of
procedure and in his definitions is the architectonic
structure of the science of ethics. The hierarchical classification is demanded since particular virtues are defined
with reference to their end. In all cases, according to
Thomas' interpretation, the end is the preservation of
the subject who has the virtue. Courage has reference to
those situations in which the immediately continued existence of the subject is threatened. As such it is relevant to animals as well as to us, and its end in us is
the prevention of destruction to our animal nature.
Temperance has reference to the preservation of our
animal nature. Equity, magnanimity, and justice specificallv are human virtues, and their end is the perfection
and oreservation of our rational nature. The virtues are
valued as their ends are valued. Thus the · ethical
hierarchy is an image of the hierarchy of being.
It is by this parallel relation that St. Thomas transmutes the pagen ethics into a form compatible with
Christianity, and by which he is enabled to ignore the
heroic courage and the other heoric virtues mentioned
in books seven and nine of the ethics. According to the
princiole of defining by 'maximum potentiality,' these
heroic virtues become an anomaly for St. Thomas, and
�Page 2
ST.
JOHN'S
in so far as they exceed that measure of being towards
the preservation of which they tend as toward their end,
St. Thomas is justified in disregarding them.
At this point the architectural metaphor which Mr.
Jaffa used showed its power. The comparison of the
Aristotelen and Thomistic ethics with architecture goes
beyond a simple reference to the unity and order of
ethical science. It has further relevance in calling attention to the strength which each element in the structure must have to sustain that part of the structure which
it supports.
The transformation of the pagan ethics into Christian
ST.
COLLEGIAN
ethics provides a model for the political scientists. It in.
dicates that a speculative search must be undertaken for
a principle by which a body of ethical science can be
made compatible with the ends the political scientist has
in mind, a principle in some way analogous to 'maximum
potentiality.' The contemporary end in vi·ew is liberal
democratic humanitarianism. Another consideration for
the political scientist is the strength of the ethical structure to be transferred. It's conceivable that there might
be no structure quite strong enough to support the ideals
of democratic humanitarianism, Christianity, and
capitalism.
D.
REA
Lessing on Education
Problems involving the idea of God are infinite in magnitude, but man's understanding is all too finite. Reasoning about these important problems, therefore, always
involves a process of shrinking down to size. The problem of how to understand revelation looms like a gigantic sphere, so large and obvious that it begs to be investigated. The difficulty is that there is no way to grasp
it in our small hands. But if we can assume that the
essence of this huge sphere is not its size but its shape,
we can then construct a ball that we can hold in our
hands. The ball can be thoroughly investigat·ed until
we assure ourselves that we understand its spherical nature. And if our assumption is correct we also understand the nature of the giant sphere.
Of course, this shrinking process is analogy. The
trouble with analogy is that we can never be certain
that our original assumption is correct. But is s·eems
clear that if we once choose to reason about things divine we have no choice but to proceed analo'J"ously.
There is a choice however as to which analogy to choose.
Since there are an infinite number of aspects of the relationship of God to man, there must be an iq.finite number of analogous relationships which we may construct
or select.
Lessing restricts himself to one analogy, the teacherto-student relationship. The criticism may be made that
this is less than the whole storv, but surely Lessina: would
not deny this. He says that this is one wav of looking at
revelation, preferable to laughing at reli~ion.
One way to think of the Bible is as the textbooks
which God furnishes for the course of education throucrh
which He conducts mankind. Lessina: provides no definition of education, but his implied definition is as follows: Education is that process wher·eby the individual
acquires the ability to restrict his inclinations and actions
to those that are prooer and right, for no other reason
than that they are proper and right.
If a person with no musical training sits down at the
piano with the intention of expressing himself musically,
what precludes any possibility of success is the lack of
restriction of his motions. Because, through ignorance
of the laws of music, he is free to make any motion at
the keyboard that he wishes, his action is so completelv
random that the sounds produced never take an intelligible form and sequence. Training in music, then, has
as its end the restriction of actions to that certain limited
number of motions and combinations of motions which
are proper to music. But Lessincr would distin ~uish between training and education. The primary concern of
training is the skill with which the individual performs
within the limits of the restriction applied to his inclinations and actions; whereas the primary concern of
education is, in addition to a lesser concern for skill,
the reason for which the individual submits to restriction.
The very young child submits to musical law on the assurance that immediate reward and punishment attend
his efforts. The youncr man submits because he is persuaded that future public approval and honor attend
his submission. The mature man submits because he
reco ~nizes that musical law is good in itself.
Thus, for Lessing, the education of mankind by G od
is a process, in three stages, the aim of which is to t each
man to restrict his actions and inclinations to those wh ich
are moral. for the sole reason th at they are moral. T he
Old T estament lesson is a coercive imposition of mmal
restriction, the compulsion consisting in the assurance
that God punishes and rewards sin and virtue in tbs
life. The New Testament lesson is the persuasion of
man to accept moral restriction for the sake of reward
attd punishment in a future life. The ultimate, Age of
Reason lesson is the self-imposition of moral restriction,
not through compulsion or · pe .. suasion, but through the
realization that moral restriction is preferable in itrelf
to license.
Self-imoosition of moral restriction on thought and
act is the sig;n of maturity, the sign that a man is what it
is to be a man.
GoLDWIN
JOHN'S
COLLEGIAN
Page 3
Foot Notes to Sappho
I remember having read somewhere of a French text
f the Aeneid that had its own peculiar method of
0
t·mulating the readers interest. For example, the de- .
::ruction of Laocoon and his sons in the second book.
The Latin runs:
Ecce autem gemini a Tenedo tranquilla per alta
Horresco rderens immensis orbibus angues
Incumbunt pelago pariterque ad littora tendunt.
Then these edifying foot notes. I. gemini: Regardez!
Il y en a deux! 2. a Tenedo: Voila! Ils viennent de
Tenedos! 3. tranquilla: La mer est placide. 4. honesco
referens; Le poere a peur! 5. pariterque: Ils sont cote a
cote!
Whether or not Mr. Abrahamson had read a similar
interpretation of Sappho's To Aphrodite I can't say;
but judginq from his performance Friday evening, he's
an ardent disciple.
According to Mr. Abrahamson there are two approved
techniques for invoking the aid of a god. The first is
to remind him that you've done him a favor in the oast
and that it's time to reciprocate. In the nature of things
this method would seem strictly limited. The other is
to recite instances when he has previously come to your
aid-apparently on the principle that after a while it
gets to be a habit.
Sappho chooses the latter, but is at once faced with
the problem of how to address a goddess. God-conjuring is a tricky business and everything depends on the
proper epithet. Sappho uses for this purpose a compound word meaning "splendour-throned"-which she
may have invented herself since no other extant poet has
it-and the phrase "wile-weavinq; child of Zeus."
Just why "splendour-throned" is somewhat doubtful,
but Mr. Abrahamson suggests it may hav.e something to
do with Aphrodite's many-colored scarf. About the
"wile-weaving" he has no doubt, and he quotes chapter
and v·erse to show th at the Greeks didn't either. Hesiod
classes love as one of the five sons of Night-along with
Vrn·.,-.eance, D eath, Old-age and Discord. Homer took
a dim view, too . For him, besides being tricky, Aphrodite
is utterly ruthless.
There is the scene in the Iliad, after Paris' battle with
Menalaus. Although one micrht think it was a little late
for that kind of sentiment, Helen decides ·that this isn't
the time to s-ee Pa.-is. But it only takes one "I'll hate
you as I have loved you" remark form Aphrodite to
send her off-fast.
Here I'd like to put in a word of my own for Sappho.
nWile-weaving" may have been a traditional epithet for
the Goddess of Love, but after all, Homer simply put
it into the mouths of his characters. He didn't have to
take the consequences. They did. But Sappho uses it
face to face with Aphrodite herself. Which indicates
not only a certain courage, verging on madness perhaps,
but a precise knowledge of the realities of the thing.
For her, love is nothing sentimental nor virginally romantic. She harps on the fact of past visitations and is
prepared, indeed asks, for all the guile, the deceits, the
trickeries which she knows quite clearly are a part of it
all. There is no quiet or peace or calm in the entire
business. Nor is it expected. It is not for nothing that
the last words of Sappho to Aphrodite are to call her
"my stay in Battle."
After the invocation comes a relatively long, handsome passage describing the previous descent of the Goddess to the "dark earth." Mr. Abrahamson's point seems
to be that it doesn't take the poetess long to drop the
theme of unrequited love for the joys of poetic description. Also he sees a large significance in the adjective "dark." It might refer to the fertility of the soil,
or perhaps land as opposed to water, or even to the
under-world. Then there is the problem of the locomotion of Aphrodite's chariot. The Greek word apparently
means sparrow. But there are those realists who point
out that two sparrows would hardly be adequate for the
job.
Once arrived, Aphrodite smiled. Mr. Abrahamson
says that this, too, is a stock-in-trade epithet. I get the
imoression of the Mona Lisa variety rather than the
tooth paste type.
Next, quite sensibly, the Goddess asks Sappho three
questions: what was wrong, why she called, and what did
she want. The fact that there were three qµestions and
that later the Goddess made three promises has some
meaning Mr. Abrahamson thinks. The three promises
are: even if your beloved runs from you, soon she'll
chas·e you; if she doesn't want what you have to offer,
she'll offer herself; if she doesn't love you now, she will
in a little while whether she wants to or not. Which
seems to about cover all the possibilities.
There was no question period as Mr. Abrahamson
had a cold.
KEENEY
----o----
Voices in the Wilderness
The purpose of Mr. Cherniss' lecture was to present
in somewhat of a chronological fashion the character
and effects of the pre-socratic philosophers. As was
stated, he did not intend to exhaust that character nor
to pronose a pattern or formula by which it could be
~nderstood in its entirety, but rather to suggest and
tn~icat·e some asoects of its form and development. Mr.
Cherniss hewed to this line.
But even this less lofty task is faced with the difficult
problem of sources. Later philosophers in whose doctrines we find references to their predecessors are considered by the pre-socratic scholar questionable though
oftentimes valuable quoters. There is in existence, however, a partially preserved book written by a gentleman
called Theonhrastos in which our scholars delightfully
find recorded many of the opinions of the early Greek
�Page 4
ST.
JOHN'S
philosophers. There are, according to Mr. Cherniss,
many other sources available to the scholar which in
their additive aspect are quite important. But enough
of sources.
It is not the reviewer's intention to reproduce even in
sketchy outline the lecturer's exposition of the successive
opinions of the pre-socratics. This would indeed be presumptuous for one whose naive opinion used to be that
Greek philosophy began with Plato. Those who are
interested in such a reproduction would best turn to
Burnet's "Early Greek Philosophy" which contains a
good deal of Mr. Cherniss' lecture and some of this
review. I Would nevertheless like to record a few impressions that were made by the lecture and· Mr. Burnet.
I was principally struck by the almost universal concern of the early Greeks with cosmology. Each seemed
aware of the transitory nature of things and each seemed
bent on discovering that permanent and indissoluable
stuff out of which all things are made or that first principle by which all things are governed. This concern
and awareness can surely be exemplified by the various
doctrines of Thales, Anaximander, Anaximines and
Herakleitos. Thales believed water was that stuff of
which all other things were migratory forms. He is said
to have imagined that the world process was refiected
in the transition that came to be when water assumed
its various forms, i.e. vapor and solid. For Ananximander this principle was an "indestructible, ageless, deathless" something (usually called infinity) out of which
everything arose and into which everything returned.
This is, as Anaximander says, "as is meet; for they
make reparation and satisfaction to one another according to the ordering ortime." Anaximines thought it was
air that gave life to things; an air which was boundless
yet determinate and which, under varying conditions,
assumed the character of water, earth and fire.
This concern with permanent stuff and governing
principles arose from a view of nature as a continuous
process of generation and corruption, of change and
becoming, of contending opposites. Things in nature,
though constantly changing as seasons do change, seemed
to do so in somewhat of an orderly manner. There
must then exist some underlying idea that orders change
and makes it intelligible. This view of nature is best and
fully expressed in the doctrine of Herakleitos. He conceived nature as a constant flux in which nothing is anything but a different degree of everything else. For him
everything was one and many, itself and its opposite and
"kindled according to measure and according to measure
extinguished." He was consequently in need of some
such stuff of a permanent nature which would pass into
everythini;i; and into which, in turn, everything would
pass. This stuff was Fire. "All things are an exchange
for fire and fire for all things."
Unlike Anaximander, Herakleitos thought that the
contention of opposites was not unjust. He says son;iewhere, "Homer was wrong in saying: 'Would that strife
might perish from among Gods and Men!' He did not
see that he was prayin~ for the destruction of the universe; for if his prayer were heard, all things would pass
COLLEGIAN
away . . . ." But this eternal contention, this unrelenting
becoming takes place according to a hidden harmony
which renders the world intelligible to man. The fast
reality is not the continual processes of growth and
decay, of change and 1lux, of contending opposites, but
that formula, that hidden harmony which govern those
processes. Wisdom for Herakleitos was not the percep.
tion of the processes themselves, not the knowledge of
many opposite things, but rather the knowledge of the
underlying unity of the opposites. Wisdom becarne
something apart from all, and truth is to be found in
introspection.
Hence in Herakleitos as in his three predecessors we
find a struggling to order and make understandable the
transitory nature of things according to some such stuff
or principle: which is ~ither a part of that nature (as in
the case of Herakelitos) or independent of it.
The second impression made chiefly by Mr. Cherniss
with the help of Mr. Burnet was the progressive develop.
ment of early Greek thought. Each successive doctrine
seemed to develop more fully the implications of its
predecessor ap.d to add a few of its own. This process
was neither rash nor headstrong, but was continually
checked for dilemmas and contradictions. To give just
one example, Herakleitos made explicit the implicit
virtues in the theories of Thales, Anaximander and
Anaximenes and carried them along with his own to
their proper conclusion. In contrast to or as a check
against the common sense view of nature as flux and
knowledge as a subjective affair, the logic of Parmenidies
arrived and brought to a head the everlasting problems
of being and becoming, of appearance and reality. T he
logic of Parmenides was a direct denial that we can
know anything at all about change for ttsince nothing
but being can be, beincs is all that is." If anything is
hot, it can not be anything but hot, in fact, it can't be
anything but being. Change does not exist and the
world is forever doomed to the same fate.
It was left for Plato to reconcile change and Eleatic
logic, to reconcile appearance and reality, to assert
reason, solve the paradoxes and synthesize the virtues of
his predecessors. If he stood on the shoulders of giants,
he was nevertheless "eingrosser Cagliostro." (For reasons
other than Nietzche's.)
At this point I would like to conclude with some
general comments about the lecture. Though Mr.
Cherniss added much information and some excitement
to our alr.eady fascinating experience with Greek thought,
he nevertheless confined himself too strictly to that
sort of lecture that one can read in a good book. If he
had been less recitative and more analytical, I think the
lecture would have had greater value. Information in
the sense of fact is much more easily and less pre·
cariously learned from some precious document for fa cts
are less susceptible to misunderstanding when read than
when heard. At St. John's we have a great respect for
scholars, but an even greater respect for enthusiasts.
Perhaps this is wronq;, but I'm inclined to believe as
Parmenidis in that ((whatever is, is," and let's let it go
at that.
P . A. CAMPONISCHI
St. John's Collegian
Vol. LXIl---No. 5
ANNAPOLIS MARCH 13th, 1949
Price: lOc
On the Misuse of Analogy
It occurs to me that when an analogy is made between
any two objects . . . betwe:n a concept ~nd a series of
actions, for instance . . . m order for 1t to be worth
more than a nice exposition of wit, this analogy must be
concemed with shedding light for deeper understanding, and with persuadi~g fo~ bet~er actions: Now if the
analogy is concerned pmnanly with deepening the understanding, then it is an explanation in itself. Plato's
analogy of the sun to the "good" is an example of this
kind of use.
On the other hand, if the purpose of the analogy is
ro encourage better actions, then the grounds for the
relevanc·e of the analogy must be argued. Mr. Hammond's lecture on "Happiness and Divine Illumination"
seems to me an example of this use of analogy. For
surely the parallelism he demonstrated between God's
relati~n to man as the concept, and man's various "partial" activities as the actions, did not deepen the understanding of the concept of God's relation to man. On
the other hand I believe that Mr. Hammond used his
analogy to argue for a c-ertain way in which a man
could act in exercising his ((partial" activities. But if
what I said above is true, then it would have been
necessary for Mr. Hammond to show the relevance of
his parallelism. In so far as he developed the subject,
he did not, nor I believe, could he have argued the
validity of the analogy. He just made the analogy, and
that was that. It is for me to show why I think the
analogy is not well taken. What I say is not to be interpreted as rduting the position of where Mr. Hammond stood, but rather his argument for standing there.
His argument was roughly that God- the Christian
God of sin plus grace plus redemption-penetrates into
all of man's various activities, and gives them order
and direction ... namely, towards Himself. Mr. Hammond devoted himself to illustrating how this was the
case by listing man's "partial" activities alongside the
activity of theology. The "partial" activities are medicine, psychoanalysis, economic, political, and acquisition
of knowledge. In each of thes-e activities he discovered
~ sin, an act of grace, and a redemption which he
likened to the theological concepts of sin, grace and
redemption. This he said is a way of demonstrating
how theology-and hence God-penetrat·es and orders
man's fields of action. Further, he said it would be
g~od if we acted accordingIy. This was the essence of
his argument as I see it.
. U nderlying Mr. Hammond's argument is the definition of sin, which he explain·ed as the endowment of a
part with the importance of the whole; the whole in
this case being divine illumination. Thus to act rightly
we perform all of our ((partial" activmes toward the
final end- the whole-of divine illumination. Our sins
are thus expiated and we move toward happiness.
But suppose we change the "whole," or end, from
divine illumination to full development of the individual self. Sin then becomes a development of some part
of the self to the exclusion of the development of the
full self. Under this supposition our ((partial" activities
of health, self-knowledge, material acquisition, social
intercourse and learning proc·esses are ordered and given
direction by the idea of the full development of every
individual self.
Mr. Hammond found the "sin" in each of man's activities at that point where the action becomes t•selfcentered," opposed to the "self" losing itself in a universal concept--or God. To illustrate the several cases
of sin he took an example of a diseased individual operating in each of the given fields. For instance, he took
a sick person in the realm of health, a debtor in the
realm of economics, a criminal in the realm of politics,
and so on. One would infer from this approach that
the healthy individual- or one moving towards healthacting in psychoanalysis, politics and the others, was
therefore moving towards t•seL1essness"-getting rid of
a view of the world with the "self" at the center. In
other words, he was saying that the path to healthy
participation in the ((partial" activities is to identify one's
aim with a goal beyond one's •tself"-that is, divine illumination. However, it is not difficult to conceive of
healthy and balanced activity being achieved with no
goal beyond the concept of the fulfilment of the ('self."
Indeed it can and always has been present in human
endeavor.
We have, then, two of the possible arguments for the
manner of bettering our human action and achieving
happiness: by moving away from the t•s-elf" toward the
divine illumination, or by moving toward the "self" for
self-fulfilment. Mr. Hammond argues for the theological direction by interpreting the various fields of
human action in such a way that they are analogous to
the field of theology. On the other hand, these same
fields of action can be looked at in the entirely different
way I have mentioned; namely, as controlled by the goal
of self-fulfilment. This way definitely does not allow
the analogy to be made with the theological activity.
Becaus-e one of the terms of the analogy can be interpreted so as to def end tow opposing positions, I do not
consider the analogy a very useful one in establishing
Mr. Hammond's position.
I have not "overthrown" Mr. Hammond in his position, nor hav·e I attempted to establish a position of my
�
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St. John's Collegian, February 17, 1949
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Page 6
ST.
JOHN'S
St. John's Collegian
COLLEGIAN
Straightforward presentation of the masterpieces
of the theatre seems an essential starting point.
One can hardly imagine the tedium of rehearsing
a play without taut language; nor on the other hand,
imagine the excitement of trying to break the fixed
limits of language, as in Lear, to get beyond them,
beyond the limits of action to real understanding.
Naturally in a lesser degree the same considerations
apply to the audience. We look forward with anti~i
pation not only to seeing the Birds at C. U. m
December, but also the Alcestis at St. John's.
Hamlet
When Mr. Spaight was here last year, he was asked
what he thought of Sir Laurence Olivier's Hamlet,
then forthcoming. He replied that he feared the
danger of a surfeit upon the mind; of stirring up the
imagination with the evocations of Shakespeare's
words and then crushing 1t with a specific image
on the screen. His criterion of whether or not the
film would f all prey to this danger was to be its
handling of the Queen's "There is a willow grows
ashnt a brook" describing the de;:ith of Ophelia.
He wondered whether the speech would be both
read and portrayed. Those who have seen the film
will recall that is precisely what happens; the Queen's
speech, complete with cuts and a soap-opera reading,
is accompanied by a full-fledged sequence of Jean
Simmons, in a slightly rumpled cow-maid costume,
floating down a chocolate-box stream, plucking petals
while she sings. This overpowering sequence has
been described by an eminent critic as breathtaking,
and I agree; it is as breathtaking as a coup de ventre.
In that scene we have epitomized the dangers of
filming Hamlet. Olivier's last adaptation, Henry V,
came off marvelously well, while more misgivings
must be felt about this latest export. Perhaps there
is a fundamental difference between these two plays.
In Henry V the Chorus bments the foilings of the
stage, and wishes for greater means of verisimilitude
to portray his epic. Henry V benefits tremendously
from reality, or rather super-reality; from motion,
color, eye-staggering settings and the London Symphony Orchestra. But Henry Vis a great drama, and
it has been said that Hamlet is more a gre1t dialogue.
The plot of Hamlet is not a great one, and of the
many imaginative levels of the play, only the first
is dramatic. As Mr. Spaight brought home to us,
much of the effect of such a play for Shakespeare
depended upon the crudeness, or r.:1ther the unrealism,
of its production. Hamlet was played on a rough
st::ige, without costume or scenery, in 111 probJbility
by bad actors, but with a good audience. The audience had to be accustomed to a constant exercise
of the imaginative faculty while watching the play.
It was able to be carried directly from the evocative
language to the ideas behind it, without the impediment of association with the mundane. For example,
in Olivier's opening scenes, one feels quite at home,
for who has not at some time stood in a cold and
d:irk old building and been afraid? In Shakespeare's
opening scenes, with the tension dramatically
fractured by purposeful slapstick and bawdiness, one
is forced to manufacture a unique fear, the fear of
being outside Elsinore. The Olivier ghost is a respectable heir to a long line of such; Shakespe1re's
is so obviously an old man in a bedsheet that a unique
terror, of an intellectual rather than a thalamic
character, is aroused by his presence. With the film
the imagination has nothing to do; with the play
it roams far and wide. It can get glimpses of great
things.
Of course, the responsibility for such realism
cannot be placed altogether at Olivier's door, for
it is the product of a long deterioration of the the:iter
reaching back to the Restoration and even furtherto Euripides, in fact. Sir Laurence, who appe::irs to
be an intelligent man, fobs off the faults in his version, which he perhaps understands, upon the necessity of entertaining "Gertie in the si:>. pennies." I
should think, by the way, that he has not done too
well even at that; the explanation of Hamlet's
staging of the play-within-the-play is difficult enough
to follow without the substitution for the entire
"Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I" soliloquy
of a single, startling, cross-stage leap to accomp:my
"The play's the thing." But what really intrigues me
is the reason that Olivier feels he must force-feed
the imagination of the common folk in order to
bludgeon them into an acceptance of the Bard. The
idea that the plebei:ins hck imagimtion is strange
to us who 111ve read Horner and heard Sus:m Reed.
It is, indeed, only in this last generation that ordimry
people have lost the faculty of imagimtion. It is
because they are no longer called upon to be good
audiences. It h~s happened only since re1lisrn, in
the form of novels, plays, the radio, and the film,
has filled the folk-mind with the products of other
people's imagination.
Thus we have Hamlet, not at all badly done on
one level by Sir Laurence Olivier, a competent interpreter and actor. But his very production will contribute to that spate of realism that is dulling the
imaginations of those who should be1r the interpretive t1sk in the next generation. Who, in the end,
will be left in the the.iter free to imagine?
-BOYD KYLE
ANNAPOLIS,- DECEMBER 15th, 1948
Vol.. LXII---N_. 3
o
Price: lpc
CHORUS FOR A HERO
ALLEGl:lo
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11!JVll'U
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IJ rJ• la
QUOTATIONS
Music in the Tradition
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pf •rF·wrt~ rl rer rl J•rr1c"c.t·4"1"fi .;Ir•r I
Text by Fleischmann & Washburn
Francis Jammes
II Va Neiger . ..
It's going to snow in a few days. Well I recall
the year just past, .remembering my sorrow
at the hearth's side. If they had asked me: what?
I would have said: leave me alone, nothing at all.
I had thought much that past year in my room
while yet. the snow fell heavily outside.
And thought in vain. For now as yesteryear
I smoke a wooden pipe with amber stem.
J'ai bien reflechi, l'annee avant, dan~ ma chambre,
pendant que la neige lourde tombait dehors.
ai reflechi pour rieri. · A present comme al ors
Je fume une pipe eri bois avec un bout d'ambre.
r
My old oak chest-of-drawers still smells good.
But I was foolish because all these things
never could change. It is a pose.
to want to hunt down things already known.
Ma. vieille commode en chene sent toujours bon.
Ma~s moi j'eta is bete parce que ces choses
ne Jouvaient pas changer et que c'est une pose
de vouloir chasser les choses. que nous savons. .
pensons-n~us et pad~ns-nous? Cest drole;
Why do we speak or think? It's really funny;
Our kisses and our tears-those never speak,
and still we understand them. Step of friend
. is softer than the sound of sciftest word.
::~ la rm es et nos ·baisers;· ~ux; ne parlerit- pas, -· · ·; : ·
cependant nous les comprenons ·et -les ·pas
d'un am1 sont p1 doux que de douces paroles.
.
'
us
FRANCIS
1- 8 Lohengrin Wagner
9
Coriolanus Beethoven
9-10 Gross Fuge Beethoven
11-12 22 Variation on a
Waltz of Diabelli
(Notte Giorno Faticar) Beethoven
14-23 Damnation of Berlioz Faust (Minuet
of the Will o' the
Whisps)
24-25 Symphony in B Minor (2nd movement)
T schaikowsky
26-27 Stout Hearted Men
Romberg
28-29 Til Eulenspiegel
Strauss
31-34 Don Juan
35-36 Commendatore Aria
(2nd act Don Giovanni) Mozart
37-43 From Academic Festival Overture Brahms
43-44 A Mighty Fortress
Luther
It's Going to Snow
Il va neiger dans quelques jours. Je me souviens
de l'an dernier. Je me souveins de mes tristesses
au coin du feu. Si l'en m'avait demande: qu'est-ce?
j'aurais dit: laissez-moi tranquille. Ce n'est rien.
Pourquoi done
Bar
" ;
JAMrvi~§"
I
.
Translated by Fleischmann
�Page 2
ST.
JOHN'S
ST.
COLLEGIAN
Bach Aria Group and Bach's Cantatas
The student who the other day said that music and
the absurd were close relatives could find support for
his view in pointing at the fate of J. S. Bach's Cantatas.
At the time these pieces were composed people-and
that includes the composer himself-cared so little
about them that they wrapped their groceries in the
paper on which the music was written. Yet taken as a
body, these cantatas rank with Beethoven's symphonies,
Haydn's string quartets, Schubert's songs. Would we
know Beethoven without knowing his symphonies,
Haydn without his string quartets, Schubert without his
songs? We think of Bach as one of the great masters
of musie, and we believe we know him. Still the 200 or
so cantatas of his, which have been preserved, remain
buried in the libraries to this day. The discovery of a
whole new continent of music, almost too vast, too rich
to be explored in a lifetime, awaits those who by accident
or purpose find their way to the twenty volumes that
contain these compositions.
The concert of the Bach Aria Group on Sunday, Nov.
21, gave us a glimpse into these riches. It was not more
than a glimpse; since what the group offered were
selections from a selection, the arias and duets we heard
are single movements taken out of individual cantatas.
To get an idea of what a cantata is like, we must
imagine these arias introduced by symphonic preludes,
framed by colossal choruses, connected by dramatic
recitativ.es, topped by moving chorals. Yet even thus restricted to one musical form, the aria, Bach proved an
immensely enjoyable, moving, and entertaining composer .. The -variety of expression achieved, of states of
mind perfectly represented and strikingly brought to life
with the scantiest of musical means-often not more
than one voice, one frail instrument, a few lightly
touched chords of the piano--is really astounding. We
think of Bach as the great polyphonic composer, the
tnan of the many voices. Here we recognize him as the
unsurpassed master of pure tnelody. The single melodic
line, almost without accompaniment, does it all.
The group which presented this music is an ensemble
in the best sense of the word, trained to perfection for
its special task whose staggering difficulties were completely mastered. Singing and playing was of equal excellence throughout, not only technically flawless, but
outstanding for purity of style. There was no trace of
the universal disease of "nuances"-those puny attempts
to improve upon a composer by adding little touches of
external effect here and there. Nothing but the music
itself, the pure melodic line was allowed to speak. However, the result showed that nothing else was needed to
make the concert a complete success.
There is one danger, though, inherent in the technical perfection of presentation this group is capable of.
Where all technical difficulties are mastered, there will
always be a tendency to increase speed. There is of
course in the general tendency to speed up Bash's tempo
a healthy protest against the older tradition which, because Bach was considered a holy man, poured a sticky
sauce of solemnity over his music which made it almost
indigestible. But, on the other hand, if the clip is too
fast, much essential detail is submerged in the rush of
tones. In our time, when speed has almost become
synonymous with value, it takes daring to be slow. We
are afraid of being slow as earlier times were afraid of
speed. Bach asks for both-let us dare to be slow
wherever the music asks for it.
V.
ZucKERKANDL
Paradox of Government
During the question period Mr. Strauss suggested of men except one: the man of wisdom. Ignorance
that he who thinks deeply about politics thinks paradoxi- creates fear and fear asks "what subtle mischief" are
cally. During this lecture he was thinking about politics. they capable of? It is Hiero's task in the dialogue to
Before the evening was over we were presented with a dissuade Simonides from aspiring, should he be aspiring,
to tyrannical rule. But it is Simonides who leads him on,
paradox-the paradox of the lawful and the fitting.
Before considering the paradox, Mr. Strauss con- who starts the discourse, knowing that for the tyrant
cerned himself with teaching us how to read Xenephon to be taught, the tyrant must himself present his condigenerally and the dialogue on tyranny in particular. If tion as one so hopeless and bankrupt that it must have
we thought we knew how before the lecture, I am sure help.
that most of us realized during the lecture that we had
Simonides, feigning ignorance, asks the tyrant to bebut glanced at it. What Mr. Strauss saw was the con- come a teacher and explain how the life of a tyrant
flict between the wise man and the tyrant, between wis- - compares with that of an ordinary person with respect
dom and power. (Who among us did not think Hiero to the joys of the body. This is assurance for Hiero,
welcomed the company and discourse of Simonides?)
both because the wise man has to be taught and because
Hiero, the tyrant, is confronted with an object of. he · considers bodily pleasures only. The latter is assur·
dread, a wise man; Simonides, with an unreceptive stu- ance because the c~nside'ration of bodily pleasures is, for
dent who must be taught. Because of the life he led Hiero, the consideration of a fool. Hiero speaks and
before becoming a tyrant, Hiero understood all eyp~s indicts tyranny with gross overstatement. The pre·
JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
l.irninaries over; Hiero on the road of denunciation,
Simonides thrum the, consideration of power and wealth
a field in whith the tyrant is happier than other men.
Hiero here agafo denounces while Simonides remains
insilent through6iJt the harangue. In this part Hiero _
troduces subject& not even suggested by Simonides. The
latter silent, the former with a growing fear due to
Simonides' lea~lli.g the fool's sphere, must force his
paint. Loftier subjects, such as friendship, are introduced by Hier6 becttuse the wise mafi must be made to
understand that the tyrant's lot is an unhappy one.
It is Sim6fiides' silence throughout this last passage
that gives him the leadership for the remainder of the
dialogue. Sim6nides now asks that Hier6 consider the
question whether the tyrant is not the most honored of
man. It is the surprise and shock of this question on
honor that, the fear now great, compells Hiero to so
denounce tyr:umy that, "Ah, no! Simonides, if to hang
oneself outright be ever gainful to poor mortal sb·til,
then, take my word for it, that is the tyrant's remedy."
Here then is the bankrupt tyrant. The wise man so controls the tyrant that should he wish to, he could kill him
by suggesting easy ways of suicide. But an interlocuter
needs a living subject and so the poet does not kill.
The student is prepared. Simonides makes a case f~r
the greater honor that can be enjoyed by the tyrant;
an honor that is worth doing evil for, for it is a "lustre
effacing what is harsh and featureless and rude." And
here is even another shock for the tyrant. To what
lengths will the wise man not go for the honor of power
-the evil necessary for attainment shall not stop him.
From this point on, Simonides tells Hiero how this
honor can be his. Here is the painting of the beneficent
tyrant. In this speech lies the paradox: here is the
theoretically perfect, the only valid though illegitimate
rule, and here also is the impossible, the necessity for the
instigation of invalid though legitimate rule.
At this point, Mr. Strauss began to look for the
meaning of the dialogue-what is it that Xenophon is
saying in "Hiero, a Dialogue on Tyranny." Mr. Strauss'
interpretation was clarified in the question period and I
am taking the liberty of considering his answer in the
light of both the lecture and the question period, the
latter being an important aid to the understanding of the
former.
First of all, Xenophon chose the form of presentation
that he did because in this form, the dialogue, tyranny
can be defended by a wise man. Through Simonides,
ty~anny is given stature. The opponent of tyranny,
H1ero, is not quite the man to be respected. He is the
loser! Xenophon made him lose. The indication is that
Xenophon sees some good in tyranny a rule without law.
What is this good and why paradoxical?
R~le by law is legal but not necessarily fitting. If we
consider the following example we might better understand this last statement. A big boy ~a~ ~ sn1all coat and
a small boy a big coat. The big
takes the small
b~y's coat and gives him his own, If this act is comn11tted in ;i state ruled by law, the state Viill prosecu~e
ooy
Page 3
the_ big boy. If not, then actually there is no rule in
the state for people would be allowed to take and do
what they will. But it is not fitting that the big boy go
around cold while the small boy trips on the hem of the
large coat. Were these boys living in a state ruled by
a beneficent tyrant, the fitting decree would be issued.
The tyrant rules without law. Nothing is static and
determined in the state as such. The tyrant's rule is
fluid and fitting-as fluid as time, as fitting as the tyrant~
Theoretically, the beneficent tyrant is the only valid
ruler, for only his rule can be completely just{ To be
ruled by a beneficent tyrant is to be ruled a ways by
wisdom.
- Rule by law, whether monarchic or democratic: cannot
be just or fitting rule because laws cannot think, and
conditions require thought. Laws cannot at alt times
make all the parts of the state fit together. They are
bound and limited to their word and even should a wise
man rule under them, he is bound and limited by theit
word too. (To suggest at this point, the Spirit of the
Law, would be begging the question. One might say
that the beneficent tyrant is nothing more than law in
spirit.) It is the beneficent tyrant only who can mak~·
things fit together for he alone is wisdom free to act.
But though that is all theoretically true, it is practically impossible. For a beneficent tyrant one of two
things must happen; either the tyrant accepts the advice
of the wise man or is himself a wise man. (He is no
longer a tyrant when he becomes a wise man.) The first
is impossible since the tyrant, as is clear from Mr.
Strauss' reading of the dialogue, fears the wise man and
cannot learn from him. The second is impossible because wise men cannot be politicians in any state that
they do not rule. Socrates' death and Xenophon's exile.
are two examples which bear this out.
According to Mr. Strauss the last line of the dialogue
expresses ~he impossibility of the realization of a rule by
a beneficent tyrant. The dialogue closes with Simonides
saying that Hiero will be "honored but not envied" if
he will do all that Simonides suggests. But Hiero fears
that he would be envied by the wise man if he were to
rule as Simonides suggests. Not being wise, Hiero does
not realize that wisdom knows no envy. Hiero would
be wise were he not to fear the envy of the wise, atid
his being wise would preclude Simonides' advice. Hence
Hiero fears and does not become beneficent and not
being wise, he is n9t beneficent.
During the question period the issue of application
was pressed. Mr. Strauss, both at the end of the lecture and in the question period, insisted (with Socratesand Xenophon) that this is a theoretical thesis and its
use is to present the problem of law and validity'. In the
realm of practicality, a second best is chosen even thoug~
this second best is far removed from the ideal. But to
get the best in our practical choice requires that we
understand everything we can about government---even
its paradoxes.
A. BISBERG
�Page 4
ST.
JOHN'S
Sonnet
Here by t~ riverbank the frogs complain
With Communal damp cailings in the gloom
Some lost things CQ weakly through the broom
Endlessly sending as if not in vain;
Or .the first magnitudes and aU the train
Of heaven stand: the stars abide, by whom
The sailor bound for Asgard and for doom
~an navigate the sensible domain;
Their mu~ic lattices the lightlessness
Always ~d · lights always the bitter sea
For ea:~h' 'h11<iil 'who wiU hear: not marble nor
The gilded monuments of princes-or
Drowning, blind Homer and that coterie
Enchoir release from bearingless distress.
)
:
BALLARD
More on Strauss
·;· Bertefi~e.hf tyranny is the tyranny of man counselled
by the Wise. It is tyranny because it is outside of law.
Itis ·arbitrary rule above laws. Rationally speaking this
typ·othetieal1y is juster than rule under law, i.e., Monarchy. · This was adroitly demonstrated in the question
period, where Mr. Strauss also made it clear that this
government of the wise apart from law, can only be an
inspiration, a theoretical image. Practically speaking it
is a different matter entirely.
· It seems strange for Mr. Strauss to point out that
Simonides wants to control a previously oppressive and
unjust tyrant. He is hot concerned with how he became
it ·tyrant. To Mr. Strauss then, beneficent tyrannical rule
is,· in :theory at least, as legitimate as constitutional rule,
if the tyrant listens and acts on the advice of the wise.
Admitting that beneficent tyranny is merely a theoretical
«inspiration" for the purpose of clarifying the danger of
laws, their · staticness, does not, establish a reason for
favoring · such a situation. Tyranny cannot exist for
citizen as citizen. Socrates was a citizen philosopher so
~e could not advise the unwise and selfish tyrant. Only
~ wise stranger could show the tyrant how to gain this
-love of the · people. The tyrant is still satiating his
desires. It is interesting to note, according to Mr.
Strauss, that there is no reference to a previously existing· beneficent tyrant in any of Xenophone's works.
·According· to Mr. Strauss, tyranny and laws are "mutually •exclusive." Wise men do not wish to rule. This
has necessitated the rule by an unwise, advised by the
wise. The wise does not wish to rule because such rule
~ntails· . beip.g a slave. The philosopher accordingly is
obligated tp rule only in a perfect society. Since there is
never such .a state of things, he is never obligated.
The question prime in my mind is the legitimacy of
advocating a goal for just and good government (a
theoretical inspiration which is admittedly unobt~in
able). This justification is based on the static character
and rigidity of law and the clumsiness and delayi~g
action of a governing body of imperfect men. I do not
.
see how .the conclusion follows, that if the body of
person; are wise enough to recognize the beneficen~e of
COLLEGIAN
the tyrant, i.e. his governing for their good; ·they art
nevertheless unfit to govern themselves; It is, according
to the lecturer, because the people recognize this bene.
ficence only by right opinion. They are le.SS fit to govern
than the tyrant who is outside this realm of opinion
since he is illegimate, even if not wise ·himself. Is
right opinion both possible and desirable? The rule of
the single wise man is admittedly unattainable· and )
wonder how desirable?
In other words-since this government by a wisely
advised tyrant is "Utopia," I cannot see how one is justi.
fied in advocating or even presenting this as an "inspira.
tional" goal. I certainly agree with Mr. Strauss when ·he
emphasizes the need of morality and . "formation of
character" in addition to the raising of the standard of
living, but as Mr. Buchanan once said, ·it is the dialecti·
cal method which attains this. · I cannot: help finding ~
certain cynicism prevalent in the advocacy of the Phi.
losopher King or the wisely advised · tyrant. I do not
confuse the two forms' of "Wise Rule"; the first in the
Republic, · ruling by law, the later, illegitimate and out·
side of law. But this distinction is unimportant in· ob
serving the cynicism of both these schoo-Is.
Perhaps I am governed by the contemporary notion ol
democracy but I recognize the limitations of formal law,
the need for an action on the part of the people against
bad laws, against a law which may help to plunge the
world into war, however it is the "right opinion," if y~11
like, of the people themselves that is necessary to just
and peaceful government. The cynicism of setting the
wise to advise the illegitimate, or the advent of the phi·
losopher king, leads to dangerous paths of action on the
part of those who acceptthis, even as an unattainable
absolute. Such a discussion may point out the short·
comings of a constitutional government. . Such a dis·
cussion may separate practical from theoretical politics,
but does it establish a good, which we must recogniu
though can never attain? I would like to hear M r.
Strauss dealing with the problem of government by the
dialectical give and take of the people themselves, as
well as those necessitating the unwilling return of the
"Wise" into the cave.
Mr. Strauss' lecture was an invaluable example of
uhow to read a book," but I wonder; are the implica·
tions inherent in the conclusions not to be questioned?
St John's Collegian
Vol. LXII---No. 4
ANNAPOLIS, FEBRUARY 17th, 1949
Price:
lOc
no;
PETER DAVIES
Pity the man, the hater
The rotten hater,
Calling Superiority to himself:
Looking at the masses,
Seeing affirmation,
Knows he is right,
They no wiser than he:
Each little man,
Lost in the mass,
Faith in his hate,
· · No Christian.
ToM FROMME
Pagan and Christian Ethics
Mr. Jaffa characterized his lecture as being the attempt of a political scientist to rid his science of its most
outstanding dilemma, the problem of morals and politics.
This problem stands in the same relation to political
science and its allied studies as the method of inductive
reasoning stands to the natural sciences. The relation
is one of despair. The social sciences are not wholly
impotent with respect to problems of value, for they
can act as a critique of the truth or error of judgements
following out of theories of value, but they cannot
legitimately criticize the moral right or wrong involved
in entertaining such judgements. Anthropology was
able to provide a refutation of the Nazi racial theories,
but it could furnish no grounds for the moral condemnation of the belief in German superiority. The social
sciences must content themselves with being a laboratory
in which theories about ethical values can be put to the
test.
Pragmatism accomplishes a tentative solution of the
problem by relegating different theoti.<~s of value to the
limbo of opinion, and advocating equal toleration of all
these theories. This solution, however, becomes paradoxical since the principle of toleration is incomoatible
with several of these opinions. Catholicism and Marxism
to name two, are built upon doctrines which assert their
absolute supremacies over their n·~i,,.hbors. They both
claim to be more than opinions. Pragmatism is then
comoelled to deny these claims to suoremacy, and bv
so doin~, it destroys the tentative solution which it
originally proposed.
This paradox is not imminent in the nature of ethical
theory. It only becomes immanent when all ethical
theories are treated as opinions. To vitiate this paradoxical result, Mr. Jaffa investigated the claims of one
of these ethical doctrines to be something more than an
?oinion. For his examnle, Mr. Jaffa turned to Catholicism rather than to Marxism, since Catholicism has,
~specially in the writings of St. Thomas, a more highly
systematized ethics.
A condensed expression of one of the assumotions
underlying the structure of Aristotelian and Tl,omistic
Ethics is the quotation from the Metaphysics with
which Thomas introduces his commentary on the
Nichomachean Ethics.-"Wisr.lom depends uoon a perception of order." Order is here taken in its most ~en
eral sense, as being synonomous with 'relation.' The
application of rdation to phvsics is callP.d 'cause and
effect,' its application to mathematics, 'function,' and
its application to human affairs is called tlaw.' Law is
so~etimes used in a generic sense, but it is properly ap-
plied to ethics and politics. The perception of order in
human relations can be subdivided into these two
branches, ethics and politics, without prejudice to their
multiple interconnections.
The science of ethics, like all others, has its proper
subject matter, the passions of the soul as determinative
of action. The passions are the genus of the science,
the manners of acting are the species.
The truly scien!ific character of the Nichomachean
Ethics is indicated by Aristotle's method of approaching
the definition of a virtue. The definition first takes the
form of a question, twhat are the passions of which
courage, for example, is a mean?'. This question has
implications which go far beyond the science of ethics
itself, and these implications constitute the right of ethics
to be called a science. One of these implications is that
the science of ethics is a science of contraries, just as
Aristotle's physics is a physics of contraries. This relation of the ethics to the physics also implies that either
of the ethical extremes, the falling short of the exceeding, involves the destruction of that which the mean
tends to preserve. The definition of a virtue is completed
when the passions of which it is a mean, and the end
to which this mean tends, both become known.
Another implication contained in Aristotle's mode of
procedure and in his definitions is the architectonic
structure of the science of ethics. The hierarchical classification is demanded since particular virtues are defined
with reference to their end. In all cases, according to
Thomas' interpretation, the end is the preservation of
the subject who has the virtue. Courage has reference to
those situations in which the immediately continued existence of the subject is threatened. As such it is relevant to animals as well as to us, and its end in us is
the prevention of destruction to our animal nature.
Temperance has reference to the preservation of our
animal nature. Equity, magnanimity, and justice specificallv are human virtues, and their end is the perfection
and oreservation of our rational nature. The virtues are
valued as their ends are valued. Thus the · ethical
hierarchy is an image of the hierarchy of being.
It is by this parallel relation that St. Thomas transmutes the pagen ethics into a form compatible with
Christianity, and by which he is enabled to ignore the
heroic courage and the other heoric virtues mentioned
in books seven and nine of the ethics. According to the
princiole of defining by 'maximum potentiality,' these
heroic virtues become an anomaly for St. Thomas, and
�
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The Collegian
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St. John's Collegian, December 15, 1948
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Page 6
ST.
JOHN'S
rather by not wasting time on sham politics and
meaningless formality. Some may feel that the polity
has in the past tended in this direction; certainly
the difficulty of obtaining quorums has shown that
many have judged the Assembly not worth the time
required to attend meetings.
There is a certain point of view (the "incubator"
theory) which supposes that students have no proper
share of responsibility in administration of the college. Everyone grants that decisions must be made,
regulations formulated, discipline maintained, here,
as in any compact and active group. But it is argued
that the administration is older and wiser than we,
and that it is paid to do the job while we aren't, and
that students need take no part in the real responsibility of community government. In the extreme
statement of this point of view, we would simply
use what facilities it occurred to the administration
to provide, obey what rules the Dean's office laid
down and answer to the Dean for violations, and
pay the Treasurer regularly for services rendered. The
student would loose a minimum of time from the
search for Truth.
That was an overstatement, of course. It is perfectly clear that students do and ought to assume
administrative function is dispersing funds and providing facilities for the newspaper, film club, and
other college activities. But it is not alway recognized that this assumption of responsibility is a particularly good and important thing, not as artificial
training, but on the contrary, as escape from the
artificiality of having no responsibility.
St. John's is conceived by all of us, not as an institution of teaching, on the "incubator" pattern, but
as a reasonably mature community of learning. It
is not that, there is room for dreaming. Where the
Administration is not distinct in person from the
Faculty, and the Faculty and students are sharing
the experience of learning, there is no place either
for absolute division of responsibility.
To come out of the dream, we have at present,
a number of established student organizations recognized, or waiting recognition, by the student body.
They will handle a large part of the administration
of community activities, but that part only which
is traditionally accepted by students in all colleges.
Beside these, there is the Court, which has, possibly,
as much responsibility in matters of student discipline as it wishes to assume, as well as other functions not clearly defined. The Court joins each week
with members of the Administration in a meeting,
conversational in character, which in turn plans College Forums conceived as conversations between the
student body and the Administration. These activities are aspects of the Student Polity, of which, the
much-maligned Assembly, the student body acting
in legislative capacity, is only one phase.
Last year, the student body undertook, entirely on
its own initiative, two administrative concerns. A
COLLEGE
committee appointed by the Court made a study of
the Laboratory, reporting its conclusions in College
Forum at the same time to the Administration, Faculty, and student body. The reception of the report
did not seem encouraging; perhaps the report, though
seriously prepared, was somehow inept. In any event,
this action of the Court in reflecting on the curriculum was not the violation of a sharply drawn line
of responsibility, which it might have been in another
schooi. In the St. John's community, it was a proper
offer to share an essentially common problem. Another especially significant action of the Polity last
year was the resolution on the admissions policy.
These may serve as some kind of example of the
responsibility a mature student body ought to assume.
Evidently, initiative and sound judgment are required on the part of students, as well as assent from
the Administration-assent which is, however, certainly in line with our tradition of a college community. The aim is not, primarily, elaborate formal
organization (though some changes in the constitution currently under discussion, seem well advised) ;
le1st of all it is the kind of ze1lous but meaningless
politicking sometimes found on campuses. Rather,
we ought to aim for the sensible community of responsibility which belongs to our dream of a community of learning.
-T.
SIMPSON
Between the music and the jukebox is
Between the monolith and the maelstrom dre1m
The psyche's tall hypotheses redeem
The demiurgical epiphanies;
Below the cliff along the transiencies
The hero Son flees Clytemnestra's scream,
Prince Hamlet waits until the verities seem
But seemings ... or the seemings verities? ...
There on the beach of paradox the soul
Constructs her shifting stasis, deling timeHer stroboscope that jells the flux, and stair
Toward speech, the burning asymptotic goal
The Deity bequeathed-her paradigm
He also gave, of what men do and bear.
-BALLARD
Writ~ng comes hard at St. John's because the
curriculum is a journey through critical rapids. One
feels an immense strain when one endeavors to put
his ideas on paper. John Sanborn felt that the po ..
etic instinct was slain by the sort of intensive work
in analysis we do here. On the contrary we beleive
that poetic inspiration is not crushed by dialectic
but can take on this very form of expression.
Although this is a predominately lecture-re ..
view issue, the aim of the paper is to refract ideas
radiating from the seminars and further to encour-.
age interpretive writing.
THE STAFF
St. John's Collegian
Vol. LXIl---No. 2
ANNAPOLIS, NOVEMBER 23, 1948
Poetry and the Liberal Arts
Mr. Mark Van Doren suspects poetry of a relationship with the liberal arts. It seems that a coincidence
of best achievement in poetry and the flourishing of
the liberal arts is observable. The great poets often had
a liberal art at their command-Shakespeare was a
master rhetorician who knew how to practice his art
without anyone being aware of what he was doing.
The 190 :figures of rhetoric he had at his command
became translated into so many motions of the logical
and pathetic human heart. It seemed evident, though,
that Mr. Van Doren could not base his attempt at
showing relation between the noble and the dialectical
voice through historical relationship alone. A poet and
his purpose had to be defined to this end.
A poet is one who thinks :first and writes later. He
is an artist while on duty and perhaps a liberal artist
at all other times. He is one who might think of a
character, lets the character become alive and then
creates him. Yet, after creation is achieved, the
character lives as an individual and has the right to
master his creator, the poet. Poetry deals with individuals. A Shakespearean or Homeric character is not
mainly great because there is something of us inside
him (or vice-versa) , but because he is Achilles or
Hamlet, an individual as no other, a man with a
name. And a man must be important to deserve a
name.
It is this individuality which makes poetry unique.
Other arts can deal only generically with man, not
with a singular snowflake, man, or rabbit. Poetry
deals with them as pure singulars, it attempts to
make heard the ineffable something which makes a
snowflake yet a separate thing after chemical, physical, and geopolitical analysis have "placed" it. And
this power to deal with particulars makes poetry a
liberating agent. It makes a man free to be taken
qua John Smith, qua microcosm like unto which
there is no other. Such an individual is untouchablebeing alone in the world and self-sufficient. He has
no occasion to be questioned about the meaning and
purpose of his existence, nor could anybody ask him
~uch questions: nobody knows him that well. As
individual is ineffable, Aristotle says. We can talk
of m:m as political, rational, and risible, but we can
never really know a person and the greater the person
the harder this is.
And here, says Mr. Van Doren, lies one of
~hakespeare's paradoxes. Surely he expressed himself
in
sufficiently clear and lucid style, and the plays in
are as simple and clear. Everything that
said on stage happens there. Yet here we have the
~;en;selves
Price: lOc
completely individual Hamlet-perfectly lucid, yet
ununderstandable-becoming, perhaps, a greater
enigma in the proportion in which the fascination of
his person increases. Equally difficult is it to clarify
the problem of how a poet uses abstractions without
appearing to use them, how, the play seems to have
no meaning, no coherence. It merely is, a world or
comes of itself of which, if it be a good play, every
individual part as well as every character is as
concise an individual as the world of the play itself.
Yet the world of the play is also the mirror of
our own world. On the other hand (or because of
this) it is a world that we would not wish to change
after seeing the play. The play has no purpose except
itself. We can again not ask Shakespeare why he
created the world of "Hamlet" in the same way
that we cannot ask why he created the "melancholy
Dane" himself.
If a poet is good, he does not know the end of the
play he is writing. It seems, according to Mr. Van
Doren, that he conceives and creates the idea and
then allows it to become an individual world that
behaves as it wants to behave, but that is yet human
enough to be subject to accidents which modify the
world itself, in proportion as it modifies the evolution of the hero" fate. In a really good poem, as in
s
life, the unexpected happens. Hamlet knew not
Polonius was behind the curt:iin, nor did Achilles
foresee that his thirst for glory could lead to the death
of his best friend. Yet still, in the seeming chaos of
the hero's world, i.e., in the unphilosophic universe
which he inhabits, education goes on. In the Illiad,
Achilles ends by understanding glory.
Poetry works through irony. If Achilles had not
made many mistakes, he would never have learned
so much. He is great because he had such great
difficulty in learning something. In tragedy, Mr. Van
Doren says, the liberal arts are practised because it
measures the limit of how far man can be presented
as an individual. And it here becomes evident that
previous statements tie in: tragedy seems an attempt
to make a great man effable.
Besides tragedy there is yet another form of drama
called comedy. And if tragedy deals with the presentation of the individual so that he may be best
understood, comedy spreads itself over the world
in presenting man as he can be known from another angle. The comic hero is either a fool or a
wit who dialecticises constantly. The possibility for
dialectic are, as we know, endless and hence poetry
in comic form is often shapeless. The world of
comedy is essentially safe because every man goes
over every hurdle and everything always ends well.
�Page 2
ST.
JOHN'S
Also, as is usual in a dialectical world, nobody takes
anybody else very seriously. People in comedy do not
feel and must keep their audience from feeling, too.
The comic here has no career: he seems to be as
wide as the world. Yet comedy has its limits as well
as tragedy. They are, however, from without rather
than from within, Achilles is limited from within
and we learn and suffer with him. But Odysseus is
a man who grows smaller and smaller as the drama
progresses. We suspect him of ignoring that he is
a higher being than the Cyclops or that he really
knows how hard it is to stay at home. A John Tanner, on the other hand, is a dialectician whom, at
the end of the play, no one can take seriously any
longer. Heroes in comedy are reduced to beings who
are not despicable, but who have had to fit themselves into a limited frame.
Perhaps Euripides killed tragedy because he made
the mistake of knowing Socrates not wisely, but too
well. He felt that man should be understood solely
in terms of logic. He excluded from his plays the
ignorance which characterises great poetry, the
ignorance of the liberal arts which seems to be
achievable only after the poet has absorbed them.
When we see what the idea in a given poem is, the
poem is bad. The more perfectly the liberal arts are
forgotten, the more perfectly are they possessed.
The duty of a good critic, according to Mr. Van
Doren, is to be able almost to duplicate the poet in
artistic worth. I feel very keenly about this since I
felt that Mr. Van Doren's lecture was a poem, a
poem by definition without meaning, purpose, or
logic. This is not by way of depreciation. I feel very
much that we should have more and better poems
on Friday nights. Mr. Van Doren's poem was good,
I think, because if we listened to him well, he had
a great deal to teach us-above all that we are
silent in our very greatest moments and that the
good poet must learn how to be silent. It is almost
painful to write this review because, now that these
words have been written, my feeling is that I have
s:iid really nothing about the lecture.
-FLEISCHMANN
Celestial Enchantment
What mocks us, that we force the bounded
To the boundless?
The unplaced place, so rarified tlut unfrcquent
travelers
Are strangled with a quick, sharp gasp,
And sent hurtling through time and space
To fall prostrate on the sense-bound sphere.
There again with patient, painful logic
Climb with quiet sweat,
Soothing with murmured nothings
ST.
COLLEGIAN
The panic of the heart.
What mocks us that galls us in our rest,
Yet pries our fingers from the rungs?
Proud-struggling to see a way that's laid
In unoriented pinwheels of vapor.
Self-moving-yet like a ping-pong ball
On a jet of air.
Bend with the hands of the imagination
The arch of events,
And see therein The Rise, Clim:ix, and The Fall.
Down the chasm of Time,
And Time's chasm has high walls,
Moves an endless stream of clutching hands
"Shaping the course of destiny."
Yet in the ethereal vastness, unmarked,
Save only as a marker for all orbits,
Rests the answer to eternity.
And a hand among the multitude,
Relaxing its thrust into that mist,
Is caught by the honeyed winds
Of the past-present-future;
And whirling at an harmonic pace
Through its celestial track,
Does rain down reflection of those omnipresent rays.
-LINTON
Player on Pan's Pipes
Mr. Zuckerkandl fired his lecture with mess'i.:mtic
enthusiasm and made an earnest attempt to let
students into his mind on the issue of music and
intellectual virtue. Music can be studied like mathematics, but general characterizations about music
<>ive one no way of distinguishing the hand of the
~aster. Or it can be appro:iched as an emotion:il
experience. However, Mr. Zuckerkandl's job was to
locate the place of music in a liberal arts curriculum.
Plato says the Lyre is essential in the educating of
youth because music is a strong ethical power. Docs
music influence character? Orpheus can make nature
knuckle under his magical spell and the walls of
Jericho respond to a musical tone thrice taken. But
John Wesley remarked, "what a pity the devil has
all the good tunes."
To get underneath the question, consider that we
identify intellect with rational, logical thought.
Science has monopolized intellect. "Where there is
order, there is intellect," is a deep conviction with
us. Order means to us a logical or mathematical
structure. Mathematical patterns are revealed in the
physical world by the sciences. Here is the one
sidedness of our approach. Since we are heirs to Locke,
we have too n1rrow a concept of intellectu:il range.
JOHN'S
COLLEGIAN
Most of the long hairs agree music is well-ordered
movement. But what moves? In a melody we get
pegged tones wit~ gaps inbetwee~. Move~en~ in
music is non-spatial and non-physical. It ts mmdmovement. Plato has gymnastics for the body, music
for the soul. As physical movement gives one intimate awareness of one's body, movement of mind
gives one intimate knowledge of one's mind. (Mr.
Zuckerkandl seemed Kantian here. We get to know
our own mind, not the intelligibles.) Music reveals
to us an order of the universe as far as it is mind.
The musical order revealed in the world of tone is
a non-logical and non-mathematical order and it is
futile to try to reduce it to such.
Kant, who dedicated his philosophy to redeem
mathematic al appearances (as well as morality) has
a breach with Plato. The mode of understanding is
not seelng. Intuitions are all sensual, but the senses
cannot think. So understanding has to provide patterns of reception. Anschauung gedanke-contemplative or intuitive thought-Kant felt was just
beyond man's reach. Goethe took up this lance. His
theory of colors is direct Vision challenging discursive reasoning. In it he postulates an efficient
negative principle, an opaque to "bring out" light.
White light is pure and colorless and comes into
visibility thru modifications imposed upon it by
"darkness."
" ... Life is but light in many-hued refraction."
(Faust, Part II)
Clark-Maxwell's equations sustain Goethe's theory.
But 19th century followed Descartes' lead to the
bitter end. Bitter because it reached its logical culminations in the mechanical weltanschauung of the
turn of the century. With only a cavalier remark
about the twentieth century revolution in physics,
return to Whitehead who says a piece of iron is a
melodic continuum. What holds it together is the
same thing that holds music together. And Bergson,
as St. Augustine, the immense speculator about time
b~fore him, needs to speak of music in developing
his revolutionary concept of time. The good sustains
all movement and music makes this reference beyond
itself.
-FRASCA
To the M embers of the Polity:
" To say that the students at St. John's do not
regulate" the dormitories in a responsible fashion is
~o state a fact that elicits a variety of responses.
one form or another these responses imply 1.)
t at there are no problems; and/or 2.) that such a
~~;htion ~s. an infringement of personal liberties.
first, if true, is a happy state of affairs· but
even s0 it is 1rrelevant, The Polity was empowered
· · ·
'
h
Page 3
to "establish minimal dormitory regulations" on the
premise that the organization which would allow the
inhabitants of a dormitory to resolve difficulties, if
and when they do arise, without recourse to the
Administration should be ready at hand. The
Apology and Crito would seem to furnish an answer
to the second type of response. A college is a community with which a student makes a contract he
is free to abrogate at any time. By his presence he
indicates his continued subscription to that contract
and submits himself to the laws of the community.
Granted this, objections to government in the dormitories can legitimately be based only on a basic disagreement as to the form in which that government
is to be exercised.
Now the fact is that St. John's has in this respect
been for some years a democracy. Hence there would
appear to be no necessity for a defense. That the
members of the Steering Committee, the Court, and
the officers of the Polity should feel such a compulsion and not be content to state what follows as
something deducible from the fact of polity, is
interesting and significant. The defense arises, I suppose, from a sensitivity to the traditional Yankee
mistrust of government in any form so apparent
here. In a broader c.ontext this resistance to the Polity
is a symptom of the disjunction that exists between
the academic and the social and moral aspects of
our community life.
At any rate the Administration has inquired as
to the possibility of the Polity fulfilling the responsibilities granted it by the constitution. Let us assume
that there have been difficulies and agree that situations demanding some disciplinary action are at
least probable. Then there are various solutions
ranging from self-government to a house-mother
in each dormitory. Though the one extreme is not
immediately likely, we have, on behalf of the Polity,
indicated our preference for the first . The proposition
is simple: if there must be dormitory regulation let
us do the regulating ourselves.
The Student Court is the only machinery ex~
plicitly established by the constitution. We suggest
that the Court be utilized to the fullest exent and
recommend that its activities be supplemented as
follows. We have asked the Steering Committee
member in each dormitory to take the initiative in
getting some sort of dormitory committee chosen.
We have not visualized these committees as a
gendarmerie or a clique of monitors. These committees would function in the following ways:
I. receive complaints relative to specific dormitory regulations from both student and adrni.!:istration and, if possible, adjust these
complaints without resorting to the Court.
2. hmdle such other situations as it might be
called upon to deal with.
�Page 4
ST.
JOHN'S
ST.
COLLEGIAN
3. act as a liaison between student and administration regarding physical conditions of the
dormitory.
Sonnets
4. represent the dormitory as prosecutor or defendant in cases brought before the Court.
(Narcissus)
The Court will have appellate jurisdiction in
cases where a violation of the general welfare is
charged. Where the nature of the situation is such
that the dormitory is not directly involved the Court
will have primary jurisdiction.
The effectiveness of the above organization will,
obviously, depend upon the degree to which it is
utilized by the Administration as well as the student.
Here a wise smile and the observation that though
the Polity has the formal machinery, the Administration will, as always, retain the substance of power,
would be in order. This, we believe, is not a necessary condition. In one sense, of course, the Adminis~
tration must always possess ultimate authority; and
it is moreover, by virtue of that very fact that it
cm entrust to the Polity as much authority as the
Polity can assume responsibility. We feel, however,
that the Administration has been and is sincere in its
efforts to get the Polity to function.
When the Administration feels compelled to initiate disciplinary action (e.g. damage to college property; public scandals; etc.) it has agreed to utilize
the Polity machinery. This in effect means that the
dormitory committees would be the Administration's
first recourse just as they are the student's. The
Administration would also have the right to ask the
Court to review any settlement it deems unsatisfactory.
The officers of the Polity, the Court, and the
Steering Committee have thoroughly discussed the
situation with the Administration and we have
agreed to the above proposals. There remains the :final
question: suppose the Court does function as outlined
above, what is to prevent the Administration from
circumventing or disregarding its decisions? The
answer is: nothing.
In conclusion, however, we would like to say
that we are aware of no other authority compelling
the Administration to so much as discuss the problem
with us, and in the absence of such evidence we are
willing to conclude that the intention is sincere
and that there is integrity behind the agreements
reached.
-C.
KRAMER
(The "specific dormitory regulations" mentioned
above under 1. are enumerated in the appended sheet
to the Constitution of the Polity recently distributed.
-Editor.)
JOHN'S
COLLEGIAN
truggle for domination, specifically for his ultimate
~ffort to wrest from his virgin daughter her intran-
I
sigeant independence.
When all of time has lingered past this heart,
When space and void are one within the same
And other voices cry from worlds apart
To halt the flux of ectasy and pain:
When you have offered your last sacrifice,
When wearied by the day you seek the night
To meet your lover's eyes, but put a price
That for his soul extinguishes the light:
Then comes from the chaos Oedipus foretold:
The flaw of Adam permeates the coil
To burn and rot, decay the green green-mold,
And blood of love takes seed in sterile soil.
Thus look, Narcissus, through the Ivory Gate
Where Love's becoming is:-dis-stilled from Hate.
II
(Where Love's becoming is)
From Shallow mount to deep abyss I've seen
The monsters of the flesh who seek my soul,
And Kings and Knaves have crowned La Eros Queen
While Satan's kin have offered up the bowl.
Though Nectar from the Chalice is my want,
Imprisoned by the Lusts for final death
The Jokers, wild with visions, come to luunt,
While Agape stands by to offer breath.
The strangeness of the times has posted bond,
Procured releJse past prison matron's plea,
And in the guise of night which we have donned
We walk in mid-day sun, alone, now free
To seek the Sun who keeps us in His ken
And seek the life for which we cry "Amen."
-DEWING
Lear At C. U.
In Lear Shakespe::ire seems almost to have s:icri:ficed the players to the words. The language itself
has life and resists being fleshed. Bald, bold, most
intellectual when most passionate, (as in the villains'
speeches) it allows almost no freedom for the actor.
If he attempts to play up to it, he appears puny
and inadequate; if he tries to neglect it, he :finds the
action so sudden and violent that he cannot hold it
together. In fact, if we do not pay scrupulous attention to the language, we tend to quarrel with the
abruptness of the development of Lear. His initial
r:ige is only prepared on the most abstract level. The
idea of "natural" is wittily played against that of
"lawful"; the theme of father and child is asserted
obliquely. Yet within a few minutes Lear summons
horrified attention for the climax of his relentless
For any other playwrite this scene would be at
the climax or the denouement. Most actors playing
Lear wish it were.
To put all this in five minutes demands something
the best actor can only faintly shadow. To include
less in the play, however, would have been to fail to
treat the problem in its full range of implication. If
its referents are to be as private as the family, as
public as the state, and as universal as the natural
order, obviously the actor must suffer.
The pitch is often epic: that is, the play does not
explicate its events. It is easy to read their passion
as arbitrary. As a result most actors play Lear as the
"Angry Man," subject to irrational :fits. This conception relieves the spectator of involvement in the
problems of the play and trivializes its meaning.
Lear has long calculated this gift of his authority
as the ultimate assertion of his power. Not only can
he bestow powers upon others but thinks himself
free to abdicate his own. The source of power himself, he expects not to rule, but to exist apart in
his castration, the object of universal awe.
In other characters, Shakespeare demands the reverse of his players. He is able to refer to the classic
virtues and vices with almost as much ease as Plutarch or the Stoics. Edmund, Goneril, Regan are
entirely simple in their evil. To explain them is to
miss the point of the play. They are unnatural, unordered, irrational beasts. Dangerous as their conception may be, without them, Nature, which is the
subject of the play, would be one-sided and weak.
The orders of state, family, physical and metaphysical being, are defined by their dark almost
unimaginable negatives. No one will ever play them
"convincingly." Not merely heroic proportions suffice: they are beyond us altogether in their purity.
In themselves they are close to the barren villains
of melodrama, but their function in the play distinguishes them. They exalt the level on which the
others move and by the intensity of their impact,
allow us to observe an equally intense reaction.
Conversely, Edgar, Cordelia and Lear are drawn
as delicately as the detail of a Renaissance painting.
Im:igin-ltion and observation, reality and fantasy,
~laying among themselves reverse their roles and
intentions to the very end of the play. When Lear
seems most angry, most fit for clinical diagnosis,
wh1t he says is most sane. Something similar may
be s1id for Gloucester's abnegation of life.
The recent production at Catholic University
under its guest director confirmed this reviewer's
opinion th 1t Lear can only be properly presented
under such auspices, rather th:in in the slick commercial thc:itre. It must be directed for its story.
Page 5
No one can star as Lear without ruining the play
by obtruding himself. An unassuming production as
this, whose attraction to its audience was the play
and not the players, may devote itself to the real
job: the play as a whole, the contrast and complement of characters and rhetorics.
The director establishes as a minimum, a clear
reading of the verse. Nobody recited, nobody mumbled, embarrassed by their lines. The stark strength
of Goneril, Regan and Edmund was weakened however, by the actors' self-conscious stylizations, out.
of place in this production at least. They were
simply unable to accept their plight with dignity.
props: costumes of monk's cloth served all but the
Goneril and Regan slinked and snarled like something out of Terry and the Pirates. Edmund, who
tried to render evil genial, made it into vaudeville
instead.
On the other side, however, plain sincerity overcame Lear's frequent over-acting and Gloucester was
often moving after his blinding. Edgar, no actor,
brought intelligence to inform a deliberate design.
The major moments, unimpeded by awkward personalities, spoke directly to the audience, especially
those of pathos: blind Gloucester, Lear and the fool.
The reconciliation with Cordelia was deeply touching. The fool was often excellent. Tragic moments
were weaker, but their suggestion was enough for
the audience to develop out of the context.
Especially of interest to St. John's was the use of
a bare setting almost without effects. The wide,
shallow stage accommodated splendor and yet enclosed intimate encounter as well. There were no
ladies, who were not improved by crepe and jewels.
The pace with which scenes were hurried on and off
was breathless, but no one was rushed while on the
stage. It was assumed that the audience would not
be bored with an almost uncut performance. On the
other hand this was not taken, on the whole, as an
excuse for bombast.
The total effect of this production was to put
Lear on the stage in such a way that we could
immediately see what Shakespeare projected in the
play. This work more than others can only be
grasped on the stage. Its difficulties, its apparent
flaws, are as essential to the intended meanings as
its rhetorical triumphs. A performance of this quality
is probably possible in this country only in colleges.
If St. John's with smaller resources in personnel and
equipment could restore its tradition of putting on
plays that can hold the attention in themselves, it
might exemplify, however imperfectly, what to
expect from the theatre: when the seminar's glib
allegories must collapse before the denser complex
of the theatre; and conversely, when there is demand
for more intelligent searching into the meaning of
the structure ;ind elements of a play.
�Page 6
ST.
JOHN'S
St. John's Collegian
COLLEGIAN
Straightforward presentation of the masterpieces
of the theatre seems an essential starting point.
One can hardly imagine the tedium of rehearsing
a play without taut language; nor on the other hand,
imagine the excitement of trying to break the fixed
limits of language, as in Lear, to get beyond them,
beyond the limits of action to real understanding.
Naturally in a lesser degree the same considerations
apply to the audience. We look forward with antic.ipation not only to seeing the Birds at C. U. m
December, but also the Alcestis at St. John's.
Hamlet
When Mr. Spaight was here last year, he was asked
what he thought of Sir Laurence Olivier's Hamlet,
then forthcoming. He replied that he feared the
danger of a surfeit upon the mind; of stirring up the
imagination with the evocations of Shakespeare's
words and then crushing it with a specific image
on the screen. His criterion of whether or not the
film would fall prey to this danger was to be its
handling of the Queen's "There is a willow grows
asbnt a brook" describing the de1th of Ophelia.
He wondered whether the speech would be both
read and portrayed. Those who have seen the film
will recall that is precisely what h;:ippens; the Queen's
speech, complete with cuts and a soap-opera reading,
is accomp:inied by a full-fledged sequence of Jean
Simmons, in a slightly rumpled cow-maid costume,
floating down a chocolate-box stream, plucking petals
while she sings. This overpowering sequence has
been described by an eminent critic as breathtaking,
and I agree; it is as bre::tthtaking as a coup de v entre.
In that scene we have epitomized the dangers of
filming Hamlet. Olivier's last adaptation, Henry V,
came off marvelously well, while more misgivings
must be felt about this latest export. Perhaps there
is a fundamental difference between these two plays.
1n Henry V the Chorus laments the failings of the
stage, and wishes for greater me:m s of verisimilitude
to portray his epic. Henry V benefits tremendously
from reality, or rather super-reality; from motion,
color, eye-staggering settings and the London Symphony Orchestra. But Henry Vis a great drama, and
it has been said that Hamlet is more a great dialogue.
The plot of Hamlet is not a great one, and of the
many imaginative levels of the play, only the first
is dramatic. As Mr. Spaight brought home to us,
much of the effect of such a play for Shakespeare
depended upon the crudeness, or rather the unrealism,
of its production. Hamlet was played on a rough
stage, without costume or scenery, in ~ill probability
by bad actors, but with a good audience. The audience had to be accustomed to a constant exercise
of the imaginative faculty while watching the play.
It was able to be carried directly from the evocative
language to the ideas behind it, without the impediment of association with the mundane. For example,
in Olivier's opening scenes, one feels quite at home,
for who has not at some time stood in a cold and
dark old building and been afraid? In Shakespeare's
opening scenes, with the tension dramatically
fractured by purposeful slapstick and bawdiness, one
is forced to manufacture a unique fear, the fear of
being outside Elsinore. The Olivier ghost is a respectable heir to a long line of such; Shakespeare's
is so obviously an old man in a bedsheet that a unique
terror, of an intellectual rather than a thalamic
character, is aroused by his presence. With the film
the imagination has nothing to do; with the play
it roams far and wide. It can get glimpses of great
things.
Of course, the responsibility for such realism
cannot be placed altogether at Olivier's door, for
it is the product of a long deterioration of the theater
reaching back to the Restoration and even furtherto Euripides, in fact. Sir Laurence, who appears to
be an intelligent m an, fobs off the faults in his version, which he perhaps understands, upon the necessity of entertaining "Gertie in the sixpennies." I
should think, by the way, that he has not done too
well even at that; the explanation of Hamlet's
staging of the play-within-the-play is difficult enough
to follow without the substitution for the entire
"Oh. what a rogue and peasant slave am I" soliloquy
of a single, startling, cross-stage leap to accornp:my
"The play's the thing." But what really intrigues me
is the reason that Olivier feels he must force-feed
the imagination of the common folk in order to
bludgeon them into an acceptance of the Bard. The
idea that the plebeians bck imagimtion is strange
to us who lnve read Homer and heard Sus:m Reed.
It is, indeed, only in this last generation that ordimry
people have lost the faculty of imagimtion. It is
because they are no longer called upon to be good
audiences. It h<!s happened only since realism, in
the form of novels, plays, the radio, and the film,
has filled the folk-mind with the products of other
people's imagination.
Thus we have Hamlet, not at all badly done on
one level by Sir Laurence Olivier, a competent interpreter and actor. But his very production will cont ribute to that spate of realism that is dulling the
imaginations of those who should be1r the interpretive task in the next generation. Who, in the end,
will be left in the the:iter free to imagine?
-BOYD KYLE
Vol. LXII---N_. 3
o
ANNAPOLIS,. DECEMBER 15th, 1948
Price: 1.Pc.
CHORUS FOR A HERO
Music · in the Tradition
ALLEG~O
~£
II
QUOTA TIONS .
bJJ'lil
Ted by Fleischmann & Washburn
Francis Jammes
II Va Neiger . ..
1- 8 Lohengrin Wagner
9
Coriolanus Beethoven
9-10 Gross Fuge Beethoven
11-12 22 Variation on a
Waltz of Diabelli
(Notte Giorno Faticar) Beethoven
14-23 Damnation of Berlioz Faust (Minuet
of the Will o' the
Whisps)
24-25 Symphony in B Minor (2nd movement)
T schaikowsky
26-27 Stout Hearted Men
Romberg
28-29 Til Eulenspiegel
Strauss
31-34 Don Juan
35-36 Commendatore Aria
(2nd act Don Giovanni) Mozart
37-43 From Academic Festival Overture Brahms
43-44 A Mighty Fortress
Luther
It's Going to Snow
II va neiger dans quelques jours. Je me souviens
de l'an dernier. Je me souveins de mes tristesses
~,u co0- d~ feu. Si l'en m'avait demande: qu'est-ce?
J aura1s d1t: laissez-moi tranquille . . Ce n' est rien.
J'ai bien reflechi, l'annee avant, dan~· ma chambre,
pendant que la neige lourde tombait dehors.
ai reflechi pour rien. · A present comme alors
JC fume une pipe eri bois avec un bout d'am6re.
r
Ma. vieille commode en chene sent toujours bon.
Ma1s mo1 J eta1s bete parce que ces choses
· .,, ·
.
ne Jouvaient pas changer et que c'est une pose
devl· Chasser . es C hoses .que nous savons. ·.
1
..
OU Olr
Pourquoi done pensons-nous et pad~ns-nous? Cest:drole;
~o~ larmes et nos ·baisers;· ~UX; ne parlerit· pas, -· · -· : cependant nous les comprenons ·et -les ·pas
d'un am1· sont p1 doux que de douces paroles. .,.,. ,'
.
us
FRANCIS
Bar
JAM~~;;-
It's going to snow in a few days. Well I recall
the year just past, remembering my sorrow
at the hearth's side. If they had asked me: what?
I would have said: leave me alone, . nothing at all.
I had thought much that past year in my room
while yet. the snow fell heavily outside.
And thought in vain. For now as yesteryear
I smoke a wooden pipe with amber stem.
My old oak chest-of-drawers still smells good.
But I was foolish because all these things
never could change. It is a pose.
to want to hunt down things already known.
Why do we speak or think? It's really funny;
Our kisses and our tears-those never speak,
and still we understand them. Step of friend
is softer than the sound of softest word.
Translated by Fleischmann
�
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12
ST.
JOHN'S
sufferer triumphant serves as the pioneer. The
human protagonist in the divine drama not only
serves God by enabling Him to renew His
creation but also serves his fellow man by
pointing the way for others to follow."
Thus we imitate God and His creation,
therefore Christ, whenever we create something
good. The passage has not defined how this is
done with any exactitude, but it has indicated
that this creative activity is in no wise a function of time; it has indicated that the challengeresponse pattern of history is no mere sensible
pattern of human behaviour. In the latter portions of the book Toynbee makes this point
explicit by attempting to show that it is only
through the challenge-response trope united by
love that we understand the action and passion
of Christ Crucified.
To this extent, that Toynbee illustrates
his analogy through Christ, we can claim that
his is a Christian history, but the analogy of
challenge-and-response or
withdrawal-andreturn belongs, as he indicates by numerous examples, to no particular time or religion. Why,
then, does he choose the Christian figure? Because of love. And it is here that we may wonder
when he last read Plato and Aristotle, since
similar patterns seem to run through them. (For
action-passion pattern united by love see
Syposium.)
However, he argues that the creation of
the philosopher is not a dramatic creation. The
eros of the philosopher expresses a yearning and
a desire, but none of the love which causes God
to send His Only Son that we may be saved;
none of the love, in other words, which causes
God to die joyfully for man.
Earlier I said that the creation or creation
would shed light on the origin of civilization.
The creation, understood dramatically or as a
dramatic act, requires rational creatures who
can dramatically imitate. It is an easy step from
this to civilization, which, when it is good,
is nothing but a dramatic imitation of the first
creation, and, when it is bad, is nothing but
an inverted image of that creation.
Any product of man involves the trope
described as challenge-and-response or a similar one, and the only manner in which the
pattern can be properly fulfilled is through the
inspiration of love. As it was pointed out in
your review this is an eternal mystery. So it is,
but it is important to ascertain how much of
COLLEGE
it can be known , and where, therefore, faith
must necessarily enter in.
In his chapters on the internal and external
proletariats and the dominant minority, Toynbee suggests that whenever the productive activities of man are prevented from participating in
the divine and eternal order, new challenges,
new responses occur, and more suicides are
chalked up on the wall. An illustration of this
is our own society which perverts all creations
into articles of exchange, which have neither
natures nor values of their own. Every man is
a creative creature, a poet of the world, but his
creation is good for him and hence for the common good only . when love, the cause of communication between men and God, is present.
Probably everyone who has read Toynbe~
has remarked the similarity of his treatment
and that of Thucydides and Tacitus. Although
there are innumerable accidental differences, each
one is aware that history is one of but many
modes in which the ways of God and the end
of man are revealed to man.
It is foolish to quarrel with a theological
position merely because it is honest enough to
admit that it is a theological position. The
proper place to begin a dispute with Toynbee
is the place where he begins to explicate history
by means of his theological position.
Unfortunately, we seem so habituated to
a reading of history which pretends that history
is some sort of sensible or material disorder
which has been wrenched out of its chaotic sur·
roundings in an altogether mysterious way that
we are apt to be somewhat harsh when a man
begins with the faith that history is something
otherwise, which is only intelligible and valuable to men when it is seen in the light of a
divine myth.
I would be foolish to claim that I have
discovered the myth which orders A Study of
History, but one possible beginning is to look
at it in the light of man's successes and fealures
to properly participate in the Creation.
Andrew S. Witwer, Jr.
SING, Goddess?
What will you sing now?
Battlements are a disgrace,
Navies are a scandalous row,
The Gods forever are debated,
Heroes are investigated,
And war just gets no place.
St. John's Collegian
Vol. LXIl---No. 1
ANNAPOLIS, OCTOBER 27, 1947
The Devil and the Black Arts
The Age of Enlightenment has given mankind the
belief that all events have rational causation, and that
nature will progressively come under man's control.
Hence, the existence of demonic beings and of powers
of evil beyond the pale of human domination is challenged, for the devil cannot be shown to the eye.
Mr. Winifree Smith attempted to show him to
our reason.
Who or what is the devil? According to the Bible,
Mr. Smith declared, the devil is a serpent in the
Garden of Eden, man's tempter, and the cause of
man's fall. But, while this account is fairly specific
in s:iying what the devil does, it gives us no idea as
to what kind of being he is. Later theologians evolved
theories to explain this. The devil becomes the
highest angel, the next highest divine intelligence
committing the sin of pride. Cast out of heaven, he
tempts man into the doing of evil because he envies
him his blessedness. By committing evil deeds, man
puts himself into the devil's bondage, into the service
of a power which he cannot control. For his purposes, the devil has traditionally used various arts
which hwe been called black. At this point, Mr.
Smith began to speak of the liberal arts.
What is an art? In the "Ion," Plato speaks of the
art of painting, of sculpture, of the charioteers, the
general, the prophet, the arithmetician, the chess
player as well as of others. The liberal arts are distinguished from the other categories of arts, the
fine arts and the useful arts. Each art embodies a
certain kind of knowledge. The fine artist knows
how to make a beautiful thing good because of its
beauty. The useful artist can manufacture a functional object and knows the technique of the manufacturing process. The liberal artist knows knowledge
~seful in itself, but which is perhaps also instrumental
m understanding some other kind of knowledge.
Thus, while a poet knows the rules of his fine art,
he sings of things that he does not truly understand.
And while a carpenter knows exactly how to make a
table, he does not know the whys and wherefores of
the actions necessary to make it. The knowledges of
the fine ~nd of the useful artist can thus be said to
~e only partially true, since they are but partially
nown and since that which is truly known is true.
~ut the knowledge that the liberal artist possesses
e'lls not only of the earthly but also of the divine
ahd of the intervening space. A rhetorician knows
~ e art of effective communication, an arithmetician
nows the science of number but they cannot be
trul Y s:u·d to know these things, unless they know not
'
Price: lOc.
only the operations necessary for their exercises, but
also the reasons why they are exercised and the purposes they strive for within the realm of knowledge.
In this connection, the liberal art of dialectic is especially important. For, while the practitioners of the
six other liberal arts seem to have a craft with a
higher meaning, the dialectician appears to deal only
in the realm of the divine ideas. As a matter of fact,
dialectic alone is knowledge for it alone can see all
things, human and divine. Yet not of ten as ordinary
mortals dialecticise truly. Mostly, the garden variety of dialectician may only achieve an earthly image
of dialectic by directing the aim of conversation with
his fellow men towards the same goal that he knows
diaiectic to attempt to achieve. But, since the devil
can blacken all things, he can even make the liberal
arts, black arts.
If man, through sin, has placed himself under the
mastery of the devil, he will himself become diabolical. He will use all the arts he is able to practice
for the wrong ends, and, as we ourselves look about
this misuse is apparently common. It is hence somewhat presumptuous of St. John's College to purport
on its seal that it makes free men out of children by
means of books and balances. Perhaps it is the devil
which prompts the reviewer to add here that the
motto may be equally made to make children out of
free men. It was suggested that divine arts, sacraments, are necessary to deliver man from the evil
one's bondage, but perhaps the good use of the liberal
arts suffices. For the sacramental arts can certainly
be used towards the devil's ends in quite as strong a
way as to assure man of complete damnation. Especially since the eighth liberal art of logic was added
during the Middle Ages, the devil has become a
logician, trapping men like Raskolnikov into carrying out logical conclusions from wrong and sinful
premises.
Equally, since the seventeenth century, the devil
has become a mathematician-for Plato's four arts
of astronomy, harmonics, geometry, and arithmetic,
once so clearly intelligible both within themselves
and in the light of one another have fused into pure
mathematics in the modern understanding. And
pure mathematics are responsible for the bondage and
servitude we labor in, within the realm of modern
science and technology. Atomic energy and its uses
are indeed children of this modern mathematics, and
it would be platitudinous of the reviewer to state
their importance and the danger with which they
threaten us. "It is," Mr. Smith said, "as if the devil
had placed into our hands this power which we are
not good enough to use."
�Page 2
ST . . JOHN'S
We find ourselves thus visibly enslaved by devilwork, and the question of salvation from it yet seems
intricate. We need to arm ourselves with an art of
arts that will cast out the devil from our midst. It
seems that even Luther's inkwell did not suffice. Mr.
Smith suggested dialectic. If we use dialectic against
the devil, we must remember that in some accounts
he himself is pure intellect. Also we ourselves have
but rarely transcended to that world where real
dialectic moves. Therefore it is necessary that we be
very much on our guard when we attempt to dialecticise.
The proper end of dialectic is the knowledge of the
truth. The devil has told some of us that there is
no truth, but only contradictory opinions. Therefore,
the skeptics among us will not seek to examine such
opinions, and, hence, dialectic is useless for them.
There are others whom the devil has made dogmatists, and who assert that the truth is already found
and they possess it. For them, dialectic seems equally
impossible. The dialectician and the philosopher are,
however, essentially the same. They are not wise
men, like the dogmatists, but men who love wisdom.
It is still difficult for them to practice dialectic because it seems so difficult to preserve the knowledge
of one's ignorance in the realm of opinion.
The devil, says Jesus, is a liar and a father ot lies
that tries to tell us that there is no lie because there
is no truth.
And yet, Mr. Smith says, the die-
lectician must have opinion because a man without
opinions is an empty-headed man. But, in order to
be a good dialectician, he must be willing to have
his opinions clash with others at any moment, and
he must submit all opinions to constant re-examination. Another factor which hinders dialectic is an
intellectual softness which makes the would-be dialectician accept a seemingly stronger opinion too
easily. It seems that a dialectician must be both
ignorant and manly. To combat both apparent
knowledge and intellectual softness, it is necessary
sometimes to be able to take both sides of an argument in order to see it clearly. Yet care must be
exercised in this, lest one become a sophist who argues
for the sake of argument.
In the reading of the authors on the St. John's
list, it is hence necessary to be very careful to
examine the author's meanings, without making the
mistake of assuming that one author talks in terms
of another whom we might like better. Also it is
necessary to be manly in order to avoid being trapped
by a single one. For only when we have found the
true meaning of an author's opinions may we talk
about their truth and falsity. This is of ten difficult
because even on fundamental questions there are
some differences among the authors of the Great
Books-Plato, Hobbes and the Bible will not define
the Good in the same manner. Some of the most
important problems remain unsolved. But dialectics
is still useful, in that we might come out with some
ST.
COLLEGE
opinions that are better than these we held before.
And it is definitely a diabolic lie if men are told that
they must inevitably be led astray when they use
dialectic. Yet perhaps Plato himself would say this.
On the other hand we would equally agree that there
is probably no other way.
Within the light of Christian revelation, men do
not have to know, in Plato's sense of knowing, because God has given them a revelation which they
must accept by faith. For it is revelation, rather than
the arts of the philosopher, that make up the ordering principles of God. Yet, even within Christianity,
the liberal arts would still have the function of leading the near-dialectician to understand the revealed
truth. It is perhaps fitting to close this review by
quoting Mr. Smith's statement to a freshman in the
questioning period: "You're always assuming tha t
there is a solution to the problem."
-W. L. FLEISCHMANN
Awakening ·
The idea of the Good is the end to which everything is directed. Since the one who comes up out
of the cave sees that it is perfect and complete and
whole, why should he turn his back and go down
into the cave again? Socrates says that such a person
is a philosopher who has been taught by the state
and owes his wisdom to the state, just as a river
owes its water to its tributaries. But in Mr. Klein's
story, the long journey out is the process of education and the question why should the philosopher
leave the light is transformed to, why should the
wise man teach?
The nature of reality can be revealed by the power
of dialectic only to one who is disciplined in the
quadrivium. A good memory is needed so that the
material and the basis of the dialectic will be quickly
given to the mind. The sluggish memory may present false coin to the mind with which, not the
truth, but only opinion is acquired.
Because no man's memory is perfect, a constant
renewal in the mind and restatement of ratio is
needed, lest things once known but not recalled are
lost.
Mr. Klein declared the man returns and teaches
because he recognizes an exacting unity, to which
both he and the chain gang facing the wall belong.
Since unity implies similarity, he strives to put others
in his position to look upon the sun. A corollary of
the unity of being is the unity of knowledge perceived upon entering the light of day.
But the question arises, why should those in the
cave follow the teacher, for their minds are in a
Rip Van Winkle sleep.
Mr. Klein contends that they follow because they
love the teacher and then after a time because they
see the superiority of the reflections over the shadows
JOHN'S
COLLEGE
Page 3
guage, the good teacher will say to the sleepwalkers,
perhaps you call it dreaming but,
Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises, sounds, and
sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments will
hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices,
That, if I then had waked after long sleep, will make
me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds, methought, would open, and show riches
ready to drop upon me, that when I waked I
cried to dream again.
and the beauty of the animals and plants themselves.
This love for the teacher loosens the bonds, turns
them toward the fire and a~ter perhap.s a few f~lse
starts, carries them to the images which are bemg
carried behind the rampart and finally under ·the sun.
But it is not so easy for the one who once gets
outside and recognizes that it is better to be a miserable servant of a poor master than to be in the cave.
When he gets back, he is ridiculed and called idler
and dreamer. Although he cannot tell them of his
experience directly for they could not follow his Ian-
---BALDWIN
Mr. Klein Draws a Picture
Mr. Klein's implicit intentions seemed to have
been:
1) To give content to the radical meaning of the
word education (a leading out).
2) To give some meaning to the often neglected
seal of the new program on the back of the
college catalogue.
All four intenions were realized; the second, however, only four -sevenths so. The remaining threesevenths, grammar, rhetoric and dialectic seemed too
hastily passed over in a few remarks and several
sweeping gestures at the blackboard.
It would perhaps be helpful to reduplicate some of
Plato's patterns.
I) The pattern of the divided line.
II) Several links between I and III.
III) The ascent from the cavern image.
T hursday evening, the course of nature was altered, when the college heard Mr. Klein lecture on
"Plato and the Liberal Arts." Mr. Klein, who is
now on sabbatical leave, replaced the usual seminar,
to try to explain, with Plato's help, why we should
be going to seminar .at all.
By a series of explicit and implicit intentions he
managed to talk to the whole college. That he could
stay so close to the text and speak to the entire
college body is surprising, when we remember that
mos t of the freshmen have not yet read the Republic,
and it is dim in the memory of most upper classmen.
It seems that there were two explicit intentions.
1) To discover, by means of two Platonic images,
the seven liberal arts in education.
2) To illustrate a manner of reading Plato which
could serve as a model.
I
Reason
Intelligible
Knowledge Being
Ideas
Hypotheses-( downward)
Belief or
Conviction
Visible
Opinion Becoming
Understanding
Animals, that which grows,
that which is made.
Sense-perception
Shadows and reflexi;ns
-
The relation between the parts can be stated in this proportion:
Being : Becoming : : Intellect : Opinion : : Reason : Belief : : Understanding : Perception
II
The connecting links seem to be two:
(a)
Good
Sun (child of good)
One
Known
Many
Seen
�Page 4
ST .
ST.
J 0 H N ' S C 0 L.L E G E
(b)
Whether knowledge of the good is the object of the
whether that is the requisite of true being and
wUl' questions of the same order were not ma de
everal
~he subject s of dialectic. This was understandable,
since Mr. Klein seemed to be more interested · Thursday evening in giving us some insight into what
Plato was saying rather than questioning the truth of
Plato's opinion.
In this next pattern the .middle term is a kind of mediator between the two extremes.
Sight ... .. . . ...... . .... .. : . ... . Light . . . . . . . . . . . . . ... .. . ....... . Visibility
Mind . . . ... . . . ._ .. : ... ......... Good . . . .. . . . . ...... . . . . ._ . . . .. . . Truth
III
Shadows of I~ages } Two dimensional
Echoes (babbling)
Fire illuminates
-7
~Causes
Sun) Illuminates
-7
Images of Natural things
Voices ( t h ree dimensiona 1
)
Shadows
{ Reflections
Natural Objects
Heavens
in Cavern
-CANTOR
The Idea of the Liberal Arts
at Midpoint
·.,
Outside
'
I
We can make the analogy evident by means of a proportion:
Cavern : Outside : : World of sight : intellectual Understanding. ·
Becoming : Belief :: Belief : Reason :: Perception : :: Light of Fire : Sun :: Natural sun : Good ::
The image of the cavern is elastic enough to undergo alternations in the above proportion, e.g., placing
the intelligible part of the divided line above the
cavern and outside we have a triad; Hades, Earth,
Heaven which are taken to mean, the places o.f beings
who are only phantoms, shadows · of the men that
once were, then the land of living things considered
as sharing somewhat of heaven which in turn is the
realm of complete true being. Another triad might
be: Babbling : Opinion : Knowledge or Death :
Sleeping : W .aking.
If the image is to be taken as the ascent of the soul
from the visible to the intelligible, the question remains, "What is the role of the liberal arts in this
education?"
In the beginning stage we have the need for counting; i.e., for distinguishing the shadows of images.
If there is no perpkxity about the n umber, then it is
counting only. If, however, a question arises as to
numbering·, we must resort to questions about number per se. Thus we have the art of arithmetic. The
counting, simply, would be distinguished by its practicality; it is useful in the market .place. Arithmetic
is practical or useful in that it leads toward knowledge of_ the _
Good_ It is in this last sense that Plato
calls a thing useful. However, both counting _
and
arithmetic are necessary. Since the shadows on the
wall are two dimensional, we must be able to distinguish shapes and figures. Hence we have plane
geometry.
When a perplexity arises we must resort to the
nature of figures. Then geometry is related to knowledge and another step is made. Likewise we must
have a knowledge of solid geometry to distinguish
the artifacts carried behind the wall from their twodimensional shadows. Once out of the cavern we are
JOHN'S
able to regard the shadows of things then ordinary
visible things. To distinguish between night and
day, between the hours, etc., · requires astronomy.
Astronomy has a relation to things seen by the eye
as Music or Harmony to things heard. Thus the
quadrivium, arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy are necessary steps in the ascent. The question
of the turning of the soul is the most crucial situation. in the cave.
Inside the cavern, the indistinctness of the shadows
causes perplexity. It is this very perplexity · which
turns the soul and forces it to knowledge and hence
gives the arts their liberal quality. Thus in the upper
part of the divided line "problems" serve as perplexities to raise us . from Understanding to Reason.
Dialectic comes at · the crown of the quadrivium.
Grammar and ·Rhetoric seem to precede Dialectic. As
far as the cave analogy goes the place of these two
is questionable. Yet it seems that we are using grammar and rhetoric when we find terms in an analogy
and state their relation, as Socrates has done when he
developed the proportion between the divided line
and the cave.
What Plato and Mr. Klein ha.ve shown is that, if
the Good is the object of education and the sight
·arid · mind are faced with those things described in
the cave and out, then (a) the liberal arts must be
practiced to arrive at knowledge, (b) the quadrivium
and trivium have a necessary order, ( c) that they
are not ends in themselves but rather means to an
end.
It is interesting to note Socrates' insistence that
this picture is only an opinion. The burden of
Socrates' remark seemed to weigh heavily on Mr.
Klein's shoulders during the question period. Several
questions were raised concerning the nature of the
good and why and how · it draws the soul to it.
Mr. Kieffer proposed to explicate the legend "Bachelor of Arts," and the relationship of the liberal arts
to education, look at their history, and examine in
their light the traditions that constitute the Western
tradition of the great books.
Educ ation is a tension between knowledge and
ignorance, the individual an~ society and_ between
man as animal and man as rational. The child moves
from knowledge to ignorance, from the truths of
immediate sense perception to the ordering of them
first by myth and later by analysis. The education
of the child is a movement from the clarity of immediate sensation, through the confusion of change, to
the clarit y of ordered confusion that is the achievement of intellectual balance and ultimately a state
of h:ippiness. Man has an individual end, and education is his progress to that end.
The liberal arts are the skills by which man
achieves both self-knowledge and a political community under the idea of the Good. They are the
practical means for man to perfect his human
powers but also the Way to the knowledge of truth.
The Scvlla and Charibdis are exclusive pursuit of
individ~al ends and self-effacing adjustment to society, embodied perhaps in Alcibiades and Aeneas.
As the individual operates with memory so the society operates with tradition.
Until the 5th century, communication was dominated by myth. Then there was a shift from mythical to conceptual thinking. Thought was given to
causes and consequences, counting and arranging and
the ordering principle of number and shape was
found . Euclid displaces Homer. The seven liberal
arts were passed from the Aristotelians to the Alexandrians. In medieval society, Martianus Capellus'
pallid allegories introduce them as the Muses of the
approaching age. Rhetoric dominates, as the art of
preaching. T he " learned Thomas" ground out to the
last detail the grammar of theology. Geometry becomes further abstracted through Descartes.
. Names are mythological and allow memory and
imagination to operate. Analysis of the mythical
way of naming things leads to the ordering of names
as parts of speech. Grammar becomes a mirror of all
possi~le relations among named things. Rhetoric
provides the principles for the best operations of sym-
COLLEGE
Page 5
bols. Logic supplies principles of syntactical arrangement. The relating of the trivium to the quadrivium
is best done by Plato. His dialectic was the fruit of
the union of mythology and mathematics, and there
is perhaps where the liberal arts reached their highwater mark.
The liberal arts are techniques to help you go from
sensations to an understanding of the world. The
liberal arts are not a magical token to crack the
world's problems, but identify the problems and our
roles in meeting them. The world's emphasis is on
action and power rather than thought and understanding but perhaps action is mythological and
there is another kind of world. The idea of the
liberal arts is one idea and encompasses all ideas.
-HAYDEN
A Summer Afternoon
A man in town has died.
I don't know who it is,
But across the street
The sleek black motored mausoleum waits
To lead like a serpent's head
Through the city streets,
While nervous drivers wait
At crossroads to go home.
Chevys and Fords coast like gentlemen
To a parking spot.
And elderly women with thick ankles
And bunioned shoes
Pass,
Their heads bobbing in quiet manner,
Their lips pursed in modulated tone.
The dead man used to laugh
But he has cast his spell now.
Meanwhile the sun shines,
And a marigold bows to me in the breeze.
-L. S. LINTON
Community of Responsibility in a
Community of Learning
The arrangement for student government here at
school has long been subject to criticisms-and there
is a basis for some of them. Perhaps it is time to
formulate a defense of the polity, rather by restating
the general idea, which is essentially good, than by
defending past achievements.
No one will undertake to plead for maintenance
of an ineffectual mechanism of study democracy designed simply to give the appearance and outward
motions of self-government. No case can be made
for a superficial political organization without real
function, artificially contrived only to "give students
practice" in self-government or the "feeling of responsibility." Students will learn good judgment
�Page 6
ST.
JOHN'S
rather by not wasting time on sham politics and
meaningless formality. Some may feel that the polity
has in the past tended in this direction; certainly
the difficulty of obtaining quorums has shown that
many have judged the Assembly not worth the time
required to attend meetings.
There is a certain point of view (the "incubator"
theory) which supposes that students have no proper
share of responsibility in administration of the college. Everyone grants that decisions must be made,
regulations formulated, discipline maintained, here,
as in any compact and active group. But it is argued
that the administration is older and wiser than we,
and that it is paid to do the job while we aren't, and
that students need take no part in the real responsibility of community government. In the extreme
statement of this point of view, we would simply
use what facilities it occurred to the administration
to provide, obey what rules the Dean's office laid
down and answer to the Dean for violations, and
pay the Treasurer regularly for services rendered. The
student would loose a minimum of time from the
search for Truth.
That was an overstatement, of course. It is perfectly clear that students do and ought to assume
administrative function is dispersing funds and providing facilities for the newspaper, film club, and
other college activities. But it is not alway recognized that this assumption of responsibility is a particularly good and important thing, not as artificial
training, but on the contrary, as escape from the
artificiality of having no responsibility.
St. John's is conceived by all of us, not as an institution of teaching, on the "incubator" pattern, but
as a reasonably mature community of learning. It
is not that, there is room for dreaming. Where the
Administration is not distinct in person from the
Faculty, and the Faculty and students are sharing
the experience of learning, there is no place either
for absolute division of responsibility.
To come out of the dream, we have at present,
a number of established student organizations r ecognized, or waiting recognition, by the student body.
They will handle a large part of the administration
of community activities, but that part only which
is traditionally accepted by students in all colleges.
Beside these, there is the Court, which has, possibly,
as much responsibility in matters of student discipline as it wishes to assume, as well as other functions not clearly defined. The Court joins each week
with members of the Administration in a meeting,
conversational in character, which in turn plans College Forums conceived as conversations between the
student body and the Administration. These activities are aspects of the Student Polity, of which, the
much-maligned Assembly, the student body acting
in legislative capacity, is only one phase.
Last year, the student body undertook, entirely on
its own initiative, two administrative concerns. A
COLLEGE
committee appointed by the Court made a study of
the Laboratory, reporting its conclusions in College
Forum at the same time to the Administration, Faculty, and student body. The reception of the report
did not seem encouraging; perhaps the report, though
seriously prepared, was somehow inept. In any event,
this action of the Court in reflecting on the curriculum was not the violation of a sharply drawn line
of responsibility, which it might have been in another
school. In the St. John's community, it was a proper
offer to share an essentially common problem. Another especially significant action of the Polity last
year was the resolution on the admissions policy.
These may serve as some kind of example of the
responsibility a mature student body ought to assume.
Evidently, initiative and sound judgment are required on the part of students, as well as assent from
the Administration-assent which is, however, certainly in line with our tradition of a college community. The aim is not, primarily, elaborate formal
organization (though some changes in the constitution currently under discussion, seem well advised);
le1st of all it is the kind of ze:ilous but meaningless
politicking sometimes found on campuses. Rather,
we ought to aim for the sensible community of responsibility which belongs to our dream of a community of learning.
-T.
SIMPSON
Between the music and the jukebox is
Between the monolith and the maelstrom dre:im
The psyche's tall hypotheses redeem
The demiurgical epiphanies;
Below the cliff along the transiencies
The hero Son flees Clytemnestra's scream,
Prince Hamlet waits until the verities seem
But seemings ... or the seemings verities? ...
There on the beach of paradox the soul
Constructs her shifting stasis, deling timeHer stroboscope that jells the flux, and stair
T award speech, the burning asymptotic goal
The Deity bequeathed-her paradigm
He also gave, of what men do and bear.
-BALLARD
Writing comes hard at St. John's because the
curriculum is a journey through critical rapids. One
feels an immense strain when one endeavors to put
his ideas on paper. John Sanborn felt that the poetic instinct was slain by the sort of intensive work
in analysis we do here. On the contrary we beleive
that poetic inspiration is not crushed by dialectic
but can take on this very form of expression.
Although this is a predominately lecture-review issue, the aim of the paper is to refract ideas
radiating from the seminars and further to encour-.
age interpretive writing.
THE STAFF
St. John's Collegian
Vol. LXIl---No. 2
ANNAPOLIS, NOVEMBER 23, 1948
Poetry and the Liberal Arts
Mr. Mark Van Doren suspects poetry of a relationship with the liberal arts. It seems that a coincidence
of best achievement in poetry and the flourishing of
the liberal arts is observable. The great poets often had
a liberal art at their command-Shakespeare was a
master rhetorician who knew how to practice his art
without anyone being aware of what he was doing.
The 190 figures of rhetoric he had at his command
became translated into so many motions of the logical
and pathetic human heart. It seemed evident, though,
that Mr. Van Doren could not base his attempt at
showing relation between the noble and the dialectical
voice through historical relationship alone. A poet and
his purpose had to be defined to this end.
A poet is one who thinks first and writes later. He
is an artist while on duty and perhaps a liberal artist
at all other times. He is one who might think of a
character, lets the character become alive and then
creates him. Yet, after creation is achieved, the
character lives as an individual and has the right to
master his cre:ttor, the poet. Poetry deals with individuals. A Shakespearean or Homeric character is not
mainly great because there is something of us inside
him (or vice-versa) , but because he is Achilles or
Hamlet, an individual as no other, a man with a
name. And a man must be important to deserve a
name.
It is this individuality which makes poetry unique.
Other arts can deal only generically with man, not
with a singular snowflake, man, or rabbit. Poetry
deals with them as pure singulars, it attempts to
make heard the ineffable something which makes a
snowflake yet a separate thing after chemical, physical, and geopolitical analysis have "placed" it. And
this power to deal with particulars makes poetry a
liberating agent. It makes a man free to be taken
qua John Smith, qua microcosm like unto which
there is no other. Such an individual is untouchablebeing alone in the world and self-sufficient. He has
no occasion to be questioned about the meaning and
purpose of his existence, nor could anybody ask him
~uch questions: nobody knows him that well. As
individual is ineffable, Aristotle says. We can talk
of man as political, rational, and risible, but we can
never really know a person and the greater the person
the harder this is.
And here, says Mr. Van Doren, lies one of
~hakespeare's paradoxes. Surely he expressed himself
sufficiently clear and lucid style, and the plays in
are as simple and clear. Everything that
is said on stage happens there. Yet here we have the
Ill
~he~selves
Price: lOc
completely individual Hamlet-perfectly lucid, yet
ununderstandable-becoming, perhaps, a greater
enigma in the proportion in which the fascination of
his person increases. Equally difficult is it to clarify
the problem of how a poet uses abstractions without
appearing to use them, how, the play seems to have
no meaning, no coherence. It merely is, a world or
comes of itself of which, if it be a good play, every
individual part as well as every character is as
concise an individual as the world of the play itself.
Yet the world of the play is also the mirror of
our own world. On the other hand (or because of
this) it is a world that we would not wish to change
after seeing the play. The play has no purpose except
itself. We can again not ask Shakespeare why he
created the world of "Hamlet" in the same way
that we cannot ask why he created the "melancholy
Dane" himself.
If a poet is good, he does not know the end of the
play he is writing. It seems, according to Mr. Van
Doren, that he conceives and creates the idea and
then allows it to become an individual world that
behaves as it wants to behave, but that is yet human
enough to be subject to accidents which modify the
world itself, in proportion as it modifies the evolution of the hero 's fate. In a really good poem, as in
life, the unexpected happens. Hamlet knew not
Polonius was behind the curt:iin, nor did Achilles
foresee that his thirst for glory could lead to the death
of his best friend. Yet still, in the seeming chaos of
the hero's world, i.e., in the unphilosophic universe
which he inhabits, education goes on. In the Illiad,
Achilles ends by understanding glory.
Poetry works through irony. If Achilles had not
made many mistakes, he would never have learned
so much. He is great because he had such great
difficulty in learning sometbing. In tragedy, Mr. Van
Doren says, the liberal arts are practised because it
measures the limit of how far man can be presented
as an individual. And it here becomes evident that
previous statements tie in: tragedy seems an attempt
to make a great man effable.
Besides tragedy there is yet another form of drama
called comedy. And if tragedy deals with the presentation of the individual so that he may be best
understood, comedy spreads itself over the world
in presenting man as he can be known from another angle. The comic hero is either a fool or a
wit who dialecticises constantly. The possibility for
dialectic are, as we know, endless and hence poetry
in comic form is of ten shapeless. The world of
comedy is essentially safe because every man goes
over every hurdle and everything always ends well.
�
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St. John's Collegian, October 27, 1947
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Text
ST.
JOHN'S
COLLEGE
suffice to state their familiar diabolic powers.
Thus to name the nameless the Elizabethan
theatre reconceived the drama, thrust upon us
as spectactors the task of wrestling .with the
dark powers for our own purgation.
Famous in her gowns she goes,
And troubleth not her king, nor us,
Nor those that rest at her gate in hunting dress.
dress.
Come live with me, for thou hast loveliness.
The art of the King William Players,
seemingly black because it conjures the devil.
made this encounter possible. Their intelligent
understanding of the particular humour of
their parts, separated from the .whole, enabled
them to match their roles constantly to one
another in order to achieve the deliberate unity
intended by Jonson. This hard cooperative
labor, especially among the principal characters,
produced a self-sufficient entity whose achievement sustains the questions it raises. The reality
of this experience is welcome after the post mortem discussion inevitably praticed here in the
higher medicine. If as has been suggested in this
review, the accomplishment of the performance
was to capture, or only corner, the Erinnys for
an evening to purge us of some of our facile
illusions, then there was no more liberating
activity on the campus last year.
St_~_John's Collegian
MY mother,
Robert Bart
MY gymnastic lady exerciseth not,
Nor there among the variant horses
expires.
She thinks, devours, nor within the forest
strives,
Nor prior to listing thinketh what, or what.
For hath she wisdom, wisdom were not slave ;
She keeps no slave nor does she shrill,
Nor trouble my sleep with tendril grips , nor
yell
At me, nor would at thee.
0, I would have thy company,
And, in this fashion, hers my ladyGentle and kind is she!
This kiss I ask of thee for all thy virtue,
All thine expenditure and all thy blossom.
And what costs the teaching all thy lesson?
WHat cost?- What given, and what taken?
True,
Thou'rt rare, and spendthrift of thy song.
Thou art heavy with song, and so, wed to the
world;
And thou art a girl with black, black hair,
young girl.
Now be it that thee must I choosePrithee, am I covetous?
My lady exerciseth naught but virtues.
when I was born, did weep,
And the weeping voice of a windy spell
Is something for me to bear in sleep.
I asked her where was the ocean deep;
0 'twas in the well the ocean fell.
She left my soul in the wind on a hill.
Was it burnt in s.pring, or blown
Wherever the wind goes thirsty wild?
It came to shock me, or to kill.
Or was it I dreamed it all alone?
0 I was enough lost, lost peace;
And it were no Good, whatever I found.
Soul came to take me; thee, me to bless.
My mother my heart from gentleness
Came many a time to bind in wind.
0 break if you can the bight from the sea,
From the sky the cutlass that heaveth heart
And witless, wheels in the night, to hurtQuivers in jungles, breaks the trees,
Cures the mumbling of the birds.
Wind on the sea, taketh me,
I cannot say, and must be speechless;
Sing I cannot, nor the wind in the trees,
Were it ever to come right, were dreary,
Nor am I weary of wantonness.
Crashed in the sun : moon-wandering tide;
My mother godly, goddess was,
Brought me thinner food than hers,
Wind in the hills with hunger so wide,
But singing will not take the curse.
When all the sweetness of my limbs
Is gone, and blackening of my hair
Is washed away and were thy whim,
And hath no living ever been,
I'll take my hiding from the air:
But darling, the sailor to the sea,
The hunter in the mountain goes,
The murderer in the night doth flee,
The monarch all his majesty,
What do they know? What do they know?
John Sanborn
Vol. LXI No . 3
ANNAPOLIS, JANUARY 23, 1948
ANALECTS:
From Another Great Book
Problems in education always assume two
different aspects for the student. On one side
tbere is the probl em of acquisition , while on
the other, there is the problem of correlation.
Broadly speaking, the learning of specific sub ject matters belongs to acquisition . A man may
indeed attain the remarkable status of a walking encyclopedia through blind application
alone, but th e very purpose in the study of
the liberal arts is that we may learn to correlate.
As has been recently pointed out and stressed
by Mr. Kieffer, here at St. John's, this correlation is achieved in the seminar. But such a
formal correlation relating specifically to a particular institutionalized learning process fails
to bring out the living significance to each individual (that is , as persons, and not merely as
St. Johnnies tr yi ng to graduate ) . As wouldbe liberal artists, we begin with the assumption
that there is a unity in knowledge, and the
existence of a " tradition " reassures our belief.
Then we are offercd certain keys to aid us in
the actual discovery of this unity; such as, the
scheme of the " seven liberal arts. " When we
find these keys unintelligible , we are told that
the true discovery of the unity is a private and
individual process, that however difficult the
problem may seem, actually the mere objective
and formal correlation in the seminars is sufficient to stimulate subconscic;msly the achieve ment of a subjective unity. All of which is
wonderfully true ; but meanwhile we are left
miserably unhappy in this confusion. The immediate personal meaning of such a unity es capes us.
In my own struggles it suddenly occurred
to me that perhaps some of our confusion is
owing to the overly introspective attitude of
our search (seeking for the unifying "why"
of all the great boo-ks through these same great
0 0 .ks, and hoping to find an explicit and objective answer). Perhaps we may receive some
good suggestions as to what we look like if
we will take a look at a neighbor_ inst,ead
?
Price: 1Oc
of concentrating localized glances at our own
bodies. (And except for the few who understand THE MIRROR , this is the only way.)
Therefore, I have attempted , aided by the
works of other translators, to make a translation of the complete original text of the "Great
Learning " (written by the grandson of Confucius , who was a contemporary of Plato) .
The sudden recollection of the two hundred
and :five words of the ".Great Learning " first
helped me in the present problem (the unity
of knowledge) , anq so I hope that my efforts
may be of help to some others. Since, in the
old Chinese tradition, this book--with the
authorized commentaries included- is always
offered to beginning students of the Chinese
classics as a map and guide of their consequent
studies.
" I. The Tao of Great Learning (I) is in
(2) illustrating illustrious virtue (3); in loving the people; and in striving towards the
ultimate excellence in human conduct.
"II. If we know the end , then the way is
determined ; when the way is determined, our
hearts will be calm ; when the hearts are calm,
our .m inds will be at repose; in the repose of
our mind, we may then contemplate; and in
our contemplation, find.
" III. Things have their roots and branches.
Affairs have their endings and beginnings. To
know the order of the :first and last is to be
near the Tao of Great Learning.
"IV. The ancients ( 4) who wished to
illustrate illustrious virtue to the great realm
under heaven first ordered their states. Wishing
to order their states, they first regulated their
families . Wishing to regulate their families,
they first cultivated their persons. Wishing to
cultivate their persons, they first rectified their
hearts. Wishing to rectify their hearts, they
first sought true th_oughts. Wishing to possess
true thoughts, they first strove to extend their
knowledge (5). And one's knowledge is found
in the investigation of things ( 6) .
"V. Things being investigated, knowledge
becomes comp~ete (first step). Knowledge being
complete, one then may (7) have true thoughts
�ST.
JOHN'S
(second step). Thoughts being true , the heart
may then be rectified (third step). The heart
being rectified, the person then may 'be cultiv-t ~d (fourth st~p). The person being cultivated, the family then mey be regulated (fifth
step). The family being regulated , the State
then may be ordered (sixth step). The State
being ordered, the great realm under heaven
may achieve tranquility and happiness (seventh
step) .
"VI. From the Son of Heaven down to his
most humble subjects, all must consider the
cultivation of the pers<?n as the root.
"VII .. It cannot be , when the root be in
confusion that the branches may be ordered!
It never has been that what is close should be
cared for, while what is far is greatly caredfor ! "
In general, these words suggest to us a direction for our studies; all must converge to wards the common end of ;ichieving a happy
society. Or , in our terms, as Wes tern 1iberal
artists , we must seek the " common good."
These are the instructions given by the Master
to all his followers (the followers of Confucius ). And in the training of the PhilosopherKing, as stated in Plato's Republic, we discover
a similar trend. But, upon particular analysis
the teachings of the " Great Learning" are certainly not quite parallel to the Greek scheme,
and I have not been able to find an analogous
work in the other par~s of the Western tradition.
Therefore, let us :find some of its meaning
in its own terms. In the first place, the book
begins with the sentence " The Tao of Great
Learning is in illustrating illustrious virtue."
Here the word Tao is untranslated because it
is practically untranslatable. A close approximation of its meaning may be made with the
Greek word, logos, but this is a lcgos felt
rather than intellected. Its most common everyday meaning can perhaps be translated " way. "
And in its pictorial significance, a head riding
a chariot is represented. Then the Tao of Great
Learning (I ) is specified in order to be distinguished from the Tao Absolute. The former
is concerned , as the context immediately shows,
with the public relationships of man, man with
men; while the latter is a private matter, the
individual with Nature. The virtue particularly
relevant to the former is therefore the "illus-
COLLEGE
trious virtue" (3), the virtue that shines out,
leaving unmentioned that which burns within.
The English word " in" ( 2) is wonderful for
translationg the original Chinese word , since
the shades of ambiguous meaning in both correspond so beautifully with one another. As
to the interpretation of the first paragraph as
a whole, the statement of the seventh step in
the fifth paragraph gives us a clue. That is,
if one attains the Tao of Great Learning, namely , becomes a shining example of illustrious
virtue and is able to spread his light through
his love, thus leading all men to the attainment
of the highest human excellence ( not the excell ence of the Divine Sage, or the excellence in
the Absolute Tao, both of which must be attained individually), then the great realm under
heaven will have achieved tranquility and happiness. As to how one may JttJin tbe Tao of
Great Learning, the Master goes on to give
his precepts in the following paragrapbs.
The second paragraph p crbaps explains
some of our present restless feeling and unhappiness here at St. John's. " A perturbed mind
will not find ." " When the heart is distracted,
we look and do not see, listen and do not hear,
taste and do not know the savor." Therefore
the Master taught " Grca t Learning."
Two things seem to me to be said in tbe
third paragraph. That there is an order of sequence in affairs; i. e., one act following another
from the beginning to the end. And that there
is an order of significance in things; since the
Chinese word translated as "root " rather means
something basic and fundamental. Now th
term " things" must be taken to include all en tities that may be said by us to possess an "essence,". while "affairs" are the actions of man
in respect to their process and method. In the
light of these two statements, the next two
paragraphs follow. That is , if we know the
sequence of the following steps of attainment,
and also know the order of significance in the
subject matters of these steps, (in both of which
there is a "first" and a " last") , then we are near .
the Tao; but we are not yet there , since this
knowledge is barren since it is followed by
will and action.
The fourth and fifth paragraphs contain
the body of the "b.ook." ( 4) The ancients in
Chinese classical literature mean no more than
an ideal , similar to our speaking of the " Saturnian race." To the follower of Confucius.
- ----·
ST.
JOHN'S
. 11 of his studies must be reducible to the sphere
a f the "eight articles" as they have been called
ob
critics throughout the centuries. And these
.
investigation of t h'mgs, extension o f
.
.
knowledge, truth of tho~ght, rectification of
heart, cultivation of person, ordering of family.
rcanl~ticn of state. and the achievement of unive:sal peace. By changing the final "article" to
simply "common good, " let us see how the
studies of our program here fit the other seven.
All of our laboratory work then belongs under
the investigation of things, and as we have
seen, this is the very first step. To this ~rst
article belongs , also, much of grammar and
investigation of meanings, likewise some aspects
of mathematics .
y
are..
The ( 6) " know ledge" which the first article gives rise to, however, is merely accumulated
information. For these informations to develop
;n~n ''tr"" th nn ghts." aid must be derived from
logic and mathematics. Then to the fourth
article, we may ascribe some of the moral teachings from classics of both philosophy and religion, since a "rectified heart" is but a figurative
way of saying "to have a right will." For the
fifth and sixth articles , the cultivation of the
person and the regulation of the family, I
have been able to find almost nothing in the
western great books. Yet when we reach the
seventh article, the literature available becomes
quite plentiful again. And I hardly need to
dwell long upon them: all the political and
economical treatises. But in this entire article,
I can of course only make a few suggestions
here and there on each point as I pass them,
since a just treatment of such a broad scheme
of comparison with all its implications is beyond the present scope.
Now the first article immediately leads to
the second article, and the two parts of the
first step are almost simultaneous. But · in the
statement of the second step and all the following steps, the modal ( 7) " may " must b e
a~~ed; otherwise the teaching becomes almost
ridiculous. For instance, the acquisition of inf~rmation about things does not automatically
gi~e us true thoughts, and true thoughts cer~ainly do not automatically rectify the heart,
i. e., instigate righteous will. One article is the
necess~ry, but not a sufficient, condition of the
next.
In the seventh paragraph we find the heart
COLLEGE
3
of emphasis in all of Confucius' teachings,
namely , that the individual person ought to
be , after all, everyone's principle concern. And
perhaps a metaphor suggested by the original
Chinese word, here translated as "root," will
help to elucidate this paragraph. As I said above,
tbe word means something basic. but it also
means the main trunk of the tree which is,
indeed, the single ext~nsion above the earth
of all the numerous ;roots underground. Thus,
from the first article to the fifth , everything
works underground ; in the fifth emerges the
individual man; beyond the fifth, the foliage
begins to spread , and deriving nourishment
from the roots while basking in the divine Sun,
the tree grows and bears fruit; and the sage-man
shines forth in illustrious virtue.
In the eighth paragraph, the book is dosed
with an exhortation.
As we have seen, the western tradition broke
the continuity of the Gr,at Learning by ne:.
glecting the "person" and the "family. " Thus,
founding the state almost upon the . first four
articles alone, the result is grass instead of the
tree; however deeply the loose roots have grown,
only stubborn weeds come up to greet the Sun.
But meanwhile, what happened in the soils of
China? There, great promise was shown ;n the
early days, yet the young sapling W"<; doomed
to wither, because her underground roots simply
didn't develop.
Con(erning each of the eight articles, the
text of the Great Learning is supposed to include some original commentary. However, ac..1
cordi;1z to the authorized comn~entator of these
comnuntaries, the original paragraph concerning the investigatH.n of things, the extension
of kii'J ..v~ 'dge, an-1 their relationship. b:is been
lost. Are we to say that it was simply an historical accident?
CH'AO-LI CHI
GODDESS, did you have some rules of
Art, before you retired?
Lady , please don't come out now,
Or a friend of mine translating
Pindar, might be fired.
J.
s.
�4
ST.
JOHN'S
FREEDOM
Americans, long ago, decided to ge>vern
f:hemselves. Upon that decision rests the validity
of the concept of free speech. For if men are
to govern themselves wisely and justly certain
conditions are necessary. They must be free to
think, read and communicate with one another
in order that the ends of their common efforts
may be served by truth, clarified and strengthened in the free atmosphere of criticism and
discussion. And so our forefathers wrote into
the Bill of Rights:
"Congress shall make no law abridging the
freedom of speech."
',
For Mr. Meiklejohn that statement means
precisely what it says: " We are saying that the
citizens of the United States can be intellectually
equipped to govern themselves under their own
institutions only if they know what they are
voting about, only if they have faced squarely
and fearlessly every criticism, every doubt which
can be raised against those institutions.
The unabridged freedom of public discussion is the rock on which our government must
stand."
Essential to Mr. Meiklejohn' s understanding
of free speech is the function of law in a self
governing society. Free men in such a society
both make the laws and obey them , that is,
they govern and are governed. The laws are
made to preserve and expand the public interest
and restrain _
private interest where it threatens
and is heedless of the common welfare. Such
laws are determined in the light of a common
intellertPal effort .o n the part of the self governing. This cff.') rt manifests itself in public dis;ussion.
The right of free speech is set forth three
times in the Con~titution; Article I, Section 6
is concerned with Congressional immunity ;
Amendment I with discussion of public interests and Amendment V with discussion of
private interests. The first two cannot be abridged as they are absolute dictums which form the
basis of a self governing society.
The Fifth Amendment states that no person
shall be deprived of life, liberty , or property,
without due process of law. The term "liberty, "
used here has been construed by our courts to
include " liberty of speech."'' Mr. Meiklejohn
believes this is a correct interpretation of t he
Fifth Amendment and on this point he says ,
" Individuals have, then , a private right of speech
COLLEGE
which may be denied or limited, but only by due
process of law. Restrictions may be imposed
upon it, but they may not be imposed unfairly
or ,- n n cccssaril y. "
It is the confusion of the separate purposes
of the First and Fifth Amendments that have
led to an increasing series of crises in the exercise of free speech. This confusion has its origin
in the persuasive but invalid formulation given
by Justice Holmes in l 919. He held that speech
could be suppressed where it " could not be endured " and faced the body politic with "clear
and present danger ." Those, for example , who
urge violation of law can be suppressed because
in Holmes' understanding, the Legislature can
take whatever action is needed to prevent the
obstruction of those laws the L egislature has
enacted. But the Legislature cannot take whatever means it sees fit to prevent the obstruction
of its laws. As Mr. Meiklejohn stated" Our plan of government forbids that thdt
inference be drawn. The Bill of Rights , for
example , is a series of denials that the inferenc.:>
is valid. It lists, one after the other, for ms of
action which however useful they might be in
the service of the general welfare, the legislature is forbidden to take.
" To separate speecb which will be endured
ignores or deni es the difference of reference between the First and Fifth Amendment .
'' The unqualified guarantee provided by the
First Amendment is assured only to speech w:xb
bears, directly or indirectly, upon issues with
which voters have to deal--'Jnly , therefor ~ , to
discussions of matters of public interest."
It is this kind of speech which must be end ured and no t ab ridged as gu ara n t~ ed b y the
First Amendment.
Th~ Fifth Amendment on the otr.et ~ a nd is
really a check on government prosecution of
those who abuse their personal liberty. This
abuse manifests itself in irresponsible or criminal
speec.h for the sake of private ends. A difficulty
arises where such activity is carried on under
the guise of contributing to the public welfare.
Thus lobbies, for example, present their cases
in terms of the common good. In reality , they
seek to put pressure on our congressmen to enact
legislation which will be of benefit to the private
interests these lobbies represent Private interes.t
can be a source of corruption in self government
and it is this the Fifth Amendment seeks to control · legitimately:
ST.
JOHN'S
The radical error then that Justice Holmes
.ntro duced was that of reducing the .status of the
1
F t Amendment to that of the Fifth Amend irs t and consequent! y giving public discussion
men
.
d.
.
I
h same status as pnvate 1scuss1on. t means
~neally that the unabridged right of free public
discussion exists only in Congress.
In 19 2 7, Justice Brandeis led the way back
from this destructive doctrine when he stated-"To courageous, self reliant men, with confidence in the power of free and fearless reasoning applied through the ~rocesses of popular
government, no danger flowing from s~ee~h can
be deemed clear and present, unless :.he i;1cidence
of the evil apprehended is so immincn;: l ba t it
may befall before there is opportnr.ity for free
discussion. If there b e time to expose through
discussion the falsehood and fa l\Jcies, to averr
the evil by processes of education. the remed y
to be applied is more speech , not enforced silence.
Only an emergency can justify suppression.'·
Mr. Meiklejohn restated this more clearly" In a word, when such civil or military
emergency comes upon us, the processes of public discussion have broken down . In that situation as so defined , no advocate of the freedom
of speech, however ardent, could deny t he right
and the duty of the government to declare that
public discussion must be, not by one party
alone but by all parties alike, adjourned until
the order necessary for fruitful discussion has
been restored .'' Mr. Meiklejohn emphasized at the beginning of his second lecture that he was primarily
concerned, " not with the legal problems of freedom, but in the significance of those problems
and their solutions for the education of American citizens in the understanding of their own
political institutions. " It is in precisely this
sense that the Supreme Court is one of our
most effective teachers . It provides us with an
"accredited interpretation of our own intentions.' ' In respect to the issue of " Free Speech"
it has been decided that the 1st Amendment is
~afe from undue abridgement . For Mr. MeikleJOhn this amounts to a radical amending, rather
than an interpretation, . of the Constitution by
Judicial fiat . The introduction of the "clear and
present danger " judgment has limited the free dom of public debate by considerations for the
public safety.
·
Professor Zachariah Cha fee , Jr. has interpreted this decision as an attempt to balance the
COLLEGE
interest in the public safety with the interest
in search for truth. Mr. Meiklejohn insisted
that such a balance has no justification in the
Constitution.
The inclusion of the First Amendment in
t 1· e B ill of Rights reflects the judgment that the
unabridged freedom of public discussion is a
necessary condition for the continued development and protection of the public interest and
safety. This is not " a sentimental vagary about
the Natural rights of individuals." It is a
reasoned and sober judgment as to the best
available method of guarding welfare, they " do
not choose to be protected from the search for
truth ." On the contrary , as practitioners of
freedom , as co-operative partners in the difficult
and complex tasks of self government we must
listen to ideas that are opposed to our own ,
not because the partisans of contrary philosovnies have an absolute right to talk and to
criticise. but because· such criticism is necessary
to us for the understanding and perfecting of
our democratic institutions. Such is the program
of self government .
Cha fee later admits, however, that " the
suppression of freedom of speech throughout
our- history has been a disastrous threat to the
public safety.'' The Wilson episode of World
War I is cited as an example of this harmful protection. The prosecution of large sections of
critical elements within our society had the effect
of quieting all criticism, which led to the adoption of many catastrophic policies. In other
words, in the attempt to suppress lesser evils,
greater evils are created. Mr. Meiklejohn concluded from all of this that "when men d ecid e
to be self governed, to take control of their
behavior, the search for truth is not merely
one of a number of interests which may be
balanced on equal terms, against one another.
The attempt to know and understand has a
unique status, a unique authority to which all
other activities are subordinated.
The legal opinions of Oliver Wendell
Holm es w ere a byproduct of a philosophical state
of mind that had been greatly influenced by
the writings of Chales Darwin. Mr. Holmes
saw human society as a "multitude of individuals each struggling for existence, each living
his own life, each saving his own soul (if he
has one) , in the social forms of competitive enterprise." Out of this grew what he himself
termed the " mechanist" theory of law. This
�6
ST.
JOHN'S
point of view recognizes man as the evil or bad
creature that he is, and devises legislation that
is capable of coping with or checking his natural selfish instincts. "For my part the struggle
for existence is the order of the world-against
which it is idle to resist. Government which
is representative of this theory of law is negative in character, restrictive in effect. Holmes
would not contest this conclusion apparently,
for he was not only a very penetrating thinker,
but a man who was ever willing to face and
express the consequences of his principles. "The
ultima ratio, not only of government, but of
private persons is force, and at the bottom of
social relations is a justifiable self preference. "
It is not difficult to connect these principles
with legal opinions that argue for the restriction of speech as it comes to threaten the " public
safety' '-the "peace and order" that is maintained by balancing conflicting interests and
restricting the action of the " hordes of fighting
individuals. "
If government is indeed something different
horn this, if it is a common venture of free men
engaged in the task of forming a more perfect
v. nic n, cstablishng justice and prov iding for
the general welfare ; and if the prior distinction
between .free men as governed and as governing
is valid-then any abridgement of the freedom
of citizens acting as governors, as men attempting to promote these purposes, in order to pro tect. the public safety is certain! y inconsistent,
and fatal to ·the common enterprise.
As John Stuart Mill puts it in his essay
on Liberty "A state which dwarfs its men in
order that t hey may be m ore docile instrum ent
in their (the state's) hands even for beneficial
purposes will find that with small men no
really great things c:m be accomplished ."
In giving a hearing tq those who seek to
destroy our institutions-we are insuring the
public safety by continuing to listen , reflect
and decide public issues according to our free
principles of government. In war or in peace
we must as self rulers go on debating and deciding freely . That is the way self government
protects the public safety. That is why free
men " shall not flinch in the face of present, or
even terrific danger ."
Amercans , long ago, decided to govern themselves. One thing that followed in this decision
was a concept of free ·spee~h. For if men are to
govern themselves, and govern wisely and justly,
COLLEGE
they must be free to think; and read , write
and communicate with one another. The ends
of their common efforts must be clarified and
strengthened in the free atmosphere of criticism
and discussion.
" Congress shall make no law abridging the
freedom of speech."
As a nation we seem to have been badly
shaken from our determination of achieving
justice through freedom. Our present hysteria
and bewilderment reveals not only a lack of
conviction in free institutions, but also the
ends for which they w ere created. Ours is not
merely a .. failure of nerve.'· but a collapse
of understanding. The task of Liberal education
is to reexamine these concepts in the light of
free and critical discussion. Mr. M eiklejohn
has reminded the college of this purpose.
One of our tutors remarked at lunch recently that the extraordinary thing about the
extraordinary Mr. Meiklejohn is the fact that
be can think purely in terms of justice and
freedom . When this can b e said of a man it
is p erhaps the most important thing that can
be said of him. But Mr. Meiklejohn as teacher
in the United States in this Year of Our Lord
is something more to us than j ust a special
1 ;11d of a r:eacher. He is a teacher who reminds us
,
by what be is of what we are , and of what it
w as assumed we might become when our democracy was taking its original form.
Dissenting Opinion
The object of Mr. Meikleiohn ·s lectures
was to show that Freedom of Speech is an
'' absolute right," and that the " clear and present
danger" theory of Holmes and Brandeis endangers this right.
Rejecting natural law , Mr. Meiklejohn argued that this republic arose from a social compact , embodied in the Constitutfon of the
United States. According to this compact , the
citizen is both sovereign and subject ; as the
sovereign he makes laws, as the subject he obeys
them. Accordingly, his rights fall into two
classes, for as sovereign he is above the law,
though he submits to it as a subject . In the
former character his rights are defined by the
First Amendment ; in the latter capacity, by
the Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments.
Are we bound by this social compact of
our forefath ers? Thomas J efferson answered
that question in this way : "A generation may
ST.
JOHN'S
b. d itself as long as its majority continues
when that has disappeared, another
1aJ·ority is in place, bolds all the rights .and
n.
.
powers its predecessors . on~e ~eld , and . m~y
change their laws and mst1tutions to suit itself. Nothing, then, is unchangeable but the
inherent and unalienable rights of man. "
What, then , is the source of these " an.alienable rights?" I can find no better answer
than Mr. Jefferson's own: "We hold these
truths to be self-evirlen:, that c>Jl men are cre.ated e-J.ual, that th:7 ;ire enckwed by their
Creator with certain inalienable rights, that
among rbese are iire. lib.~d. y, ar.r:i the pursuit of
happiness. That to secure these rights governments are instituted among m~n. deriving their
just powers from the consem of the governed,
that whenever any fo .m of government becomes destructive of th ~ se ends ii- is the right of
the people to alter or to abolish it , and institute
new government laying its fo undaticn on such
principles, and organizing its powers in such
form as to them shall Sl'('m most Iihl y to effect
their safety and happiness. "
Thus, Jefferson , JPd he speaks for the
writers of our Constitution, based our rights
on the lex naturalis. The " comp2ct" does not
establish rights ; it is founded to protect them .
But Mr. Meiklejohn , like Mr. Holmes, rejects this. We may discover upon what the
" compact" is founded , in his view , if w e t urn
to another of his arguments.
The sqyereign, he says, is above the iaw.
Now this idea, deriving from Hobbes , Hume,
Bentham, and Austin, was also held by Mr.
Holmes ; and Mr. Holmes t ells us ·why the
sovereign was above the law (and I believe that
Mr. Meiklejohn must ultimately ::igree with
him, else how could he affi·m that totalitarian
states may validly withhold civil rights) :
"Sovereignty is a form of power, and the will
of the sovereign is law because he has the power
to compel obedience or punish disobedience,
and for no other reason." So power lies at the
roots of sovereignty, and sovereignty is the
basis of our rights. Of course, the great English
common law tradition of which we are a part
has always opposed such dicta with Bracton's
co~clusion, Quod Rex non debet esse sub homzne, sed sub Deo et lege," but Bracton, again,
founded his argument on the lex naturalis.
From the fact that power lies at the root
of law, Mr. Meiklejohn draws the conclusion
i~n life;
1
COLLEGE
7
that. rights such as Freedom of Speech, absolute
though they be here, are relative to the country,
and so are not rights in Spain or Russia. Mr.
Holmes expressed the same conclusion: "I think
t hat the sacredness of human life is a purely
municipal idea of no validity outside the jurisdiction."
Mr. Meiklejohn held that some of Holmes'
later decisions contradict his "clear and present
danger" principle. Holmes would merely have
laughed at such criticism; he had nothing but
contempt for those who would " sacrifice good
sense to a syllogism." It is surely of little avail
to demand logical consistency from the man
who , in his famous dissenting opinion in the
case of Lochner vs . New York, wrote: "General
propositions do not decide concrete cases . The
decision w ill depend on a judgment or intuition more subtle than any articulate major premise. " Holmes was a greater man than he was
a logician , and although b e didn' t believe in the
abstract right of fr ee speech , he said , " I hope
I would die for it. " We may remark that those
who reject natural law in principle often embrace it in fact , proving , doubtless , that their
hearts are sounder than their arguments.
Mr. Meikl ejohn indicated that he believed
the " clear and present danger" principle had
been cast aside by Brand eis in the dissenting
opinion he ·wrote in the case of Whitney vs.
California . Be this as it may, the Supreme Court
jettisoned the principle in 194 3, in the case of
Barnette vs . W est Virginia. This decision , written by Mr. Justice Jackson, clearly bases our
fundamental rights on the natural law. They
are " beyond the reach of majorities and officials ," it says, and " One's right to life, liberty
;- n .-j property ' to fr ee speech , a free press , freedom
of worship and assembly , and other fundamental rights may not be submitted to vote."
But, you ask , what about " substantive evils
which Congress has the right to prevent? " The
Court replies : " Freedom to differ is not limited
to things that do not matter much. That would
be a mere shadow of freedom. The test of its
substance is the right to differ as to things that
touch the heart of the existing order. "
In summary , I believe that Mr. Meikle john
failed to show that freedom of speech is an
" absolute right," because his arguments lead
to the conclusion tha t such rights rest ultimately
on force, and so may b e taken aw ay by force,
as they have been in so many places. I agree
�8
ST.
JOHN'S
with Jefferson's contention that "I have a right
to 11othing, which another has the right to take
away,,'' and_believe that absolute rights can be
derived only from natural law; you cannot
reject one and retain the other.
Differing with Mr. Meiklejohn's arguments,
I agree wholeheartedly with his conclusions,
and I off er as a text for the times these words
of Jefferson's, written on M.ay. 25, 1808:
"It is to be lamented that any of our citizens, not thinking with the mass of the nation
as to the principles of our government, or of
its administration, and seeing all its proceedings with a prejudiced eye, should so misconceive and so misrepresent our situation as to
encourage aggressions from foreign nations. Our
l''<: pectation is. that their distempered views will
be understood by others as they are by ourselves; but shoul_ wars be the con~equence of
d
these delusions, and the errors of our dissatisfied
citizens find atonement only in the blood of
their sounder brethren, we must meet it as an
evil necessarily fl.owing from that liberty of
speaking and writing which guards our other
liberties; and I have entire confidence in the
assurances that your ardor will be animated,
in the conflicts brought on, by considerations
of the necessity, honor, and justice of our
cause. "
-Chester Moore
LoNG HA VE 1 GAZED
Out the window.
Too long the lyre has whispered
Hero tales of great he'lrts,
Longing to be greater
The heater gives warmth,
But not the warmth of sweat.
Listen for a moment more;
Beckons the wind outside
And whirls the leaves.
Is it really that we look
Within the well too deep,
Frightening converse with our souls?
Or must we part the surface scum
With tiring hands?
With strides lost among tall trees
There learn to climb
Through having fallen hard?
The way asks much,
Gives much in return.
What is it to examine, without life?
L. S. Linton
COLLEGE
W.S.S. F.
L::::TTER TO THE COLLEGIAN
The W. S. S. F., like all organizations,
is an intricate one. It has its origin in post
World War I days when students, then as now,
needed help. Organizations like the International Student Service, European Student Relief, and World's Student Christian Federation
sprang up to give aid to learning. In 1925, the
International Student Service evolved ". . . .
to make permanent some of the . important intangible values of the European Student Relief,
to carry on the program of international understanding and solidarity among students, and
to provide for mutual aid." In 1943 a World
Student Relief was created to co-ordinate fundraisi ng throughout the world, setting up headquarters in Geneva. WSSF is the American
arrri of World Student Relief, " . . . the unique
and inclusive organization of American students
and professors for participation in emergency
student relief and rehabilitation in Europe and
Asia .
. the responsible humanitarian
zige nt of th '2 national student organizations that
created and sponsor it, and it is the responsible
trustee of the American students and professors
who share through it in the reconstruction of
the world-wide university community."
Last year a few of us tried to raise some
money for the organization. We started with
high hopes. fell rather short of first estimates,
but ended up with over $300.00, enough to
make us feel our time wasn't completely wasted.
Some money was obtained through canvassing,
but most came from caution fee pledges. This
year we've given up the idea of canvassing and
have decided to put two collection boxes in
available places-the coffee shop and bookstore
-into which anyone so desiring, can give for
hard pressed fellow students abroad. The slots
in the collectipn boxes have been made neither
t110 small for bills nor too big for pennies. It
is our hope that those who in the past were
accustomed to having a collector call for a
weekly or monthly donation, will continue
those periodic payments to the collection box.
We also decided to use caution fee pledges
again, but they will not be solicited until the
C::.--;--cr T Trril rh<>n we hope to be able to rc.ic;e
money by arranging for the production of
performances-play reading, and/or jazz, folk
song and classical concerts.* We have some
ideas and leads along these lines but we can use
ST.
J
0 H N '
more. We would appreciate the aid of anyone
who knows some good performers. A note
through college mail to Mr. John Lobell, our
acting secretary, wrn reach the committee.
That's what's going on on campu~ concerning WSSF. We thought you would like
to know and since we need your help, we
would like you to know.
A lot more could be said. How i> the money
distributed ? What are the mechanics of it ? Who
are the sponsors? etc. I don't think most of us
are too interested in these questions, though
we would willingly answer any question we
r:.-n. if we are approached. But one query I'm
sure we all consider is "Why?". I think the
answer is simple ;rnd probably already recognized by yourself. rm sure we all want peace. I'm
sure we'll agree that peace cannot be born of
ignorance. I'm sure we'll further agree that
ignorance comes from burnt books, sickness
that defies inquisitiveness and hunger that leaves
no time to seek knowledge. I think we can also
agree that the purchase of books, medicine and
food requires money. I think that if we talked
C"r thoPght a bout it we could agree that then~
is a need for WSSF.
-A. Bisberg
* Sin ce "· e r ecei Yed :i\{r. Ili sherg' s letter a Ye ry good dance
lrns heen _sponsored which w.as surh ~n enjoyabl e time for u s
we hope_ it was effe ctive towarcl \VSSF ' s aims. You mu st a lso
hrtYe notH· ed and perhaps put money into th e ('ollcction hoxr~.
Sin f'C we \\'rnte t b e a hoYe footn o·c su~a 11 Reed ]Hl. ta k e n
the c·nmpu~ h)· 'torm nnd th e \\' .S.S.F. is now famous.
Mark Hopkins And Others
The dean told me to give a lecture on
Augustine, said Mr. Buchanan, and his title was
C:oncerning the Teacher, so I will talk concernmg the teacher, with some liberties of reminiscence and self-plagiarism. Way back in 19 3 7,
wha~ seems now a long time ago, we were
startmg this college-I find I can talk about it
now .without Recollecting too much emotion~nd m tbJse days the program was considered
iconocbstic. There were a lot of icons to be
hroken . One in particular: the picture of Mark
Hopk·ms slttmg on one end of a log and a stu· ·
~ent on the other-with Mark Hopkins in it it
aefined Williams College, where they do not sit
~n lo?s currently, though it is a Great Seat of
. earnmg-the point of the picture being that
1t do
esn ' t so much matter what is taught as
1
ong as you and Mark Hopkins get together.
s'
C 0 L L E G E
Or in the version which still dominates U. S.
education: what you need is great teachers with
personality; personality will get you along in
the world and is all you need to know. The
theory of teaching this suggests is that a personality is something worth knowing in itself, and
though that sentence in the catalogue which
says that the Great Books are the teachers here
is of course an awful lie, we were nevertheless
shooting at this theory, which forgets the theolog~cal meaning of persona: a thing through
which you learn something else, maybe the
truth. The alternative theory, as I used to try
~o tell the freshmen every year, is that teaching
is pretty much a matter of the man and the
pupil moving symbols about on a blackboard
or paper, or making noises, and the rest of
it what the student did when that happened.
By analogy with electrical induction, with the
student as secondary circuit, the teacher induces
the student to learn , but what happens is a
matter of the student's own spontaneous insights, from which spontaneity flow such
secondary effects as self-discipline, the product
of knowing what you are doing. This is not
a new theory; it could be attributed to Plato,
but Augustine, too, states it briefly and beautifully. He says for example that "signs invade
the senses and move the intellect." The great
books are armies of such signs, and because
they are in the texture of our experience they
are perhaps the unavoidable media of education
for us ; they are our tradition, which is not destr9yed or rendered useless by the multiplicity
of other traditions.
The genetic concern with knowledge is
called epistemology, and in asking "how does
knowledge come to be" it is asking about teaching. I won't drag out the theoretic machineries
of this field, but I want to point to a few unifying principles that have been suggested by
workers in it. (Here the lecturer pointed rapidly
to unifying principles in Locke, Spinoza and
Kant. They were somehow different and somehow the s;.pie. A sort of spontaneous power
of the mind, putting things together, unifying
them, in fact.)
This illativc (N. B. the dictionary synonym
is "inferer..tial ") oower of the mind operates
in a medium which has been called the logos
(no connection . with Mark Hopkins' log,
though it too connects student and teacher)
which has been seen in various loci. It is itself
�I lJ
ST.
JOHN'S
the locus of all possible ideas. It has been found
in other media- in th~ imagination, for example, or as Tolstoy held, in human emotion
and feeling. For there is common feeling, the
rapport which makes art possible. I once talked
about preh.~nsion, that vague thing back of
knowledge to which Northrop gives such importance in his account of the Orient. This
kind of thing can become so deep as to make
our noisy Western discursiveness seem vicious.
I have no doubt that it exists, and I think it
is even for us a way we know and a way we
learn- one of the logs for pupil and teacher.
Another medium is that great web of analogies in which our imaginations live, in which
the only ordering principles are likenesses of
relation among images. Augustine talks about
it saying that it is not real knowledge but a
moving of symbols about in more or less syntactical order, which is of no use unless the
invasion moves the intellect too. On the other
hand this moving about has to be done, this
medium is one in which we know a great deal.
A third medium is discursive reasoning.
It is a travesty to think that it is the only
medium, though it is a high and beautiful
place. A logic, a logical art, is very beautiful.
The great thing that demonstration is supposed
to do that the others do not on the whole is
to supply certainty. To a modern mathematician or physicist this is not the case; there
is no certainty in the fact that a thing has been
deduced from premises; we have reassimilated
demonstration to the rest; it is imagination
out on a twig, and no one with wit pays it
much mind. But to the ancients it was more,
for they were able to find inescapable premises,
self-evident ones, a sign of high discipline, as
the fact that we do not find them, or clutch
them so frenziedly when we do, is a sign of
low discipline. Science used to be a way of so
connecting the doubtful with the certain that
it acquired certainty. Modern science of course
is not concerned with truth. Augustine · is talking more about the first media than about demonstration (in De Magistro). He is concerned
with the discovery of the self-evident from
which demonstration proceeds.
Now concerning the teacher I want to distinguish four kinds, exemplified by four famous
teachers. First, Socrates, who taught by ques tioning. It is a perverse method in the layman's
view, for'' whom to teach is to tell, to transfer
:)T.
COLLEGE
or convey information. The Socratic rhetoric
of asking insists to the contrary on the spontaneity of knowledge. The question sets the
mind to discovery or recollection; if it is sufficiently powerful it shocks the ·pupil into a
paralysis or confusion from which he must find
his own way to his own answer, or at least
the re-production of what he "learns" from
others. An expression of doubt is another kind
of question: or for the modern mind, already
skeptical, the .affirmation ·of dogma is a question·
ing, a shock.
The second teacher is Virgilian--the guide,
the man who points out things Dante should
see. Augustine t~lks about pointing as a possible evasion of the necess.ity of signs, but as
he says it cannot distinguish the thing from
its color, for example. Except by a series of
pointings. and the serial point is the great tri :k
of the Virgilian teacher. (Here followed an
analogy with the calculus which the reviewer
is unable to reconstruct from his notes.)
The third teacher is Beatrice. The others
do not matter unless there is a Beatrice somewhere around, for though she certainly shocks
and guides (in the Divine Corned y) she also
does the intuitive thing and the demonstrative
thing, producing such certainty that Dante
wishes at first to forget his previous uncertainty,
though he does after all go back. She is the
great transparent medium of the truth, not
what is being conveyed. Socrates and Virgil
in their lesser degrees are transparent and do
not sell themselves, but she is their limiting case.
The fourth teacher is Christ, as Augustine
says at the end of De M agistro, the inner teacher
to whom any pupil refers what he is studying
for i1 1 dgT1lent. Christ sits in each of us, the
logos in the back of the mind, not for Augustine a myth like Plato's recollection but an
actual something in terms of which we make
our judgments. Even the most radical skepti cism, if it proceeds from the search for truth,
appeals to the inner teacher. The truth in you
makes you the spontaneous judge. Not that
I am urging skepticism, but it is a position of
the highest authority: beyond all authorities
of church, state, symbol. a higher authority
commands this doubt. You may not care to
call this Christ, or even God, but it is Truth,
and cannot be evaded by any regress.
The student of Socrates knows that he does
not know. But who speaks the "I know" in
JOHN'~
that proposition? Virgil's pupil accepts a discipline whose ~nd he doe.s not know, ~nd .lear~s
to be imaginatively creative. The creative 1mag1nation is developed by the acceptance of. disci plincs. Bea trice 's student recognizes, discovers ,
or in Augustine's term " invents. " The creative
jmagination, having moved far enough , issues
in invention. The pupil of Christ has learned
the discipline of speculation and contemplation
-the steady look at the truth. This is not
learned by doing, though all human doing is
contemplative in the sense that it is aware
of itself. Even in America we contemplate what
we do, and our excessive concern with practice
may turn out to be an ironic shortcut to the
contemplative life.
What is the ideal result of these four kinds
of teaching, organized together? I answer that
in a way Augustine would not have approved ;
the end is to make every man his own teacher.
For Aquinas this is a flat paradox, but perhaps
there is a way out. In Augustine 's terms, Christ
sits in every man: every mind partakes of the
logos. There are different kinds of knowledge ,
and in the same mind one ministers to another.
Does not Augustine teach himself in the Confessions? Each human being has, as Plato says,
an internal dialectic, which will not stop if
once properly started. It starts outside, with the
ordering of a material. Teachers are outside.
But what follows is inside-the insiaht into
that order and the effort to order such insights,
the search for unity which is the intellectual
enterprise-and no human teacher can claim
it as his own. Mr. Buchanan concluded with
the first paragraph of chapter fourteen of Concerning the Teacher .
R. A.
CULLEGE
11
To the Editor of the Collegian:
In your review of Mr. Barr's lecture on
A Study of History it was suggested that ( 1)
Toynbee based some of his arguments on a
vagary described as " evolutionary causality" ,
and that (2 ) his saving grace was the invocation of God. The latter argument was qualified,
if not totally nullified, by the assertion that
this fails to explain how Jny civilization comes
into existence. Since I have some reason to believe that the former statement arises from a
misinterpretation of genesis, growth, palingenesis , withdrawal-and-return, apparentation,
and challenge-and-response by restricting these
figures to the level of generation and corruption,
I would like to comment on what, I think , is
a general pattern running through A Study of
History.
The question of how civilization came to
be , or, in other words, what creation means in
A Study of History provides the clue to the
pattern which unifies history as well as one
reply to objections over evolution and high
walls.
In order to discover the meaning of civilization and h ence of creation Toynbee uses a
poetic trope which amounts to this: God is
perfect. His perfection limits or makes creative
activity impossible. Unless an opportunity
comes from outside, there can be no creation .
If it comes, God must accept it. Creation is possible only if there be a challenge. God must
respond to this challenge of the Devil. Toynbee
describes this poetic trope as the passing from
the Yin-state of rest to the Yang-state of activity.
The entire point is lost if we fail to understand that the ueation is a dramatic act on
the part of the Creator. Moreover, if we forget
ERSONS: A NATIVE .
that we are part of this dramatic creation, we
A STRANGER
lose ourselves in the inversions which tend a
Place:
NEARBY A FIELD
state where the dominant minority has become
Time:
UNDIFFERENTIATED BY THE reactionary. But this is getting ahead a bit.
GODDESS
A passage from A Study of History
NATIVE: (Hailing.) Say there , Stranger.
illustrates the argument : "The first stage, then ,
STRANGER: Hello , Native.
of the human protagonist's ordeal is a transition
NATIVE: That'- a winneyin' fan.
s
from Yin to Yang through a dynamic actSTRANGER: No; ' tisn't.
performed by God's creature under temptation
NATIVE: Gimme h' ya, (Winnows m nearby from the Adversary-which enables God Himfield .)
self to resume His creative activity. But this
~TRANGER : H-m-m-m.
progress has to be paid for; and it is not God
A TIVE: Awkward, though.
but God's servant, the human sower, who pays
John Sanb orn the price. Finally, after many vicissitudes, the
p
�12
ST.
JOHN'S
sufferer triumphant serves as the pioneer. The
human protagonist in the divine drama not only
serves God by enabling Him to renew His
creation but also serves his fellow man by
pointing the way for others to follow."
Thus we imitate God and His creation,
therefore Christ, whenever we create something
good. The passage has not defined how this is
done with any exactitude, but it has indicated
that this creative activity is in no wise a function of time; it has indicated that the challengeresponse pattern of history is no mere sensible
pattern of human behaviour. In the latter portions of the book Toynbee makes this point
explicit by attempting to show that it is only
through the challenge-response trope united by
love that we understand the action and passion
of Christ Crucified.
To this extent, that Toynbee illustrates
his analogy through Christ, we can claim that
his is a Christian history, but the analogy of
challenge-and-response
or
withdrawal-andreturn belongs, as he indicates by numerous examples, to no particular time or religion. Why,
then, does he choose the Christian figure? Because of love. And it is here that we may wonder
when he last read Plato and Aristotle, since
similar patterns seem to run through them. (For
action-passion pattern united by love see
Syposium.)
However, he argues that the creation of
the philosopher is not a dramatic creation. The
eros of the philosopher expresses a yearning and
a desire, but none of the love which causes God
to send His Only Son that we may be saved;
none of the love, in other words, which causes
God to die joyfully for man.
Earlier I said that the creation or creation
would shed light on the origin of civilization.
The creation, understood dramatically or as a
dramatic act, requires rational creatures who
can dramatically imitate. It is an easy step from
this to civilization, which, when it is good,
is nothing but a dramatic imitation of the first
creation, and, when it is bad, is nothing but
an inverted image of that creation.
Any product of man involves the trope
described as challenge-and-response or a similar one, and the only manner in which the
pattern can be properly fulfilled is through the
inspiration of love. As it was pointed out in
your review this is an eternal mystery. So it is.
but it is important to ascertain how much of
COLLEGE
it can be known, and where, therefore, faith
must necessarily enter in.
In his chapters on the internal and external
proletariats and the dominant minority, Toynbee suggests that whenever the productive activ.
ities of man are prevented from participating in
the divine and eternal order, new challenges.
new responses occur, and more suicides are
chalked up on the wall. An illustration of this
is our own society which perverts all creations
into articles of exchange, which have neither
natures nor values of their own. Every man is
a creative creature, a poet of the world, but his
creation is good for him and hence for the common good only. when love, the cause of communication between men and God, is present.
Probably everyone who has read Toynbee
has remarked the similarity of his treatment
and that of Thucydides and Tacitus. Although
there are innumerable accidental differences , each
one is aware that history is one of but many
modes in which the ways of God and the end
of man are revealed to man.
It is foolish to quarrel with a theological
position merely because it is honest enough to
admit that it is a theological position. The
proper place to begin a dispute with Toynbee
is the place where he begins to explicate history
by means of his theological position.
Unfortunately, we seem so habituated to
a reading of history which pretends that history
is some sort of sensible or material disorder
which has been wrenched out of its chaotic surroundings in an altogether mysterious way that
we are apt to be somewhat harsh when a man
begins with the faith that history is something
otherwise, which is only intelligible and valuable to men when it is seen in the light of a
divine myth.
I would be foolish to claim that I have
discovered the myth which orders A Study of
History, but one possible beginning is to look
at it in the light of man's successes and fealures
to properly participate in the Creation.
Andrew S. Witwer, Jr.
SING, Goddess?
What will you sing now?
Battlements are a disgrace,
Navies are a scandalous row,
The Gods forever are debated,
Heroes are investigated,
And war just gets no place.
St. John's Collegian
Vol. LXll---No. 1
ANNAPOLIS, OCTOBER 27, 1947
The Devil and the Black Arts
The Age of Enlightenment has given mankind the
belief that all events have rational causation, and that
nlture will progressively come under man's control.
Hence the existence of demonic beings and of powers
0 £ eva' beyond the pale of human domination is challenged, for the de_vil cannot be shown to th~ eye.
Mr. Winifree Smith attempted to show him to
our reason.
Who or what is the devil? According to the Bible,
Mr. Smith declared, the devil is a serpent in the
Garden of Eden, man's tempter, and the cause of
man's fall. But, while this account is fairly specific
in s1ying what the devil does, it gives us no idea as
to what kind of being he is. Later theologians evolved
theories to explain this. The devil becomes the
highest angel, the next highest divine intelligence
committing the sin of pride. Cast out of heaven, he
tempts man into the doing of evil because he envies
him his blessedness. By committing evil deeds, man
puts himself into the devil's bondage, into the service
of a power which he cannot control. For his purposes, the devil has traditionally used various arts
which hwe been called black. At this point, Mr.
Smith began to speak of the liberal arts.
What is an art? In the "Ion," Plato speaks of the
art of painting, of sculpture, of the charioteers, the
general, the prophet, the arithmetician, the chess
player as well as of others. The liberal arts are distinguished from the other categories of arts, the
fine arts and the useful arts. Each art embodies a
certain kind of knowledge. The fine artist knows
how to make a beautiful thing good because of its
beauty. The useful artist can manufacture a functional object and knows the technique of the manufacturing process. The liberal artist knows knowledge
~seful in itself, but which is perhaps also instrumental
m understanding some other kind of knowledge.
Thus, while a poet knows the ·rules of his fine art,
he sings of things that he does not truly understand.
An;:! while a carpenter knows exactly how to make a
table, he does not know the whys and wherefores of
the actions necessary to make it. The knowledges of
the fine ~nd of the useful artist can thus be said to
be only partially true, since they are but partially
known and since that which is truly known is true.
But the knowledge that the liberal artist possesses
de 1 ls not only of the earthly but also of the divine
ahd of the intervening space. A rhetorician knows
~ e arr of effective communication, an arithmetician
nows the science of number but they cannot be
truly s11 to k now these things, unless they know not
·d
'
Price: lOc.
only the operations necessary for their exercises, but
also the reasons why they are exercised and the purposes they strive for within the realm of knowledge.
In this connection, the liberal art of dialectic is especially important. For, while the practitioners of the
six other liberal arts seem to have a craft with a
higher meaning, the dialectician appears to deal only
in the realm of the divine ideas. As a matter of fact,
dialectic alone is knowledge for it alone can see all
things, human and divine. Yet not of ten as ordinary
mortals dialecticise truly. Mostly, the garden variety of dialectician may only achieve an earthly image
of dialectic by directing the aim of conversation with
his fellow men towards the same goal that he knows
diaiectic to attempt to achieve. But, since the devil
can blacken all things, he can even make the liberal
arts, black arts.
If man, through sin, has placed himself under the
mastery of the devil, he will himself become diabolical. He will use all the arts he is able to practice
for the wrong ends, and, as we ourselves look about
this misuse is apparently common. It is hence somewhat presumptuous of St. John's College to purport
on its seal that it makes free men out of children by
means of books and balances. Perhaps it is the devil
which prompts the reviewer to add here that the
motto may be equally made to make children out of
free men. It was suggested that divine arts, sacraments, are necessary to deliver man from the evil
one's bondage, but perhaps the good use of the liberal
arts suffices. For the sacramental arts can certainly
be used towards the devil's ends in quite as strong a
way as to assure man of complete damnation. Especially since the eighth liberal art of logic was added
during the Middle Ages, the devil has become a
logician, trapping men like Raskolnikov into carrying out logical conclusions from wrong and sinful
premises.
Equally, since the seventeenth century, the devil
has become a mathematician-for Plato's four arts
of astronomy, harmonics, geometry, and arithmetic,
once so clearly intelligible both within themselves
and in the light of one another have fused into pure
mathematics in the modern understanding. And
pure mathematics are responsible for the bondage and
servitude we labor in, within the realm of modern
science and technology. Atomic energy and its uses
are indeed children of this modern mathematics, and
it would be platitudinous of the reviewer to state
their importance and the danger with which they
threaten us. "It is," Mr. Smith said, "as if the devil
had placed into our hands this power which we are
not good enough to use."
�
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�THE COLLEGIAN
May, 1961
Table of Contents
the Means toward an Ideal
best annual essay, 19 0)
,
Edward Mattison
The Straight Line
Fowler Noel Meriam
Aeschylus: Prometheus Bound
(best translation of a Greek text, 1960)
Eyvind Ronquist
Hermann Hesse: Complaint
(best translation of a German or French text~ 1960)
David Levine
A Choral Song
(honorable mention:
o.
Korshin
Beethoven:
best English poem, 1960)
Sonata No. S, Qpus 10, No. 1, C Minor
�.Expediency and Imit a tion: the Me ans toward an Ideal
by Josephine W
est
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In the Republim Socrates sets forth a system of
government which achieves perfect justice and a re a lization
of the g ood by a select few.
Yet within this system it is
necessary for the ma jority of the citizens to be deceived by
their rulers.
Is this apparent contrad- ction justified?
i
The first d e ception described in the Republie is
the "royal lie" whf.ch is told by the gu a rdians to convince the
people tha t they were cr eated in class es of g old 9 silver, and
brass and iron a ccording to t heir worth.
E2.ch class has its
awn function in the st a te; the g old to rule 9 t he sil v - r to be
e
crnxillaries ~ and the brass a nd iron to be husbandmen and craft-smen. There is nothing whilh they must gu a rd so c a refully as
the purity of their racese
The second d e ception is in the regulation of marriages.
The people a re to believe tha t their spouses are
chosen by lot whereas in a ctuality th e ma rriage s are prearranged by the guardians so tha t 9 a s with the breeding of
animals 9 the s t ronges t will mate with the stronge st and the
weakest with the weakeste2
W hav- us e d th e word deception because neither , of
e
e
the two c a ses is a dir e ct lie but rather a distortion of the
truth.
The story of the cre2 tion of man is a myth just as ·were
the stories of Zeus and Athena. But th e re is a char ~_cteristic
which cl a ssifies the formor o.s dec eption while the l a tter a re
not.
The people who oriGinated th e Olympian myths believed in
them, while the gu&rdians do not believe the myth of the creation of man. To tho people believing this myth 9 howe vsr 9 it
is in no way different from a ny other myth.
They are 2ware of
no deception. Pr agmatic a l l y ther e is no dif::triculty.
This is
also true of the deception of marri age by lots.
The myth of th e cr E~ a tion of ma n servos th e purnose
af expl a ining to the people their pro por st a tion an d duty ±in
life, discour.a g ing th em from int erming ling and pcrh2p s me.king
them more content with their lives.
The · a.rr2.n gement of marriages serves a somewh a t simil a r purpose, to keep t lie classes
separate and to insure the hi g hest possible production of the
finest chara cters.
Socrates eansiders both means to the end'
O a just and wise state.
'f
Thus we see that a bout justice and wisdom fo-r the
many Socra tes is pragmat ic.. Ire -tells us that justice is everyoody minding his ovvn business3 and he g iv-o s us a system whereby nothing more is acc-omplished for th e majority thsn a wellordered and temperate life.,
Is it possibl0 to show tha t this
extremely pra ctical dosign involving exped'ient d0ceptions leatrs
the majority towa rd an ideal?
* * * * * * * * * *
The Repuolic h a s b een called a tr m:1
tise on education.
Tho g reater p a rt of the dialo :~c is d evoted to the principl es
of educ a tion..
Ho wev er it is a t onc e evid ent tha t the higher
�( '
of these principle~. involve on~y tht: gu ardians an? no·t the m~JC:I'
fty of the p eople.
The guardi ans go through a ri g orous train:tng
which continues for fifty years until they have caught at least
a glimpse of the g ood.5 The people have no part in this enligllt-enment.
Th e prima ry purpose of th e state seems at times t-o ~c
the initiation of the philos o~her kings to the perfect- ~ife.
A sta te is cr 8ated in which the atmosphere is such th2t- philoso-phy ripens and g rows instead of degener a ting as it does in
existing states.
Socrat es tells u s tha t not one state exists
which is "worthy of the philosophic nature. 11 6 From this we
might infer tha t it is more import ant for the st a te to be
suited to the ruler than the ruler to tho st a te.
So-·c ra tes spee,ks of the wickedhoss of thE: ma sses and
the ma dness of the multitude.T He describes th em as being incapable of attaining wisdom.
It is impossible for the world to
become philosophers .. 8 Since, then, the many a re somewh2 t stattc ·
and only cap able of opinion why should it matt er that to increase
their usefulness to the philosophers they are deceived? Since ·
"all mere opinions arG bad an d the best of them blind 0 9 anti the
multitude is not capable of anything other than opinion, why
should the gu a rdians disturb themselves a bout the false opinions
which they instill within their subjects?
Anoth e r problem occurs which r e l a tes to this one.
Is indoctrina tion tol er able ? We mig ht question whether o:b not
indoctrination of the truth-- tha t is the refusal to allow the
majority to investigat e any other system than that of Sa-cra tes
---may truly be called educ a tion. This problem is not relevent
hET8 howevor .
Instead we ask the mor e pr e ssing question 7 "Do es
education allow for indoctrina tion of untruths?'' Cle a rly it
does not. But we have already 2 dmi tt ed· that Socra tes' system
of educ a tion do es not apply to the ma ss€s. W
hile he would not
have educated them to the s ame extent as he would h a v e educated
the philosopher kings it is doubtful tha t he would have educated
them a t a ll.
Ind 88 d, h e s a ys th2" t whsn persons "unworthy of
education 11 lO approach philoso phy they only poison h e r.
Therefore
our question of education and indoctrina tion is not entirely a
fair one since the myth of the crea tion of man ma y not have boen
meant to be a p Grt of education. Yot th o qusstion remains.
Socra t e s describ es his rulers a s fashionin g the minds of their
subjectsll and whether this be education or not it is cert a inly
indoctrination. Wo believe tha t it is passible to justify
indoctrina tion of false opinion.
Socrates divides th e virtues of the st a te into three
parts: tempcrence 9 courage and vllis dom.
The c aus8 and condition
of their existence is evcryl1ody minding his own busin e ss.12
If man ma y bring his soul into perfect h a rmony by living a
temp erate life, it matters little tha.t this life is based on
decei it- of which he is unaw2re.
Taken in themsel~os the decci ts
are, perhaps, unp ardonab le; but as a means to beautify the soul
of' mankind they cha n ge their appear ance a ltogether.
To back
up this point we must und e rstand that Socr :·tes does mea n the
multitude to partake of this state of inward perfe ction in so
far as it is possible for it to do so.
Courag e a nd wisdom
reside in on 8 part of th E- st a te only, n a.mcly in the · soldiers
and the philosopher king s rospectivoly.
Tempcronco, a nd justice,
�that- whi'0h combines and ~o gul a tss the fm:ctions of- the soul 9
reside in tho many. It is ~emporcnce which produces harmony of
the weaker~ stronger 9 and middle classes and an agrce~nt of·
thG superior and the inferior as to the ri r-;ht to rule both in
states and in individualsol3 In th e st 2te the inferior paesions
and desires of mankind will be controlled by the fowo The
boastiali ty which is a part of man's nature will be dulled a"
nd
obliterated by re a son. He will look ,to the city within him and
take care that no disorder is there.l4 These words indicate
that the superior part of man's nature rules 9 ev8n in the w0akest
classes. Justice relates tho individu 2l to his fellows and insures tha.t each man does tha t for which he is best suited.
Thus we have g iven a picture of a man who is a t pc2ce with him~
self both int ernally and externally. Docs not this ide a l state
of mind justify tho somewhat devious moans by which it is produced? Socra tes defines justic e a s ev erybody minding his OVlm
business and he finds this necessdry for the harmony of the
soul. But in order for everybody to mind his ovm business an
extremely pra ctical plan is manda tory. In fact the idea itself is one of extreme practicality, similar to the working of
a well constructed machine in which 8ach part does that which
is required of ito It does not matt er to the people that to
achiev-e the goal of inward harmony the most expedient method
is useda
We have spoken of tho deceptions in relation to · the
people who are deceived. It is equa lly import 2
,.nt and perhaps
more difficult to discuss them in r8l a tion to the guardians
who are the a g ents of the deceptions.
The ma jority 9 bec ause it h a s no knowledg e of the
deceptions 9 has no mor2,l responsibility conc erning them. This
is not true of the philo s opher kings who origina ted them. It
is less ea sy to account for the deceptions on a purely practical level 9 because in de a ling with knowledge for the fc:::w
Socrates is not pra ctic al and the philosopher kings, while they
dispense justice 9 live through knowledg e. Thus we must discuss
the deceptions in relation to Socra tes' ideas of truth and
wisdom. He makes a clea r division botween the occupation of
tho philosopher king s with knowledg e and their occupation with
ruling and between their own knowledg e and that- pseudo--knowledge
which exists for tho ma sses
It se ems evident that the dee options apply once more to the prctic a lity involved in ruling
and in the so-called knowledg e of the ma sses.
Socrr', t es sp o:1,kes somowhr-:.t t;uil tily (lbou t the nroy::::.l
lie. " When telling of i it 9 hs s f'_ y s to Gl ".ucon th;-· t he will no·t ·
wonder f'.t his hesi t ~ tion when he h ;-'.s h cc-,rd whf'.t he is 2bout to
s<:,y.l~ Previously he distinguished between two types of lies
<'hd in this wr;.y used 2.n c.rgument which we he,ve not presented'
~o justify the deceptions.
" • • o deception~
or being deeei ved or uninformed f1..bout the hig hest rc r:.li ties in the highest p2.rt of themselves~ which is the soul~ rnd in
t-hl':t p2,rt of' them to hc:.ve Pnd to hold the lie, is
wh2t m~nkind le ~ st like9--thP.,t, I sr>y, is whn.t
they utterly detest.oothis ignorPncc in the soul
o
�\.
.
of· hfm who i~ deceiV7e~ me,y be ca~led th~ ~ue. lie;
ror the lie in words is only 2 kind of imi tntion
nnd sh2~ a_owy i~magc of R previous a f:Fect2,tion of t hc
soul, not. pu~e unadu~ terf-lted f2lsehoo·do_" o the lie
in words is in cert:::.in cnses useful 2.nd not hatefur;
in de n.ling wi t-h the· enemi8s--- th2:tr would- be an
insta nce; or, ngRirr, when those whom we co.lI our
friends in e. fit of madness o·r illusion a rc going
to do some h2.rm? then it is useful e.s 2 sort of
m:cdicine or preventative; e.lso in the t-ales of mythology of whj_ch we were just now spea king-- boc a use we
do not- know the truth about cmcient- times~ we make
falsehood look ns much like truth as we c an~ ana
so turn it to aceount 11 16
o
It is difficul it to understand what other lies there may be th2.t·
do not use words; however tho deceptions in the Republi~ 9 accord~
ing to Socrat~s 9 . do not fnll into this rather ncbulou~ c2tegory. By a lie in words Socrates m2y mean a rearranging o·f
words o-r a dist-o:ctmon of their naturaJt ordero
He explains
that lies may be used as a medicine for the people.
They
should be used as a medicin8 is used by a phy~ician and only
by the philo·sopher kings for the public ~oodol7 Once more we
see that lies~ as medicines arc a means toward an end in the
practical world of" philo·sopherso They do not enter into the
sphere of knowledge and wisdom any more than do the peopl'e
partake of knowledge and wisdom.
The 11 royal lie" or myth involve s far more than ex"'pediency. ·It relates to what Socrates says about inritation,
appearance, becoming 1 a nd the divided line . In discussing itin relation to these things we mus~ divvrce it from its use and
examine it· as it appears i'n the So era ti ~ ladder of knowledge
and world of being and b ec ominga
Throughout the Republic Socrat e s condemns the artists
for imitation.
Imitation h e d ~~incs as r epresentations of images
thrice removed from the truth.l
(If Homer h a d been an odu.cato-r :
he would have -been held in far grcator repute we are told.l.g)
So-crates attributes to Homer and tho poots much of mythology
and he eliminates from his st a te all myths which degrade the
gods or pictur e elfd.l naturos and passions . 20 Some myths and
some imitations ar e go-od howev er --- specifically t hose which
imitate the good". 21 (This brings to mind the question of whether
or-not imitation of the g ood is thrice remov e d from truth. That
is, is there an appearance of g ood which is apart from· the good?
Evidently Socr a tes would say tha t all v irtuous actions and
thoughts of man ar r:: rcflectmons of the go-o, d ~ whicn he compares
t-Cf' the sun in the analo gy of the cave o )
The _n roya.1 li c" might
be constru e d as an imitation o-f the g ood insofar as it might
n£ve b een good if man had in rcaii ty b een created in classes of
gold, silver 7 and iron and brass.,
E\Ten if th e creation in this manner vvould not hav·e
b0en go-od Socrate s fu rt h er justifi8s his use of th e myth.
Since
we have no knowledge of ancient time s we may make falsehood Iocrk
as.much like truth as it is possiblo.22 Falschoo-ff d enotes something consciously contrary to truth; and because the truth is
not known, any story of creation may be seen to be less of a
�falseftood than ~n.outrisht lie.
We may specula~o th_at this myth
has as much validity as any other.
Any myth which docs not falJJ
under socrs.t cs' qualifications as har:rn.ful is pormissable in the
state.
,,_.,;.
,,•
I
' :
.
.
,.
,
. :.
.
.
~-.
:
.
.
·.).
.
.
:.
,
.
Now l e t us investi gate opinion as it i s a part of becoming rather than being.
Opinion lies intermedi ate botweon
iP·norance and knowledge, not-being and being. 23 Belief in the
n~oya.l lie" is neither ignorance nor knowledge, not-oE:ing nor
boing.
It is becoming; a_part sf the w?rld that is forcv~r
changing. As f a r as man is conc c rncd 9 it a ccounts for his place
in this world.
On the dividod lin~ the myth of the creation of
man would fall into the lowest h al f o·f ~he divisi?n of the v~s
ible..
It would be among the shadows which the prisoners chained
to the wall of the c ave see moving before them. Since the rnyt-h
is originated by the philosopher kings we mig ht compare it to
tho philosophers 9 having looked at the sun 9 returning and· organizing the shadows on the wall of the cave into the best possible
pattern, so that the live~ of _th o prison?rs_ar~ considerably .
improv·e d. But we cannot imag ine that this is in any way uncha.in-ing the prisoners.
· .Again it is diff-icul t to undcrstana how this myth, as
an image, is thrice removed from the truth.
It would be necessary for it to imitate an appearance or 9 as in the divided linc 9
t-hc animals that we sec and cvcrythin ~~ that g rows or is I':l.affe .
What then arc we to undcrstend c that it imit a tes? It may be that
Socrates would eall tho actual materi a l cre a tion of man an a ppearance insofar as it would belong to the world of becoming.
rrhe myth of creation may bo seen as en 2. ~hicvcmont of
a kind of unde rstanding on 2. aiffcrent plane than that understanding ba-sod upon knowledge.
All opinion is l)lind so !!lay we
not say of the best of it thst it satisfies a desire for
knowledge (of crE;at ion ) al though the rcsul t is limi tcd.
We have a rrived at a sta rtlingly prag ma tic view of
knowledge.
Since there is no known abs olut e truth the popul a ce
me.y as well b el ci vo that vvhi ch is mo st useful to the ful!f±l·l ment
of thcir liveso
Th e myth not only applies to imit a tion 9 but also to
Socrates' poetic use of analogy .
Throughout the di a logue
So·crates u.ses stories cmd myths as analogies to support his
a rgament.
The myth differs from th0 a nalo g y in. that- the people
to whom it is being told are not awaro that it is not trU8o
So-crates uses an a logy in the stories of the ring of ~yges, tho
story of the c a ve, and in the myth of E':r.
The difference between
these and th e myth ~if the crce.tion of man is that they a r e told
as siI!l.pl.e illustrations of truths whil e the myth is told to tho
people as truth.
The r~yths thc1!l.selves a re a type of analogy thet
explain th e principles of nature just 2.s the I'.lyth of the crrcation
of man in classes of metals st ands for the principle of everybody minding his OV'"m business which is nec-essc.ry fo-r justiceD
(Similarly we ma y ask how important it is that every story ±·n
the Bible fs true.)
In ex amining the d·ecept.i ons in the Republic- we see
thait they are pri.marily a n 8Xpedicnt me a ns towa rds an idea.I.
Th0y rel s te only to the CTHj ori ty o f thGp e oplc who live practical? well-ordered li vos a s artisans a nd husbondmcn a nd are
�inc 2 pable of knowledge which surpasses ap pea rance a nd becoming.
Because they cannot obt a in knowledge they may as well hold pr2ctical and fe Gsible opinions. Ji. id ed by two t a lse opontinns instig2,ted by. the ph~losoph er. ki~gs thc;y- a tt-ain the highesy J?Oint
towa rd th e ideal life the.t it is possible fnr them to at t a in.
The deceptions arc images which 2.p ply only t o the people who 2.re
cap8.blc of und ErstEmding nothing but imag es.
It is clc n r tha t Socr ~- tes' pr r.:.gm2.. ticism. is relevent
only to thf',t class which is inc 0,p nble of wisdo:r.J. a nd who possess
whfl.t li ttlc knowlegge they hHvc 0n 2 purely pro.cticci,l level.
Justice 2nd knowledge for then is 2 . mR.tter of what is most usefu:J:.
Socrates reserv es a theory of cducBtion G
ntircly distinct fer
the training of his philosoph crrs wfuich h as li ttlc to do vdth
usefulness or prac ticality but de 2ls soley with idens.
RererenC!:o N·o--tcs
- --
1.
2·.
3.
4.
7.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13 •
14 •
17.
lo.
17•
18.
19 .
20.
21.
22 •
23 •
Plato-. The Rej)u bli ~, steph.
It'rid pp.459~ 460
I1Jid p.433·
Ibid pp. 428, 376 9 402
Ibid p .. 540
IlYi d p. 4 97
Ibid p. 496"
Ibid p. 49'4
Ibid p. :Joe·
lb id p • 4 9 6
Tbi.d p. 377
I15id p. 432
lb id p • 4 3 2
Ibid p • 791
Ibid p. 414
Tb-id p. 382.
I'b i d p • 3 8 2
Ib-id. p. 797
Ibid p • 6 00
Ibid p . 38 6
Ibid p. 39ff
Ibid p • 3 8 2
Ibid p . 4 7 8
9
p • 415
�THE STRAIGHT LINE
by Ed1-ro.rd I".c ..tt ison
An examin;1tion of Eu.cl i d 's de finition of
line-- "2~ strio.sht line is
u..
EL
str~.ic::ht
1J.n0 which li e s evenly ·with the
points on it se lf 11 --rev ea ls th2. t it is tota lly unintellicible .
As Hea th p o1nts out a f t e r e xam inin3 in d e t 2 il the Greek of
the definition , "The l a n c;u c 2:e is thu s seen to be hopelessly
1
obscure,"
He a th speculates that the Euclidian definition is
(
si~-
9ly an attempt to put into 13e ometrica l language the definition of Euclid's mentor Plato.
Plato mck es a visua l prop-
erty of stra i 3ht lines the b a sis for his definition, namely
that if one looks from one t e rminus of a strai ght line to
the other, he will see not hin g, for the middle covers the
other end.
Since the Platonic definition is obviously unsuited to
geometry, because , as Pla to himself s a id in the Republic ,
Geometry is above the visual since it is on the higher side
of the divided line, a nd Eucli d' s definition is only an unsuccessful a t tempt to reE10ve from the sphere of the visual ,
it becomes necessary to search for a new de finition.
In this paper I will a ttempt to exam ine several of the
definitions that have been proposed, includinc: t wo that I
�beliGVe to be original.
The only criterion th2t I have set up for judging a
definition besides the Aristoteli&n requirements, is th<lt
the definition of a straight line, since it must be designed
strai ~htness,
to be applied as a test for
be applicable in
some practical ge ometric a l fashion.
Heron's definition that a stra ight line is a line
stretched to its utmost, while Aristotelian, would be disqualified by my criterion since there is no geometric ·v my of
) '
telling whe ther a line has been stretched to its utmost.
The only non-Aristotelian definition tha t
tion is that of Archirnides, which say s ,
;
11
I shall me n-
A stro.i ght line is
.
the shortest distance bet vmen t 1.i-rn points.
n
The third of
Aristotle's requirements is that a definition tell a bout why
a thing is as well as what
it is.
In the definition (c.f.
Analvtica Posterior a, Book Two, Part Two, 90, A31) of an
eclipse a s na dep.rivD.tion of liQ:ht from the moon throuc;h the
interposition of the ear th,
11
.-rn have not only told 1;,rhat an
1
ec l ipse is but why it takes place--since the earth sometimes
covers the light from the moon.
The refore, a de finit ion of
a stra i ght line 1 hich depends upon a ·oroperty of o. strni ght
.
v
line is not n ccept a ble.
It mi~ht a lso be pointed out that
since the definition of "shortest dist a nc e " has no connection with who. t
one may believe a st ra i [ ht line to be, ono
�has to make the further assumption, which is not evident on the sur'fa.ce, that o.
stro.i c~ ht
distance between two points.
line is the shortest
Also, of course, the defini-
tion fails, as did tho one above, because it is inapplicable,
since one cannot know if the line one has is the shortest
distance between its extreoities.
The requirement of applicability eliminatGs from further consideration many of the definitions that have been
suggested, includinG, as I now
definitions:
namely,
11
~ealize,
one of the ori3inal
a straic;ht line is a line that lies
in an infinite number of planes.
Several of the remaining
c.o .use they require a plane.
11
defi~itions
are eliminnted be-
Though a discussion of this
problem is outside th8 bound s of this p a.per, I must say that
it seems impossible to define a pla ne without using a strai3ht
line; so strai g ht-line definitions which requir e pl8.nes Cl.re
circularly r e asoned.
This leaves only thr0e definitione. that I know of:
one
of Heron's, a vari a tion on it of mine, and Playfair's definition.
Heron's definition is, "The lino which, when its ends
remain fixed, itself remains fixed."
Many modern geometry
books use some variation of this definition.
Since mine is
also just a variation, I will discuss the two togGther.
My
�definition is, "a line which, when turned about any two
points in it, remains in one dimension (or,
'A line which
turned about any two points in it fails to generate a three.
dimensiona 1 f.
igure.
1 )
• II
We both mean the same thing:
about any two points on it.
.
'·.
simply to revolve a line
If it is strai5ht, all of tho
points will remain in the same place; if it is not straight,
)
at least one of the points on it will gener ate an arc, which
t '....
last, in Heron 1 s definition, wil l mean that the line has not
rer.rwined fixed and, in my definition, will uean th8.t a thr eedimens iona l figure has been generated .
Unfortunate ly, the mathematician Schotten has seen the
fatal flaw in this approa ch, for tho vory definition of a
rotation presupposes a straight line,
since tho word
tion" comes from the Latin rota ( whee l).
11
rota-
Of course, to ro-
tute moans to movo something about a point or a straight line.
Therefore,
'dG
have assumed a stro..ic:ht lino in our d.efii1ition,
which is a
lo~ic a l
circlo.
The last definition I have to offer seems to me the
b e st of the lot.
For some reason, Hoath did not t hink it
was goo d enough to bo worth mentioning.
Flayfair 1 s definition appea rs in h is final ed ition a s
follows:
11
If two lines aro such thc::.t
thoy C2.nnot coincide
in any two points without coinciding al to gG ther, ea ch of
�them is c a lled a strai ght line. "
Geonwtry wiih
..
~
(Play fair, Elements of
Supp l ement; Lippincott, 1860)
Let us exnmino a n applica tion of the d e finition.
;
1. '
. ·~
Givon
the t wo non-stra i g ht lines ABC and A'B'C' with A a nd A' and
J2. and ~' the two coincident points, how o..rc we to s h ow thc~ t
c
will not a lway s coincide with C 1 ?
Obviously, if we rotate
the lin es around the points AA t a nd BB', vrn will h o.ve again
+.
assumed a st ra i g ht lino, which wou l d invalidate the d e finition .
But, it appears t hat withou t rot a ting, we c a n pick up
!~~and move it so tha t
we can do this,
·wG
of a s t rai g ht line.
er
do os hot coincide with
Q.
If
wi ll have found, I believe, the definition
But i t
se e ms t hnt vhen we appronch this
p roblem with tho concept of simul tcmeous motion, tha t a ny
ch'.1n3e in the ane;u l 2 r distance bctwo 2n two planes is simply
a combin2 ti on of a rot a tin g mo tion 8nd some othor motion.
Since a ny non-str a i ght l i no detGrmines a ple,ne, thus ABC a nd
A'B'C 1 h a ve determ in ed p l a nes.
I f this is so, and if I have
not b een able to find any movement whi ch co u ld not easi ly
be explained t his way, then this definition also f a ils, and
the situation appea rs a s Heat h sta t 0s :
"St r a 1 g h t is a s1m.
.
.
ple notion a nd henc e all definitions o f it must f a il."
Whi l e thi s prob l em says a gr eat d ea l a b out t he limitntions of g eomGtry, it docs not s eem t h a t our inab i lit y to
�define a s tra i ght line i s c ru ci al to any of thG propositions
.. .
of Euclid, for t he few tha t n ee d a way of proving t ha t a
lino is s t ra i ght make u se of 2nothor
dofin iti on~-No.
This dGfinition states t hat when a stra i ght
10 .
lino rnoo ts an-
other stra i ght lino and t he a dj a c ent angl es a r o equal, tho
ang l es a r e ri ght.
as
Q
An
e x a~p lo
of tho use of this defini tion
t e st fo r st r ai3htnGSS is Proposition
proposition , whi c h st8.tos
11
14,
Book
r.
The
If with any strai ght lino, an d
at a point on it, two l ines no t
lyin g on the sarno s ide mako
the a djac cmt m1gl os equal to t wo right an g le-s, tho t wo
strai ght line s will bo i n a strc1i ght lino with on e anot h er, 11
is p rov e d by shovri ng that no other line s but tho two in the
onunci a tion c an make ric,;ht a.ng l o s with t ho g i ven lino .
ThGr o for e, tho t wo li nes of tho prop osition must b o in a
str a i ght lin e.
�AESCHYLUS, PROMETHEUS BOUND
by Fowler Noel Meriam
~
...
o clear c. ir of he:aven, ~,·,.in;r-s· .-ift. :.rinds,
Riv er-fountains, evor-lau r.h::i.r :-~ ~"~":ru::::
Unon the ocean, Earth the oother of all,
A;d Sun's disc all-discerninc I invoke:
See what a God now suffers from the Gods.
Behold the hurte. · ·i th ~ .~ r.ich I EJ.Ust contend
·while vmrn a-1:ra y through countless ::rea ~·, s of tiDe.
Thus hB.S this new ruler of the Gods
Invented, to my nain, thes e shame ful bonds.
Alas! Alas! I 5roan for my present pain
And for the hardships that are yet to cooe.
o when will fate this torment's end ordain!
And yet why speak I thus? The tot a l suo
Of future t h in~s comp lete I know before;
No unexpected pain will come to me.
I need to bear with calm my fated store;
The power of Necessity I know to be
Above all strife. But silence as v-re ll as v ords
Is un supportab l e against my pa ins.
For Giving a g ift to oan, this yoke engirds
My li mbs, and I nust suffer in these chains.
I found the secret fount of fire, the course
Within the reed, revealed to nortal eye
A master of every art, a great resource.
For such a crimG the forfeit paid is hibh;
Thus am I nai l ed in chains beneath the sky.
�:•.., -· ·· .
HerDann Hosse:
-· -~
)
COMPLL. INT
Transla ted by Eyvind Ronquist
Being is not permitted us. Wo flo w,
~ flood that crowds through every form uncurbed:
~hrou gh night and day we pass throu gh pit and dooe;
Towards Boing whipped, we feel tho drivo of thirst.
Thus forn then form '"78 fill but without rest,
Lnd none bocones a homo-- 1 twixt luck and neod,
In constant flux, we always aro tho [Uest-The plowed field calls us not, nor grows tho b r e a d.
What God may want with us we do not know.
1To aro the E1ute clay in his hsnd ho shapes
.•
That neither laughs nor weeps, that can take Elolds,
Lnd is well kneaded, but is novor baked.
Enduring once, just onco to fr oozo to stone!
Fo r this forever our desire whirls.
:. . n anxious shucider is pr :::; scrvod ;-:- lone.
That as our journey's rest will nover serve.
�l
h. CHORAL SONG
by Do.vid Levine
The bi tter sal t -spume
Of t he Hellespont trs blade-like waves inflame
The sore of sorrow in my breast.
For it wa s woven on the Sisters' lo om
Thc::.t proud horoes should each other kill and mair1
For t he vanity of the cuckold-groom
-!hose wife's beauty, Kupris-blesstd,
was s ought.after by Ilium's fair colden boy,
The sorrow of his father, old Pri a m of Troy.
10
The nev e r-ceasing churn of the bellowing soa
Whirls pools of algae endlessly.
But lettered leaves turn to yellowinr scrolls
And hollow black koels to rottinc tolls
Of the lusty tireless sea •
.f'.1.nd ·what 1 s becoE1e of the finest i;.ien of the . :'.\ chaian icles,
Those who survived this blood-rut of my age,
1fuere are they on the cosuic t a pestry of the Sist ors Fate?
l.i. gmnomnon 7
I n the hollows of Hell, victim of a jealous ma to.
Menelaos?
He sates hiBself, Bazine on Helen's regained sailss.
Old Nestor?
He battles with senility, that c a davering sea-side sago.
i~nd Odysseus, spirit indominable and master of c:uile s?
Capricious Rumor has hil:'l kept in her cage;
Aye, first she cha.ins h iE1 to the Cavern 1 s black vrall,
Then, she sends him out to endure through all.
My heart is anxious to he a r
So , Tel l me, O Muse •••
of him nows,
�BEETHOVEN:
SONATA N0.5, OPUS 10, NO. 1 , C MINOR
by
o.
Korshin
In Language, c ortain typos of wri tinG may bo dieting-
(I
uishod, and hon c o dofinod , b y t heir r2spc ctivo li mits.
spoak o f
11
1•
1· m1
i 't" i. n t-no sonss of that boundary of a thing
beyond which it c annot go and st ill r ema in i tso lf.) Prose
and poetry arc tho obvious oxampl os:
there aro certa in
things common to both, su c h as words and s ontonc cs, but what
is common c cmnot difforontio.t o , so tho.t ono must seek tho
uncommoness, oven if it lio within the commono ss.
This
would ind ee d seem to bo tho ca s e, fo r tho boundar ies or defining limits of prose and po etry lio not in words, phras e s,
or sentences i n thorn.selv e s, but in their different use and
arr angement.
In music too, d iff erent form s may bo defined b y the ir
pa rticul ar limits.
What d i s tingu i s hes a fugu.e from a sonata?
Tho elom onts tho. t are co mm on to bot h obviously cannot in
thomsolv os be specific difforentiao.
For both tho sonata
and tho fu gue onp loy a number of dovicos, su c h a s c a donc os,
soquonces, me lodi cs, d issonanc es, and both a.dhoro to tho so
consonanc e s and harmonicmovomcnts possible within tho di atonic scale.
Thoy canno t thon differ in that they use thoso
dG
vicos , but. only in that thoy uso thorn dif f erentl y.
Thoro-
�· ··. -··- ... -·,
..
·want to know what a sonata is, wo must oxamine
'• ~
tochniquos aro used in this form of music.
WG
stato tho grammar poculio.r to tho sonata.
u1tim2tGly any sonata is solely concornod with tho key
which it b egins and ends, and all moans employed within
it aro diroctod towards this ond:
tho main koye
Tho sub-
joct of a sonata is a particular key, and the office of a
soncota is to omphasizo and establish firmly within itself
that keyo
Following thoso promises, I sha ll prosont and ex-
plain tho sonata formo
First~
if tho office of a sonat a is to omphasizo a koy,
why doos it not rotain that lrny throughout, instead of changing frequently?
In simple harmonic moveme nt we soe that tho
most powerful stross of a lrny is not to bP gained by tho unrclc:mting, us o of tho tonic, but rather by tho frequent uso of
those notos or chords tha t lead and point to it (for motion
is nocosso.ry if thoro is to be rosto)
Thus; in tho key of
G Major, for oxamplo, wo c a nnot say tha t
\ .:i .
tho tonic is any
more important thm 1 tho dominant (D) of tho lo a ding tone (Fsharp), since it is only through thos o not os a nd others tha t
point in tho samo di roc tion tha t
onG is mu.de 21;v2re· of tho
poculfl_ar . strength D.nd singularity of G within its own s ca loo
Similarly, tho roal streng th of tho koy of a sonata is found
�when t st koy is abandoned , 8nd when an of f oc tiv o contrast
made that ~at tho samo timo loads back to tho main koy.
18
It is not so much tho l eaving, but r a ther tho r oturninc; and
what soos on in botwoon, th2.t draw s a tt en tion to tho subject
Thus it i s ov idont t hn t tho sorn:~ta must
(tho main k oy ).
constantl y movo or flow, and continua lly chan50 if it is to
It cannot r cme,in s t 2. tionar y.
b o succos sful.
Tho form a nd devices of tho sonata in gonora l, and
pa rticula rly of tho f irst mov omont of t his sonntu., mus t now.
Tho fir s t movement of a s ona ta
,
bo sot f or th a nd discuss od .
is usually i n t hree pa rts, which arc often ca lled tho " oxposition 11 , t ho
more
11
a c c urat~ly,
d cvolopmont
11
,
the "returnn.
and tho nrccapitulation 11 , or,
Tho exposition of tho sona-
ta is simply a thorou gh statomont of its k ey nnd tho foundation of tho vita l motion b ' a l oav ing of that l{cy.
Next,
in tho so-c a l led development, tho movement of tho sona t a
draws us f erthor and f art her away from t ho main key, o st nb lishing a ll the •,,vhilo o, kind of po t enti a l energy tho.t bocomas a ctua l in a d rama tic re turn t o tho main key in o. solid
forma l cadence, f a l l inc; do \Am hard u pon tho key which had
boon d oso rt od.
Tho cnd oncc i tsel f is ac tually tho return
in tha t it brings tho piece b a ck to the ma in key, but tho
third part that follows, tho r e capitulation, is a r e turn to
�tho first thcmo a nd a fina l
fixin g of the mGin koy through
rona
St - ...__, r esta t ement bofor o the whole movomont i s c ompl ete d.
'
This son2ta is in C Minor; thus it must be g in 8.nd end
in t h is koy.
Tho v s ry first chord snys C Minor, and in a
short timo the statement is strong ly re inforc e d by cndonccs.
But by tho thirty-second measure t ho vi tnl n10vomc nt of keys
ha s started, c.n d th o r o is c.t gontlo g nd unobtrusive transition to E-flat Major.
This is in offoct a small change
since tho now koy is tho relative major of the main key.
Tho exposition romains in the major koy, a me lod y is introducod and dis r:: olvod, and the first part ends in an CJ.s so~
tion in E-flat M2jor, indicc..ting tho t
tinuo.
Hore tho d ovolopment, or middle se ction, b e3ins,
imm edi ately
snc:-~ tching
in key n nd in tim e .
which
tho movement i11ust con-
bo ~an
tho piece f u rthe r from C Minor, both
Tho t homo h :.::r o is tho so.mo o.s
th~:'c. t
t ho sona ta, but it is i n C MCtjor, a v e r y uncx-
poctod chnnc; o .
From
h~· rc
on tho koy cho.nQ:OS .: :i. re fr equent,
l cnd inc; awo,y froE1 tho mo.in key in time, but simultanoous ly
approaching it through subtly ronchin3 for tho dominant.
Tho dominant
(G) is finally a rriv od a t and dwolt upon for
ton measure s , forcibly e nd undeniably l oad ing a nd pulling
to tho inevit a ble r e turn, t ho form2l c a dence in C Minor.
HorG tho very e nd of the middle pa rt coincides with tho com-
�moncom ont of tho rocapitul a tion, for th o C Minor c h ord is
[\,
t
Once
.
tho l as t
tho r1.'.1in theme.
t e rm of tho cadence and the fir st chord of
Thus the! r e turn hus been doubly o ffoct i vo,
fo r not onl y did tho ca d en c e fall into C Minor, but tho very
c hord t hc,t
c or1p l c t c d it retu rne d us tho ori g inal theme 2.t
t ho same tim c --withou t pau se.
It
i s t wo r : turns in one:
b ot h to tho k ey a nd tho thomo ori s ina lly identifi e d with it.
As in t h o
b 23 innin~
ccvornl c a d en c es a nd the
C Minor i s Gt
s~~o
onc e aeso rt c d by
gen t le trans ition b egins,
whic h in the oxpocition lod tho p i e c e to E-flo.t M jor.
a
n o'J v.rc ar c do c c ivud:
h as no bu s ine ss
tho p i o ce moves to F MGj or,
wh~tsoovcr
h ero.
ei.
But
koy t hat
This deception is resolved,
t ho p iec e r e turns to C Mino r, a nd tho key changes no more.
Tho me l ody is r epen t e d f or t ho lnct t ime , but it is for tho
f irs t time in th o ma in key .
t h ere
~r o
t o end.
At
tho v e ry ond of t he movement
six so ft c 2 donc o s in C Mi n or e nd the piece s eem s
But a ft e r a pGus o for t wo -thi rds of a mocsuro, th o
powe rful v~: r c e. dcmco, the ul t imLl t o clinchine; of tho sono.t a rs
sub j ect, ends tho Dov cmont.
I n much mu s ic, mo lod y 0xis t2 only for i tsel f;
ocl f -c ont c r c d n nd sovoreign.
it is
Hon.c o all changes of key or
mod o , if there a r o any , n r o for tho snko of tho Be lody; all
v cri a t ion is only to point out tho thomo.
I n t h o sense
tha t n me lody c nn be tot c. ll y symmotricnl, it doos not move
�as a whole a n d is ossonti a lly cont cnp l 2 tivc.
But in tho
sonc..ta, which i.s conc e rned with a l{oy, tho melody bocor:ws
a subject of tho key, not n rulor over it.
~nd s in.c o the
sonc.ta must movo until its end, e,ny me lody must ovontua lly
bo annihila t e d a nd di sr olvod.
In this s ona t a tho oooi-
molody from Bcusurcs fifty- six to scvonty-fivo is used to
nccontunto a key, hor o E-flnt M jor, and n lso, bocauso of
2
its a loofne ss from t ho rather unnolodic sections thDt pro-
ced e ·'::1Dd follo w it, it furni s h es n chengo the t i o noc os so..ry
to tho vital novcmont of the connta.
Tho hi ghest not o ,
roached thr oe timos in tho melody's course, is E-fla t, and
tho bas s for tho Dost pnrt con s i sts of the E-fl a t triad and
its dominant chord.
Actu a lly, e a c h not e of tho molody is
mcroly a pa rt of either t ho ton ic or tho v7 chord so that
tho melody is hard l y a melody a t 2 11, sinco it i s so thoroughly subju ga t ed to tho hcr~onic o ovomont of tho pioco.
Since in a ddition it do cs not go
tG
conpl otion, it is not a
melody on t wo counts, ctnd I ho.vo c a llod it a usemi-molody. 11
By the sovontioth mo&surG tho destruction of tho me lody,
Which i s to b o offoctod t h rough e xtension, hs.s et lr oD. dy bol3'Un, <J.nd tho v o ry oxt onsion is comp r ossod for sovoro. l rnoo.sUros, but i s ag2 in pr otra ct e d by uon su ro nin oty-fivo and
0
nds in a soft V-I c ndonco.
�In tho s onGta tho p honomonon of o xtonsion is osp o cio.lly u so ful wh on a k oy E1Ust b o s t ro s ?o d. Thi s s onc. t c:i., , for
\
is unw:mo.lly condons od, yet ov on within its com1
D plo '
cxa"
pactnoss thc r o is room for
s ~ v cro.. l
valuo of tho ox t c nsi on is t h<2 t
may bo str oss od,
p ~ rticul c rly
cxt ondod phrn s c s.
Tho
du ring it imp o rtant not o s
in tho b a ss, h onco providing
opportunity for illD.n y s o condo. r y c c d onc o s boforo n fin a l
once.
cad-
Tho cont rs ry o f ex t e ns i on, condons n tion, would soem
to accomplis h a contrGry e nd, but in f a ct it do cs n o t .
For
its vary br e vit y gon o r n t c s a succinct str ength or a n a lmost
violont powe r, where on o cruci o.. l not o or chord falls on
another, a nd tho lo. e t term of s. c a d onc o imm c di 2 t o ly bocomo s
tho beginning of o.nothor phr a so.
Tho nood for constant motion a nd cha nge is in p o rt
fulfilled by Boo thovon 1 s littlo par c o ls of four moa suros
oa ch, which us u a lly ond with o itho r n c a d e nce or a m& rk c d
cho..ng o in r h ythE1 wit hout 2.l t c:ring t he b o.s ic nc tr c .
But al-
ways to do t h i s vrnuld b o di s astrous, for just a s a sequence
ccm thoor otic o. lly bo infini t ely c ontinu e d, which would b e como tedious, so would an y susto.inod t ot o. l r ogulo..ri t y bocoma tediou s .
The r o for e thos e
~roups
of four Bon sur e s e a ch
uro periodic a lly v c ri o d e ither by o xtonsion or contraction.
Tho o. v o rsion tha t a sona t a h a s to any notion of r e st, ox-
�copt in rospo c t to tho n:1ct.in koy, r oquir crn t hc,t ovon vo.r i atioD B b o v n ri od.
In spe e c h
2_
s cnt on c o rnny b e jud ged s ucc essfu l
on tho
or not it mukos scnso t o tho listonor.
too i n music, wo natura lly l{no w 1
·.fr1Gt
So
sounds nri ght" s.nd ·wh o.t
nwrong " b y who thor it mc..k os son r o t o t ho G2.rs (t horo i s no
thought inv o l vod hero).
On thi s b a sis rulos u r o mCL do.
Thus,
it i s o. rule o f music t hat tho V chord pull s to the I chord;
now thi s cannot b o p r oven mnthcmu tic n lly nor is it subje ct
to reason, but it g.c.ins it s vo.lidity a s a ru:lo b o c o.us o tho
v
chord is felt to pu ll in
rJ.
cort o. in direction, nnd the end
mo.y bo predict e d by n person who is no t
t on o- d oo, f.
Thus wo
know how a suspension will rosolv o a s soon o.s wo hoar tho
susp e nded not e , and normally wo lrnow whor e a cnd onco will
full , s o tho.t an unr oso lv od dis sona nc e or a c u donc o with a
f nlso t e rm b e c om e s at onc e obvious, 2nd can b e unpl ea sant
o..nd distast e ful to th o list e ner.
Ye t thcro ex i s ts
devic e, tho d ocoptiv e c a dence, tha t
Cl.
common
len ds in a d ofinit o di-
rcction but goos --unoxpactodly--somowhcro also.
By b e ing
doc o iv od, tho list c ncrts a tt ont ion i s sha rp onod, nnd ho
nnticip ~ t os
the a rrival n t
d ocopti v o co.donco is no t
tho I c hor d a ll t ho noro.
ro pugna:ett - bocnuso i t
Tho
f ind s its uso
Whoro a c hnng o of ~oy or a n o xtoncion is oo ro i 8 po rt 2nt,
�uor c s o.ti s f y ing , t hnn n c ompl ot o C8. donco, a fi nn lity.
Something not unlik o a d c c optivo c c_ d:cnco i s u sed in this
an a cci de nt a l
h ear it.
is p l a c o d whcr o one would l oa s t
ox-
It i s found in th o s e cond rep e tit i on of
the soE1i-r1olody in t he r e c ap itula tion, but i t i s in F M jor-a
1tcolf a deception, a s was montiono d oar li or--instead of C
Minor.
Tho a ccident a l int r oduc e d (B o a sur o 228) is a n A-fl a t
which soun d s quite out of p l 2 c o i n an F M jor sc n l o .
a
thcrnoro, t ho p o s iti on t h Qt
Fur-
t h o ~~l a t occup i e s h a s bo on
throughout tho p i o co ono of g r o a t
st r o ss a nd importanc e , a nd
honc o th o occur onc o of t h is not e is a ll t h o Dor e d o c optivo.
But tho A-flo.t
ii::t
t ho not e n c c c s s q r y for t ho t ransition
beck to t ho ma in ke y of C Min or , and wit h in t wo ooa sur o s
tho pi o c o i s so lidl y ::ind finall y in C Mino r ctga in.
But
th2 t the c c lo d ~1 sho Llld in t he f irs t pla c e b o in F ~10- jor is
a d e cepti on, so th2 t t h o s econ d de c ep t i on h1'.S t h o e ffect of
a doubl e n e ga tiv e , or posi t iv e s t n t c~ent.
Th e s e cond d e c ep-
tion i~ ~ therof or c miti ga te d n nd even we lcome d, for in e ffect
it retu rns u s to t h o trut h
copti on.
(C Min o r)e
It is a nobl e d o -
�ERRATA
ge numbers start at the beginning of each piece of writ in g.
page 1, par agr ap h 6, line
4:
for "only ••• each ••• woul d" read "only
that each would"
2, paragraph l, line
3:
for "ne.t" read "next"
6,
paragraph l, line 1 :
for "d e man . " re a d "demand"
9, paragraph 2, line 2:
for "of the ••• c r a ss 11 read "o f
the crass 11
10, paragraph 6, lin e 3:
for " hes", read "his"
12, paragraph 1, line 8:
for ''accostomed " re ad "accustomed"
line 22:
13, l a s t lin e:
for ''ch es ire ' 1 read " ch e sh ir· e"
for "mayne" read "maybe"
14 , paragr.:lph 3 , line 8: for 11 hause" read "house"
p aragra p h 5, li ne l 2:
fo r "requir3d" r ead "required"
15 , par ag r aph 4, l i ne 7:
for "owh" read "wh o n
16 , p a rag r aph 1, li ne 16:
for "d if end" re.::ld
Atomi c Theory:
An Ess ay
4, pa r ag r aph 1 , lin e 1:
Page 6, paragraph 2 , lin e 5:
Page 8, paragraph 4, lin e 9 :
Page
defend 11
i1
for " have " re ad "here"
.
fo r " with no compa ri son ll read "with
c omparison"
.t or " s t em 11 r ea d
9, par agr aph 1 , lin es 6-7:
11
st
8
a m11
for " become ••• or de r," read ''b ec ome
comme nsur ab l e , capable of be ing
unifi ed ."
�
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The Collegian
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The Collegian began as a student newspaper; became a college community literary publication in 1952 and continued until 1969; became a student newspaper again in 1969; discontinued publication from 1980 until 1989 when it again became a student literary publication.<br /><br />Click on <a title="The Collegian" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=26">Items in The Collegian Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection.
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PDF Text
Text
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�THE
ST~
JOHN'S COLLEGIAN
April, 1960
Contents
A
REPORT ON THE BIOLOGY STUDY GROUP
Victor Zuckerkandl
THE PAMPHLETS
Michael Elias
A SEQUENT TOIL OF SONNETS
Charles G. Bell
MENO REVISITED
Ray Davis
OVERTURE TO A PLAY
Theodore Stinchecum
JOHANNA AND THE ELDERS
Theodore Stinchecum
TWO POEMS
Eyvind Ronquist
TWO
POEMS
N oel Meriam
�REPORT OF A MEMBER OF THE 1958/59 FACULTY STUDY GROUP
Presented to the Faculty Seminar, Oct. 31, 1959
Victor Zuckerkandl
In the following notes I have tried to sum up what I have
learned in the course of the Study Group's work - not so much of
biology proper as from biology in reference to the more general
problems which concern us as tutors at St. John's.
Three areas of study are considered. I, The Cell;
II,
Development and Maintenance of Organisms;
III, Evolution.
.
.
..
.
~
.
.
. ;"
~
._: '. • . J. ··-
.
. .:- ·~ ~~: o{·\
.
I, The Cell. - Here a great surprise comes very soon, a kind of
ontological shock, if one may say so. One knows of course that the
cell is the unit of life, that this unit is not ultimate but is
its e lf a complex system producing the energy which the organism
requires for its various functions and tasks.
What I for one did
not know is the way in which this is being done, as it is revealed
in the more recent bioch emical work. The conventional model of such
a heating plant - a furn ace into which goes some fuel and which qy
burning the fuel produces heat - is completely inadequate to represent
what goes on in the cell. This furnace produces heat by burning
itself up and in the process building itself up again. Furnace and
fuel are not clearly set apa rt, structure and function cannot be
cleanly separated, the c e ll exists as a balance of two opposite
processes, destruction and construction going on simultaneously.
The concept which tries to do justic e to this st a te of a ff a irs is
tha t of steady state or flow equilibrium - a balance produced neith e r
by absence of action nor by nullific a tion of act ion as the r es ult of
two equal but opposite forces, but by opposite processes ac tually
going on at the same time a nd compens at ing one a nother.
It is h e re
that the ontologic a l problems ar is e: Wha t is the meaning of th e word
'is' in the statement ' th e c ell is'; can we t a lk of 'being' when
eve rything is affected by change or proc ess; what is the subjectpredic a te r e lation in th e sentence, 'the c e ll functions' - could
it not as we ll r ead 'the function cells'? Where is the e lement of
pe rmanency h e re, the const a nt f ac tor, the residue of unchanging
substanc e without wh ich one finds it difficult to conceive of the
being of a thing, eve n to conceive a thing - wh a t is the concept of
thing if it is to ap ply to s omething of this nature? Certainly af ter
this Leibniz' id ea that a thing in motion is destroyed in every
instance and recre a t ed in the same ins t a nce d oes not a ppe ar as
fant a stic a lly speculative as it did before.
II , Develop men t an d Maint e nanc e of Organism. - It is here that one
comes face to f ace with th e gre a t issues tha t were and a re hotly
debated by biologists a nd nonbiologists and which for the s a ke of
convenience a re still frequently referred to by th e obsolete terms
of mechanism a nd vitalism.
These are th e phenomena which more th an
any oth e r baffle the observer wh o ap p ro a ches them in the ordinary
1
�- 2
•
I
' .
fr amew ork of the physic a l sc i ences; ph enome n a wh ich cannot e v e n b e
t a lke d -about wi thout us i ng words like purp o se, intention, direction,
plan, r egulat ion - words whic h the conceptual framework of science
c ann ot abs orb and wh i ch have no p l ace i n its explan a tion pattern.
To mention just a few of th ese phenomena;
th e gr owth of th e mushroom •••
th e growth of a go ur d ••• al lo met ric growth . .. the healing of a wound •••
th e fl a tworm, th e hydra, and th e nematocystoo.behavior of c e ll
colonies (sli me mo ld s).coendogenous rhythms and biological clocks.
Th e a rgume nt of course t u rns on t he sense in which those words purpose, intention, e tc . - a r e us ed:
i nno cently, in a metaphorical
s ense, as r he t orical devic e , as provisional terms ultimately to be
repl ace d by concepts th a t do fit th e framework of phys ics a nd chemistry;
or are they s uppo sed to i ndic a te the act ua l prese nc e in biologic a l
phenomena of a fact or which is ul timately irreducible to the concepts
a nd explanat ion patterns of the physic a l sciences. Two things eme rge
r a th e r cle ar ly f ro m t he re a ding of books by autho rs on both sides of
the controv e r sy"
One, the introducti on of non-·physicochemical
conc e pts like int ent i onalit y 5 purpos i vene ss, d ir ec tiven ess is of no
h e lp whatever i f it is not a t the same t i me either demonstrated or
indic a ted how , by wh at st eps, these non-physicochemical age nts do
achieve th e ir physicochemic a l r es ults _ Nowhere is this the case.
If I st ate that by virtue o f the qual ity of d i rec tiv e n e ss the events
at one end of a lon g cel l a re determined by th e ac tion of the nucL e us
at th e oth e r end, mi l es away, comparatively speaking, and nothing
furth e r is said ab out th e communication hetween the two e nds, I h a v e
t agg ed th e problem and axp l ained nothi ng r On th e other hand, many of
tho se who want to k ee p clear of extra-physicochemic a l concepts still
re a lize tha t th ese prob l ems call for somet hing more t han the typic a l
approach. To quot e from J. T o Bonner, Morphogenesis:
"O f a ll the
qualities that are 'living 1 , there ar e none which seem quite s o
unexplain ab l e, so myst ifying yet so charac t er istic as r e gul a tion 1 for
so many processes, such as gr owt h, a r e psrfectly regulated; ••• If we
knew how this pattern was achi e v ed, then we might not be so bothered
by - we might even explai n - the wholen ess of the orga nism, and not
be driven t o e nt elech i esuo•• oI think, a f ter we have surveyed the f acts,
th a t the whole subject of growth will seem bigger than the chemistry
of synth es is, and that it will be more likely that this latter will
s eem a s ~a ll (al though import ant) part of a l arge r scheme ••. " (p. 61).
" Ther e must be some factor which t:.--: anscends the cell wa ll a nd unifies
this cottony mass (of the mushroom), but what this factor or f a ctors
might be is an oth er matter .. oi t is the expl a nat ion of this sort of
phenomenon that makes us say that gr0wth and deve lopment is a problem.
Re a lly it is many prob l ems; but this one, the unific a tion of great
masses of protoplasm i nto a oneness, a wholeness, has us more mystified
11 This (the g rowth of the g ourd)
than a ll th e others~ 11
( p .
100) o
is
anoth e r exanple of t he principle wa have st a ted b efo re, th a t g rowth
is not a strictly mechanical problem; . • . the contro l of growth trans c ends th e c e ll boundarieSo oo 11 (pc 108),
:
I : ; .,,
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:
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·.
As one re ads the books deali ng with quest i o ns of principle,
a rguing for or against one or the other, one gets bored very quickly ;
th e whole debate of vitali sm vs. mechanism appears more a nd more
pointl ess. The f o llowin g th r ee i nstances a r e add uc ed to bring out
�, ,•
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.
th e ps e ud o c haracter of t he problem. Fi rs t : In the us u a l f o r mul a ti o n
of th e i ssue the s t a t ements: t he org~nism is (is no t) a machin e , - a n d:
the orga nis m c an ( c anno t ) be explained by physics and c h emi s try - a re
tak e n a s s a yin g the same t hi ng wi t h d i ffe r en t words .
In h is book
" Di e Physik und das Gehe i mn i s des Lebe n s" Pascual Jo r dan has d e mon str a t e d t he err or of t his assump ti on.
Reduced to t he bri e f e st summar y
his a r g ume n t r uns thus: Mode r n physics has t wo aspec t s: macro-physics,
which is ma c h i ne physics, and mi cro - physics, wh i ch i s no t .
In th e
ma chine t he mi c r o--even t s disappear in the l a r ge agg r egate s; the _
orga nism, a ltho ugh a macro-sys t em , is ac t ually cont r oll ed , through
me cha nis ms of two stearing and one amplification, by micro -physic a l
I t fol lows t h at the organism i s _po!_ a mac hi ne a nd may non e
e v e nt s .
th e l e ss b e un derstood on the bas i s of th e pr i nc i p l e s of physics a nd
ch e mistry . Second: One of t he books th8 Group read had th e titl e
"The Dir ec ti veness o f Or gan i c Activ i t i es".
The th es i s o f the book
is: Th e qu a lit y of di rect i ve n ess di s t ingui shed liv i ng things fro m
ina nima te obj ec t so
This thesis has been destroyed by t h e d eve lop me nt
of t h e n e w e l ect ro ni c machines whose behavi or shows ' di rec ti ve ness'
a na logous to that observed i n simple organi sms . Suc h mac h ine s s e a rch
out fri end s 1 avoid enemies, look for the f eed i ng p l ace i f hun g ry ,
e a t a nd stop ea ting when they are replen i shed 7 and s o on , Cert a inly
thes e ma chine s a r e i nfini te l y l ess compl ex than the mos t pri mitiv e
orga nis m; s til l , d ir ective b ehavi o r can no l onge r c l a i m t o b e t ~ e
distinguishin g mar k of li vin g thi ng s . Of cour s e ] t he c ontr a ry
cla i m th a t wit h thi s t he li ving thi ngs have been p r oved t o b e not h ing
e ls e th a n more comp l ex machines woul d be nonsense; the p ro o f destroys
the a r g um e nt.
We see from these ve r y mach i nes that i nc r eas e in
comple x it y br i ngs abou t a qualitat1:_~ change i n the f unct i on - in
this ca s e t he change from a system that mechanical ly t ransmi t s s ignals
to one th a t can l ear n, r emember 1 make dec i s io ns, c omp ose me l o di e sn
So th e v e ry idea of a vast l y more complex machine is an empty i dea ,
s inc e a ll t he quali t ies whi ch define 'machi ne ' migh t disap p ear and
cha nge into some t hing quite di fferent as a consequence o f t he i nc rease
in compl ex i ty.
Third: Modern physics has formulated t he p rincipl e
of compl eme n tari t y which states th a t two con t r ad i c tory t heor i es do
n o t n e c essar il y req ui re an e ith er-or dec i sion; i n some i ns t a n ce s
only both t ogether can guarantee an adequate unders t andin g of th e
pheno me ncn i n quest i o n m The b i g diffe~ence betwee n t he s itua ti on
in phy s i cs and in bio l ogy is of course that in physi c s we do a ctua lly
ha v e t wo s u ch compl ementary theories, whil e in bio l ogy we do n ot hav e
t h e m; a n on- physicochemic a l theory of bio l ogy so far does not e xist.,
III .
Evo l u ti on, The study of thi s area seemed i n a sense t h e l e~ st
s a tisf a ct or y, be c ause here more than anywhere e l se on e f ee l s some thin g
lik e dog ma ti sm in the a i r.
There i s not dogma in the stateme nt
Mr. S i mpson made here l ast year in the discuss i on:
"Evo luti on is
a f a ct 11 - b u t it is in the t heory:
The co. u se of <:;Vo lution i s mut a tion
and n a tur a l se l ection - p 2r i odo Do gma ti c t oo is the way t h e th e ory
i s a rgue d:
ev i dence for i t i s c it ed as pr o of , evi dence against it
must r e st o n i ncomp l eteness of i nformat i on, mi s i nterpretn tio n of
f a ct , or s ome other error in the r ecord.
I n thi s way t h e theo ry c a n
nev e r be refuted.
It woul d c e r tai n l y be f o oli sh to expec t t hat
a strong and immensely success f u l theo r y like that of na t ura l
�-
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- 4 selection should be put in doubt every time a n observation runs
against it. But the disp a rity betwe en the c laim of universal validity
and the size of the a rea left d ark seems rather striking.
At le ast
some biologists insist tha t mutation a nd natural selection cannot be
the sole a nd not even th e dec isi ve f a ctor bringing a bout evolution
beyond the limit s of species or ge nus.
Others list cha racteristics
of form which th ey s how cannot possibly have fu nct ion a l significance
and ther e fore c a nnot h a ve arisen through na tur al select ion.
In
particu l ar, th e evolutionary proc es s leading ta man is consideretl by
some to be totally ununderstand ab l e on the basis of the theory of
n a tural se l ection a lone . Man~ they say 1 i s not a primate plus some
'human' characteristics produced by muta tion . Two specific objections
may be cited, one small, one very big. The small on e is concerned
with the nakedness o f th e h u man skin"
Loss of hair c a used by mutation
in animals le aves precisely tha t kind of hair una ffected ( 1 Spuerhaare 1 )
which is completely l a cking in man.
The bi g objection concerns
l a nguage. La ng uage presupposes a vsry highly developed voc a l an d
auditory app a ratus; both Gre not higher deve l oped in primates than
in other mammals, a nd t he y are develop e d h igh e r in birds than in
primates. So the th e ory ous t hypothesize missing links in which these
organs a re supposed to have been higher developed.
Most enligh tening to me was th e ac qua int ance with populat1o n
st a tistics; th e concept of the genetic equilibrium of a population
did away with th e n ai ve idea th at mut a ti on was a one-way af f a ir.
The genetic equili brium appeare d again as one of flow, with opposite
processes of mu tati on b e t wee n corr es pondin g a l leles going on a t
all times a nd b a l anc in g o ut a t a numbe r wh i ch corresponds to the
relative frequ e ncy of th e different mutati o ns "
Harold Blum's 11 Time's Arrow and Evolution" proved particularly
interesting. He r e th e concept of evolution is ex t e nd e d b e yond the
living to th e non-li vi ng wor l d~
Th e ide a o f f itness of th e environment is brought into th e picture, meani ng that combinat ion o f chemical
e lem e nts which coul d function as an e nviro nme nt for the origin,
~a inten a nc e, and dev e lo pment of lif e a s we ~now it.
The a uthor
trac es th e evo luti on of this e nvir onme nt from a n original st a te of
ma tt e r pres e nt in the early sun to the s~a te o f ma tter on the earth
at the tim e of t he or igin o f life, ac coun t ing in par ticular for the
highly improb a bl e presence her e of hydrog e~ a n d oxygen in sufficient
amounts to produce larg ~ quant iti es o f wa ter 1 go i ng on to the evolution
and maintenance o f life it se lf.
Th e red th re ad running through the
whole pr ocess , th e guiding fac tor ; is t he ~eco~d law o f thermodynamics,
'time's arrow'.
The i dea i s:
Giv e n a n init ial st a te of matte r in
the sun and th e second l aw and 2 c e rt a in n unber of favor a ble chance
occurences not to o unlike l y to happen ac corcing to probability: and
we will arrive wher e we are~
.. ~
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�- sList of readings:
Felix M3inx, Founda tions of Biology (Int e rn ~ Encycl . of Unified Science)
The Physics and Chemistry of Life" Scientific Ame rican Book . Part IIo
G.G.Simpson, C.S . Pittendri gh, L.F cTiffany, Lif e . An Introduction to
Biology .
L. von Bertalanffy and J . Ho Woodger, Modern Theories of Development
C.H. Waddington, Principl es of Embryology, Pa rt Two.
Pascual Jordan , Th e Phy s ik und das Geheimnis des Lebens.
Adolf Fortma nn , Biologie und Ge ist .
Morton Be ckn e r, Th e Biologic a l Way of Thought.
J.T.Bonner, Morphogenesis.
E.S.Russ e lli Th e Directiveness of Organic Activities.
Rhythmic and Synthetic Process e s in Growth. Ed g Dorothea Rudnick.
Part II.
Wolfgang Wi ese r, Organis me n, Strukturen, Maschinen.
Harold F . Blum, Time's Arrow and Evolution.
Jean Piaget, Introdution a l i ~pisternologie Genetique . La Pensee
Biologiqu e5
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THE PAMPHLETS
Michael H. Elias
. -·.. -.
• :' /
' •. !
••
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••o Hey Ab i e!
Abieeeee! Hey wait up Abie!
The high shrill voice echoed down the quiet Brooklyn street
bouncing o£f th e t al l, silent, symmetric a l oaks and th~ drab wooden
houses which lined it~ Abie turned aro und and saw Marvin running
towards him .
••• Hey Abie, Jesus, why didn't you stop when you heard me
call you ?
••oI did stopo
••oYou did note
I ran halfway down the tlock before you
stopped .
••• Well I didn't hear you .
••• O.K. Listen, do you wanna make some money? It's real
easy •
.•• I don't know Marv - I'm supposed to stay home tonight on
account of wh~t hap pened in school tod ay •
••• Not tonight stupid. Toda y - right now. Lo ok, here's
a ll we h a ve to do. You s ee th ese papers I got. Mrs. Le vy gave them
to me and said if we hand them out in th e apartment houses on Avenue M
we get a half a dollaro
It's eas y. Jeez, with the two of us working
we could do it in, say half an hour.
Ab i e lo oked down at the l arge bundle of p a pers that Marvin
had under his a r m. They were a lmost a s big as comic books but not
as thicko He took one from Marvin and opened it up.
!!VOTE SOCIALISTn
VINCE ARTHUR. . . MAYOR
"HANKn PORTER. • • CITY COUNCIL
FRED MINTZ ... BUROUGH PRESIDENT
OUST THE CORRUPT PARTY PUPPETS AND HAVE A CLEAN CITY!!
On th e cover there was a p icture of e a ch candidate and a short
paragraph about him.
Abie looked a t it for a minute and then placed
it b a ck under Ma rvin's arm on th e top of the r es t of the copies •
••• Did she s a y fifty cents a piece or fifty cents for the b o th
of us?
••• She said fifty c e nts ap i e ce .
e • • O.Ko
Let's go.
Th e apartment house was n e ither new nor was it so run down
that it gave the impress ion that it wa s a slum dwelling. The halls
were painted a drab yellow and the floor was a dirty white tiled
surface. The elevator was pl as tered with v ar ied testimoni a ls,
declarations of love and numerous epithets a imed a t the building
superintendent and various te a cherso
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Marvin pushed th e button a nd they sp e d upwa rd to the top
story. According to pl a n, Ma rvin held the e l e v a tor door open while
Abie ran out a nd dropped a pa per in front of each door; then he
returned to th e eleva tor a nd th e y desc e nded one flight.
At the next
stop Abie held the door for M rvin and the process continued. Thus
a
they distributed th e p a mph l e ts to the inh a bit ~ nts of the first
apartment hous e on Av e nu e Ma Within an hour they had covered the
other three houses. As th e y wa lke d out o f the last house, Abie
turned t o M rvin:
a
• •• Hey Marv, what are we gonna do with these extra papers?
••• Ahh we'll throw them in some wastebasket.
••• Yeah, but what if Mrs. Levy should see them? She'd know
it was us who did it •
••• O.K. We'll just return them to her •
••• But wh a t if she gets mad a t us for not giving them all
away?
••• I don't know.
So what a re we g oing to do with the darn
things?
••• I don't know either.
There was a l ong silence as each of th e m st a red at the papers.
Finally Marvin said :
••. What's a socia list?
••• That's like b e ing a d emocrat •
•.• My father's a democrat.
••• So is mine, but wh a t a re we going to do with the papers?
• • • I don't know ~
••• I got it!
•.• Got what?
, •. I know wh a t we 'll do with the p a perso We'll hand them
out to people on the street. Tha t wa y we'll get rid of them and
more people will get t o see them.
O~K?
Huh?
••• I guess it would be O.K o
••• You go first M r vin •
a
••• Oh no, not me .
It wa s your idea, you go first .
••• Wh a ts a ma tter, you chicken?
, •• No.
It was your ide a , th a t's ~ 11 .
•.. Th a t doesn't ma ke a ny differencee
I c a lled last so you
have to go first ~
••• O.K~
I'll l e t th 2 b 3by have his bottle. I'll go first
so the b a by won't cry.
He gave the first p a per t o a n old m3n who wa s coming out of
the b a kery. He took the p a p e r a nd gave Marvin a loud "dnnk you."
Then Abie took th e pa pers a n~ walk e d ov e r t o a group of men who
were standing in front o f th e a venue po o l r o om~
•.• Wh a tch a g ot k id ?
•• • Her e 's s ome p a p e rs for you mister,
Th e man wh o h a d s poken wa s a n a mputee. His left p a nts leg
was ne a tly pinned to his kneea
He t ook a b Gtch of p a pers from
Abie and p a ssed th e m o ut to the me n who were standing around him.
Aft e r gl a ncing thr o ugh the p a pers on e of the men s a id:
.•.• What is it J oe?
�- 8 -
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The amputee chewed his ciga r slowly :
••• Looks like Commie p a pers to me.
The rest of the group nodded their heads in a g~eement.
Abie
and Marvin smiled a t each oth e r a nd nodded their heads too •
••• Wh e re did you get this stuff kid?
••• From Mrs. Levy. She's going to give us each a half
a dollar •
••• Who's Mrs. Levy?
••• She's Charlie Levy's mother. On 21st Street •
••• Any o f you guys know this dame? Y'know I'm getting pretty
sick and tired of s ee in this Commi e lit e r a ture around here .
It
ain't right.
And the worst thing is that th e y get these kids to
pass it o ut for them.
Ain't that right?
Th e others nodde d th e ir h e a ds. He wa lked over to Abie and
sna tched the r e st of th e papers fr om him. He c a rried them over to
the curb and dropped them on the sewer tr a p. With the end of his
crutch he stuffed them into the gr a ted openings. Marvin was ch e wing
his lip and ~ bie was trying to put his hands d ee per into the pockets
of his je a ns. When all the papers were gone Joe returned where the
boys were standing. They moved closer t oge ther.
••• See boys I done you a f a vor. Now you don't have to hand
out the rest of those Commie papers •
••• What are we gonna tell Mrs. Levy?
••• Tell her to shove 'em.
The men around him l a ughed along with Joe. When they stopped,
Joe limped closer to the boys and leaned forward on his crutches:
••• I don't ever want to see you boys handing out tho se papers
again.
Understand? Bec a use if you do I'll t ear your little asses
apart.
••• Let's go Marv •
· ·. ;
!
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~
• • • 0 .K •
••• Wait a second. You underst a nd what I just said?
come back here.
The boys were already half-way down the block •
. _:: . ·· _;_ ~ -~; •• .:.::~iey!~ ::;J _· ~-~ ci::. :i--~ ~·~rc!. Yu u..i l i t t l ,.; _ _ [, :I'ds!· 0;
here !!
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b:tck
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.b l 8 Ck • . ;I_: t-J~'-S
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.:. · u~-: ~·-~ y .c :::J. f u nny _c.:·: L funny .-. · ~'1 o . l .; .: :Jl:l:..:· l _ _; ii. L .1 .
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:- · st'rir::_; ;~ l ed i1 ·. .rJ.c r -_rd hC-'1 .' '.::.t.J c·u.r -=; i n __; ..: < . .:;. wun :_; alon.; th.~
;c
.
. .siG.2 :;2.l~~~ . ·I' hen his crutch hit Cl s :Ja ll ~) ool r) f ~ 1 2 t er and it slid
out fro .:i under his a r ·I1pi t.
In a _;1 omcnt h2 1ms lyinc on the cc •nent.
Abi e a nd >L1rvin took o ne l a st look at hi :· i anl ti.Len diset.~)IJ C3..r ed
around th 8 cornor.
�i ..
A
SEQUENT TOIL OF SONNETS
C. G. Bell
'•
l.
Even the muse seems to have an eye for gain. So at St. John's
the writing of sonnets enjoys a spring vogue. I thought in this
connection I would exhibit some of my earliest efforts. They may
seem more relevant here than what I am writing today. For at Oxford
:.
_ I'•.
twenty-two years ago, I was just beginning to versify.
True, I was
twenty years old; but until a year before I had thought of myself
as a physicist. Now I was reading English Literature, and among
other things I had memorized most of the sonnets of Shakespeare and
Donne. When cash was offered by our college magazine for poems,
I did a sonnet in haste and submitted it with the following note:
I hope you will not hold it against me that love
of money causes me to display what discretion
would otherwise have kept hid.
I have seen
foolish verse in your magazine, but none so
foolish as this.
He took it with more praise than it deserved.
I
.:
At that time I was naturally involved in a couple of crossed
love affairs, affording subject matter of the usual kind.
One night
I remember beating my head against the wall; but not getting much
satisfaction from that, I took up a block of wood that served as
a door stop and hacked it with my pocket knife into the face of
a devil, my hands devilish raw.
The next night, no wood offering,
I wrote off a sequence of four more sonnets, to be exp~nded the next
day into six, and later, with the first one, to ten.
The form,
as I progressed, gravitated from Shakespearian balance tow~rd the
stress of Donne.
The poems, however, as gathered up here do not
quite reveal the order of composition:--
!
c
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�A SEQUENT TOIL OF SONNETS
·'·2 .•
3.
:4••
(March, 1938)
When we first met, if I had only known
One careless mome nt would beget in me
This brood of longings -- sweet, I would have flown
Beyond the limits of the polar sea,
And in that climate tenanted alone,
Before surrendering up my liberty.
I did not long for love; I made no moan
Upon the night air. It has come to be
Without my a sking. Should I now condone
The passion I have o.a:I..ed infirmity?
I blame myself.
I lay me down and groan.
Yet all my groanings cannot set me free.
Then do not add your censure to my own;
But let me come, and reap, though I've not sown.
Why must you meet with scorn what I propose
And turn to poison my expected bliss,
All things bestowing that augment my woes,
Yet stubbornly opposing me in this?
Your presence? 'Welcome, take it if you please.'
I know.
My wit relieves your empty mind,
And my a ttention brings you that sweet ease
Which left alone your dulness could not find.
Your h a nd, your look, your kiss, you grant them well;
And when you've granted these, you think me blest.
But I mus~ tell you, I consume in hell,
Because, sweet love, you fear to grant the rest.
0 leaYe your fear, submit to my control;
A part has pleased you, why not in the whole?
It is not thus you love me, you reply .
A ' stupid love, th a t f a ils t o recognize
Its parent and its child!
I know your eye
Feeds on my form with gladness.
I surmise
By your fast breathing that this kiss has power.
Why will you flee the game you followed long;
Why close your eyes on love's most lovely flower?
If, as you say, you love me, do not wrong
Yourself, your pleasure, love, my love, and me.
We stand now on th e summit of the world,
rind time itself inclines t o our decree.
In one bright garden lilies are unfurled.
0 hear me, love, and come as I r eq uire;
The love we have is only love's desire.
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How can the wat0ry flame of your faint love
Wrap me about in such hard-bellowed fire?
Or how the sperml ess l ooks you proffer of
Beget in me such sturdy-boned desire?
You never spoke me fairer than your face,
Nor is your face more lovely than your form,
Your form's below your mind, your mind's a place
Where dullest notions live in dark and swarm.
You never can be loved, and yet my want,
Which is hard lust -- h~rd, for the deed of kind
You scorn, and t ake it for a thing too gaunt
To lie beside your fulness.
And so blind,
So mad am I, that still for you I call,
Despit e your fJulness, coldness, dulness, all.
.
Then let us part.
I can no more cJntend
With eLlptiness the sight of joy must breed.
If you refuse me love, why call me friend?
Your friendship only plants forbidden seed.
Why do you smile on me when you are sure
Your smiling must revive the love you kill?
Why tempt me newly with a pr offered lure
That wakes a hunger it will never fill?
The blessing of your presence is a curse
So long as presence adds to my desire,
And by a partial bl essing renders worse
The torture c f unconsu~mated fire.
It will be better for my peace of mind
To seek no more the love I cannot find •
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If there are torments for me, let them rage;
If a ll the spiteful forces of the world:
War, weakness, famine, penury and age,
Can work me anguish, l et them a ll be hurled
Upon my quivering flesh, till I cry out
In unrelfecting agony of soul.
Let sickness plague. Let persecution shout
Around my serpent-serried form; and roll
My resurrected corpse in roaring hell
Ten years encompassed in a night of pain,
With never fading fires.
Do! Do! Yet quell
The fiercer fires that riot in my brain.
All earth's affliction I would r~ther bear
Than living, searching, thinking, in despair.
�- 12 -
Take me away on some deep shrouded night
When I am s itting in remembrance bowed,
And bear me from the world of wished delight,
Cradled in the dark f old s of a cloud.
Th en set me down in silence where the lo o n
Alone giv es a n s we r, and the long night long
I shall n ot look to see th e phthisic moon,
Or hear th e nightingale's c on s u mptive song.
Le t my companions be the barred screech owl,
Th e gr a y mo t h and the bat; let no star stare,
But mist b low past me , while the l ow winds howl .
Le t h ea v e n b e dark and the wh o l e earth be bare,
And n ot one t empting form th a t night appe a r:
Be a uty and h ope -- these are th e p owers I f ear~
Well, we have bickered, severed, gone our wa ys,
4 n d found more t or ment in our life apart
~h an all the burning o f the lusty blaze
Of passion stirr ed t o madness could imp a rt.
Our d a ys together were a n age o f pain -Abortive twisting for d e nied content;
Our nights apart were shadows o f disdain
Whose sle e pless tongues rehearsed t he days' dissent.
Ea ch &ay o ut-d amned the day that damn ed before,
Eac h night gave ni gh t a ~e ·ase of s a dder power;
And day t o day and night to nigh t wronged more;
I thought "poo.r h·e. .ll: h ad squandered its dark dower.
Then a bsehc e c ame with worse -- a nd I return
Begging for l ove: in hell, l ove , l e t me burn!
Thr o ugh your neglect such torment I have known
As you must an swer for a n Judgment Day;
And through my c ru e lty you have undergone
Such griefs as, af t e r lif e , I must repay.
Sinc e all the sor r ows th at we bear a liv e
But tie our so uls from j oy, i s it done well,
By damning dis agreement thus t o strive
With pains on ear t h t o purchase pains in hell ?
No.
I will r athe r here be k ind to you ,
h nd you shall grant me a ll for which I y earn ;
Divided joy shall so receive it s due
And mutual blessing me rit just return.
Thus I bestow on you a nd you on me,
Thr o u gh pr;es.eht joy:, tjoys id.·ei1et·'"n"i. t.y;,:/ :, ·(.. ·.J· . •
�- 13 Well 1 all is done . My love was nothing more
Than passionate necessity of flesh ;
And, absolution granted , I deplore
The bait that lured me to this fowler's me sh .
My appetite, though tokened love, was pain,
And tor t ured me with lavas of desire,
Until my mounting passion could obtain
The satisf a ction of expended fire.
Of this abortive love I had no joy,
But only wish to have and then regret,
That having had should recklessly destroy
The longing that importuned me to get .
And still I know that other wants impend,
Which I c a ll love; yet propheay their end .
Ten months later I had given up Elizabethan decorative construction .
began . t o . see the sonne t as a form of stripped utterance , so condensed
as to be almost cryptic n The influence of Donne had been supplemented
by that of Hopkins . Run-ons, half- and internal-rhymes, with all devices
of sprung stress and t e nsile syntax were used to heighten explicit meaning,
which, as it seemed important to me, I paraphrase thus:
I
The life o f a late civilization is a voluptuous trespass
leading to world-w e ariness and spiritual hunger.
Pardon, with new
faith, a new c y cl e , is granted only in the penance of a Dark Age,
which is thu s spiritually desired as it is materially feared.
For this reason Ro ~e fell, initiating the angular Byzantine, and
Crete ( o r bet t er My cenae) fell , introducing the Geometric style
of the Greek Dark Ages.
In the parad ox of possession and nonpossession ~ we should recognize the penitential fall before us as
life and b lessing in disguise 9
This was the poem:
ON THE GEOM
ETRIC STYLE
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(February , 1939)
Penance is, to pay for trespass, only
Th e path to pardon, and pardon's fulness not
Built but on hunger, wherefore Rome fell
And Cretan softness~ Mournful stood many,
As whe n t he whip strikes, self-wielded . Well
May the l a s h b e longed for and lame nted. What
Sage can affix our blessing, of pain or gladness?
Who gives his life finds it ; paradox, such
Is our wisdom, and ends with grasping, lifeless
In conques t , as who runs and drops dead. Touch
No strin g of sorrow, the sweet sound rots
To the co r e . What is lost? Death. And ahead penitence,
Pa i n , crudeness, desert earth or worse , bare plots
Of stone , now known or last dependence.
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MENO REVISITED: A SEMI-SOCRATIC DIALOGUE
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Ray Davis
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Characters of the dialogue: S ocrates, and a certain former slave boy
of Meno's
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Here I am:
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Meno remains where yo u imagi ne him to be, Socrates, and indeed
his onetime slave boy has gone running off without him.
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Don't you recognize me, Socrates?
Meno of Thessaly, you me an? That Meno , who is the only Meno I
know, h as many slaves, and I b e li eve I have no reason to remember any of
them. Furthermor e, it has been sever a l years since Meno has come to
Athens. App are ntly he is more a t ease in Thessaly in the company of
Gorgias and his band of n on-exist e ntialists than with us in Athens who,
having few a nswers for him, offer only questions. Has he, at last,
grown tired of a lif e full of answers and returned to us? Or do Meno's
slave boys go traveling without him?
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Meno's slave boy.
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I cannot believe Meno to be guilty of such an oversight: indifference
to his belongings was not one of his shortcomingso You might, I suppose,
have slipped away from him by ste2lth, thinking in this way to slip away
from your slavery .
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It is true, Socrates 1 Meno did not see what I was up to, but I
have left him behind in a much mo r e fina l way than fleeing where he could
not follow.
I have go tt e n my fre e dom from Menoo
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Though I still h a ven't recallea your place in my memory, I rejoice
with you, if inde ed you are free and not just gijdy from being away from ·
your master for the first timeo However, there does seem to be something
present in you tha t would be out of p l a c e in a slave: your bearing has
·
a touch of pride, and your manner is somewhat more direct than one would
expect to see, even in a freedm a n of a few months, Tell me, are you the
creation of one of the comic p oe ts, esc ape d into re a lity and come to
torment me, or a more we ll- behaved cre a ture whose story c an be heard by
all without embarrassment, and wh o might even sp~ak instructively? Please
tell us who you a r e and what you a re up to"
Strange th at you should not remember me, Socrate s. Apparently
I was even more bene a th regard a s a sl ave than I could have known.
For
we have met before, in, though it seems to have been for you an ordinary
day, what was for me the most memorable of occasions. Meno, acc ompanied
by many slaves, had come to Athens, and was t a lking with you.
At one
point you gave up t alking to him a s an equal and began to demonstrate
a proof of your argument, much in the manner of a geometer or sophist
lecturing his pupilso
Your proof was to reveal how knowledge could come ·
into a head that did not know, through a use of question and answer.
In tha t inst an ce the knowledge was a geometry theorem and the head that
�- 15 did not know was mine.
I had not list ened too close l y to your previous
conversation: Meno I c ould not to l erate an d you I coul d not understand;
but, during your proof, as I mechanic al ly nodded my head, answering yes
(any of Meno's sl aves would have done t he same) -- a surprising thing
happened.
I began to wonder what it was I was undergoing. When, upon
reaching the end you pointed out to Meno th a t now I knew something I could
not have been taught before , and had somehow brought it up out of my own
mind, you l e f t me confused and dumbfoundeda For did I know? I c ould not
hav e r e c a ll ed a s i ngle q uestion to which I 1 d answered yes, let a lone sum
up what we'd done.
The sketch of the square was t h ere on the ground,
completely unintelligible to me. What ha d passed between you and me was
all in a whirl in my head. Two thi ngs stuck in my memory from that d a y
though : one was Meno's r emark 11 I feel somehow that I like what you're
saying", th e other your re mark that 11 we shall be better, braver, and less
helpless i f we think that we ought to inquire 11 •
The two remarks wer e
like st ones along the beach 1 or flowers th,J. t one finds a nd takes along
an d tre a sur es, never full y knowing why.
Ah slave boy , I do recall the incident and yo ur place in it.
The
point of the demonstr at i on was a im ed at Meno's head, and not a t yours,
yet it seems to have lodged in th a t one least expected. How littl e the
gods a llow u s t o see of what we are do i ng in lif e.
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When Meno l ater .s poke of your demonstration as a hoax an d gr umbl e d ab out
your tactics in argument, which employed slaves who would only answer yEs,
I continued to nod my head in agreement but: marve l of marve ls, it was
becoming cle a rer to me why I disagreed with hi m a t heart. For before we
had returned to Thess a ly, I had attempt d to clar ify that geometry t heorem,
a nd failed, a ttempte d and fai l ed, and tot a lly miserable unless I could
rec a ll it, a ttempted , and with the help of an old s l ave in the h ous eho ld,
continued until I 1 d mas t ered it. To carry that theorem int act and inviol a te
in my mind was like holding a god insid e oneo
It wasn't long before I
_
was wheedling geometry proofs from a ny of the slaves who t a ught in the
household, and eavesdropping av idly on Meno and h is fr ~E~dso After a time,
I knew from what I heard from Meno that my grasp on geometry was surer,
more understanding, a nd as extensive ~s his, and further; seeing tha t he ·
was, in character ~ vain, obdurate 1 and given to arg uments th at were fashionable rather t han defensible or brave, I thought it outrage ous that he sou~d
be fr ee a nd I s l aveu
But I hadn't money to buy my freedom .
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So you b egnn as a geometry proof, and have become a geometer.
It's not str ange th en , that having begun as a slave, you sho uld wish to
become th e ma ster "
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The master chanced on me, the geometer , working out a proof in
the sand, a n d knew me at once for the accomplice in your proof, though
ne ar ly four years had lapsed , a nd he knew a lso that he had not seen me
a t this before. Thinking I was only playi ng and dreaming of the day of
our combined t r iumph over him 1 h e began to joke wit h me and wagered I
could not r ecall t hat theorem " I returned his jokes curtly, surprising
him, and continued them in a manner so as to i ncense him. S uddenly the
wager became serious and my manumission was at stake.
The proof was easily
shown, and he, without hedging, carried out the terms of the wager.
And ·
�11
16 this must h a ve b e en t o his mind t he only ungue nt f or his injured v a nity,
for he s ee med not unh a p py to s e e me on my way . It wa s a high moment for
me, and I felt much like Odys se us, whom Hom e r d es cribes a fter b a thing upon
his arriv a l in Phaecia a s nr a di a nt with com e lin es s a nd gr a ce". And my
arriv a l in Ath e ns finds my fe e lings still s o a ring.
Then you are not dishonest or demented a s I first susp e cted; you
are free from Meno and full of h op es. And you h a ve come to Athens,
I suppose, to find a n e w an d b e tter ma ster?
You must inde e d t h ink me d e mented, Socr a tes, to suggest I should
want a new master, o r dishonest in t e lling you th a t my freedom through
learning h a s r a is e d my spirits a nd ma de me f ee l inspire d.
I wouldn't
be likely to flee from one prison to anoth e r. My r e ason in coming to
Athens is to b e come your pupil.
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I hav e h eard it s aid, sla v e boy, tha t once one achieves what might
be called a n insigh t , t h a t i s, wh e n h e truly s e es some thing to be so f or
the first time, he th e r e upon b e co mes his own t ea ch e r. This a ppe a rs to h a ve
happened to you, a nd f a r fr om my demonstr a t i on with you being a hoax, it
is evident that your le a rning wa s a r e sult of c e rt 3 in questions lodging
in your mind, compelling y our s earc h for th e ir a nswe r s.
S o you see, I,
thus, became your te a cher a nd you my pupil without a rr ~ngement. But if
we are now to become pupil a nd Lea c he r by a rr a ngement you must underst a nd
me better.
You know, for e xampl e , tha t I am a l way s a sking a nd ans wering
questions?
Yes.
them.
now?
A good me rcha nt would n o t dispens e his g o ods without exhibiting
Therefor e , l e t me e xhibit min e to you.
W
ould you s a y you a re free
Cert a inly, Socr a t e s.
And y e t you were e nsl a v e d?
Th a t's true, Socr a t e s .
Ca n you be ensl a v e d to nothing ?
Or must you be ensla v e d to something?
To something, of cours e .
And n ow t ha t you a r e free you a re fr e e from wha t you were ensl a ved
to , or a re you fre e fro m s ome thing e ls e ?
From wh a t I wa s e n s l a v e d to, So cr a t e so
And wh a t we re you ensla ved t o ?
To Me no .
�- 17 Were you ens l a ved to Meno or to those actions on your p a rt th at
were called forth b e cause you wer e h i s s l a ve a nd he was your ma s ter ?
Socra t es, I do n't underst a nd.
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It i s natur a l th a t you shoul d be confused. You won your fr eedom
fro m Meno, and therefore you thi nk it was he wh o d e termined whet h e r you
would be fr ee or enslaved. The p r oof th a t ther e i s something e ls e at wo r k
is th a t, e v en before you h a d means to achieve it, you considered yours e lf
a free man. Thi nk of it this wa y: wa s it the presence o f Meno himself or
r a th e r the things th a t you did f or fl eno tha t cha r a ct er iz ed your sl a very? ·
Cle a rly, Socr a t es, the things I did f or him.
Th en you we r e e nsl a v e d to t he things you d id for him?
Ye s.
And wha t would you s a y those things to h a ve been, patient boy?
Simpl e enough, Socr a tes.
I followed him when he asked it, did a s
he directed, and whe n q u est i oned a nswer e d br i ef ly and cautiously.
An a pt description, bu t I'm sure not hing h a s appear e d that was new
t o your mind. Now you must have not i ced my questions we r e quite commonplace, neith e r marve lous nor extr ao rdina ry.
For a me r ch a nt displaying
his wa res, I have been l ooking r o ther like a dealer in old clothes and
second-hand s a ndals, a nd I a m cert a in I h a ve l ong l os t my one prospective
customer.
You c a n n ot discour a g e me s a ea s ily , Socr a tes.
I sha ll continue to
loit er i n your shop, a n d b e a t h a nd when this wily s h opkee p er br ings his
tr e a sures out from under the r a gs. You h a ve not ch ~ nged my mind.
Rash soul!
a s my pupil ?
Do you know wha t you a re s a y ing ?
Do you me an to st a y
Yes , tha t i s wh a t I mean.
And you will f o ll ow me a b out, uninvit ed, c a tching at my e very word?
Your cr u e l est ir ony co ul d no t driv e me awa y .
And you would read Home r , or study music, geom e try , as tr o no my,
or d i a lectic, should I ch a nce t o rec omme nd it?
Without a mcment's
h~sitation.
But you wi ll c e rt 2 i nly p a use b e f or e submitt i ng t o my quest i ons a g a in!
�- 18 Socrates, at the v 2 ry first one you pose I shall a nswer as r a pidly
and wisely as I can.
Then, poor boy, you are blinder than Oed ipus t o your own misfortun es .
You thought you had esc a ped a sla very when y o u l e ft Meno, yet you ha ve
given yourself ov e r to one much harsher; for you will follow me even when
I do not wish it, do whatever I direct, a nd a nswer a ll my questions.
Though I c a nnot eve n g iv e you, a s Meno did, food a nd shelter. You h ave
delivered yours elf to a n e w mast e r, without ev e n enquiring whether he will
be better or worse tha n t he one you've left.
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But Socrates, I a m not h a nding myself over t o you as to some
headstrong tyr an t to do with me a s you wish.
Is n o t a nswering a lso one
of your t eaching devices? I shall cert a inly be critic a l if you only ma k e
dema nds.
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And if we have a difference, to whom sha ll we turn to settle it ?
To any fairminded bystander, I suppose.
And if th ey differ with us, what then?
Yes, and it might go on and on.
To whom shall we turn, Socrates?
Will we not turn to philosophy whose a rgument will compel us all
to follow, no.matter on whose tong u e she appears? She it is who will be
your new master. And will you do th ose ma ny sl a vish things for her, this
relentless and many-guised goddess?
You torment me, So c r a tes, because you think I do not underst and
what I am doing.
But let me show you th e con t rary is true: you would ad~it
that there are certain things which being neither good nor bad in th e mselves, are determined by the ends which they serve?
I und e rst a nd the difference, in b a ttle, between running towards
and running from the enemy.
Th en , a re not the a ctions we described, a s chnr a cteristic of a slave,
of this sort? Bad wh e n used for no othe r reason thnn to please a master,
but good when followed in order to a ttain underst a nding? And of the
cert a in value of the l atte r I've h a d 2vidence in the r es ults of my first
experience with you:
from th at c : :i. me my knowledge of geometry a nd from that
my freedom.
It contr a sts remarkably with my exper ience o f the former;
the prospect o f th at mechanic a l, lif e less st a te wa s of one th a t would never
end. And herein I distinguish my new master from my old. Meno would wish
to keep me forever; philosophy ens laves me in order t o set me free.
Very good, my friend, not only I h a ve recognized you now but
philosophy a s well, a more valuable friend to h a ve.
But I hav e a question:
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�- 19 would you s a y
continuo. tion?
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th~t
a thing which is good is lm pA ir od
0r jnc r c~scd by
jt s
If a thing is truly good, Soc r3tes, on e wo uld wish it to endure.
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And you h a ve acknow l e d ged philosophy to be a g o o d ?
Yes.
And, furth e rm ore , thos e a ctivities which philosophy d emands of
its initi ates a re a good?
Witho ut a d o ubt .
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And th e continua tion of philosophy will b e a good?
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Yes •
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Then,_ cle a rly _so will th ose. a ctivities - which a r e its r it es?
_
You are trying t o teach me
r
~at~~nce~ _ Bocr a t es.
Much more, slave boy, f or I . cannot help feeling tha t you a r e still
in-flight, a nd will n o t be co n tent wit h us long if o ur business b egins
to wear the aspec t o f the a i ml .essness o f lif e und_ 1'1eno , and t o l ose the
er
bra ve, str ong char .~ cter of the slav e maki ng hi s first s tride.s away ~ ro m
bis ma ster.
You must not be d isc o uraged when you di s cover th a t you h a ve
many master&, even as a fre edman, a nd you must be on y o ur guard when you
encounter the most formid a ble o f your e nsl a vers, ign or a nce.
He c annot
be hoodwinked a s Meno wa s •
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So me men, c hild, -comp a re t h e condi tion.s lif e i mp oses t o the possible
experience o f a wa kening from sleep t o find on e.self in a c age , a nd t h ey
question wheth e r one would then ponder his situ3.tion thoughtfully or b e gin
vig orously t o somehow force h is W3 Y o ut. We h ono r t he annl o gy but not its
suggestion of a so lution, for, a nd y o u will a tt es t I' m sure, int e ll ect u a l
experience a lone c a n justify its e lf as s ur moun tin g the traps lif e h a s
erected about uso
The a n a logy, in anoth e r r e sp e ct, is weak b e c ause it b a lks at
st a ting c onditions a s h a rsh a s they a re: it is n o t one cage but, a s we
experience them, a n e ndless succession of cages. Suggested to our minds
is the structure o f a v a st pr is on ho us e filled .with cells, some a s base
as s o lit ary confinement where neither light n o r huma n compan~onship a r e
found, others,less unpl easant.
And i t is a consider a bl e puzzle t o us, for
though th e re is n o way we can see out o f the prison house its~lf, we d o
experience passing fr o m our c e ll t o a mo re pleasant onen We desire a g ui de
to le a d us through the cells s o we do n o t stumbl e into worse .o nes tb u. n 1,..rhere
we began, and in order t o avo id the horrors o f s olit a ry c onfinement.
The
only guide we can conceive of a s p ossibly c a p a b le of this a nd perha ps o f .
solving th e riddl e of the prison h o us e itself is the int e ll e ct. She a l on e
might show us th e way from our s l av e ry.
�,·.
OVERTURE
Theodore S tinchecum
Lice nt ious halls might weep
where we have a l so wept at judgmen ts;
yet hair falls against ange ls ' faces
like harp strings disturbing marble
in helplessly delicate laughing tones.
Halls echo resonance upon resonance,
weeping and giggling beating in dissonanceo
It is only sound.
Children weeping in wonder ask:
is it laughter that frightens us so?
Why for instance mus t the mask be white,
so that even if we betray its bland f a ce,
the arranged countenance remains
and the barrier still screams with white values,
while giggling judges a ccuse the l aughing?
Still th e hall weeps and giggles too.
And a bird is somehow important.
from Masque in Vout, a Play,
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1950
�JOHANNA AND THE ELDERS
(Fr agme nt for Gloc kensp iel)
The odore S tinc hec um
Johanna , it must be understood, mad e her own distinctions
in a world which was for her a l most wholly continuous. This world
was without a horizon; and even t he al ternat ions of light and dark
which signify for o t h e rs the passage of time and th e visual properties
of objects, in her seven ye a r old cosmology might go unnoticed if not
some how attached to the much more s i mp le and v as tly more i mmedi a te
system of cl a ssific a tion with which she me t the outside.
The outside, for Johann a , was roughly divided into the
terribl e and t he not terribleo The t e rrible was , a t a ll cost, to
be avoided; th e not t erribl e was sough t af t er with an incredible
directness .
Uncl e Luther was , f or examp l e , terrible since he was
deaf a nd dumb and a t e lint; th e Methodist minist er was t e rrible since
he shouted a nd s a id the word HELLo Aunt Moth was not wholly t e rrible,
or rather, she was at times not t e rrib le since she heard ange ls
singing.
Ang e ls were wholly not t erribl e a s was c andy.
*
.l: · _' :
*
*
*
It was within this wo rl d of extremes t hat Jo ha nna embarked
on th a t fr agile cha in of even ts, that improbable concatenation,
which l e d to her final s a nctific at ion in the Baptist tent, to her
argume nt with a n e lectric guitar.
But we a r e here concerned only
with the first of that i nexo rable s eque nce, the remarkable moment
when, for th e first ti me , the who lly terrible a n d th e wholly not
terrible were for Joha nna ama lgamated. Joh anna h a d her first
experience of concavity a t t he Sr.apses.
The Snapses were th ems e lv e s improbab l e people wh o lived in
the most improb ab l e house in Brown i ngsv ille .
Th e house h a d be e n
built (for unknown r eas ons) on the h i ghest hill in the town and
had b een (for e v en l ess known r eas ons and no d isc e rnible pr a ctic a l
purpose) built on what every on e c 2ll ed stilts.
It was a dry wooden
house with few rooms on rotten sticks; and, like t he ir hous e , the
Snapses were a lso dry, so mewhat stiffj h ad few thoughts, we r e ( a ll
three of them) q uite t a ll a nd p as t the t i me o f th e ir d y ing.
Th e trio of straw n eve r l ef t its home a nd had it not been
for wh a t was in the beginning go od will and was not an old habit,
the Snapses would h a ve d ie d of hunger, or cold, or dise ase, or time.
But Browningsville kept th em a liv e, fed th e m1 warmed the m a nd
preserved them in ti me .
The Snapses we r e, a ft e r a ll, a n a n a chronism;
a nd Browningsvill e, on th is eve of the First of the Great Wars, h a d
it s own s e nse of be in g i tse lf an ana c hr onism a nd protected a nd
prolonged its kindo
�- 22 Johanna W
Gs, of course, terrified at the prospect of spending
an hour a we ek with th e Sn apses. She had cri ed a nd prot es t ed violentiy
a gainst this t e rrible thing but without success; and when, a t Saturd a y
singing, even Aunt Moth had, from her pla ce a t the organ , looke d a t
her disapprovingly, she knew th a t every hope had f a iled her and she
was swa llowed up in to her we ekly duty of threading needles for the
Misses Snapses~
Thus, each Thursda y a ft e rnoon Johanna , trembling in all her
thirty-six inches , c limbed the dre a ded stairs, and held her bre a th
in terror as countl ess threads traversed countl e ss ape rtures. She
was invariably off e r ed tea, though her mother never had let her drink
it; and she was inva ria bly nauseated, though whe ther at the we a k
non-sugared brew or the thought of spilling fluid o r breaking the
cup caused this it were impossible to discern.
Johanna h ad only one
ple a sure in all this d ry torture: bec a use her eyes were te a red more
often than not, e ither out of self pity or th e strain of pushing the
endless thre a d through the whole hour, light was refracted ple a santly
through their water.
In th e l a te af t e rnoon the sun would be caught
up in th e three pairs of spectacles on th e whit e , inscrut ab le faces
of the Snapses.
Ordinarily Joh a nna a voided a nything more than the most furtive
glances a t the old oneso Certainly they looked not a t her, so much
so th a t, a t times, she wondered if perhaps she had disap peared.
But
the sun c a ught in th e spectacles was not wholly terrible a nd on one
momentous a ft~rnoon Johanna became quite lost in frankly st a ring.
The n ee dles a nd the thr eads dropped unnoticed from he r lap as sh e
stood to get a better v~ ew of the orang e in old Mr. Snaps' transformed
metal frames.
Into this preoccupied silence the hitherto unh eard
voice of old Mr. Snnp s broke like th e hissing of a n enormous snake.
The words were indiscernible, mer e ly t e rribl e . Johanna heard only
three: See for yourself.
At this moment the a nima ted str aw stood
before her and quickly put on her the fr agi l e optical mechanism;
and th e world, for Joh anna , fell with a screaming un-noise into a pit,
tha t concavity into which her feet were now stuck f a r from her e yes.
And at this moment , too, a part of Johanna quietly slipped out of tim e
into a we.
�THE SECTION OF AN INTERPRETATION OF THE CARTESIAN
LEVELS OF PERFECTION
Eyvind Ronq ui.s t
The le an wa tchdogs do not travel
Because their hungry nerves regrind
Constantly the food of night in si l ence.
They wait for noise to meet their rage.
But in the c a st l e the bony- princess
Watches her finger and pr a ctic e s chess.
Placed surrounded in the spire,
Tries to see to the moat and the river
Ima gination
Where
Wh il e
Shake
Wipes
. : i.i "
Int e llect
The Body
peas a nts make a festival
unexpected conc 8 aled bl ~ sts
the tent pole, and a lost child
its nnsty fac e on a m2ssy d oll •
Pa st corn e rs houses empty b l ocks
Space
A person would n tt0mpt to run to hold
His abs e nt greyhound's b ody, cold
And mis s ing from the thought o f t o uch.
Awak e in b a nging drums cl a p p ing
Crowds grab him back, a ngry acrob a tso
Rocking spect a tors sna p a p -'- 1 a use
l
Ha ving taken dr e ams for wh a t th e y cr a ve.
Atoms
�ON SENTENCES
Ey v ind Ronquist
As h e was f ixing co f f e e i t occ urr ed.
A thought i mme di a t e ly found its shape,
Suggesting consequenc es .
'St a ring aga pe
Into t he disma l p it where smoke had blurred
Th e earthen f a ces, mumb ling tympaoic words.'
He pr a i sed th e soul tha t if one wa its
'
They a l ways come, a nd poured to s eparate
The coffee grounds; he would writ e it later.
Incr easi ngly a s he considered it
He became r e stless tha t th e r e truly was
Such hidd e n meaning a s his image told
(W
hic h wo rd s , tho ugh, you and I will n e ver me e t).
Until on P. night the dist a nt thunde r rolled,
And ligh tning scr i bb l ed unknown message sm
�TIME I N THE W
EST I S AN ARROW;
TIME I N THE EAST IS A POOL.
No~l
Meriam
How they have s lipped away:
d e cades, years, mon th s, and weeks,
seconds, minute s, hours, and days.
Drying bones cr eak.
Speak and the word flies
a i ml es sly, a colored leaf from crooked
nami ng only things that d i e,
praising on l y now.
boughs~
�SESTINA
Noel Meriam
When we bega n, our separate worlds we r e one,
For as we me rged , so did our visions blend.
We walked our days tog e th e r, dawn to dark,
Each seeing what th e oth e r s a wa Th e way
Things were wa s beautiful 1 and in your face,
This conjunction s eemed more than a dream.
We moved through nights almost
And as th e hours s li d away one
In sec r et places, B2auty b a red
Showing a poo l where night a nd
Stars, wa ter, smooth skin, and
Our fingers turned to l a ughter
beyo nd a dre am ,
by one,
her face,
love did blend
th e swe2t way
in th e dark.
Th e morning when you v a nished in th e dark
Opened a chasm, shattered th e single dream;
Our wor l ds diverged once more. I ask what wa y,
And wh y did we lack the courage to clasp th e one
S olution for us ? W a t lost c a uses blend
h
To build a fear th~ t be a uty c a n' t efface?
I h a ve dr e amt the beauty th a t you f ace
Now o n the i s l and.
I can f e e l the dark
Vegetable lushness pressing your back to blend
Gr e en, parrot - scr eaming , chat te r-jungle-dream
And th e blue, blue se a tog e ther, making one
Gigantic Gaugh i n"
I imagine it that way,
But missing some ess e nt i a l p a rt, the same way
Some cr u ci a l t hing in the be a uty that I face
Is gone~ Consider th a t be a uty has more tha n one
Aspecto This wi nt e r-riven bay , wine-dark
Below my fr o st e d to wn in its wind-wr apped dream,
Has of beauty its own p e culi a r blend.
But s ome thing subj e ctive is miss i ng from my blend
Of ima ges, mis s ing in such a way
That ev 0 ry f a ir thing di s appe a rs, my dreams
Ca use sudden anxious wa kings; Beauty's f ace
Tr emb l es , fl ic k e rs a n d v a rtishes in the dark.
The so lut io n exists, as you and I are one.
Come lo ve let us d a r e to dre a m a s one;
Blendin g our worlds once more, we yet m
ay f a ce
The be a uty we c a st a way int o the dark.
�
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The Collegian
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The Collegian began as a student newspaper; became a college community literary publication in 1952 and continued until 1969; became a student newspaper again in 1969; discontinued publication from 1980 until 1989 when it again became a student literary publication.<br /><br />Click on <a title="The Collegian" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=26">Items in The Collegian Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection.
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Annapolis, MD
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The St. John's Collegian, April 1960
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Text
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57
�THE COLLEGIAN
December, 1959 ·
Table of Contents
Works winning prizes in June, 1959
The Shallow View: An Apology for the Poet
(Best Senior Thesis)
David Jones
Lessing: The Link between Becoming and Being
(Best Annual Essay by a
Edward Gelblurn
Sophomore or Junior)
A Dialogue
(Best Annual Essay by a Freshman)
Sophocles: Antigone, Second Chorus
(Best Translation)
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translated by
Noel Meriam.
A Sonnet
(Best Origi..rrual Sonnet)
(. :
Harvey Meyers
Noel Meriam
�The Shallow View:
An Apology for the Poet
by David Jones
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Every aphorism is in its own light true, and when two or more are found in
contradiction, as is frequently the case, the problem is to determine more their
relevance than their correctness; but one generally finds, on attempting such a
determination, that it is the discussion itself which is relevant, and that none
of the aphoristic statements, whatever larger truth we may have felt was lurking
beneath, means very much. It is often observed that the most ancient and bitter
of intellectual quarrels is that between philosophy and poetry; and as one discovers more and mor8 instances of this quarrel, the suspicion grows that there is
an essential incompatibility between the philosophic and poetic methods. It is
also said that the great philosophers have always been great poets, and the great
poets, great philosophers. In the most serious attention to philosophy, it is
not so much the form or method of statement that holds us, although these things
must receive consideration, as the wisdom of the philosopher. In reading poetry,
an intelligent man cannot maintain interest for long in the sound of words or the
clever turning of phrases. It is the wisdom of the poet that makes good poetry;
beauty requires something more important than art. The impression becomes stronger
on reading the lives of great philosophers and poets; or on listening to them
speak, on being in their presence. It is difficult to tell them apart, for the
notable thing about them ia that they are men and that they are wise. The suspicion grows that the supposed quarrel between them is no more than a quibble, by
lesser men, on lower levels, about means of expression. But as we turn our attention more closely to these means of expression, we again find th e philosopher
giwen to precision, logic, and close analysis and the poet given to intuition,
evocation, and broad judgment. It seems that, whatever the relative importance
of philosophy and poetry, they cannot exist on the same plane, and that by whatever degree one of them rises in our final estimation, the other must fall. Yet
we may at least suspect, from the outset, that neither of these conflicting observations, which at the moment seem vital enough, will come to much under the
light of a more thorough examination of philosophy and poetry. If in the end we
do not reconsider them, it is not because we do not remember them but because
they no longer seem worth consideration. It will only be necessary to remember
of them that neither, however much they characterize our simpler modes of thought,
has much bearing on the problem.
The most obvious difference between poetry and philosophy is in their formal
ends. Philosophy se eks knowledge, precise and undeniable truth, while poetry
seeks, as nearly as its goal can be defined, intuitive truth, clear sight, and
lucid but non-demonstrable value judgment. Their object, however, is the same.
They both deal with the substantial world, the world of real entities as opposed
to the merely intelligible world of mathematics and monor logic. Poetry, in a
sense, must be considered the more succe ssful of the two endeavours, for the
definition of its end is after the fact. It exists, and is important; one describes more or less what it does; and what it has done becomes an account of its
purpose. Philosophy is in a less fortunate position. It has defined its end before it has reached it, and its criterion is so incredibly high that it is no
surprise that it has found no one, satisfactory solution to its given problem.
Philosophy, in its purest sense, must be metaphysics. It must be the science of
the first principles of physics and concern itself with finding those things in
the substantial world which are undeniable and on which all our knowledge of the
�world must be based. It may then embark on probable argument, or precise and analytic but undemonstrative argument; but it must do so with constant awareness of
the fact that probable argument is not knowl edge, and it must be careful to describe the relationship of the two. It is as important to it to know what it does
not know as it is simply to know. If it denies the idea of constant r eference
to the absolute, the undeniable, and senseless ly sets up some lesser definition
of truth, it is unworthy of jthe name it be.ars., _.If, ..s.ome .as.pect of phUbSciphY- proves
fruitless in terms of genuine knowledge , yet has certain benefits on a lower
plane, what r eason is there for not admitting that it do es not contain knowledge?
If it is not knowl edge, it is not; saying that it is will not make it so, and
admitting that it is not will not harm it. W
ith t hese obs ervations in mind we
may begin a rather skeletal examination of what philosophy has done and where it
now stands. If we lose the more precise benefits of penetration, we may at least
hope to gain the more r elevant benefits of breadth.
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Philosophy begins, naturally enough, in ignorance. Some things may seem
to be likely; but if they can be do~bt e d, they do not constitute knowledge. This
was as true for the Greeks as for any other race of men. But their philosophy
did not consider doubt directly; doubt rather became the psychological base for
wonder, • and wonder produced for Plato dialectic, and for Aristotle a grand categorical analysis. Both m were to some degr ee aware that a more s erious problem
en
of doubt must face philosophy, but neither made the further step of considering
his ovm philosophy in the light of its implications. Plato was at times capable
of the most desolate scepticism but he nev'3r leveled its relentlessly c•
ritical
potentialities against his dialectical structure. Aristotle, though he has been
a steadying influence o.rt philosophy for two thousand years, is significant primarily as an example of th e cool and analytic use of logical method. He never,
as far as we are conce rned, r eally s ays anything about the cont ent of the world.
He weaves an analytic web about it, separating, describing, considering, but not
touching. Almost all of his arguments can be separated from his application of
them. For example, his argument concerning the existence of the unmoved mover
remains a very interesting dissection of the ides and implicatiqns of cause; but
his assertion that the unmoved mover move s the outermost sphere means nothihg to
us. The very fact that we can s ever the form of his arguments from their content
may lead us to believe that Aristotle hims elf was more int er ested in precise description than in knowledge . Many of his obs ervations were purely formal, as if he
were aware that the step to substantial knowledge was beyond his comprehension.
But without that step the philosophic meaning and applicability of his distinctions are lost; as, we shall find, they are lost with it. It is lamentable that
we cannot recapture the fr eshness and vitality of spirit with which the Greeks
approached philosophy; but Greek spirit had at its roots philosophic inexactness;
and, with the advent of exact philosophy in the post-Renaissance, wonder took its
departure •
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The first significant philosopher aft er the Renaissance was Descartes. With
Descarte s began the one great r evolution in W
este rn thought, and it is perhaps
not inordinate to say that almost all significant philosophic, mathematical, and
in the sens e of mathematics, scientific progress since his time has stemmed from
the tradition which he founded. What Descartes did was quite simple: he turned
his analytic powers directly on doubt. The results of his study are pervasive
and profound. Philosophy be cmne the science of knowledge; it began to make the
final r eference to absolute certainty which th e Greeks and scholas tics had tacitly
ignored, but without which, as we have s aid, philosophy cannot be philosophy.
�We sha ll mention Des cartes' mathemat ical achievements only briefly. If
Desc artes had not been a mathematician, no amount of philosophy would have l ed
him to them. Yet we may at l east say th a t if he had not been a mathematici an, he
might not have been the philosopher he was. It was the analyti c geometry tha t
gave sense and content to his observations on how it is we know the ext e rnal
world and with him began a bond between philosophy and mathematical science that
has become almost indissoluble.
. ~.
Desc arte s' philosophy, though comple tely incorrect in its conclusions, is
of absolut e importance in its method. Descart es used doubt as a tool, stripping
and stripping from his view of the world everything that was not undeniable.
The sensue.l characteristics of objects disappeared; only extens i on and motfuon
r emained. The s e , Des cart es said, ar e perceived by the understanding rather than
the senses. The .:11ens-esare within. Heat , color, t aste, ev1.:.- rything through which
we experienc e obj ects, const antly change and deceive, and are not in 'the object.a
at all, but in our minds. But ext ens ion and motion are the intelligible substrata
of objects in which thes e things s eem to inher e; and, being intelligibl e, are
not so easily subj e ct to doubt. A body is ext ended, is in space, arid may move.
This is the precise and barren world of anal ytic geometry, which, with the gradual
addition of ideas of forc e and mass, was to develop into Newton's gre at system,
and fin ally into modern .mathematical physics. But even thi s world, though Descartes quickly r einst at es it, is subject to doubt. Our sensual impressions
might be :.:.put into our he ads by some great Demon, and even our mathematical knowledge might be a de ception. Some thing must be deceived, howeve r, if there is to
be deception. There must be some thinking thing--using thinking to include all
conscious st:: . tes of the .""!_ind, including passion, sensation, and so f0'rth--on
which th;is Demon acts. One thing, at le ast, must be certa i n: I think; therefor e ,
I am. Tnis great sceptical statement is, one way or 2,nother, chara ct eristic of
almost all philosophy from Descart es to Kant. Beyond this point, we have little
interest in De scartes. Through a series of rather scholastic a rguments he proves
the existence of God and of the ma t e ri al world, , and att empts to indic at e the reiatiohship between the mind and body. Thes e arguments have none of th e force of the
Cogito, and we sh all let them pass with th e observ~tion tha t they a re based , parti~
cularly the ontological proof of the existence of God, on the ide a of cause, an
idea which l at er, though not in this particular c-,pplication, was to suffer devastating criticism.
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During the hundred years after Descartes' death, a kind of Cartesian scepticism pervaded philosophy. While they did not necessarily support the pa rticular doctrines of Des ca rtes, the iillpo.r tant philosophers engage d thems elves in an
analysis of the world from the view of the ego. Philosophy had suddenly realized
that the classic acc eptance of the appar ent universe was insuffic ient. However
me anipgful pre-Cartesian analysis of the world may once have seemed , Des cartes had
attached a new and stricter significance to knowledge which had t o receive consideration, and, onc e considered, it gave rise to systems which had not the remotest r es emblance to Renaissance or pr e-Renaiss ance philosophy. With the emergence of criticism of the substance of knowledge, a s oppos ed to its m
anipulations,
the r e was a complet e r e-evaluati on of the proper subject matter of philosophy. It
became apparent that one knew, indeed, ve ry little of the real world, and that a
substantial structure, a real structure, of philosophy was needed in place 6 f the
now incredible and dreamlike Gonstructs of the ancients and of the medieval theologians and scholas tics •
�- - -- - - - - - - -- -- ----- - -- - -- - - - -- -
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We shall only wention the primary philosophers of this period, for our interest lies, not in their theories, but in the new ch ar act e ristic of their theories. Spinoza , a lthough his main interest was in ethics, propesed a rigid and
deterministic universe, somewhat R
kin t o Desc artes '. This univers e was nothing
else than God; but knowledge of De sc3.rtes 1 int elligibles, extension and movement,
was at le ast re al knowledge. L eibniz did away with the time and space, and ret ained only the identity. Each being is nn isolat ed monad, somewhere in e ternity.
Into e ach, God pours sense impressions; bu t the only r eason for the apparent order
of these impressi·ms is Goel 1s pre-est ablished ha rmonizing of th em. It is not
to be wondered th at the s uppos ed ·external world cannot be known; for it does not
exist. Locke is not quite so extreme. Perh aps the external world exists, but it
is quite certain that our only contact with it, the s ens es , can give us no re al
e
knowledge of it. W can only a pproximate and acc ept what s eems to be the best
description of it. Berkely turns onc e more to God. Since our only knowledge of
the world is through the perceptions of our s ens es, then the world is nothing
more than oust those perc eptions. Matt er does not exist; a thing is nothing more
than the perc eption of it. In o rde r th2t things be kept- running smoothly, God
perc eives everything, all the time .
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W h ave not, of cours e , been f air to the s e great philosophers in pres enting
e
the ir arguments in one-sentence form. W t h Des cartes, they r e pres ent the ma jor
i
philosophic achievements of one of th e most fruitful pe riorts of Wes tern culture.
Their arguments we r e pre cis e and t elling and of immens e importance in the development of philosophy, but th at we a r e even able to caric ature them in such short
form is some indic ation of the s ceptic al barrenne ss which governed their structure. A new philosophy had come into being a nd, for bette r or for worse , the sharp
edge of doubt was cuttL1g out a de finition of ce rt ainty t ha t wa s \ho lead philosophy to 8n entirely new view of th e world. M
a_nkind rs subst antia l knowledge was
reduced to his own thoughts ~nd pe rceptions, and th e r enl world h ad become, at
best, a pla ce of mathematic al entities--subj ect, in its new nnd simplified aspect,
to scientific investigation, but not r eally knowable •.
Let us return, briefly, to our ori ginal de scription of philosophy, and see
what it means in t he sc epti cal situation . Knowledge hc. . d be come knowledge of self;
1
certainty, truth, was s elf-exi st enc e and sens ation. All furth e r inve stigation,
then, was to be in t he li ght of man's small allotment of ce rt ainty. The philosophers ha d constructed various denuded wG.ys of looking a t the cosmos, but these
had little of th e practical immedi a cy inher ent in th e now defunct cosmology of the
ancients, or even of St. Thomas. Classic philosophy pre-supposed the visible
universe, but tha t it had not r ealiz ed it was a cting on a pr econception, had led
it through the infe rences of dial e ct ic or logic to conclusions whose validity was
dependent on the gramma r of pe rc eption. It could no longe r be viewed as other
than a syst ematic ally incoher ent conglomer at e of aphorisms, wis e in pragma tic
:i.ID.sight, but complet ely devoid of philoso phic insight, even on the level of probable
argument. Yet if classic ethics and th e cosmology which bore them were philosophically unaccept able, scepticism had to find something to replace them; and,
whatever it was t o be, for i t wa s clear th2t it could only be probable, its probability had to be in light of the new, ego-centric, sceptical view of things.
As we have already, t o some extent, indic a t ed, th e prob able cosmological
r epl8.cement was nothing els e than physic c=i. l scie nc e. Even before Descart e s 1 t ii.me,
the r evolution in physics had begun. Galileo had per f ormed his classic experiments with f alling bodi e s and, in the f a ce of incredible theological opposition,
�had steadfastly asserted that it is scientifically preferable to say that the earth
revolves about the suno Kepler had introduced the idea of force into astronomyo
But it was with Descartes that science began to a ssume philosophic significance;
and if the ~ : philosophy of Desc artes owed something to the first stirrings of natural
science, science after Descartes owes irruneasurably more to the inferences of
Cartesian philosophyo It has been asserted that Descartes could not have denied
the existence of the physical world without a prior asslunption of ito This may be,
in some sense, correct a But it was our original aa§umption that a deeper understanding of the nature of knowledge: if applied to probable argument, would lead
to a more realistic type of probable argument o It is of absolutely primary importance to realize that Descartes~ when he returned from his investigation of
the limits of substantial knowledge, arrived at a totally altered conception of
probable investigation of the universe~ Philosophy cannot escape the world if
it is to maintain any vestige of significance in the whole life of mano A complete sceptic, a man who refuses to act on what seems the most likely view, in
lieu of knowledge, is little better than a foola The ancients might very correctly
say to him, liDo you doubt that things exist? Will you refuse to sit in a chair
because you are not sure the chair is there? Then go your way, and do not bother
us further; for our whole investigntion is of these things that do not exist .. "
Scepticism is in itself an utterly useless, an:l eveh damaging doctrine; but in
its application, it is an indispensable critical tooL We might reply to the ancients that we do believe things exist; but that in considering the possibility
that they do not, we have been led~ not through any necessary inference, not
through any predictable connection, but as a matter of fact to a view of those
things that is considerably more credible in its basis, and considerably mor~
intelligible in its results than their own. We cannot condemn them, for they
had neiUierthe mathematical nor technological equipment necessary for the development of scienceo The evolution of thought is slow; generations are required,
if not for its insights, for their acceptance and application~ But while the
efforts of the classical philosophers are justified, their conclusions are not
so much demonstrably false, as without meaningful applicability in a eosmology
which includes physical scienceo
Descartes had given science a philosophic impetus~ It is unfortunate that
the philosophers who followed De s cartes, although some of them at least tacitly
accepted the exact physical sciences, did not give the proper attention to this
child of doubto They concerned themselves more with their particular variations
of the Cartesian argument; and the more certain it became that ~ubstantial knowledge lay in the self, and that the structured order of the classic universe was
founded on inexact and incorrect methods of investigation, the more certain became the scientists that they had cliscovered material truth in their pragmatic
and unquestioning examination of the nature of things ~ Ethics, politics, and religion were caught unprotected between these two extremes c.
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What we have outlined so far is commonly enough asserted by materialists.
They find sufficient grounds for the rejection of classic ethics and politics.
But they substitute for them nothing but an amoral and apolitical determinism;
and our own acquaintance with the classic philosophers is enough to convince us
that the simple fact of the phys ical sciences is not particularly relevant to
classic ethical or political observations and argumentsn Plato might very wmll
be able to accept modern physics and biology, alter the termin6Ch.ogy of the dialogues, and continue with no noticeable break of stride to his conclusionso Indeed, something of this kind was done by Kant; not the same thing, not what
Plato would do, but something of the same cloth, embroidered by the sceptical
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viewpoint. Scepticism had replaced the cosmology of th e ancients with science,
but science had forgotten the philosophy which bore it, and l a unched out on its
own, with an incredible presun).ption, to settle once and for all any non-scientific
questions which still persisted. There is a sceptical ground for replacing
classic moral philosophy; but it is not physical science. Meanwhile science presented an invidious and potent danger, not only toward the social instincts of
its adherents, but to philosophy herself. Hume met the second danger directly,
and the first by implication. It is Hume, them, that we have picked as the basis
for a more thorough consideration of the meaning and applicability of scepticism •
David Hu¢e is perhaps the most important of cill the sceptical philosophers.
Newton's Principia had been published some twenty-five years before his birth;
and although the importance of Hume's philosophical writings was not recognized
in his li~etime, they constitute the great sceptical rejection of the brave new
physics. But it is important tha t the rejection wa s not so much of Newton's
laws and system, as of their philosophic relevance. Hume remarks:
: ·
11 1 need not examine at length the vis inertiae which is so much talked
of in the new philosophy, and which is ascribed to matter. We find by experience, that a body at r est or in motion continues for ever in its present
state, till put from it by some new cause; and that a ·.b ody impelled takes
as much motion from the impelling body as it acquires itself. These are facts.
When we call this a vis inertiae, we only mark these f acts, without pretending to have any idea of the inert power; in the same manner as when
we talk of gravity, we mean cert ain effects, without comprehending that active power. 11 1.
To a casual reader, Hume's denial of the possibility of scientific knowledge may seem in contradiction with his t a cit acceptance of scientific ' achievement. Bmt Hume quite correctly distinguishes between knowledge and belief.
Knowledge is that which cannot be conceived otherwise. Most of the propositions
of algebra, arithmetic, geometry, or any other pa rt of mathematics, are knowledge;
for it cannot be conceived that they be other than as they are. , The ideas that
they employ are derived from experience, true enough; but while an extreme sceptic
may even reject mathematics, he must at l eas t admit that he can imagine no other
specific way it might be.
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This limit of imagination is not placed, howeve r, on the real world, the
world of experience. The sun, we believe , will rise tomorrow. But it is equally
simple to imagine, equally conceivable, that it will not. No philosopher would
dispute this point; a nd no philosopher would do othe r th an . agree that it is of no
philosophic relevance. But it is r elevant th at the same plurality of conception
applies to scientific laws. A body in motion, meeting no ext ernal force, might
as easily stop, accelerate, r evers e its direction, or ce as G to exist, as far as
the imagination is concerned. Aristotle, for example, blandly asserted that a
heavy body, by nature of its weight, falls more swiftly than a light one. This .
is not, in our experience, true; but we can only believe that it was not true in
Aristotle's, for we do not know the caus e of the phenomenon, and so cannot know
that the appearance itself has not changed, nor that it will not change.
That we can conceive of a ny number of physical consequents to a give ph¥sical antecedent, however much we m y believe that there is in reality only one
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such consequent possible, provides us with a clue for the complete philosophic rejection of the idea of causality. If we were pres ented with some new phenomenon,
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one of which we had no p~evious experience, we would have no idea what would follow it. Only if, through experience, we found that the phenomenon was always followed by some consequent phenomenon, always the same, would we come to expect
through habit that the one would always be followed by the other, and that the
one caused the other. But it is only through habit that we would have come to
believe this. Of a secret power, a cause, we would have no concept; and so would
have nn logic al basis for assuming that the rela tionship would hold in the future.
Hume states his argument thus:
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We have said that all arguments concerning existence are founded on the
relation of cause and effect; that our knowledge of th at relation is derived entirely from experi ence; : and th at all our experimental conclusions
proceed upon the supposition that the future will be conformable to the past.
To endeavour, therefore, the proof of this last supposition by probable
arguments, or arguments regarding existence, must be evident ly going in a
circle, and taking that for granted, which is the very point in question." 2.
11
Hume no mere expects Newton's laws to be contraverted than Newton himself
does. But we do not know why nature always presents herself in the same guise;
and unless we know V1 she does, we cannot know that she does; we can only,
hy
through habit, believe it. Whatever arguments are presented by modern philosophers, to prove that they know the l aws of science must hold, thay can never assert
that they know why they are as they are; and so they are only trying to prove they
can be known to hold, becaus e they believe that they hold.
1
Hume's argument meets more directly the philosophy of scientific ~nowledge
than did the arguments of most of the previous sceptics. Descartes, Leibniz,
and finally Berkeley, had cast grave doubts on the existence of things in themselves. But such scepticism, without an att a ched theism, is irrelevant; and the
theistic assumption is a grave on~ for a man who wishes singly to define the limits
of his own knowledge. Things might not exist; then again, they might. But
hu.¢an action and understanding can be meaningful only in the latter case; and
since it is no more unlikely than the former, there is nothing wrong in assuming
it. It is all very weal to remember that one cannot be certain that things exist,
but it is a useless and unimportant bit of knowledge; it tells us nothing of
ourselves ·. Hume 1s observations are of the real world, the v.orld of things and of
science. In defining the nature of our knowledge of this world, he has given us
relevant informat ion. Things, as far as we need concern ourselves, are; let us
act as if they are, and let us act on our habitual belief that their relationships
will continue as we have observed them in tbe p:ist. Let us not deceive ourselves
into thinking these habits constitute knowledge. It is an unnedessary conceit,
and a fruitless one. To s ay that things exist has some meaning, for we know what
existence is; we, ourselves, exist. To say tha t they a re governed by causal
relationships has no meaning, for the very word, cause, is without experiential
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Hume's argument may be taken as a paradigm for the destructive application
of scepticism. The mere st atement that we know nothing of the external world,
however powerful the oqservations which we may produce to substantiate it, will
be of little effect on those who thi~ they know some partidular thing about the
external world. They will reply, not w
ith complete logical consistency, but not
completely without justification, that even if they do not know the world as an
existing thing, they know, really know, certain facts about its construction. If
�these unfortunate persons are to be met in a rgument, they must be met on their own
ground. We are sure, from the outset, tha t they do not know what they .tfuink
they know; but we are equally sure th a t they believe something very powerfully,
and until we can show them how it is they believe, but do not know, our OINil undert>tanding is even more barren and shallow than theirs. Hurne struck at the
heart of science, not at its roots. If, in the: more advanced stages of a science,
statements such as 11 A causes B11 are no longer made, there is still the hidden assumption that if A is such and such, it is because nature herself dictates it,
and that it is reality that is, and will continue to be, the cause of A's being
so. Hu.tile's criticism is not escaped.
The idea of CC' use is of the same nature,
and has no more content, than in its more obvious manifestation in Newton.
In attempting to explain th e ethical impJications of scepticism, Hume resorts
to a description of what he calls the academic philosophy.
The greater pa rt of mankind are naturally apt to be affirmative and
dogmatical in their opinions; and while they see objects only on one side,
and have no ide a of any counte rpoising argument, the y throw themselves precipitately into the principl e s~ to which they are inclined; nor have they
any indulgence for those who entertain opposite sentiments. To hesitate or
balance perplexes their understanding, checks their ps.ssion, and, su9pends
their action. They are, therefore, impatient till they escape f~om a state,
which to them is so une asy: and they thin~, that they could never remove
themselves far enough from it, by the violence of their affirmations and
obstinacy of their belief. But could such dogmatical reasoners become
sensible of the strange infirrnities of human understanding, even in its most
perfect state, and when most accurate and cautious in its determinations;
such a reflection would naturally inspire them with more modesty and reserve,
and diminish their fond opinion of them selves, and their prejudice against
antagonists. 11 3.
11
It is this view which most commonly ·receives the name of scepticisrr{. We might
.suppQ~e tha,t .,i,t has been prEts·e nt, to some degree;, throlighout the intellectual
chistory Df ·~western civilizatioi;i, and that the voice of the Delphic Oracle has
. ~choe.d t()_,~· men 9£._sound ·judgment, Eiven in the midst of the frequently violent
dogmatic disagreement oTthe Mi'ddle Ages, "Moderation in all things". It is an
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attitude reflected by many of those men we find of most s anguine and honest, and
indeed generally agreeable disposition. Hurne himself was such a man. But we
could hardly expect such an attitude to be of much force in determining the course
of nations, so long as its basis is simple reasonableness. Hume is remembered
for his arguments concerning caus ality, not for his very excellently written exposition of the academic philosophy, or his charmingly illustrative autobiography.
If we are to attribute any larger effects to scepticism, it must be to that harsher
and more purely philosophic scepticism which rose with Descartes, and which rules
after him. It was its attitude, more than the particular philosophic forms it has
assumed, that WdS important; but lest we be prematurely labeled Cartesian, we
shall preface our discussion with a more complete examination of the source of
t his scepticism, and at the same time meet one of the most important assertions
of the materialists. There is no better place to begin this investigation than
with another aspect of Hume.
Hurne had not developed his criticism so far without a hidden basis, an implicit starting point--one of which Hurne hims elf, apparently, was unaware. Hume's
�argwnent may be turned on itself to discover this starting point. Is the question whether we can underst and causality or not one whose answer is governed by
experience? And if not, by what is it governed?
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Well, if it were not based on experience, it would have to be based on
logic, the law of contradictions, demonstrative argwnent. But is it contradictory to conceive of being able to understand causality in itself? If so, why?
Is not the question of whether one can understand causality per ~ no more t han
a question which can be decided only by experience? Understanding is as much a
part of the r eal world as caus ality, if the term had meaning, would be. Hu¢e has
never, as far as he knows, had any experience of causality; and he .:nows no
logical principle fro¢ which it can be inferred. Hs has no apparent ground for
saying that soweone else has not had an experience of causality, or that he himself may not have one in the future. If prediction is based on this idea of causality, Hwne is in danger of involving hims elf in a sc~ptical fallacy; for he is
talking of real things, and must say: I have never understood causality in itself, and conclude tha t I never shall be able to do so.
The only justification of such an argwnent, if one is to maintain Hume's
thesis is absolute, is an a priori ass ertion about, if you will excuse a small
redundancy, an experiential phenomenon. More precisely, it is the ass ertion that
consciousness in its very essence is incapable of comprehending causality, since
consciousness must be completely insular. This is, 0f course, at the very core of
the experiential definition of consciousness. Self-awar eness is the one thing
we experience, the one real thing whose content we know; for we are it. Could
consciousness experience some other real thing, and causality would be such a
thing, that thing would but become a part of it. Again, to the complete sceptic
this might present the possibility of knowing causality; but we, as Hume, and
any other articulate sceptic, have limited our doubt to the conceivable . It is
unconceivable that real knowledge, knowledge of things, have any content other
than simple awareness of being.
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Scepticism is nothing more or l e ss than the consequence of conscious existence. The very thing which makes consciousness possible places an irrevocable
limitation on it; for it must be subjective, that is, know itself only as subject, and neve r as object. It is not possible to h av e conscious knowledge of an
object. It is only possible to be an object--which is nothing more than to be a
subject. Knowledge, then, cannot properly be confirmed. Any statement such as,
I think, therefore I am, or even, I a:m, r equires a substantive; and the idea of
substance is an objective one. Not even ego can be asse rted. Hume apparently saw
this, but involved himself in self-confessed confusion in his failure to ca rry his
criticism far enough . He a ttempted t o deny personal identity, but failed to discover why such a denial is necessary, o.nd without this further explanation, the
endeavour is meaningless. Wheneve r he looks inward to find himself, Hume says, he
finds nothing but a flowing, changing stream of thoughts andl passions, uncontrollable
and without logical connection. This would seem th e very antithesis of self. One
may reply to this that it is the self which stands back to consider this flow
of thoughts; but Hume will answer that this thinking on one's thoughts is itself
no more than such a stream of thoughts. W find our selves in an infihite regress,
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moving back and back in an att empt to get outside ourselves, vtlth Hume at our heels
all the way. Like the proverbial Chinaman, we c~n neve r catch our pigt ail to
show that it exists . By the same token, Hume cannot catch it to show that it
does not exist.
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The resolution to the problem lies in an analysis of the verb. Self,
being itself subject, cannot make an objective predic ation. Self already is; to
make the statement, I am, involves it in a r edundancey, and in an impossible illusion of objectivity. Let us examine a conscious b eing, A. If we could know A,
which of course we cannot, we might s ay, A is. But what can A himself say? He
is conscious, he knows that he exists; but if he says A is, he makes no more
than the statement we have alre ady made of him. This statement is impossible for
a conscious being, for it is a denial of consciousness. As soon as he says, A,
he makes himself and object; and if he could know himself as object, he could
no more be conscious of himself than we cnn be conscious of him~ Descartes'
famous st atement must become: "'I' thinks; ther efore, 'I' isn. It was the A's
and 'I's tha t Hume was chasing in his famous cha pter on pe rsonal identity; but
he could not very well hope to catch them on their own ground, for they are
meaningless terms.
A conscious being, since it already exists as subject, and by definition
only as subject, can only s q,y, is, am, be-can only utter the simple subst .?. nti ve
verb. Even the idea of subject is superfluous in making the a ss ertion of existence. If the word "subject" is to have meaning as a noun, then our idea of it
must be of a thing. But we can have no idea of wh at a thing might be, for we
can not experience n thing. Nor can we make the inference, "there is being, therefore there is a thing in which being inheres". A thing is an object; if we could
know ourselves as a subject, a thing, which B.xists, we would at the same time
know ours elves as object. If we could know 11 ours elves 11 as things, our, consciousness would in this aspect be of them, not as them. But if consciousness is to be
at all, it must be consciousness as something, not of something. We must· discard
either things or consciousness; and sinc e to discard the l at ter makes nonsense
of the former, we shall retain the word "subject" only for the convenience of
speech, and not bec ause it has a meaning sepa rable from that of the verb. We
know there is be ing, of this we a r e sure; but in the very fact of our consciousness, we are r emoved from the possibility of any other substantial knowledge,
and even from any;,meaningful concept of subst a nce itself. The simple verb is the
beginning and end of all philosophy, the one real thing we experience, the one
entity in the universe which we can k..~01~ ; for we are it. Subjective consciousness is the only possible s ource for the idea of being; it is the ide a of being
which informs eve ry verb; and it is the a ss ertive force of the verb on which depends the significance <fif any discourse what so ever. If anythiqg, absolutely
anything, is to be allowed, it must be on the strength of the verb; if the verb
is allowed, the possibility of r eal knowledge is exhausted in simple consciousness.
It is precisely be caus e consciousness of being is th e sum of our knowledge of
what is, that it is the assertion of being on which a ll thought and spee ch depends. If it is our pa rticul2r fortune t o h av e consciousness, it is our particular misfortune to have a des ire for knowledge. Our consciousness, although it
is the one t~ 1ing th.J.t cannot be meaningfully denied, cannot be properly confirmed;
and at the same time it establishes a criterion for knowledge th at excludes the
possibility of any other affirmation of' the same kind. Knowledge is subjective
consciousness, being; it can never be l es s, a nd it ca n never be more.
We are now in a much better position to conside r the source of "personal
identity". The idea of personal ident ity depends on time , and it was oh this
aspect that Hume seized. To s r:ty that there is ;}n I a t all depends on saying that
the' I which is now is the same as the I which wa s a second ago, or twenty years
ago. Even the simple statement, I am now, which we have shown to be without real
�content, must a ris e from an i dea of ego derived from memory. In the r eflection
of the memory, we seem t o catch a glimps e of ours elves as ob j ects; and in a
moment confidently assert th at, even if nothing els e is, we ar e . VJe have forgotten th at as soon a s we s ay more th an, a r e , or is, or be, we are claiming knowl edge of a subst ~nc e ; and tha t we have no idea wh 0t a substance is, tha t we have
no experience of a substance, C2..n be shown e thous and diffe r ent ways. The first
and not the l eas t of all philos ophers, Pla to, ba sed an i mpo rtant part of his cosmolo gy on this obs e rvation ; and when Hume de stroyed the illusion of causality,
the pos sibility of inferring subst;:mce al so disc::.ppear ed. Our mem
ory of ourselves
is no different from our memory of, say, our bodi e s, or our shoes. By all me ans ,
let us s ay th2.t our bodies exist, ctnd for th e s P.ke of our bo die s, our shoe s. Let
us s ny ourselves exist; but l et us be awar e a t l east, of "Wha t we ar e s aying.
W
hat we r emember of ours elve s is no mor e th an thout;hts, impressions, passions.
Hume's insight was th ~t this is, indeed, a ll we can find, and that in thes e things
ther e is no principle of unity. They ar e mere epiphenomena . Of consciousne ss
itself, we can r emem r nothing. We may r emember the thought, I am conscious;
be
we can even remember saying, on an e arlier p2ge, am, is, be . But to remember
consciousness its e lf would be either to cast ourselves ..:backwa r d in ti.me, or to
split ours elve s into two entities, both conscious in the present. Hume's only
error was to le ave the ar gument in time; f or the usual noti on of time is itself
concomitant with the illusi on of identity.
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Augustine tells us how, in the extremity of our philos ophy, we must consider
The following s e ries of quotations cont ains the cor e of his argument:
11 What then is time?
If no one aske me , I know~ if I want to explain
it to a question~, I do not know.
Who can me asure time s pa st which a r e now no mere or times to come
which a re not yet, unless you a re prepar ed to aay' that that which do es not
exist can be m
easured? Thus while time is pa ssing, it can be perceived and
.measured; but when it h2, s pa ssed it c&
nnot, for it is not •
When we r el .::'. t e the pllst truly, it is not the things themselves that
are brought forth from our memory--for th ese hri.ve pas s ed away; but words
conceived from th e images of th e things: for the things st amped their prints
upon the mind a s they pass ed through it by way of the s onses. Thus f or example my boyhood, which no l onge r exist s, is in time past, which no longer
exists; but the likeness of my boyhood, when I r e cnll it and t dlk of it,
I look upon in time present, be caus e it is still present in my memory.
Would you have me agr ee with one who S<1.id the:i. t time is the movement
of a body'? You would not: for I l earn that no body mov es sove in ti.me.
It is in you, 0 my mind, th a t I me0sure time.
I do not measure th e things themselves whos e pa ss age produced the impress; it is the impr ess that I measure when I me asure time.
For the mind expects, attends and _re.memb ers: what '.it e~pects passe§l,
by way of w
hat it a t tends to, into w t it remembers •
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At any r at e it is now quite cle2..r th .~· t neither future nor past a ctually
exists. Nor is it right to s ay there ar e thre e times, past, pres ent a nd
future. Perhaps it wo uld be m e correct t o s n.y: ther e are three ti.mes, a
or
pres ent of things p ast, a present of things pressnt, ~ pre s ent of things
future. For the s e three exist in the mind, an d I find them nowhe r e else:
the present of things futur e is expe ct ution. If we a r e a llowed t o speak
thus, I s ee and admit th Rt the r e ar e three times, thqt three tiraes truly ar e.
By all means c ontinue to s p,_ y that th e r e a re three t i.me s, p r'. st, present
and futurej for, th ough it is incorre~t, custom allows it. By all means
�say it. I do1not mind, I neither argue nor object: provided that you understand what you are saying and do not think ~uture or past now exists.
There are few things that we phrase properly; most things we phrase badly:
but what we are trying to say is understood. 11 4.
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One is conscious only of time pres ent. This, no one would deny. Of future
time and past time, we have no experience. Yet, we infer them. If there is no
time, whence comes memory? Very well, there must be something, time, which allows
memory. But what more can we say about it? That it is extended? Cert ainly not;
for as Augustine perc eived, we measure, not time, but our pres ent memory. Do not
the things of memory seem to be controlled by some objective, precise, and extended
tin1e? Does not a watch regularly tick off the seconds? Perhaps it does; but
what, to us, is the substance of those seconds, once they are passed; or while they
are passing, of that part tha t is passed, and th at part that is still to come?
Let us place ourselves at the end of a second. How long ago wa s the be~inning
of that second? A second, an hour, a year? We have nothing but the W,emory, in
the present, of the tick of a watch. Of the past, we have nothing. The tick of
the watch might have been before our birth, or after our death, but ~or the fact
that it has a cert3.in place, not time , in our present memory. We exist, are conscious, now. We have one substantial thing, awareness of being; and this thing
must be singly, solidly, presLnt. It is not being impelled into time future, for
there is no such time; it is not being expelled from time past, for time past is
only here, now, in our memory.
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Armed with thes e somewhat negative obs ervations on time, we can attack the
final form of his ass ertion of self exist ence. Earlier in the Medit a tions
he makes the simple statement, I am; but since to be mc.kes little sense unless it
is to be thitl.king, he later concludes, I think, therefore I am. All our conscious
existence is thinking existence, and the remarks we have made concerning ego and
time, although they seem obvious enough in themselves, cannot be brought into
proper perspective without relating them to thought.
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It might seem, at first, that even if we cannot know of the existence of
a self, we can know of the existence of thoughts. That this is impossible ia
inherent in our earlier a rgument, but it must be explained. Hume thought that
it was the discrete and varying nature of thoughts that indic ated the non-existence
of ego; but to do this, he had to consider the thoughts as objects in time--and
since we have used thought, and that form of it called memory, in an attempt to
show the illusion of the object-subject ide a, we must assert that we have no
·
knowledge of them as things. But can we, inde ed, e scape from our thoughts any more
than we can escape from ourselves? If we cannot be conscious without thinking,
. we by the same token cannot think without being conscious. But a thought takes
time; and we cannot be conscious, at one time, over an area of time. We cannot
think the beginning, middle, and end of a thought at once. We may try, but we
cannot do it. vVe can no more lay our hands on a thought than we can lay them on
ourselves. Here we find th e real meaning of Augustine's remarks about time. Consciousness must, it is gene rally agreed, be in the present. But the beginning
of the thought we have j ust complet ed is in the past, and so is not in the consciousness. If we revive it through memory, we r epeat it in the present; but it is
still no more than present, for it cannot drag th e pa st with it. But while we
are once n.ore conscious of the beginning of the thought, we have lost its end;
and if we once more reach its end, the beginning is gone. We do not want to des- ·
troy thoughts, or thinking; but we must know what we mean when we use these terms.
The thinking process is a "subj ect" process. You may s ay, if you wish, that our
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awareness is in the form of thinking. Very well: but our awareness is not of
thinking. Thinking is not a thing; it does not have an existence separate from
that of simple consciousness. We cannot say, "there are thought"; we cannot
say, "thinking is". Self, thinking, and time a r e inextricably bound up in simple
consciousness. They cannot possibly be objectified; and since the only meaning
of "subject", other than "is", is a substantive, an objective meaning, neither
time nor self nor thinking are valid experiential terms. Or, if they are, 11 is 11
is not; which is absurd.
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The argument we have presented is, if difficult, at least not involved.
The first step in any comprehensive philosophy must be the establishment of the
priority of knowledge; and for the sceptic, consciousness of being is prior to
an1 other knowledge, and is the only re al knowledge. None of those sceptical
philosophers whom we h ave mentioned stated their premisses in quite so extreme a
form; but while they may ha ve added an 11 1 11 here, or a mathematical universe there,
consciousness was the basis for th e ir -sp eculations. Vfe are now prepared to offer
innumerable concessions. We must only be careful to offer them in the proper
order, and with the proper restrictions. Science, we accept, probably to the
amusement of most scientists. But to those among their ranks whQ are materialists,
we also offer the following paradox: If you ass2rt that consciousness is an illusion, that it ha s no real content, from what source comes your idea of predication?
You are certain enough that things are: but if you at the same time throw out
consciousness, please explain how you can possibly have any idea of being. If
you would throw out the ide a of being as well, explain how it is those things that
are left continue in any way to exist, and how it is you make assertions concerning them. And remember: if you do accept being, and do not, as you cannot,
explain it without consciousness, you must reject those things which you s ay are,
as any more than a useful but inexplice.ble way of speaking; for you have no idea
to what the word thing might apply. You may devise neurological sciences, you
may construct machines; but those sciences, even if we admit them, can only consider thoughts as objects, and thinking as an objective process; and those machines, if they are to make predications, are only an objective reflection of ideas
derived from your own consciousness. Sciences and machines can make sense only
in the light of the idea of existence; and until you can devise some way of
speakihg not based on this idea, nothing you can say concerning the objective
source of consciousness makes the least sense. You are trapped, if you wish, by
your speech; but you may be sure, that however much it seems only a trap, it is
one that offers no meaningful concept of escape.
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We have characterized science as offering dangers to philosophy and to society_
These dangers were only from the point of view of science; and while the number
of its adherents may have been, and may still be l arge, society was slowly changing
its form with as little r e spect for science as science had for philosophy. The
jump form consciousness to the things of science and society is a great one;
but it was with a philosophic awareness of this jump, and not a mere scientific
awareness of the r e sultant cosmology, tha t the social forms of scepticism arose .....
The ethical, political, and cosmological ass ertions contained in the philosophies
of Greece and the Church must remain perplexing. Plato or Thomas have meaning
enough, when met on their own terms, but there is a vast gap between their conclusions and those that were t o evolve under scepticism. We cannot bridge that
gap. Even if we could, it is not ne cessary or desirable to attempt a refutation
of the ancients. Neither can we a ttempt a treatise on modern politics, ethics~
science and religion. We must cont ent ourselves, rather, with a general explic.ation
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of the effe cts of scepticism on t he s e things ; for i t is the very ess ence of
scepticism th at its influence is by implica tion , and not by de rivable argument.
The medi ation be t ween the extreme s ecpticism we have presented and society
may be cha ract eriz ed by Descarte s. Eve n if the logic al limit of subst antial
knowledge i s exhausted in simple consciousness , our natural inclinations le ad us
irrevocably to the principle of s elf consciousne ss. From here, the next important
st ep, according to thos e principles vT
hich a r e most 11 clear and distinct " , seems
to be th at t o the na tural sciences. The sciences, in their devel opment, open up
a v ast, fruitful, but philosophic ally unassuming way of s atisfying our curiosity
as to th e wo rkings of the cosmo s ; while at the s ame time , t he sc eptic al maintenance o f the i dea of simpl e consciousnes s protects the idea · of s e lf consciousness from the att acks of ma t eri al det e rminism. Real knowledge is the s i mple
awar eness of being; probabl e knowl edge is s elf and science . But re l igion and
politics are conc e rned primarily with t he f orme r; and although politics in some
of its a spects ha s adopted th e f or m of the l att e r, s inc e it must by de finition
de al with the world of t hings and action, it is the idea of the Cartesian ego
th at ha s come to pervade, at least implicitly, both politics and reli gion.
The Reformation had begun some hundre d years bef or e Descartes' most important work. It would be i mpo ssible to list t he vari ety of causes for th e rise and
incredible eff e ct of this gr eat movem
ent. But we ma y a t l east s ay that one of
i t s prima ry motivating f a ctors wa s not so much th eologic al as political and,
within the political sphe re, e conomic. Luther's objections ma y have been as
much against th e corrupt practices t o be f ound in the Church at tha t time, as
against the polit i cal and economic activit i es ; but it was the desire for economic
freedom that brought northern Euro~e to his support. But as this de sire was
gratifi ed, both in Protest ant Europe and, with reform and concession, within
th e domain of the Church, the way was opened for a m e s erious r econsideration
or
of r eligion its elf. Prote st antism began t o formul at e a l a rger and l arger distinction be tween the things of Caes a r and those of God; and i t was a distinction
based on th e idea of th e inner, and ignorant, s elf. Man is put in the world,
and may t ake it as he finds it; for ther e is no de riv able theology t o proscribe
a r eligiously Purpos eful st andard of political Rction. The s oul can only attempt
to maint ain its inner fibrs and f aith. W
orks may follow this; but how, or in
what order, is not a subj e ct fo r human investig ation. It is th e s elf tha t we
know; and it is in the s elf th 2t th e principle of our s alvation or damnation
must be found. Prote st ant ism i s not so m
uch an anti-Thomastic th eology, as a form
of Christianity marked by the sc eptic al abs enc e of theol ogy. W
here dogma has
risen in it, we find not so much a meaningful construct , a s a tool for the critical
elimination of externally ordered theology.
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Calvin, for example , st ands in theology in somewhat th e way Hume stands in
philosophy. He cuts through the immens e me ch anism tha t st ands be tween th e Catholic
and his God . There is s elf, and there is God . If God gives grace, it is r e ceived;
if He denies it, it is not . The r e is no int elligible caus al construct between;
and the re is no thing mor e we can know or do about it . The r el a tionship is simple
and direct, and the external world can have no significance in it. Calvin's
other doctrine s ar e ma rked by a simila r lo gic al ne cessity and critical barrenne ss ~
We are reminded of Desc arte s, who was t o proceed in a similar manner from extreme
doubt, through clear and distinct principles , to a sc eptic ally a nalytic al, egocentric view of the world . But if Clavi n shows us the l ogic al ba sis fo r a politically sceptical Protest antism, he deni ed it in practice ; and it was onl y with
�the passage of time that th8 nobler instincts of Augustine and Luther were to have
their final justification, as the Protestant churches adopted that softer and more
reasonable form of scepticism which, though its theological roots, if it is to
have them, must be in something like Calvinism, is more nearly like what Hume
described as the academic philosophy.
freed by the Reformation from theology, also arose transformed
Monarchs and despots continued to rise and fall; but with the invention of printing, and the consequent increase in the education of the citizenry, Western civilization faced
for the first time the possibility of developing a wurkable political theory.
As this possibility became more evident, it is no surprise, the Platonic and
Aristotelian discussiohs of the subject were forgotten, and the more substantial
idea of self, coupled with a scepticism at the possibility of any externally dictated political pattern, produced the doctrine 6f rights. Justice became, in
its political definition, the justice of Epicurus; a kind of pact between men,
not to harm or be harmed. Hobbes and Locke derived their i::olitical theories from
a hypothesised state of nature. But whether they believed their descriptions of
the state of nature or not, the important thing is that these states were based
on the condition of each individual mind. Whether that mind is governed by natural
law, as I.ocke asserted, or purely by its desires and instinct for self preservation, as in Hobbes, it has no commitment to other minds, and need make no commitments except to attain benefits for itself. There is no State, no higher or purposeful civic organism, which is desirable for its own sake. There is ~nly a
society of men, living under a mutually established minimal order, that they
may secure the blessings of liberty. What they may wish to do within that minimal
order is their own business, and their own right; for that order has no other end
than the service of the self.
Politi~s,
by the scepticism that was informing post-Renaissance El.ll'9pe.
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The political and religious views outlined here, coupled with the cosmology
of experimental science, constitute the major philosophic results of the introduction of doubt as the criterion for philosophic knowledge. If any one philosopher is responsible for the ascendence of doubt as a critical tooi it is Descartes.
But it is never quite correct to attribute any major cultural revolution to the
insight of one man. It is Cartesian doubt that supplied the touchstone for the
philosophic acceptance and application of scepticism; but it would be grossly unrealistic to attribute scepticism itself to Descartes. Galvin had applied sceptieism to theology before Descartes was boni, and had applied it, if unwittingly,
in a very Cartesian manner. Augustine had been the unrecognized precursor of an
amazing number of things in the · post-Renaissance movement, and even of the very
recently developed science of psychology. His examination of time has proved
crucial in our formulation of the final statement of Cartesian doubt; and he
had stated the Cogito, though he had not given it the proper importance, more
than ten centuries before Descartes. Science, particularly mathematical science,
might be considered, as we have indicated, a necessary development for Descartes'
formulation of analytical space; for it is quite certain that the beginnings of
experimental science precede Descartes, however great an impetus it was given by
Cartesian philosophy. The eclectic philosophies of the Renaissance, and the first
really obvious clash of the classic philosophies between themselves, and with the
newly developing astronomy, may well have given rise to the academic scepticism
described by Hume as the academic philosophy. Nor is it unreasonable to suppose
that this unoriented scepticism might have provided the groundwork for the . acceptance of Descartes' precise formulation of doubt, and the mathematical, scientific,
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and social r esults it was eventually t o have. Without a more tempered, academic
scepticism at its base, W
astern civilization a t Descartes' time could never have
accepted his extremes of doubt as the basis on which to r eform its structure •
But whatever r easons the r e may have bee n f or accepting Cartesian scepticism, it
was Descartes' precise formulation of the cons equences of doubt t hat was necessary
to provide a genuine philosophic founda tion f or th e academic philosophy, and to
give it a direction and mode of argument •
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But if it was the s elf that was the foundation for the probable argwnents
that were to flow from it. Prob ability is not demonstrable; and however clear
and distinct the principles which l ed to sci enc e and the sc eptical politics and
religion, it could only be t v t he judgment, and not to the intellect, that these
things seemed likely or important. Pasc al has rightly distinguished between
mathematical and intuitive r easoning. But at the same time he suggests that the
whole man must stand between th em, using them as they apply; and since the judgment concerning their correct application must include both, he unconsciously
appeals to something more comprehensive in t he minds of men . ·
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If we define intuitive r easoning as r easoning bas ed on an acquaintance with
the things of the everyday world, able t o predict and a ct with a ssurance in conducting human affairs, without being able to explicate the number and relationship of the causes on which it bases its de cisions; and if we define mathematical
reasoning as reasoning concerning the pre cise and logic al r el ationships of quantity
and number; then we can call tha t which gov erns thes e things in their turn nothing but, simply, judgment . Reasoning, if you wish, can make inferences, whether
mathematical or pragmatic; but it is the judgment that must est ablish their value ,
their r elevance . It must, in the l ast analysis, be t he judgment of the great
scientist or mathematician or philosopher which l eads him to consider things
whose relevance has escaped a thous and of his co nt emporaries . It is this fact
that is est ablished m
ore clearly by th e sceptical philosophy than by any other.
When Mohtaigne s ays that he pref ers t o live by thos e things that are nearest and
most obvious , he applies exactly t he principle us ed.by Descartes in determining
those thi ngs most clear and distinct . Descartes , in the light of his doubt, refus es to accept into his philosophy any abs tra ct ed dialectical or logical conclusion . What ever els e he may l os e , he m t insist on subst ance, immediacy, for the
us
foundatiohs of his philosophy. W know nothing but simple being; we assume the
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self; and we view the wo rd in t he most simplified and distinct way we can contrive •
Beyond this point, anything that s eems philosophy, anything which gives the appearance of knowledge of a universal truth, can but m nfus e our judgment and compound
our error. We can only t ake those things t hat appear, weigh them to the best of
our ability, and judge ; f or we ar e awar e of th e limits of those things subject
to philosophic investigation. If it is t o the exe rcise of this judgment that philosophy must reduce us, and i f it isthe hi ghes t exe rcise of t his judgment tha t
characterizes po e t r y, we m at l east i n some s ense m t th e ancient argument of
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Plato . To do so _, we only need t o go and write some vers e •
�BIBLIOGRAPHY
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Confessions of St. Augustine, F. J. Sheed, translator,
Sheed & Ward, 19 54, pages 271, 273, 27 4, 279, 283, 284, 276
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Ibid., pp. 179-180
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Ibid., p. 36
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David Hurne, An Enguiry Concerning Human Understanding,
Open Court Publishing Company, 1949, p.79
l'.
�Lessing : The Link between Becoming and Being
Edward Gelblum
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Without difficulty it can be s een that Spinoxa' s thought had a substantial
influence upon the thinkers who followed him . Leibniz, Lessing, and Goethe show
seeds, in varying degrees , of Spinoza's thought. Lessing presents a most interesting example. An initial reading of Lessing's theological writings, particularly
if one reads only his Education of th e Human Race, le aves the r eader with a faint
taste of Spinoza L. A second, more complete and more careful reading of Lessing
very clearly shows Lessing to be speaking in t erms which are not Spinoza's, but
which are Leibniz's . Lessing's ideas come to be se en as an unique combination, the
components of which are partly derived from Spinoza, partly from Leibniz, and
partly from Lessing himself . Lessing not only added new ideas to the combination
which he created, but he also gave the ideas an lillique form. To be able to clearly
see the relation Lessing had to both Leibniz and Spinoza it is necessary to examine
several of the fundamental problems dealt with by the three of these thinkers.
The task is made somewhat easier for Lessing himself explicitly makes statements
concerning this relationship. This would thc;n seem th e first place to look . The
statements Lessing himself makes concerning this relationship· then become a guide
to see by and the background from which the relationship can be understood .
In 1785 Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi, a German philosopher, published his Letters
to Moses Mendelssohn Concerning the Doctrine of Spinozain these letters Jacobi
claimed to have visited Lessing not long before Lessing 's death, and during that
visit to have conversed with Lessing on the topic of Spinoza's philosophy. Jacobi
reports Lessing to have stated the following: "The orthodox ideas of Deity are no
longer possible for me; I cannot enjoy them. "~~ v ~ - ~ 1 11'; v · (One and all) . I know
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nothing clse • ••. oThere is no other philosophy except the philosophy of Spinoza •••• •
I have no desire for free will. 11 2 . J a cobi 1 s publication initiated a heated theological dispute over the relationship of Lessing to Spinoza.
If we accept Jacobi's repo rt of what Lessing said, th e following factors can
be conside r ed . Since t he conv ersation was r e ported to have taken place shortly before Lessing 1s death (some six months), the vi ews expressed by Lessing can be considered as Lessing's sinc ere conviction a nd understanding of himself. Spinozistic
ideas were not respectable; they were cons idered a s h eretical. This view expressed
by Lessing in a private convers ation is very difficult to see by the reader who,
being unaware of this conversa tion and the precision of its formulation by Lessing
himself, reads only what Lessing wrote. As it will be indicated below, it is much
easier to find Leibniz in Less i ng.
Leibniz is very clear in th ~ t he understands himself to have ce rtain disagreements with Spinoza . In his Jh_e_Qdicy Leibniz writes, "After all, I think one must
1. In the Germa n tutorial at St. John's College, only Lessing 1s Education of the Hum
Human Race is studiedo The above sta tement, that an initial reading of this work
leaves the reader with a f aint taste of Spinoza, is an obse rvation of the general
reactions of the students in their work .
2 . Accounts of this conversation can be found in Lessing rs Theology W
riting, ed.
and trans . by Henry Chadwick, 19 56; s ee a lso Leon Roth, Spinoza, 1929. The most
I
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not reproach any but the adhe r ents of Hobbes and Spinoza 1, . i th destroying freedom and .
contingency; for they think that th at which happens is alone possible, and must happen
by brute geometric nece ssity ••.. Spinoza also divested God of int e lligence and choice,
leaving him a blind power, wh ence all emanates of necessity." And further on Leibniz
says, "But Spinoz a, who was versed in th e Caba l a of th e write rs of his race, and who .
says (Tra tatus Politicus, ch. 2, n. 6) tha t men, conceiving of freedom as they do,
establish a dominion v.i thin God's dominion, has go ne too f a r. The dominion of God
is with Spinoza nothing but the dominion of necessity, and of a blind necessity (as
with Strata), ·whereby everything emana t es from the di vine nature , while no choice is
left to God, and man's choic e do es not exempt him from necessity." 3 .
.·.
.
,
Leibniz's essential quarr el with Spinoza is that Spinoza's system is a completety
deterministic system of nG
tural n ecessity, l a cking of human fr eedom and contingency.4.
It seems thGt Leibniz wants to r e t ain c8rtain essential Christian elements, namely, ·
the individual soul and human fr eedom. I t is very striking that~ in order for Leibniz
to do this, he must make the di st inction betwee n what is certain and what is necessary. 5. On the basis of this distinctio n is th e found ation of Leibniz's dichotomy
of truth, as will be shown below, is ths basis from v"hich Lessing starts. In view
of what has now been said, it becomes nece ss ary to formulate some general notion of
Lessing's understanding of the relationship between Spinoza and Leibniz.
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For our purpos es it is not ne cessa ry to see in det ail whRt Lessing understood
concerning agre ements and dis agreeme nts in thought between Leibniz and Spinoza.
Above we have Leibniz's own statements of how he dis agrees with Spinoza. This disagreement is obvious and is not difficult to s ee . Cert ainly Less ing undarstood this 1
But it also seems th<t Lessing understood Spinoza's thought to possess many essential
seeds for Leibniz. The title of a very short work of Lessing's indicates this:
Through Spinoza Leibniz Approached Only to the V e sti~ e of the Prede t 8rmined Ha rmonx.
In this work Les s ing states that it was Spinoza who brought Leibniz to the predeter- ·
mined harmony. But Lessing is very exact in stating th at Spinoza's thought led
Leibniz only to the v~stige of the pr ed~termine d harmony, and that it is only in
this sense Spinoza can be understood to perfectly express Leibniz. Latent in
Spinoza are the s eeds from which Leibniz developed his pr ede termined h&
rmony.
Lessing underst ands the furth er exposition of the predete rmined harmony to be the
w
ork of Leibniz's individual sagacity. That is, Leibniz's disagreements with Spinoza
are the work of his own individua l sagacity. Lessing is able to use both Spinoza
and Leibniz in formulating his own insight. If we ar e to accept Jacobi's report,
it must be seen t hc:tt Lessing, without complet e ly fors aking Leibniz, is in substantial
agreement with Spinoza •
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It was suggested above th at upon examination Lessing is found to be speaking
clearly in Leibniz's terms. This is seen in a pamphlet Lessing wrote entitled
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important writings concerning the controversy over Spinoza are collected and published in German; H. Seholz, Die Hauptschriften zwn Pantheismusstreit zwischen
Jacobi und Mendelssohn, Be rlin 1916.
3. Leibniz, Theodicy, Pt. III, para. 371-2
4. For Spinoza's views of n ecessit y and contingency s ee Theologico-Politico Treatise,
ch. IV and Ethics, Pt. I, Prop. 33, note 1.
5. Leibniz, Discourse on Metaphysics, XIII .
�•.
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.;
6.
On The Proof of the Spirit and of Power.
In this pamphlet Le ssing 1 s most trying
theological problem is formul at ed and pre sented with clarity and pre cision. The
answer to the problem, or Lessing's suggested answer, will be indicated below and
is found in anoth er place, namely the Education of the Human Ra ce. Lessing's pamphlet On The Proof of the Spirit and of Powe r i s a disagreement and an answer to
Origen. In St. Paul's I Corinthians 7. the apos tle st ate s that his words are not
words of ma n 1s wisdom, but ar e in demonstra tion of the Spirit and of Powe r. Origen,
in his Contra Celsum 8. , inte rpre ts the above cited verse of I Corinthians. This
is the point from which Les sing s ee s his probl em.
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' ii.
In brief, Orig:en 's argument is as follows: that the truth of the Gospel has a
proof uni~ue to its elf , f or th e r e are th ose living who are a ctua l witnesses to the
miracles ·. But Lessing cla ims to be no longer in Origen's position, for Lessing
lives in the eighteenth century, a time in which miracl es no longer happen. For
Lessing the proofs of the spirit and of power ar e no longe r proofs of such, but are
merely human t estimonie s and repo r ts, th at is, they are hwnan histories of spirit
and powe r 10. • The re a r e fulfill ed pr ophesies known only through personal experience; th ere are fulfilled prophesies known only through the expe rience of reading
histories of them. The r e are miracles one s ees with one's own eyes ; there are miracles one knows only through the experience of r eading histories of them. That is,
actually fulfilled prophesies and miracles ar e very different from r eports of such.
A
nd, since Le ssing finds no miracles and fulf i lled prophesies occurring in his age,
since he must vi ew the r eport s of th es e through a medium of eighte en huhdred years,
Lessing finds all of the ir forc e tak 8n away. Historic al certainty is much too weak
to hold what is built upon it.
Lessing do es not de ny that the reports of mira cle s and prophesies are r eliable
historical truths. But he cla irns that th ey ar e no more than tha t and should not be
treated as m
ore. Less ing unde rs tands th at no historic al t ruth can be demonstrated
(note, they are reported) and th at nothing can be demo nstrated by means of histor..ical truth. In the pamphlet On The Proof of the Spirit and of Powe r Lessing states,
"accide nt al truths of history n eve r become proof of necess ary t r uths of re a son. 11
Thus Le ssing ha s a dichotomy of t ruth: a ) historical truth; b) necessary truths of
reason.
·i·· ·
Necess ary trut hs of r eason ci.re acc e pted upon demonstration. This is obvious
to Lessing arrl he devot ed little time to its expl anation. Lessing ha s more difficulty in explaining wha t it rn€ans to a cc ept an historical proposition as true.
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6. The complet e title of t his pamphlet is as follows: Christi Lehre und di e histo r isch e W
ahrheit: Uebt. r den Bewe i .s des Geistes and und def Kraft.
7. St. Pa ul, I Corinthian, II :4
8. Origen, Contra Cel sum, Bk. I, ch. 2.
9. c. 185?-?2 54 A. D.
10. Conside r only th e title of anothe r of Lessing 's t heo logical writings, New
Hypothesis Concerning the Evange lis ts Regarded Mere ly a s Human Historians.
11. See Lessing's pamphlet , On The Proof of the Spirit and of Power.
�"Does it mean anything other than this: to accept this proposition, this
truth as valid? to accept tha t th e r e is no obj ection to be brought against
it? to accept that one historical proposition is built on one thing, another
on another, that from one historical truth anoth er follows? to reserve to
oneself the right to estimate other historical things acco rdingly? • .,. 11.
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Lessing takes the example of Alexander, as he could just a s we ll t A any supposed
ke
historical truth and puts the proposition to the r eader thus: we believe the reports
concerning Alexanderi bu.t upon such r epo rts who would risk anything irrepE1.r able,
such as one's life? 2. Lessing finds himself unwilling to t ake this risk because
it might be possible th at the r eports concerning f,lexander a re founded on no other
bette r historical a uthority than th e r eports of th e Trojan War being founded on the
authority of Homer's po etry.
.. -·---... ..
It is with this dichotomy of truth as a principle, namely historical truths
and nec essary truths of reason, that Lessing re ads & understands the Biblical
nd
revelation. If on historic al grounds there is no objection that Christ himself rose
from the dead, must one also acc ept a s true th at the ris en Christ wa s the Son of God?
In Lessing 1 s t e rms, if one ha s no historic a l obj ection to the historical fact that
Christ rose from the dead, than this proposition can be a cc epte d as an historical
truth. But, the proposition tha t Christ was the Son of God is not an historical
truth and, a s such, cannot be accepted on the grounds of historic 2l evidence. The
former of these two truths is historical, the l atter is one which our reason rebels
against; the former has non-o bjectionable historical evidence to support it, the
latt e r ha s no reason to support it. Th at the l atter should depend on the'former
would be a jump from an historica l t ruth to truths of a different class; it would
be, as Lessing ref ers to Aristot l e , n µ r""'- r··c1.J9,:.Tis cis
(transformation
to another kind). Now, at this point, Lessing's problem can be formulated; Lessing
hims elf will formulate it for us. But in order to see and und erstand the full
imp2.ct of the problem, one must first l ook to Leibniz. In Leibniz is found the
strict l ogic al formulation of the dichotomy of truth which Lessing uses as his principle to understD.nd Biblical r eve l ation. Lessing seems to adopt his dichotomy of
from Leibniz.
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Wben Le ibniz speaks of th e individual notion of each person in his Discourse on
Metaphysics, he makes the distinction between w
hat is certain arid what is necessary ..
Leibniz is necessit ated to do this in order to pr e serve hwnan liberty and free will l3
The 'absolutely n ece ss ary ' proposition for Le ibniz is one of which its contra ry would
imply a contradiction. Deductions from the 'absolutely necessary' propositions are
thos e among the e t ernal truths, for example th ose of geometry. The 1 certain proposition', for Leibniz, is necesc ary only ex hypothesi. It is contingent and its contrary
will not contradict it. The hypothe sis of a 'ce rtain 1 proposition is ·in the mind
of God and its hypothetical deductions ar e known 2 priori only by God. The contrary
to this kind of proposition is possibl e in its elf, but impossible ex hypothesi ..
The deductions from this kind of proposition are human a ctions which are known with
a priori certainty by God, but which are not known by men until after the fact,
that is c.. posteriori. Huma n o.ctions are then known by men as history 14 ·
.; 1.
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12. This wager of Lessing' s is extremely int er esting when comp ar ed with Pascal 1s
famous wager. There we s ee the mark ed contrast of the man who despairs of humanity
and one who beli eve s i n humanity.
lJ. See 2bove, p. 2, where Leibniz's relation and opinion of Spinoza is discussed.
14. Leibniz, Discourse on Metaphysics, XIIL
�• • o•: •
In his New Essays Conce rning Human Underst anding, Leibniz aga in makes a similar
distinction, th at is, one betwe en n ece ss a ry Clild et ernal truths and, in t e rms of this
work, truths of experience . He r e Leibni z speaks of the human understanding; in the
Discours e on Metaphysics he spoke of God's und8rst anding. Ptoofs of th e nec e ssary
truths come from the und e rst anding alone . The y a r e demonstrable and necessary, for
example the truths of mathema tics. The other kind of truths ar e known from experience or from the oper ations of t he sens es. The hL n mind underst ands both of these
una
kinds of truth, but it is not the so urce of the l a tt er. Th e latter are not demonstrable, nor are they abso lut ely ne cess ar y, a s are the first type of truths spoken
of in th e beginning of this pa r agraph. Exampl es of these t ruths would be the truths
of history I5."
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Firn:i.lly, again in the Monado lo gy, his rigorous philosophic swnm:..' ry, Leibniz
makes the same distinctions of a dichotomy of truths: truths of re asoning and truths
of fact. The rule for each is r esp ectively th e principle of contradiction and the
principle of sufficient r eason. The t ruths of r ea soning a r e ne cessary and do not
permit of the possibility of th eir contradictor y o pposit es, for example the truths
of mathematics. The truths of f a ct are contingent and th eir opposites are possible,
for example the truths of history 1 6 •.
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It can thus be seen th at Leibniz in his rigorous systema tic way establishes the
bases upon which Lessing distinguishes between necessary truth and historica l truth.
Leibniz's dichotomy of t ruth is th e logi cal basis upon which Lessing stands. But
Lessing will only start on the ba sis of this Leibnizian distinction; he ao e s not
follow Leibniz. Leibniz cat egoric a lly s epar ates ne cess ary truth from historical
truth. For Leibniz the s e distincti ons ar e logical, met aphysical, and epist omological. Le ibniz's precis e and pristin e s eparation of th e se types of truth make
for two s e para te, comple t e l y s epa r at e, cat ego ries of truth. There is no conne ction
be twe en th8m.
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Now th e full impa ct of Lessing 1 s problem can be se en. Lessing, starting from
a founda tion of a Leibnizian logic of s epar at e cat egories of truth, does not want
to follow Leibniz. Lessing wants t o r et ain , as a logical distinction, Leibniz 1 s
distinction of sepa r a t e unconnected categories of truth, but yet he wants to jump
the ga p between them. Actua lly orthodox the olo gy is asking Lessing to make the
jump. Orthodox theology promulg at e s cert ain unhistorical doctrines and demands
support and a ss ent t o su ch do c~rin es on a Scriptural basis. Orthodox. theology demanded Le ssing to take this jump, and furthGr, tha t upon this jump to formulate all
his metaphysical and mora l ideas a ccordingly, t o alt er his fundame ntal ideas of
the Godhe ad --- r egardless of r ea son. But upon th e f ound a tion of Leibnizian logic
that Lessing st ood on, he could not make the j ump. In Lessing's own words we have
his problem: "tha t,_ then, is the ugly, broad ditch which I cannot get a cross, however often and however earne stly I have tried t o make the l eap. 11 17.
Lessing felt
this problem to the depth of his being, for he begs help of anyone who can help him
resolve it. Lessing's problem is t o l eap from historical evidence to the truths
of a ne ce ss a ry and demonstrable nature . Le s s ing's problem is t o find a way whereby
he can go from historical truth t o the truths of philosophy.
15. Leibniz,
Langley ed.,
16. Leibniz,
17 . Lessing,
N8w Ess ays ~onc e rning Human Understanding, Bk. I, ch. 1. A. G.
p. 81.
Monadology, 33.
On The Proof of the Spirit and of PmNe r.
�.. ---·-· --- ·
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In his r eading of Scripture Le ssing s eems t o s ee certain non-historical
doctrin es as true . To t he qu es ti on of wh at bi nds one to th ese t eachings, thos e not
demonstra ted by mira cles , Lessing answe rs th at th e t eachings th emself bind one.
Th at is, th e fruits of the t eachings bind one , the ends of th e t eachings. Less~ng
says that it ma t ters not w
heth e r th8 l egend, th at is th e history, is true or f alse,
provided the fruits are goo d. The l e gend he can i gno r e . !1lready, it s eems, that
Lessing ,' s Educ a ti on of the Human Race is forming its elf in his mind.
At the very end of hi s pamphlet On The Pr oof of the Spirit and of Power, in his
cond uding r emark, Lessing gives th e r eader a clue t o th e so lution of his problem.
11
;. ·
The G
ospel of J ohn i s unusual. For when comp2 r ed with th e other three accounts of
th e Gospel, M tthew, M
a
ark, and Luke , its diffe r enc e from them is like a sore thumb
standing out. The Go spel of John cont ains many difficult ideas. In it one finds
much talk of 'Spirit ' and such like matt ers. That is, in the Gospel of John a r e
found doctrine s of a non-hi sto ric al cha r a ct er and of a non-re a sonable nature .
Because of this the Gospel of J ohn divides; it turns men away. Lessing calls on
those who are divided by the Gospel of J ohn t o be r eunit8d in th e Te stament of
John. The Testament of J ohn is ths source of Les s ing's own idea • .More accurately,
the Testament of John as r ead through th e int erpre t a tion of Joachim of Floris is the
sourc e of Lessing's o~m idea . 18 · The Tes t ament of John is the spark which gives
Lessing his great insight and it is this insight or intuition that so l ves Le ssing's
probl em f or him •
, I
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I conclude , an d my wi sh is: May a ll who are divided by the Gospel of John
be reunit ed by the Testamen of J ohn •.•
.
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Lessing mak es his jump. He l eaves l ogic behind and he l eave s Leibniz behind.
In pla ce of l ogic intuiti on its elf bridg es th e gap -- Lessing's own peculiar intuition. This intuition, this s olution t o his problem, Lessing outlines in his
Educa tion of th e Human Ra ce . In th e Educ ation of the Huma n Ra ce Lessing make s a
gre at synth esis. He makes a synthe sis of the historical and the rational. He
synth esiz es the e l ements the diplomatic Le ibni z kept a part. If we t urn to Le ssing 1 s
Education of the Human Race , to a rticle number fifty-nine , we see Lessing a sserting
what he a ss e rt ed in the pamphlet On The Proo f of th ~ Spirit and of Power. Christ,
the first r eliabl e t 2a ch er of the i mmorta lity of the soul -- h e was r e liable b ecause of the prophe sies fulfill ed in hirn and becaus e of th e mira cles which he achi eved to put th e s eal to his t eaching. W
heth e r or not t h e fulfilled prophesies
or achieved mira cles , this history, the s e l egends, can now be proved is of little
consequenc e . The t eaching its elf, the end, is good. J, t eaching, the immortality
of t he s oul, wa s pre s ented through his t orica l r eve l a tion, but it i s a t eaching
concerning a truth commensura ble with human understanding. 19. Reas on t akes hold
of this t eaching, gives its truth clearness, and can then dispens e with th e t eacher.
This is the general t enor of Le ssing' s Educa tion of Mankind.
18. Lessing,
can be found
History, ch.
19. Consider
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Educ a tion of th e Human R&
ce, 86- 88. An a ccount of J oachim of Flori s
in the Catholic Encyc l o pae di a . See also, K rl Loewith, Me aning in
a
8.
Plato's M •
eno
�The unity of God 2.nd the immort a lity of th e soul are doctrines of ete rnal
necessary truth. Certain individual men have discovered the se truths with the use
of th eir r eason . These a r e those who Spinoza considered truly blessed, the philosophers. But thes e same truths are pres ent e d to mankind as r eveal ed truths a t
various stages in history, ea ch truth being pres ented at the appropriate time when
mankind is ready for i t . For exampl e, the doctrine of the unity of God is presented
thr ough the Old Testament; th e doctrine of the immo rt a lity of th e soul is presented
through t he New Testan1ent r eve l ation. Lessing sees this as a gi gantic historical
process of educ 2
,tion (1 rzi ehung) for the whole of huma nity. As the proc ess continue s, giving one truth at on\:j time a nd a nothe r at ano ther time, the human understa nding makes a progress i ve deve l opment.
This progr ~ ss iv e educating of th e human
r eason through r evel a tion ha s its end, what Lessing calls the pe rfe ction of mankind .
By this perfe ction of ma nkind Lessing seems t o mean the perfection of the human
under st anding. This will occur when mankind will be able t o underst and the ete rnal
truths of r eason in themselves, not through hist orical r eve l at i on. This will be
Lessing's third age, the age of enlightenment. M
ankind will do wha t is right
bec aus e it is right. The r eve l a tion will be fulfill ed •
: R:
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Above it wa s st ated that Le ssing's intuition which solves his problem is a
synthe sis of th e historica l and th s ration al. We a re interested in trying to
understand Lessing 1s statement to Jacobi, that is in what way Lessing can be understood to be a Spinozist. To underst an d Lessing to be a Spinozist depends on how
one unde rst ands the synthesis of the historic a l and the r a ti ona l. Spinoza is the
point from which one must start.
.
It is not completely inac curat e to des cribe Spinoza' s po litica l thought (The
':Dheologico-Politico Treatis e) as r evolutiona ry. More accura tely, it is the r es ult
of the foundations of Spinoza 's poli tic al thought that can be described a s r evoluti onary, for th er e ar e ideas in Spinoza which had al re ady appeared in the politic al
thought of Hobbes . The f oundations of Spinoza's po li t ic al t hought i s the substance
of Spind z2 's philosophy a s it is found in his Eth ics. Resultantly, this can be
described as th e destruction of a tradition. Thi s tradition was some sixteen
hundre d y ears old and the founding of this tradition ca n be at t ribut ed to Philo
Judaeus, the A exandrian Jew. This tradition is mo st aptly describ ed a s 'Philosophy,
l
th e ha ndma id to Scripture . 1 W
hen men who were believers in the BiblicC11 r eve l ations
came into cont act with G eek thought, with Gr eek philosophy which oper ate d on the
r
basis of human reas on, they met t he cha llenge of this rational thought by harne ssing
it to the servic e of Scripture. Ph ilosophy was pla ced in a subs e rvi ent and supporting role t o Bibli cal beliefs. That is, philo s ophy was called on t o support doctrines
derived from or f ound in revelati on; r eason was m
ade to confo rm to r evelation •
Philoso phy assumed th e r ole of ' handmaid' and this was its principle role until
Spinoza. Spino za catego ric a lly s eparates philos ophy from theology 20 .
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When Spinoza s e par ated phil osophy from r e ligi on, r eligion was fre ed fr om the
domination of metaphysical thinking. In fr ee ing r eli gi on fr om th e domina tion of
the metaphysi cs all too famili ar t o theology, r eligi on assumed a new character.
This new characteristic of r e ligion is that of 'historicity'. Yet it do es not seem
tha t Spinoza' s purpos e is to gi ve r eligi on and th e Bible the chara cteristic of
'historicity'. Rather it seems that the Bible ,1 s acquiring this char acteristic is
merely the result of Spinoza 's system. In other words, w at Spinoza teaches in the
h
20. Spinoza, Theo l ogico-Poli tico Treatis e, Pref ace; f or details see the s.:-me,
chs. XIV and XV.
�- -·- -
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'I'heologico-Politico Treatise can be understood as the l ogic al result of the Ethics .
The Bible is no l onger a vehicle through which one underst ands the 'na ture of things',
but r ather is t o be understood as a part of the 'na ture of thing s' and as such, is
subject to necessary n atural l aws. That is, prophecy is a modification of substance.
,,
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.
- ·-
Spinoza equates God and n a ture; for him th ey are one ar,d the same thing.
But, by nature, Spinoza does not mean a cert ain mass or corpo r eal ma tt er 21.
More
often Spinoza Sf:eaks of th e powe r of God c.nd the power of nature . Spinoza equates
these 22! In his Ethics Spinoza identifies th e power of God (th e power of nature)
with the essence o f God 23 . hnd th en Spinoza als o says, 11 the- greater our knowledge of natural phenomena, th e more perfect is our knowl edge of the essence of
God' 1 24 • In Spinoza's philosophy th ere is one substance (Be ing) and modific ations
of tha t substanc e, prophecy being but one par ticula r m
odificati on . God is substance
consisting of infinit e at tribut es. One can f ormulate this as f ollows: God equals
Nature equals Substanc e . That is, th e totality o f nature, or of God, is subst ance,
and particular phenomena are 1nodific a tions which expres s the conception of this
totality as far as its individua l pe rf e ction ~ extends. The perfection is me asured
by the quantity of at tribut es. The greatest perfection is infinite attributes and
this constitut es the essence of the totality of substance, that is of God. This
is the power of God ( or of nature). W
hat is import ant for our purpose is t o see
this t ot ality, this oneness and unity of everything in Spinoza. If one can underst an d Lessing's synthesis of the histo rical and the rational a s resulting in a
t otality, a oneness and uni ty, then one can unde rst and Lessing to be a S~inozist.
\·.
Looking about him f r om th e viewpoint of his Ethics , Spinoza would certa inly be
offended by the special position of the Bibl e and the olo gy. Philoso phy, which concerns itself with ne ces s a ry eternal truths s ought for from nature alone by the mind
and intuiti on, was det ermined by the Bible. But Spinoz a understood prophecy to be
a function of the imagination, not of the intellect. For Spinoza t he imagination its elf does no t invol ve any cert ainty of truth. Cert ainty o f truth is implied
only in clear and distinct ideas. Thus cert ainty f or Scriptural prophecy must come
from out side of its elf 25. . The means for prophetic cert a inty which Spinoza
deve l ops is a sc i ence of historica l mate rial. Spinoza tells us that the proper
way t o study Scripture is t o study its history and l an guage. The result of this
study, that is Spinoza 1s result, shows th at from Scripture one learns only about
obedi enc e ; demonstrab l e truth is l eft to th e responsibility of philosophy. Thus
Spinoz a separ at ed theo l ogy f rom philosophy.
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Spinoza mi ght primarily be characterized as a philosopher. Essentially he
dir e cts his complete attention to the great clas sic of philosophic problems, 1Being 1 •
Philosophy as unde rstood by Spinoza essentially seems to be the s earch after th e
knowledge of 'Being 1 • Like Pla to, i t can also be said of Spinoza, 'virtue is knowledge'. That Spinoza developed an historical science, n ame ly a science of the s t udy
21. Spinoza, Corre s pondence, Letter LX.xIII (Wolf editi on ) .
22. Spinoza , Theologico-Poli tico Treatise, chs. I, III, & IV; Cogi tata Metaphysica,
Pt • II, ch. IX.
23. Spinoza , Ethics, Pt. I, Prop. XXXIV.
24. Spinoza, Th eo l ogic o-?o litico Treat ise, ch. IV ; Ethics, Pt. V, Prop. XXIV .
25. Spinoza , Theo l ogico-Politico Tre at ise~ ch. 11.
�----- .. ------ - - --
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of Scripture~ seems t o be purely ac cident a l. Spinoza doe s not seem t o be interested in history as such, nor does he s eem to h ave wha t might be call ed historical
insight. Spinoza s ees. it necessary to s afoguard philoso phy. That is, Spinoza
finds it necess ary onc e and for all to dete rmine th e responsibility of philosophy
and to prot ect it against th e encro achm8nt of oth er disciplines, particularly theology. Spinoza's historica l science for studying Scripture is for the study of
Scripture only. He is v ery cl ear that such books as Euclid, 11books which treat of
things by th eir nature perceptible 11 , have no nee d of an historic al science to enable the reader t o understand the ir cont ents 26
Undoubt edly Spinoza understands
his own teaching as one having no need of an historical scien ce to enable its reader
to understand it. Historicity is charact eristic only of th e Bible and similar
books. Philos ophy, the quest for the knowl e dge of 1Being 1 , has no need of an historical scienc e .
In contrast to Spinoza and his philosophic concern with 1 Being 1 , Lessing
appears to be conce rn E:: d not with 'Being 1 , but with 'Becoming 1 • 1Vhereas Spinoza
sees and und erst ands th e world in terr.as of 'B eing', Lessing doe s so in terms of
'Becoming 1 • As it wa s s aid abo ve , Less ing' s Bduca ti on of M
ankind teaches a progressive historical progress of education for the whole of humanity. In the
temporal progression of this progress mankind, that is huma n understanding as a
whole, will be brought to the knowledge of the eterna l truths of r eason. The
eternal truths of r eason ar e unfolded t o mankind through historical progression.
The eternal truths of reason -- if such thin gs do exist-- by their very nature must
be the same for Lessing as they wer e for Spinoza . rBeing 1 and (Becoming' are
different; yet they a r e a lso th e same. · The truths ar e th e same, but the forms the
truths are understood by -'lre different.
rBeing 1 is one a spe ct of th e truth;
'Becoming' is another asp ect or form of th e ve r y same truth. Spinoza and Lessing
are both intere st ed in th e same truth.
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The historic cha r act eristic that Spinoza gives to the Bible thus becomes the
essential f o rm in which Les sing understnnd tha t same truth which Spinoza understands without history. Revelation is a progressive hist orical 'educator 1 of the
whole of humanity. Rev el a tion in its historic moveme nt is the 'Becoming' of
'Being 1 • Huma nity as a whole comes to know the eternal truths of reason only
through the historical generation of them. The knowing of th es e etGrnal truths
of reas on and the necessary cons equents of such knowing is ·what Lessing ca lls the
aim of this educ a tion. ~~e re Le ssing si:eaks of th e aim of this education the specter
of Spinoza again comes into view. Huma n educ ati on ha s its aim; so also doe s divine
education, that is r evelation. But h ere Lessing substitutes the word 'nature' for
that of r evelation 27
Rev el ation is thus s een as a peculiar work of nature
through which eternal truths of r eason are generated for the knowledge of the
whole of humanity.
In Lessing's thought is f ound an historic a l el ement and a rational element.
Th ese two oppos ed el em nts becClffie a problem f or Le ssing, but the problem wa s
e
solved to his satisfaction by a s ynthesis of the elements. That is, Lessing puts
together the historical and the rational. This putting togeth er, as was noted above,
26. Spinoza, Theo logico-Politico _Treati s e, ch. VII.
27. Lessing, Education of the Human Race, 84
�is not a l ogical putt ing t og et he r, but is r at he r an intui t i ve insight. Toge th er,
th e hist oric al e..nd th e r ational, make a whol e. The historica l and the r a tional ar e
but two asp ects of one t ot ality. The historic a l is t he gener ation or the 'Becoming'
of this t ot a lit y and the r a tiona l is th e gene r a t ed ' Being ' of ths same t ot a lity.
This t ot ality is the s ame t ot ality a s is the t ot a lity in Spinoza sxcept th a t Lessing's
unique insight gives to th e t ot a lity a dynamic cha r a ct eristic. For Le ssing th e
proc e s s of the historical gene r ation and unf olding of the t r ut hs of r ea son is in
continuous a ctio n an d it s eems that thi s pro cess will et er nall y continue . How,
th en, ca n it be und erst ood th at ma nkind can ob tain th e whole ? W t Newton and
ha
Leibni z did i n ma th emat ics p r ovi de s a clue f or un derst anding this. For it s eems
that one can unde r stand Le ssing ' s synt hesis of the historical an d th e r a tional t o
result in a Spino zistic who l e if one conside r s t h e hi st ori cal mo vement as conve r ging
to a limit. Th at is , the limit of histor y is, in Lessing's scheme, th e same totality
as is f ound in Spino za . J a cobi's r epo rt can be und erstood to m
ake s ens e . Lessing
doe s us e the t br ms of Leibni z, but his r es ult is mo r e similar to Spinoza th an to
Leibniz. Y~ t in Le ssing, at th e lL~i t of history all m
0nkind will be in poss ession
o f the knowledge of t he t ot ality . Lessing and hi s conc epti on of a dynamic history
f orm a link bet ween 'Becoming' and 'Be ing '.
Wh er eas in Spino za ' s schem t he knowl edge of th e to t a lity is a ccessible only
e
to certain ble ss ed i ndividuals, philos ophe rs, in Lessing 's scheme it is also
a cc e ssible t o th e whol e of huma nity. Of cour s e Le ss i ng also s eems t o r ecognize
that philoso phe rs or cert ain gr oups of p eo ple have, of th emse lves, come t o this
knowledg e and accor dingly he make s not e of this in his Educ a tion of M
ankind 28
Lessing doe s r s cogni ze th at cert a in extr ao rdinary individuals have r ea ched such a
point by th e us e of human r eas on a l one , f or the educ a tion he conc eiv8s 11 gives
man nothing which h e coul d not also get from within himse lf. 11 29
But Lessing is
primarily conc er ned not with individ ual s or wit h pa r t icula r groups of people ; he i s
concern8d with the whol e of humanity . Le ssing ha s a gr eat f aith in human ca pability .
This ca pabili ty is the po t ential th at the whol e of humanit y can an d will arrive at
the knowl edg e of e t er nal t ruths of r e ason. And al t h ough Less i ng pre sents his
t he sis as his unde r stan ding of t he Ol d and New Te s tament r ev el a tion, that is of the
Bible , his thes is i s not limit ed t o th e r eve l a tion and r e ligion of the Juda icChristian world. Les s ing wants his t hesis s een a s true of what he ca lls "a ll
positive r eligi ons. 11 30 Positive r eligi ons would be thos e which l ead .man t o
e t ernal truths of r eas on, par ticula rly e t e rna l truths of mor ality. Lessing truly
has a univers a l conc ern f or the whol e of mankind.
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,,
....
Bef or e conc l uding, it mi ght fu rther be noted t hat Le s s ing 's synthesis of the
historica l and th e rational can be unde rs too d as t h e beginning of a new tra ditio n,
the tr adition of s ecular 'prog r ess'. It is extr emely inte r e sting tha t this n ew tradition s eems t o be th e r e com m.tion of tho s e very el eme nts which Spino za s ep a rat es
bi
in de stroying an old t r adi tion , the tradition of 1 Philos ophy , handmaid t o Scripture '.
l1gain in Le ssing, demo nstrabl e trut hs of r ea s on ar e f ound t o be taught through r evel ation. Knowl e dge of t hes e i s ge ner a t ed into being by r evel a tion. Yet Lessing 's r ecombination of the el em
ents do8s not r eproduc e the old tradi t i on . Religion a nd tradition ha ve come through an e ss enti al trans ofrma tion. The ups e t t ing of th e old tradition by Spinoza and th e f ounding o f th e new tradition by Lessing is th e ups e tting
of the Kingdom of G and the establis hment of the K ngdom of M
od
i
an. M
ankind be comes
as gods; mankind becomes mas te rs of th eir de stiny t o creat e a bette r world for mankind .
28. Lessing, Educ a tion of the Human Ra ce , 20-21
29. Lessing, Educa tion of t he Human Ra ce , 4 & 20
JO. Lessing, Educa ti on of the Human Race , Editors Pref ace (Les s ing hims elf is the
editor.
�Sophocles: Antigone, Second Chorus
translated by
F. Noel Meriam
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A multitude of wondrous things there are
And nothing is more wonderful than man.
With the wintry south wind surging far,
He moves across the open sea's gray span.
And Earth, even the eldest god of all,
Ageless and unresting, man doth sear,
As with horse and mule he plows this ball,
The furrows growing deeper year by year.
··•
Man doth capture the light-winged race of birds
Surrounding them with nets; he also holds
In his power the creatures of the deep and herds
Of savage beasts within the twisted folds.
The bgaet ·wh(') c0urses wild and roams the. hil].so
Is conquered by thoughtful man with artful arms.
The Shaggy neck of the horse to the yoke he wills,
And even the tireless mountain bull he charms.
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Speech and wind-swift thought and the domain
Of states he 1 s t aught himself, and how to fly
From frost and from the driving darts of rain
When it is ill to lodge beneath the sky.
Wondrous man, he has resource for all;
In nothing that must come is he not free.
Baffling maladies he can forestall;
From only Death is there no Vay to flee.
'r
This fertile skill, this cunning, understood
Beyond all expectations, is the cause
Which brings him now to evil, now to good.
He is, when honoring his country's laws
And the godly justice sworn forever,
Of high estat e . No state has he who clings
Rashly to evil things, and may he never
share my hearth nor thoughts who does these things.
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When the wolf-wind howls th e l and I know,
Then I huddle a t my hearth and wee p.
Let t he t ears f all. Le t the drifts pile deep.
Let t he trees we know be bowed with snow.
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The swruner dreams have va nished , Le t them go .
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In this ha rsh froz en wo rld th ey cannot keep.
The earth slumb ers and I t oo l ong f or slee p,
;·,--·
Sleep t o dull this pain tha t can but grow.
I've f ound thQt l ove cannot be ga the r ed in,
A though th e fruit an d gr ain ar e r eaped and stored
nd
Deep in the dusty cellar , t o tha t hoard,
Love cannot be added.
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It ha s no bin •
Tha t f ruit is eaten only from th e bough •
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Viint er 1 s l esson learned, I know it now.
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i'
A Dialogue
Harvey Meyers
PERSONS OF THE DIA LOGUE
An Unidentified Narrator
Aristophanes
Socrates
Agathon
Scene: The House of Agathon
You must remember, Gentlemen, that these things happened while I was yet a child.
But I think I am still clear on the things that were said, and what is most amazing
is that at the time I did not quite understand the things which I heard, but remembered
them berbatim.--such was the way Socrates impressed me, even as a child.
It was at the feast, the day after Agathon won the prize for his first tragedy,
but you have, I believe, heard the story of that feast from Appolodorus •. And I v
vas
not present when they eulogized Eros, so of that wonderful occasion, nothing need be
said. I was excited because I had run away from home, and because it was the first
time I had known such a late hour. I was walking near the house of Agathon when I
heard loud laughter; it must have been the laughter which the outspokeness of Alcibiades evoked. A band of revellers pulled me along and before I knew it I was inside
Agathon's house. I was very frightened and hid behind a column, and there I remained
until the following morning.
Everyone in the house was asleep from drunkeness except three men I later learned
to be Aristophanes, Agathon, and Socrates who were seated at another table passing a
large goblet of wine bebveen them. Aristophanes and Agathon fell to quarrelling as
to whose was the better art, when Socrates suggested that neither's was the better art,
but that the comic poet and the tragic poet were a part of the same art.
"ls it not true," said Agathon, 11 that there are three tragedies performed to each
comedy? And that there are other indications amongst the people that tragedy is much
preferred to comedy?"
11
No doubt," answered Socrates, "but what does that say of tragedy?"
"Clearly, that tragedy has the most to transmit to the people. That it is the
medium that touches the most, and therefore is the chosen art of the gods, as indeed
all inspiration for this art comes from the gods and indicates their concern with it.
In the spring of all men's lives, tragic buds blossom in their hearts, and it is the
tragedian who opens these buds and allows men to acknowledge this rare and beautiful
flower within them."
�At this Aristophanes broke into a great peal of laughter. "How you make it soundJ
As if each man in the audience were a beautiful, sensitive soul desiring to recognize
his true nature in that which he sees. Vhat clods compose an audience--creatures that
v
wouldn't knov a simile from breaking wind--men who are so dense that all subtlety
:
escapes them and any situation must be shown to them in its extreme exaggeration! The
tragedian tries to glorify this obtuseness of his audience by covering the obvious
with similes, metaphors, and the like. You tell the people nothing that isn't already obvious, but put it in such terms that they and you are flattered and convinced
that they have learned and you have revealed great truths. In actuality, all you have
done is entertained them in a manner t hat they would hardly consider entertainment,
and so they rejoic e that they are of an intellectual nature which doesn't need entertainment .
"The comic poet, on the other hand, comE;s to the public with no such false representations. Just the opposite, he employs devices which they, the audience, will
immediately reco gnize. He speaks their l anguage, pertrays them as they are, doesn't
attempt to hide his purpose with nobles l ines of simple thought. I provide entertainment first and foremost, and am more an artist for the admission. When I have
something I wish to make clear to the people, I do so by showing how ridiculous the
situation is. I do it in a way that all will recognize and easily see the truth of,
not hiding what I wish to say behind flowery language which will have th~ audience
beat their breasts, scream, and howl , and then return to their same idiotic way of
life.
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"The tragedian is a dreame r who moves in an unreal world. The little he does
rscognize of the real world, he complicate s and distorts to such a degre e that that
too becomes a part of bis dream world. The comic poet is the only realistic _artist
in the world today.
He deals entirely with the real world. Only he is entitl ed
to make a judgment conce rning life, and his judgment is made when he decides to become a comic poet. He has looked at the world and seen its worth, and decided .his
position in it. 11
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0ff in the clouds again, my dear Socrates! 11 exclaimed Aristophanes. "How
else do you suppos e I eat, other than whether they like or dislike my play? How do
you suppose Agathon won his prize yest erday? By not caring what the public thinks ? "
11
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Socrates smiled at them and said, 111 fri ends, I am sure that if you two had not
\/ly
tasted of so much wine, you would laugh at the absurdity of the things you are now
maintaining. You are both too serious about your art to believe that the way you impress an audience has any thing to do with your art. You speak of yourselves as
artists, and then proceed to argue as craftsmen, which I believe all poets save a f ew
to be. You cannot honestly believe that the acceptance or non-a cc e ptance of a play
decides the merit of the work, as if you were mere cobblers whos e pleasing the public
determines vJhether or not the sandals are bought. "
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1 am very sorry, Gentlemen, to have been such a bully as to pick an argument
where none existed," apologized Socrates, "but I thought that you really meant it
when you called yourselves artists. I should have known it was just a form of
flattery which craftsmen often use to refer to thems elves."
11
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"Now you really are a bully, Socrates, 11 said Agathon, 11 and a fight you '11 get.
I do not believe that Aristophanes nor I use the term 'artist' loosely. Tµe word
means a good deal to us, and the thing of which I am most proud is that I am an
artist, not a craftsman. It is no slight moment in a man's life when he decides
the path he shall follow. My decision to travel the deserted road of artists rather
than that busy highway of artisans was the paramount point of my life, and I do not
at all appreciate your confusing my noble path with that common avenue of pedestrian traffic. 11
,
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"If I am to believe your sincerity in choosing that more noble aspiration (whicg
I am not sure is at all nobler than the artisan's way of life, but that's another
argument), I must then show you how what you have said makes you appear a craftsman. n
i
"I wish you would, Socrates," said Aristophanes.
:-. ·
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"Easily done, 11 said Socrates, taking
that the main distinction between art and
immediate consumption, while art seeks to
ent, and hence is always involved in that
: !
a large draught of wine. 11 Is it not true
craft is that craft is concerned with
create that element which is most permanwhich is true for all time?n
Both Aristophanes and Agathon quickly assented to this.
,_:
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And is it not also true, 11 continued Socrates, "that forces are dontinually
at work in society which shape the people a society produces? True also, isn't it,
that what these people like or dislike, accept or decline, is directly related to
the society in ·which they live?"
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"Certainly," answered Agathon.
• {I
"Well then, it must be true that different forces shaping different societies
will of necessity produce different types of people who will like and dislike different things. And it would follow from this that what is popular to today's people
v.1ill most probably not be popular to tomorrow's, just as it is not the same as what
was popular to yesterday 1 s citizens. n
I
"Most assuredly, 11 agreed A;r.istophanes.
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"Then by your own admissions, an artist cannot be concerned with the immediate
audience."
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We were fools to argue such, Socrates, 11 said Aristophanes.
"V~ell then, before the investigation continues, we must decide if you are
men or artists."
craft~
"With your pennission, Socrates, we are artists, 11 said Agathon.
I:
"Indeed you are," said Socrates, 11 I have never considered you anything less.
It was you, not I, that implied that you were craftsmen •
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"Now we are ready to investigate the matter of which is the greater art, if
indeed it be either. I am inclined to think they are both expressions of the same
art and that he that is a tragedian is of necessity a comedian, and vice-versa."
"Vliith that I cannot agree,
11
said Aristophanes.
Nor I, said Agathon, 11 and it brings th e argwnent right back to the point at
which we were before you int erpos ed . Since neither Aristophanes nor I will admit ·
that comedy and tragedy are a part of the same art, we will both maintain our former
position--he that comedy is superior, and I that tragedy is the greater of the two-- •
and we are no better off for our digression."
11
"There you could not be more wrong," argued Socrat es, "for your argument would
have continued along those same lines referring to an appeal to the audience.
But now you cannot pursue those lines and we have removed a common obstacle to
getting to the truth of th e matter. Vve are now ready to ask ourselves an important
question. If not with the audience, with what must your arts, if indeed they be
plural, be concerned? "
"Clearly, with the pursuit and perfection of that in their natures which is
divine," answered Agathaon very obviously pleased with himself.
I am not at all sure that I understand what you mean, 11 said Socrates, "for
that's not an answer. Our next move is clearly s een. We must try to find out the
nature of comedy and tragedy. I have already made clear that I believe them to be
of the same nature, but we must find out what you who are professionally involved
think of this matter. First V·J ould you, Agathon, r e l ate to me what you believe the
nature of tragedy to be? After that, perhaps our friend Aristophanes would be
good enough to elucidate the nature of comedy."
11
"Tragedy," began Agathon, "is a representation of actions, having considerable
weight and importance, complete in itself. Pl8asant language helps produce emotions, particularly pity and fear, and thes e in turn have their effect on the audience and make them feel elated a nd r ealiz e the truth of what th ey have seen. There
are certain ways this is done; the selection of tragic plot, and characters, and
ways of creating the situation in a most effective way, and making use of a peripety,
for an audience loves a peripety. Excuse ma, I should not have said that the audience loves it, but that a peripety is structurally effective to the nature of the
tragedy itself. 11
"I am glad you corrected yourself, 11 interrupt ed Socrates, "but I do not believe
that your enumerating the devic es and skills which make a tragedy effective will
help us to understand the nature of a tragedy. I am a frequent e r of the theatre
and well appreciate the tragic skills, but would rather leave them to you and other
tragic poets to whom they may mean something. As for me, I shall be quite happy if
out of this I gain an understanding of tragedy, and this depends on my learning its
nature.
�··.
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"You said th at 'tragedy is a r epres entation of a ctions' and that this representation make s people r e aliz e 'the truth of wha t th ey have s e en'. I think that if we
substitute 'imitation' for 'representation' we 1AT
ill be vi ewing the matter on th e same
leve l as tnose who say they know, who fr equently s ay tha t 'tragedy is an imitation
of actions r • 11
l ~
"Very good," said Agathon, "I believe we ar e on our way to understanding th e
nature of my art."
"W might be," said Socrate s,
e
: , :
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but it is no t as easy as tha t. It s E:ems to me
that the authorities and ever y one els e ar e easily s a tisified. They say that
'tragedy is an imitation of a ctions' and f eel ve ry pleased. It sounds impressive
so we let it r emain, not realizing that imitation is a v ery wide term and that the
only answer th e definition suppiliie s about the type of imita tion is that it is an
imitation of a ctions, which t ells us noth i ng of the imi t ation or of the actions.
Are we to underst and 'imitation' a s th e mere r eenactment of the actions? And what
actions are being 'imita ted' ? If it is ma n's co~mon actions from day to day, why
then are masks employed, a nd oth er devices which remove th e 'actions' from the realm
of plebian everyday experience ? And if we do r ealize the truth of ·what we h ave seen
when viewing a trag edy, what is it in the nature of a tragedy which accounts for the
recognition of a truth which is not in our ev eryday affairs? The re is no elation
or recognition of truths in them. Do you s ee that th er e are many sides ~o the
issue, and th at the acceptanc e of the sta t ement 'tragedy is an imit ation of actions'
without examination will nev e r l ead to an understanding of the r e al nature of
tr agedy?"
11
Yes, I s ee, 11 s a id Agathon, but it was obvious that he was b<::! ginning not to
follow the argument, and was more concerned with equalling Aristophanes 1 consumption
o f wine.
11
.i .
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I
Now r eali zing tha t we have not begun to scratch th e s urface of tra gedy, l et
th e st atement stand. Le t us ask Aristophanes wha t he be li eves the nature of comedy
to be. 11
11
. ).· ;'
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"Come dy," began Aristophanes, "is just the opposite of tragedy. I s a id before
that th e comic po e t is a r ealist , a nd that is wha t I mean. He has looked long and
hard at life and on a first look he was a tra gedian. All men wh en they are young
are t ragedians . Then he looked longer and h a rde r at life and he was a comedian . "
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"Oddly enough, the more optimistic a rt is the tragedy. The tragedian beli eve s
he can escape from wha t he s ees by er e cting f als e images and illusions in which to
live. The comic poet has decided not to li e and decieve himself, but face the situation by showing it in its absurdity. In this way th er e is a pa thos to comedy
becaus e of the truth of the things i t portrays. W also r e pres ent actions, but we
e
repres ent honest ones, and this is the differenc e in our n ature-- tragedy t e lls a
comic lie and come dy shows the tra gic truth.
11 1 might add,
th at all men wh en they ar e drunk a r e trag edi ans, and tha t explains
the manner in which I have be en sp eaking . Ask me tomorrow th e nature of comedy and
I will probably t ell you t he story of the king and his unsuccessful attempts to
seduce the cobbl er's wi f e.rr
�11 1 do not want the nature of comedy when you are drunk and melancholy," said
Socrates, 11 or the nature of comedy when you a re sober and gay, but I want to unde rstand what is the nature which is sepa rate from melancholy or gaiety, in short the
truth of the thing."
"I imagine then," said Aris t ophane s, 11 th at I must conclude that comedy also is
an imitation of actions, but actions which seem ridiculous and are performed by men
who seem base. 1'
"Then you too maintain th at y.::iu are imitating a ctions . Am I to understand
then," asked Socrate s, 11 t l- at Y
1
hen you are engaged in the capacity as artists you
are acting as imita tors? And as imitators of the actions of men?"
,:_ ·.
Both Agathon and Aristophane s assented to this.
"But if you are an imitator of actions you a r e not a performer of actions. I
mean by that that when you imitate the actions of me n, you place yourselves outside
the realm of thes e actions. You have r emoved yourselves from the ordinary crosscurrents of these actions a nd sta.nd aside and obs ervE:: . 11
11
And comment, !I added Aristophanes.
11 And it is exactly this position which is common to philosophers and geometricians and all men who seek knowledge . This ability to s e t oneself apart and
question and examine is, I think, the necessary prerequisit e to learning. Perhaps,
when you are 'imitating' th e actions of men, you are doing something similar to
the geometrician who might be said to be 'imitating' the natural order."
~
.
"I do not understand what you mellil, 11 s aid Agathon.
1 am not certain as yet to what it might mean, but it does s eem that there is
something ess entially important in this position of detachment. Do you se e tha t as
far as your arts a re concerned, the comic po et and the tragic poet are the same in
respect to the position necessary in the production of a dramatic work? 11
11
.- : ~
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"I am cert ainly in no condition to be following this a rgument,
tophanes, and his head dropped on the t able for h e was fa s t asle e p.
"You will pardon the comedi an,
please continue ."
11
11
said Aris-
said Agathon swallowing a large draught, "and
I;
"I presume, 11 s aid Socrates, 11 that you stil l maintain that tragedy is a n art
wholly different and a part from comedy. Could you then t ell me what it is that
tragedy imitat es , and perhaps anticipat e Aristophanes and tell me what comedy imitates? That is to say, can you distinguish betwe en th e models of the imitations?"
. _!
.
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"Certainly, that is easy," answered Agathon, 11 and you will, I believe, agree
that the imitations are worlds apart and that under no conditions can they be reconciled and considered a part of the same art.
�. .
''Tragedy is an imitation of man in his highest moment. It is man nobly in
conflict with forces which will inevitably overcome him. The struggle raises him
though he be defeated in the end, and we are strengthened as a result for the realiz ation of t~~ things; one, that man is, at his best, noble and capable of grand
things, and two, that vvi th his downfall we recognize a great truth. We have, in a
sense, looked the gods in the eyes. We may have s e en them to be ugly but we are the
richer for the looking.
..
~
Comedy, on the other hand, is man at his most base. It is man in the ridiculous and absurd, and if there be any truth in the situation in which we find the
comic hero, it escapes us. Th e whole business is too ludicrous to be seriously
considered. We laugh and clap and whistle and l eave the theatre with no understanding or any emotion which lasts. Comedy is, at its best, an entertainment."
11
Do you not see, 11 a sked Socrates, 11 tha t the actual 'model 1 for both these arts
is the same, and that it is the actions of men?"
11
.·,
I have just told you, Socrates, how much they differ, that they are imitations
of different types of actions. Now you say to me, as if you hadn't heard a word I
said, that they are the same. Isn't it clear that one is an imitation of the noble,
the other is of the base? 11
11
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0h, my dear Agathon, it is not the actions which differ, but the artist's
reflections of them. Any action i.s potentially both tragic and comic depending upon
who is viewing it from that position lNe mentioned. And this further clarifies the
position of the artist. He is not in an outside position of simply observing, but
is very much involved as he is the r eflector of the actions. In a sense then, the
artist is not really an imitator, but a reflector and perhaps a creator of the action.
Do you see that what we view on the stage is never a ction as the real action, but
is action as the concept of the action to the artist. rr
11
;
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"How you must · always complicate things," exclaimed Agathon. "I think you delight in purposely twisting words until they are incomprehensible. I know the skills
and techniques necessary in creating a tragic action. I wouldn't know where to begin if I ever wanted to cre ate a comic one, not that I imagine that there is much to
it. The actions of each are definitely different and I do not at all understand
how you are trying to reconcile them into one action."
11 I
see now," said Socrates, "why we are having such difficulty reaching an
agreement on the nature of these arts or art. You, being a playvvright must look at
your work as something visual and physical. And somehow understanding what makes
a drama good visually and physically, you are able to produce good dramas. You
don't even understand why a play is good or bad or what its nature is in general to
a philosopher whose search for understanding cannot stop at the visual and physical.
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11 I suppose if I were to ask you what was necessary in a tragedy to bring about
a recognition of these truths which you say result, you would answer plot, character,
thought, diction, melody, spectacle and all the other technicalities which go into
a tragic situation. And Aristophanes, who claimed th at tragedy was an entertainment
and that comedy reveals truths, would likewise enumerate the technicalities which
are necessary in creating a comic situation? 11
�Your supposition is accurat e," s aid Agathon beginning to show his drunkeness
and obviously be coming l e ss conc erned with wh at was being said .
11
·~ I - '
"I have heard this maintained," said Socrates_, "by many critics, but it has
never struck me as pa rticularly r el evant. It merely shmN that the critic can diss
tinguish between trage dy and comedy. It doesn't at all indic a t e th at he understands
the nature of eith er.
1 h ave always h ad a qu estion and many time s people have thought they answered
it, but never to my s atisfaction. Pe rhaps, you can oblige me . It hGS often puzzled
me that the tragic situation in which we find a tragic character is often supplied
by a simple myth. Th erefor e, for a ll practic al purpos e s, the myth contains all the
potential for a tragedy. Yet, I do not think that anyone upon hearing the myth
would feel elated or gain underst anding of a truth. The myth is truly an entertainment. I could relate to you the misfortunes of Oedipus, how he slew his fath er,
married his mothe r, and condemned hims elf. You would find the story very exciting,
no doubt, but the r e would be no r evelation of a truth. Oedipus only become s tragic
through Sophocles and the way Sophocles portrays him, though the incidents are no
diff 8rent than in the myth.
11
; ' -~ ..r
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"Likewise, a joke or funny story is humorous, but it is never more than an
entertairunent. It t ake s an Aristophanes to produce comedy . When I ask the critics
and those who should know w this is, they always enumerate the technicalities
hy
which are necess a r y in the cre ation of a tragic or comic situ~tion and think that
they have answered my question. I am only confus ed more, and now must search into
the nature of these technicalities to discover how and why they are able to transform a simple myth hero into a tragic figure or the victim of a bad joke into a
comic figure. 11
.,
. i.
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By Zeus, you are stubborn, 11 said Agathon obviously very drunk. 11 The matter is
a simple one, but you won't acc ept th e answer2 Can't you se e that all the s e things
you call t echnicalities give a character life? Thes e ar e the things which put a
character in a situ ation a nd give him identity and r el ationship with the other
ch aracters and the situation."
11
11 By Zeus,
I am think, but I think I begin to understand now. It is impossible
for you to r eally consider your play outside of itself. To you, it is first and
foremost a play. Probably, if you we r e not concerned primarily with the play as
an end in itself, or did not think of it as pure construct vhen cre ating it, it would
not be the true experience which it is. In othe r words, if you first considered the
play for its significance outside of its elf, it would probably be impossible to
create a signific ant play.
· .•. :
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"Then the play is first of all some thing very specific and particular to the
artist. This is wh at make s Sophocles r Oedipus a tragedy and the myth an entertainment. We find that Oedipus m s compl ete sense within the framework of the
ake
Sophoclean play. It is an entirely different Oedipus we meet here from the one in
the myth. This Oedipus has no model anywhe r e in nature, but is a creation of the
playwright's idea of th e model . The difficult thing to comprehend is that the
model does not exist until the imit a tion exists."
�-
·- - - -- - ·-
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I do not understand how something can be an imitation and yet not be imitating
anything," belligerently int erpos ed Agathon, "your talk of imitations and their
models makes no scnse. 11
11
Do you not s ee that a work of a rt, both tra gi c 2.Yld comic, is at one and the
same time an imitation of an a ction or quality and is the action or quality itself'?
It is something particular and individua l to th e artist, inasmuch as it is a statement of his experi ence which is something particular and individua l to him. If in
the process of creation he considered this ex perience some thing imiversal, it would
ce as e to b e me aningful. It s significanc e as something universa l is directly contingent on ho1N we ll the artist ca n create it as something personal. Art, then, is
a communic able st a t ement of an artist's personal expe rience .
11
"Now th e problem of und erst anding in vhat s ens e it is communicable seems
apparent. If when the artist is cr0ating the work he is concerned with the work for
its own sake as his personal creation, how th en can we understand thDt when it is
complete it st ands as a universal truth to men othe r then the artist?
11 It seems that ther e is a happy marri age bet-ween the thing being imitated and
the imitation. The thing being imitat ed c annot be thought of as existing prior to
or ind8pendent of the imitation. It only comes into being through the imitation,
but then we unde rstand it as a truth which transcends the imitation. Art, then,
moves to th e univers al through the particular.
. . t.:
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11 Perhaps this can be better understood i f we illustrat e i t by similarly trying
to account for th e phenomena of ma thema tics. Geometry is an ordered understanding
of the univers e in t erms of th e relationships of figur es and forms. Likewise,
Lrithm.etic is an ordered understanding of the univers e in t e rms of the relc.tionships
of numbers. But the universe could not be understood in the s e t e rms until these
relationships were work0d out inde pEmdent of the uni verse in the pure constructs of
Geometry and lrithmetic. Onc e we understand the s e relationships and their conclusions as things n ecess arily true, tha t is, necessarily true becaus e they make
perf ect s ense vvithin their own constructs, then the universe becomes understandable
in terms of these relationships.
1• .
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"W
hen an artist creat es a play, he creat es it a s one comple t e work of a rt,
something which makes complete s ens e within its elf. W en the work is completed it
h
makes some s ens e of things which transcend its elf. We call thes e things which the
play has helped us to understand, for instance courage or the inevitability of a
fatal fall, th1c; model of th e play. We think of the work itsdf as an i_ tation
rni
of this model, but neither model nor imit ation exist independent of one another,
but both are only understandable becaus e of one another.
·.i
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;
trThe spectator of a tragedy watche s characte rs and actions and th eir r el ationships to other ch ar a cte rs and actions, and when th es e relationships make perfect
s ense within the structure of the play, r el ationships outside th e pla y become
unders tandable. The spe ctator is not aware of -what is happening, but it is this
unconscious int ellectual association of th e perfect s ens e of that which he s ees
before him with tha t which now makes complete sense outside of the play which
caus es the f eeling of el ation and th e r e cognition of a truth •
.
.,
'
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�"There is dormant in all men an understanding of these rela tionships. But this
understanding is never intelligible until articulated in an abstract of these r elationships. Our geometric and arithmetic systems are just such abstracts. They
act as physical manife stations of int e lle ctual relationships . Each number has a
relationship to anoth er, and though we cannot s ee a physical relationship of the
perfect number to virtue , we comprehG this in our int ellectual s elf, attested by
nd
the fact that man can even conceive of a perf ect number. In Geometry we see these
relationships nowhere in th e world, for tr ee s are not triangl es and no two stones
are equal. But the s e rela tionships are truer than the physical world because man
can conceive of triangl es - Rnd equality. A it is the perf ect sens e of these connd
cepts wbich make: th em imit ations of a mod el ultima t ely true , but this model does
not come into existence until the imit ations a r e und erstood.
··_. I '
"Relationships a r e at th e core of all l earning. V unde rstand movements between
ie
conceptual r elationships. This prima rily is comedy or tragedy- this act of
at one and the s ame time creating a nd recreating the motion of these relationships.
The true poet creates a character and this chara ct er has a r e lationship to every eleT
ment in the play. There is a ction which is mov ement bet·1_ een the elements of the play.
\Ive associate th at which we s e e physically before us on the stage with something we
can now CQ~prehend intellectually in our being. We recognize in the characters and
situations relationships ·w hich do not exist physically. What we are se eing are
physical representations of intelle ctual relationships and it is these relationships
which are the truths. All t.hci.t is on the stage is like a pe rf e ct number ~r a tree
or two stones which awaken in us the r e cognition of the concept of virtue or triangle
or equality. And the things which we se e occur on the stage though they never have
happened nor ev er will happen ar e more true tha n a nything that has happened or will
happen. And we know th at they a re true just a s we know that there are triangles and
equality, becaus e ma n has conceived it.
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nNow is it clear th at there is no art of th e po ets, comic or tragic, but that
they are merely two mc:othods of th e same activity - ART? And art is the awakening
of an understanding of r e l ationships. Whether we recognize these relationships
by laughter or t ears do esn't matter, for we know they exist, and as two manifestations of their existence we have comedy and tragedy. There for e , of necessity the
nature of comedy and tra gedy is one , and he tha t is a true tragedian is so because
he inherently underst ands tho nature of tragedy, and is then of necessity a comedian, for it is cl ear th at he also underst ands the na ture of comedy."
·. • l
·~
lifter Socra t es had finished speaking, he s aw that Agathon too had fallen into
a drunken slumber. He laid them to sleep and left the house. I also left because
Aristodemus had awakened and I wa s afraid of being ca ught i n the house and thought
a thief. I watched Socrates as he walked to the Lyceum to take his bath, and I
wished I could t e ll him that I had he ard a nd somehow believ ed the things he had
spoken.
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includes within its somowhnt flo xiblo limits, vorso, prose, o.nd
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reproduced on n convontionnl mimeograph.
Tho editors urge both tho student body and tho faculty to make
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Addro ss contributions to T'ho Collcginn, and put them in tho
Collogo mnil; or give them directly to the oditorso
Do.vid Jonos
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TABLE OF CON
TENTS
.
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On Tragedy
(Bost Senior Thosis, 1958)
Eros nnd Ago.po
(Bost Annual Essay by a Sophomore
or Junior.? 1958)
Pioty and Eros
(Bost Annual Es s u~,r by o. Froshmon , 1958)
M
ost Elegant Solution of rr Mc tho mn tico.l
Problem by n Junior or Senior, 1958
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Sonnet for o. W
urm Sa nson
Po.tricin L. Grady
Abby Porolmnn
Hurrison J e Shoppo.rd
David C. Jono s
Da vid C. Jones •
�ON TRAGEDY
Patricia L. Grady
I
In tragedy, as in all aesthetic phenomena, there are no objective criteria.
The eleHent of taste makes it impossible to arrive at a set of principles against
which a play might be checked to ascertain whether it is indeed a tragedy. Given
its elements, tragic plot, tragic hero, and tragic emotion or response, the last
offers us our -only approach from our position as viewers. And tragic emotion is
ultimately a highly subjective matter. Not only may there be some question as to the
nature of the emotions involved, but, even if we assune the er.iotions to be correctly
d§}signated as pity and fear, there may still be smae question as to the nature of
the action which evokes them. We can deny to no one that a particular play has
aroused such emotion in him, even though we ourselves have eXJ)erienced only disgust,
say.
i
Such considerations as these seen to bar every approach to the subject. Yet
tp.e complex experience signified by the word "tragedy" remain3 an accomplished,
p~ovocative fact. Although disagreaaents arise on all sides with respect to partic:.\ llar plays, and to principles whereby they nay be explained, lre refuse to keep
silent. By-passing the correlation of plot and tragic enotion, we continuq the
search on subterranean levels underlying the plot or on netaphysical levels rising
(~om it.
In either case our hope is to discover in tragic plots a principle, the
recognition of which evokes the tragic e1;iotion in the viewer. In this broader view,
strict plot definition is no longer necessary or perhaps even feasible. Individual
plots may be exanined for the principle or elements. And conceivably the nature of
t~e plot which eiilbodies the eler.ients . nay change from generation to eeneration, from
"cultural group" to "cultural group."
The search for principle in tragic plot may be difficult to justify if i t is
recognized that no theory can exact universal agreement. But if the subject is to
q.~ approached at all, the probleas of universality in aesthetic judgnents and of
definition of response nust be left behind. Frankly proceeding on the basis of a
fir.1i ted nur.1ber of plays subjectively judged tragic, one r.iay then attenpt to derive
the principle behind all of them. Insofar as one is correct, the principle will
apply to all plays which are judged to be tragic. The minimal reward for the effort
i's a basis for conversation on the provocative subject, beyond the sir:1ple yes or no
of subjective judgment. Seen in this light, theory-naking does have value, provided
that it accepts its own linitations and doos not attempt to use its end-product as
an objective criterion for judging plays. We can, then, hope to derive benefit from
theory, although it can serve only as a tool for understanding the phenomenon and
never as a definition of it.
:;
The theory
tjy Camus in the
Gl·s our startinr;
as constituting
and value.
which will be
final chapter
point no r.10re
tragedy. Our
the focal point of this thesis is the one outlined
of The Myth of Sisyphus. We can justify taking it
than we could. justify an arbitrary selection of plays
object, however, will be to demonstrate its validity·
�-
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--- ----------------------------------II
Car.ius 1 views on tragedy are presented in an exposition of the nyth of Sisyphus,.
r~e myth as he tells it is the only prop e r introduction to his theory:
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In interpreting this myth, Car.1Us disregards the superhunan origin of Sisyphus 1
suffering anCl. considers it as an imafe of htuJ.an activity. If this nyth is tragic, i
he tells -us, it is because its hero is conscio us.. The lucidity that was to consth
tute his torture at the sane tine crowns his victory~ As Sisyphus descends the hiil
to retrieve his rock he nust be aware of the whole extent of his wretched condition.
He nust feel sorrow, nelancholy, and boundless grief as he recnlls scene s of life ·
and the earth he loves. Continuing with that melancholy is the very task to which _
he has been condemned. And he does continue, and conquers it; for even the n ost
c:rushing truths perish fror.1 being act:nowledged. He knows the rodr. to be his personal
:fate. It belongs to him, created out of a series of unrelated actions, conbined
under his mer.wry, and soon to be sealed by his death., In that rnom:mt of conscious-·
qess he knows hfr1self as its creator to be its master~ Convinced of the wholly
hw11an origin of all that is hui;:ian, he se es that his fc:lte is a hu.i.;ian natter, to be
qettled by ncn. He finds the universe without a l~astcr neither ster ile nor futile
~nd finds the struge;le its21f towards the heights enoueh to fill a man's heart "
~e cannot be dissatisfied
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The gods had condenned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rocJ;: to the top of a
mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its own weight., They had thought
with sone reason that there is ho more dreadful punislunent than futile and hopeless labor.,
If one believes Homer, Sisyphus was the wisest and most prudent of mortalso
According to another tradition, however, he was disposed to practice the pr ofession of highwaynano I see no contradiction in this. Opinions differ as to
the reasons why he bccai:ie the futile laborer of the underworlc1. o To begin with,
he· is accused of a certain levity in regard to the gods o He stole their secrets.,
Aeginu.j the daus hter of Aesopus, was carried off by Jupiter. The father was
shocked by that disappearance and con.plnined to Sisyphus. He, who knew of the
abduction, offered to tell about it Oil the condition that Aeson us would give water
to the citadel of Corinth o To the celestial thunderbolts he preferred the bene~
diction of watero He was punished. for this in the underworlclo Homer tells us
also that Sisyphus had put Death in chainso Pluto could not endure the sight of
his deserted, silent erapire. He dispatched the god of war, who liberated Death ·
fron the hands of her conqueror ,,
It is said also that Sisyphus 1 being near to death, rashly wanted to test his
wife's lcve~ He ordered her to cast his unburied body into the niddlc of the
public square.. Sisyphus woke up in the underworld. And there, annoyed by an
obedience so contrary to human love 1 he obtained fror.1 Pluto pornission to return
to earth i11 order to chastise his wife. But when he had seen ar;ain the face ' of .
this world, enjoyed water and sun, wan1 stones and the sea, he no longer wanted
to g o back to the infernal dar 11:nesso Recalls, signs of anger, warninr;s were of
no av a ilq Eany years r.10re he lived facing the curve of the gulf, the sparkling
sea, and the sailes of eartho A decree of the gods was necessary .. Mercury carne
and seized the impudent nan by the colla r and snatching him fron his j£ys, led
hir.1 forcibly back to the u11derworld 1 lJ'here his rock was ready for hira.,
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This view of Canus 1 is obviously not directly relat ed to th e tragedy of the
theatera It is a view of life; of the human condition, of man 7 alone in the universe,
struggling with his passion for life and with the futility of living_, There is
·
qespair in this view; but it is not necessary. A r.1an may be overcome by his
�loneliness and the sterility of action which can .have no object outside himself; but
need not be. If he is willing to acknowledge that he, acting in conplete freedon,
entirely the master of his actions, entirely responsible, he can fiad the struggle
e~ilarating.
By constant activity he can fashion for himself a fate and a meaning
in life which will rid it forever of the threat of sterility and futility. He is
suprer1ely hinself, knowing himself fully as his own creation, superior to whatever
b~falls him because of his fidelity to action.
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If this is indeed a meaningful understanding of tragedy, it should bear some
r~lation to the theater. Tragedy, says Aristotle, "is essentially an ini tat ion of
action and life, happiness and nis ery. All hunan happiness or nisery takes the forr11
of action; the end for which we live is a certain kind of activity, not a quality." ' 3
There are rnmy differences between Aristotle's notion of that certain kind of activity
for which we live and the one held by Carius. Nonetheless, if the tragedy of the
theater is indeed an ini tat ion of hULl.an action and life, it is only right to seek
some correspondence between a tragedy which is inherent in that action and life and
ohe which is an imitation of it.
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In seeking such a corresponcience 9 we will ignore the problens pertainine to
tragedy ns an art form. Stripped of these considerations, Aristotle's task seems
to be prinarily one of defining tragic enotion and outlining the plots or actions
which r1
1ost perfectly stimulate that enotion. On the basis of his experience of the
Greek theater, he defines tragic response as pity, fear, and similar enotions. His
conclusion with respect to plot rnay be roughly paraphrased thus: A i;ian (better tha·n
WE?) in cmjoynent of great reputation and good fottune, but not pre-eniuently virtuous
and just, through an error in judgaent goes fron happiness to nisery b;y neditating
ot perpetrnting sor.ie crine within his fanily -- either :?Iedi tating in ignorance and
discovering the relationship in tine to stop, connitting it in ignorance of the
4
rTlationship and discovering it afterward, or COI:llili tting it lmowingly and consciously.
Ideally the plot contains both peripety and discovery, a change fror;i happiness
misery acconpaniec1 by a change fro11 ignorance to knowledge. Although Aristotle
lists very specific discoveries - discoveries of persons -- it is clear that they are
the raeans by which the fanily relationship, and. thus the fact of the criue committed
or about to be COlTll~itted, is revealed to the hero. Since he cites Oedipus as the
finest example of the combination of peripety and discovery, we may assune that in
its ideal forr.1 the peripety is fully acco1aplished when the discovery occurs. The
h'.~ro i~my be r.1isera ble in his actions, but his niscry is complete only when he knows
what he has done. In general, it seeE1s that Aristotle's entire theory has as its ;·
k~ystone the conbination of peripety and discovery.
The other qualities of the plot
chiefly heighten or insure the tragic effect. The closeness of the relationship
within which the crime is committed,for instance, serves chiefly to heighten whatever
horror is inherent in the plot. And the character of the hero is carefully sketched
sp that his change in fortune will arouse no feeling of distaste which night distrc:lct
fron pity and fear •
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Basically, then, there seens to be no opposition between Aristotle and Camus in
s'pite of totally different approaches. The former re21
iains fairly specific as he ot,tt11.nes discovery and the forms it 1;iay talrn ·within the plot. However, his tenn "dis~
covery" nay certainly be interprieted to nean understanding the crine in its fullest
ilnplica tions and seeing the chance, blind roots fron which i t spmng. This is not ;
r'~r fron Cm:1us. It is even closer if we exar.iine the ir.iplica tions of tho sort of
:
criue that Aristotle concerns hinsolf with and what its roots night be. The Greek ' .
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va.... t (I.) k" , which accoun t s f or the ac t ion, h as b een
variously translated, for example, as "some error in judgnent" nnd "through some flaw
in hir.1. 11 5
These translations have led to searches for a "fatal nistnke" on the pa~t
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�of the hero, prior to which he mi[ ht have been able to retrieve hirn.self EUiltless
f_rof.1 the action; or for some shortcouing in his character which precipitates hin into
guilty action or, in itself, renders hira guilty. However, such searches nre usually
futile or arrive only at far-fetched conclusions. For the i;10st pnrt there is no
d:i'.scernible error in the faculty of judgr:icmt; it seens to lie, rather, in the grounrs
u~on which the judgment is nade. As for flaws in character, they seen to be reduce~
td a too passionate devotion to s01aething in itself good. More generally, however, :
d. JA~
/'cJf.. may be translated as a failing. And, in light of Canus, it i;1ay be
considered as the basic human failin g, the r,r0und of all ignorance. This understandipg
pbovioes a basis for the other two. It r:m 1rns intellisible both the basic error of
a il judgn.ent and the nistake of passionate devotion to any one thing. Man's Jmowledg~
i§ unavoidably mperfect.
.All of his actions must proceed on blinc1. faith that he
k~ows what he is doing , that he knows where his act ions will take him, and that he
1roows where he wants to go. In order to act at all, he must hide fron him.se]f his
profound ignorance of the true nature of every possible ground of action •
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It is in this ignorance that the action has its roots. The discovery, while it
the wretchedness of the crir;ie, necessarily reveals to the hero the wretchedness of his hunan necessity to act in blindness. That this discovery is consequent
upon violation of a blood tie or a uoral tie only servos to inpress upon hin the
depth of his ignorance.
r~venls
With Hegel, the moral probleI:l again nakes its appearance as the basic one in
In his eyes, tragedy is a particulnr exauple of conflict in spirit as it
moves toward its ultinate embodinent in a noral order which is at once Ui"1iversal and
subjective. It is realized in a society where individuals have attained full selfc.pnsciousness and thus act in conplete freedom and in accordance with reason. Tragedy
o·p curs prior to that state whil e spirit, still strivin[; through individuals toward
pt3rfect fornulation of that moral order, still contains contradictions within itself,
T~ese contradictions can only be worked out by the opposition of thesis to antithesis,
wi th eventual resolution in a synthesis. Tragedy is a particular exanple of this
,
cnnflict in spirit or ethical substance. The essential tragic fact is intestine
w?rfare in ethical substance -- the war of good with good, each wrong because it
d.e uands absolute sway. Tragedy is the story of unhRppiness caused in this collision
ot good with good. Its hero is an indi victual who is entirely conni tted to one power
fron which all his actions proceed and in which he finds his greatness. His door.i iS
the resolution of the conflict throuu;h denial of the exclusiveness of either claim in
the synthesis. The resolution nay be effected in one of several ways: through
r~conciliation as in the Eunenid.es; through a soft ening of one denand as in the
Philoctetes; through self-condermation by the hero with renunciation of the absolute
cf.aim as in Oedipus at Colonus; or through catastrophe as in .Antigone. Pity Rnd fear
are excited in the spirits of the individual viewers by the spectacle of tragic conf~ict and.its attendant sufferings, since tragic conflict is indeed a conflict of
'
spirit which exists in the inc'l.ividual viewer as well as in ethical substance and
the heroes who further its progress.
t~agedy.
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This theory possesses far greater generality than that of Aristotle in virtue of
H$gel' s whole philosophy of history and societies. For the same reason, however, it
pPsscsses far greater prelininary difficulties. The nature of spirit, a persistent
Problen in Her;el, is deeply involved here. Spirit is defined in The Philosophy of ·
History as self-contninec1 existence, Freec1ori1, and self-consciousness. 6 Its material
i~ hur.mn personality, and as reason it attains its positive existence in hunan
l{powledge and volition. Its effective springs of action are huuan passions. In short,
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it is a transcendent being whose innancmt existence is the J.mowledge, passions, andJ
volition of the individual. The idea is the inner spring of action 1 passion effect .
the practical realization 1 and the state is the actunlly existing enbddir.J.ent of
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reason or the idea.. Through individual rnen th e idea struggle s to·warc1 ever more
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p~rfcct exoressions in an ever more perfect stElt e or moral order.
Its u1 tir.iate real ization wou.10. appear in a state where the s elf-consciou s incli vidual' s volition was in
complete .accordance with reason, precluding the possibility of further conflict and t
resulting in universal self-obedience or freedor.i"' Thus the ultinate coal of spirit
is a w1ion of its subjective enboclinent in the indiviclual with its objective embodiment
in the moral order -- union in rea son, s elf-c ons ciousness 8. nd freedomo
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The function of art in this process is to aid in the progressive liberation of
spirit by presenting to the individual Iilind tho truth, or spirit itself, in sensuous
form. One can easily see it perform part of this function in trc.1gec1y, as it presents
the activity of spirit in affirnation, negation, and synthesis in the ethical conflict
of "the essential, universal, rational interests of hunanity. 11 7
However, there i~
a ,further requirement" Apart frou depicting the activity of spirit, art 1aust repre~
sont the essential nature of spirit as free and self-conscious. Hence~
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in epic and druruatic poetry, it is necessary that the characters should appear
essentially free and self-deternined. They r.mst be independent beings whose
entire activities issue out of t h enselves and are not imposed upon them fror.1 the
outside •• ~ • vfu ere art depicts its characters as subject to pain, suffering
and disaster~ it will, nevertheless, never exhibit then as wholly overwhelmed
thereby. Their essential liberty and froedon nust not be cr ushed out of existence.
Ar:dd all suffering they will re;.-:1 ain na.sters of ther:iselve s and assert their ' freedon.
• • • • It nay be that, as in trat;edy, the conflict and suffering end in the
destruction of the nere physical lives of the characters - but not in the destruction of their spiritual freedono They renain true to thenselvas, and to their
esse:atial being. They accept their fate as itself a necessary ov..tc one of their
actions, and therefore as issuing fron their free-·will." 8
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No r.mtter how nuch one may doubt the existence of a transcendent spirit actuali~ilng its elf in tine, there nay be no denial of the pheno1:iena of the :ll11~ianent world
observed and accounted for in this theoryo And since it is the ir.n:aanent world, the ·
world of the individual, that we are concGrned with , let us try to express Hegel's
theory solely in terr.is of it: His presuppositions rmst necessarily be that man is
free and that he is constantly striving toward greater self·~knowledge. This progress
tpward self-knowledge is narkcd by an evolution in the noral nnd legal codes which he
fashions for hins elf as he understands himself' a Often two or more nen come forward '
w~ th conflicting ideas as to what the nature of the governing code should be; or one
m~m attempts to change the existing order to conforr.1 with sor11e new idea he has.
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their unfinished state of evolution, it is impossible to deteruinc which idea is better.
Hc;>wever, each clings to his own idea and, in ti1e resulting collision, one of these
clair:1s i".mst yield or be destroyed - - and insof r..r as either yields, it is destroyed • .,
Atly resolution will necessarily involve soae destruction. Yet the individual's
f~eedom in naintaining or yielding the position cannot be destroyed..
If he yields, :<
h? yields willins ly; if he is destroyed, it is in freely and consciously accepting
tl}e consequences of actions and positiono Insofar as art represents the truth of
m~n's spiritual nature, it will represent hin in this lirht of freedon and self-
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Again, there is a certain correspondence between this view and that of Car.1us.
Indeed it stands sonewhere between Aristotle and Cm,ius in pre senting a rationale for
hur.i.an existence as well as for the theatero The necessary conditions of man's
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�spiritual existence, either in or out of the theater, are freedom and consciousness
of, self. As the indi victual beco11es aware of him.self in reason, he strives to enbody
th.at reason or understanding in art, law, morals, religions, or science. Hegel see~
this striving as having a goal: the perfection of man's understanding of hiraself, ·
w~ich will be mirrored in a perfect and perfectly free moral order. The collisions
-wt;ich -ari.s.e. in the course of the struggle toward perfection are only natural to the:
organic process. It is only natural that individuals, who partake in both sides Of·.
t~e struggle to the degree that they are conscious, should be affected by its repre~
sentation in drana. But, we ask, what of the individual who is destroyed by or mus~
y;eld that position to which his own self-consciousness ancl reason have led him?
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Within Hegel's systeLI, there is nothing said directly concerning tho experience
and fate of the tragic hero. We are left to irnagine what happens to hill1 at the point
when the conflict becomes resolved. The term "resolution of a conflict" carries with
it nothing human. It says nothing of the Iilan who freely and passionately comri. ts his
whole self to a single power or good only to have it rejected or found false. As
H~gel hir.lself discusses the sources of hw.;mn action he remarks that it is a rare
whose passions go beyond his personal interest, who devotes hiri1self to an idea. It;
ca,n be of no consolation to the hero that he is sacrificed to the future, greater ,
good. Right here and now he has devoted his entire energy and life to what he thought
w~s a certainty, to what he thought was right.
Forgotten by Hegel with his interesi
iq the future he too must have his discovery. He too must co1ile to see the necessary
blindness of ht.tr.lan action. For him there is no cortainty of a brilliant future for ;
ll~nkind.
With no certainty in the µresent how can he thread a path to the future? ;
H~s self-consciousness has taken a deeper turn than Hegel ever dreamed. He no longpr
sees the imprint of his own reason all about him; instead he sees that reason is
·
OJiclusively his and ult:ir.iately bears no certain correspondence to anything else. In
tije conflict which Hegel presents as tho essential tragic fact, the self-crnsciousness must take the bitter turn to recognition of the basic hwnan failing, of ir.nora~ce
and blindness.
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Left with this prospect alone, the hero could not avoid despair. And Aristotl~
us no reason to suspect that he does. He states tho peripety frolil happiness f;o
m1sery, fulfilled in the discovery, and leaves the hero in his miserable state. Yet
w~ know Oedipus is not abject as we leave h"n.
He has not yet learned to bow his .
head to fortune. There is a strength about hin which does not arise entirely fron }
t~e fact that he is a king.
One essential condition for tragedy, overlooked by
;
Aristotle and noted by Hegel, is that his hero is a free nan. Despite the shocking :
erirors the hero nay have found in his actions and presur.iptions, the fact remains that ·
th'.ey issued from his own free will and he must accept his fate as a necessary outcome
o~ them; accept his fate, not passively resigned, but actively carrying it out to i~s
natural conclusion.
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There are, then, two main clements in tragedy: the tragic action coiillllitted in ,
freedoa and ignorance; and the tragic vision occurring in a noment of discovery or :.
self-consciousness, precipitated by the action and in virtue of which the action is !
tragic. The fonner ccncerns the hero alone; the latter may include an audience.
The tragic action consists essentially of a series of spontaneous and unrelated
On the surface, they often appear to be cOiaplet ely
o~dinary actions W1 ich might have been c0Lii;1i tted by anyone for any reason or no
adts on the part of the hero.
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rfason. Since they have their source in a c01'1_pletely free individual, therG may be
riQ apparent connection between thm;1. Inagine how ensy it was for Oedip us to forget
ahd discount the killing of a stranger on the road, as absolutely unrelnted to his
s61ving the riddle and marryin['.' the quee~1 of Thebes; or for him to nuke absolutely
no connection between the stranger and the oracle he was fleeing. Yet ii is out of
n _series of such seerningly inconsequential acts that irrevocable con11~1itr.1onts and the
fabric of a life are forned. Each nan fashi nns his own fate, and sm;1et.lliies his ~ uil t,
of such acti ons. They are not in theuselves tragic. They arc only the natorial, and,
on occasion, the efficient cause of trc:tgedy. Like all hunan action they proceed on
the assuap tion of more than hunan knowledge. Perhaps they arise in passionate devQtion to some one idea, principle, or persc>n, as in the case of Phaedra; or perhaps
in some cherishect hope, as in the case of Lorca's Yerraa; but probably they cone of
sheer coincidence, as in the case of Oedipus. And rnost probably they will never come
tq light, or, being noticed, will pnss for no more than they sce11 and be thus no more
than they seera.
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How, then, is this day-to-day pattern of action, sometimes violent, nost often
pdaceful, suddenly metamorphosed into the stirrine experience of tragedy? Does it
not require some extraordinary 1;ian, an extraordinary deed, to break through the common
routine to the exalted height of tragedy? Surely no comr.1on man can rise from his
petty faults and riistakes to such stature in despnir and victory. Indeed it seems
that it always takes sone extraordin.ary action to bring the truth of things to light,
Sm.all mistakes do not jolt a nan into awareness of his linitatinns, of the falsity
of his life. The error and the undeceiving must involve the whole fnbric of his life
before he is forced to understand the weakness of his position. In this sense the
action jis extraordinary c:md the man no cor.1non one. Few nen can whole-heartedly cor.ll!lit
theli1selves to a sinr,le way of life and action; and once the coranitnent is made, fewer
actions can undermine their faith. The conflict outlined by Hegel, in which the hero,
wholeheartedly espousing the rejected nrinciple or power 1 nust corn.e to see the fnls.i ty
of his understanding, is one way in which this undeceiving may come about, albeit with
sone violence. The fanily crime:s: which Aristotle speaks of are a still more violent
m~ans of beinG undeceived; for, should there be anything more horrifying than being
cornpletc~r deceived in noral precepts, it is the conbinc:ltion of ir;norance anc1 sin,
recognized. But -these are not the only ways in which the awareness is precipitated.
For one who clings most tie;htly to rme Dnth and adheres to it alone, that path reveals its own falsity. This is precisely what occurs in Loren's Yerma.
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The sole natter of importance in Yerma's life is bearing children. There is
no other reason for her coming to womanhood, marrying, and continuing to live after
that. Bound irrevocably to a husbanc1_ who will r;ive her no chilc1ron, she feeds her
self-deccption on the cheering rer.i arh:s of friends and the pronises of charlatans.
Honor bound, she clings to this one nnn as her salvation and firhts to keep her
i}.lusion alive in the face of the fact that she is certainly do01;ied to barrenness.
Yet in that very fight she necessarily reduces every source of false hope to hopelE;;ssness. She is forced to recognition of the illusion on which she has built her
life. In yielding to the way things are, she destroys at once her hope and source _
of hope, her son nnd husband in one act •
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Here is a woman who is in no conrnon sense extraordinary.
She is not a member
Her
stature lies in her single-r,1inded cmanitment to one desire and hope. There is no
dfeadful crine to be c1-iscovered here. The horror lies not in sor.1e terrible act, but
i)l the futility of her striving. But she is not overco111e by futility. She rise s to
it and er.1braces it as she kills her husband and knows she must live out the rest of
h~r life without hope.
of the nobility, nor is she extraorcinarily beautiful, cultivated, intelligent.
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Thus the tragic v1s1on is generated out of free 1 but necessarily blind, human
aGtion by the inevitable consequences of whole-hearted connit1aent to -- Iiian never
knows whnt. And in light of that vision, these actions and comnitnents which gave
birth to it becor.ie trap,ic. The vision is tragic not in the horror of what was done,
bti.t in the horror that it was done blindly; that the error was not in the faculty of
jti.dgment, but in the ir.iperfection of human knowledge. In freed01:1 and ignorance the '
h~ro fashions his guilt and fate; in freedom and knowledge he suffers and accepts
t,heae It is in his knowledge that he suffers; for his misery in action is co1:1pleted
in his awareness of it? his lmowledGe of the futility of his actions, and the resulti11g despair. Had he not c01~1e to know his actions fully, we would have found the play
upinteresting or disr;usting; for ignorance and sin are coru110no
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It is out of his freedou that he accepts the fate ih ich he fashioned in freedono
NQt Iilerely passively resigned, he shoulders the full consequences of those actions
in which he was so deeply involved but a few blind moments ago,, In this free act,
frees himself froH despairo Hi_s actions nay be futile; but he has created obliga!"'
t:i.ons for hiuself which he freely accepts. And in that acceptance the fu±ili ty is
gqne., It is as thout.:h he has added to his stature with every raeasure of guilt or
obligation he acceptso Here is the exultation we find in tragedy" Here is the hero,
ten feet tall, Had he not accepted his actions and fate with their fullest impli- ·
cations as personally his, we woulc1 have found him merely a pitiful, little man,
raiU.ne against 2. universe too big and powerful for hin to comprehendo
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It is -perhaps for this reason that we do not find Agamennon fully satisfying
as a tragic figurG o In the nidst of tho enormously prideful act of stepping on the
carpet, the only sin hG coumits within the action of the pla y 7 he hides frot1 himself
the true r.1Ga11inr of his act and declares it Iilore acquiescence to the whin of his wife.
How nuch raoro powerful is Clytemnestra, who adi;1its freely what she has cb nc and,
finally confronted by Orestes, cor.1es to understand that it~ too 1 wns a crime and
her doom, realizin~fully the raeaning of the curse on the house of Atreus o
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The doom which the hero 1~mst face, like Clytennestra 1 s c1oon, is the act and
t]'.le knowledge as well as destruction. And it is the knowledge or vision of the hero
which makes the act and destruction neaningful. The action is trngic only when it
fully roalizod that the hero is freely doing what he would not have done otherwise and that his action necessarily calls forth destructive forceso The destruction
is traEic only when the combination of innocence and guilt that called theia forth is
:fully understood.
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Only the hero with his tragic vision is in a position fully to understand these
things. He stands alono in his terrible knowledge. Yet he is usually the last to
become aware that SOiilething is terribly wrong o We, the audience, are usually the
f~rst.
At the oµoning of every tragedy the audience is filled with a sense of iri1- .
p~nding doorn before its source and nature are deterr.1inable.,
Perhaps it coliles from
t~e "µoetic effects"; a speech from a goddess or fron the chorus is enough to warn ·
u~ that a wrong will be done and suffered for o The chorus or tho Iilinor firures in .
tpe play are usually nexty forewarned by their strong sense of riiorality anc1 fear of
overstepping the bounds of the familiar and fully known,, Even the larger figures :
s,4 rrounding the hero are aware before he is; but none are aware to the extent that ;
is. The princes and heroes are c.ware, in virtue of their likeness to the tragic
£igure, that thoy too might have done the deed; but their awareness is lini ted by
ti'ieir righteousness, the sense that they have cornmi tted no crime a In the chorus,
the sense of righteousness is even strongero With their fear of action, they could
not conceivably have cOiin:iitted the crine; they abhor it and can barely bring thenselves
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to U>o~ upon it, much less understand it., With their mornli ty, there is no chance
that' they could see the hero justified even in his guilt o
.The audience is~ in one aspect, even more lllili ted than the chorus because of
its distance fror;i the action" The sense of unreality and pretence arisinG from taking
no part in the action, prevents the viewer frou having first-hand knowledge of ita
Yet thi s very factor becomes an advantage a By reason cf 'this reuovnl and impersonal ity
we see the unity and spontaneity of thc entire action in a way in which even the hero
in the i.i;ipersonality of his view could not o It is this vision which ua!ms us aware
of the tragedy long before the hero, and it deepens in the course of the play o We ,
see ~he freedon 1 innocence:- and it;norance of his acts, and in our knowledge which is
greater than his, we see -their guilt and what .rwst fallow fror;i theno However, it is
only . in the hero's growing consciousness and ultinC\te knowledge as he expresses it
that <,we are brought to full understanding of the tragic positiono Our tragic awc:ire=
ness ::and response are consur.nrrated in the hero 1 s fiOfilent of vis iono It is as clos e as
we , the unGxtraordinar;o{ persons, cone to a first-person knowledge of the univers e and
human nction in it n
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Our lmowlcdr.e seldon has the characte1~ of insighto It is never explicito We
are caught sonewhere between our detachLlent and our involvcnento Fron our detachment
we Jn~ow only what has happene d to the hero externally through the sµectacle and his
word$. And our human nature co~operntes with these two forms of knowledge to give
us a ~; deep;,i vicarious thrill of understandingo We 9 too 7 oxµerienco the problems of
freefion and inperfect knowledge; but we do not quite know what it is lilrn to experience
ther.i ~· as he does o
Both our understauding and our cnotional response hover soraewhere
betwoen the inpersonal and the inten sely personal , fixe d by the experience of this
nan. . Just the description of the enotions involved -- pity and fear or terror -·w
indicate s that on one hand we participate in and suffer.the action in a very personal
way; ' . and , on the otherl' we view and sympathize with it fron the outside o Aristotle 1 s
definition of fear does not suffice to show the full measure of our involvemento The
misfortunes of one lilw ourselves arc not to inspire fear in us j our fear is for ourselves and nay be extended no further than those we love, who are somehow part of ·
ourselves o
<)
·Much n ore meaningful is the definition Joyce gives of fear or terror as "the
feeling which arrests the mind in the presence of whatsoever is grave and constant
in hunan suffering and unites it ·with the s e cret cause,,n 9
Through the action of the
hero we have be cone acquainted with hunan suffering; and through his vi. s ion we come
to SEle the secret cause ,., Were we to conj)rehend it fully 7 as the hero docs 1 there
woul~1 bo no fear er terror a
But we arc not the her o ; we are renove<~. and limited by
our :reI11ovalc So there rei~iains ~bout it a nystery~ an air of the secret:i tantalizing
but f,epelling -~ frighteninf ., Thus only insofar as we are conscious of'.> but not
fully aware of;i the aeaning of the action 7 we fear,, We exult because of our cornnit~
ment ·to the blind forces which conquer and~ perhap s; also because of the hero., s own
vict~ry in knowl·.~dro and freedom in the very midst of his defeat o
We pity because
as mi audience in the presence of human suffering., our nind hovers in that static
mid-?oint between the h um.an suf ferer and the secr~t cause a
IV
.We conclu.de 5 then, that tragedy c onsists in a certain view or vision of htu:ian
life and action" It nny be stated 1 both ns a condition nf the occurrence of this
•
�knowledge and as part of its content, that man is completely free but by nature
poss~sses i.Hperfect knowledge.
In virtue of that basic flaw in his nature, positive
judgment and action are inevitably futile and in error. It is the strong individual
who dfoserts his freedor:1 of action positively who is inevitably forced by circumstances
arising out of that very action to the tragic vision of the futility and error in all
actiqn. As he sees· his freedom and the chain of circumstances he has forged for himself~.; he is forced to decide between complete despair, which arises from his knowledge,
and 4ctively accepting and carryin[ out the conclusions of the fate he has fashioned
for fiimself in the concatenation of his previous spontaneous and unrelated actions • .
Man'~ misery consists in his full awareness of the conditions of this choice. His .
nobi.iity consists in his being able to pick up the obligations he incurred in the
igno;ant freedon prfor to the tragic consciousness, and thereby rit~. himself of the
threcit of futility. The action resulting from the tragic vision is thus a wholly
humai~ optilnis1;1 arising out of a profounctly pessimistic vision of the human condition.,
·".l
· ~he tragic hero, knowing the full extent of his wretchedness, may still conclude
with Car,1us that "The struggle itself towards the heirhts is enough to fill a man's
hear~ .n
• !
FOOTNOTES
L
Ca:r:ms, The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays (New York: Alfred A. Knopf ,1955),
·~
pp. 119-120.
2. This paragraph consists almost entirely of direct and indirect quotations from
Camus' interpretation of the myth. It is an attempt to synthesize and epitomize
his views.
3. Aristotle, Poetics in The Basic Works of Aristotle (New York: Randor.i House, 1941),
Pe 1461.
4. Ibida, pp. 1467a, 1468, 1469a.
5. Ibid., p.1467a; Aristotle, Poetics (London: The Loeb Classical Library, Williar.1
1
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7.
8.
9.
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Heineman Ltd., 1932) ,P. 47.
He;gel, The Philosophy of History (New York: Dover Plllblications, Inc., 1956),p.17.
W T. Stace, The Philoso1
~
Jhy of Hegel (New York: Dover Publications, Inc.), p. 449.
Ibid., pp. 447,449.
In Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.
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EROS AND AGAPE
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Of the three theolcgi.ca.1 virtL1..es -- faith: hope and charity -- the greatest stress is
laid upon charity both by snch systematic theologians as Aquinas and Dante and by the
apostle Paulo It is therefore my intention to explcore the meaning of love, first in its
relation to the other two theological virtues as it is understood by Aquinas and Dante,
and secondlyD by comparison with the Hellenistic eros and in the light of the New
Testament o Last of all, having achieved sorne understanding of the agape of the New
Testament:i I shall try to correlate the differences and similarities between Pauline
agape and ThomiGtic caritas o
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Dante's political theory as it is stated in De Monarchia consists of the view that the
world shm:dd be ruled by two powers 0 a spiritual power (the supreme pontiff) and a
secular power (the emperor)~ both of whom derive their authority from divine appointment,, This theory is based upon the premise that man has a twofold end, which in
t•).rn is based upon the premise that man is a mean between the corruptible and the incorruptible since he is comprised of two parts, body and soul. Since he is a mean and
a mean partakes of both extremes, man exists for a double purpose. As Da~te says,
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Twofold:i therefore, are the ends which unerring providence has ordained for man;
the bliss of this lifo~ which consists of the functioning of his own powers, and which
is typified by the earthly paradise; and the bliss of eternal life, which consists in
the enjoyment of tha t div ine vision to which he cannot attain by his own powers, e~pt
they be aided by the divine light~ and this state is made intelligible by the celestia~
ParaC.ise,., These two stat es of blissa like two different goals, man must reach by
different ways~ For we come to the first as we follow the philosophical teachings,
applying them accordingto our moral and intellectual capacities; and we come to the
second as we follmr;1 the spiritual teachings which transcend human reason according to our theological capacities: faith, hope and charity. 1
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The spiritual power and the secular power both derive their origin from the Divine
poY1er. 2
Thomas also maintained that the secular power belonged to the natural order and took
its origin from the law of nations~ "which is a human law. 11 As he says,
As it was a function of secular princes to issue positive decrees based on Natural
Law~ with a view to the common temporal good, so it was the function of the rulers
of the Church to frame spiritual laws for the general welfare of the faithful. 3
Similarly~
if one substitutes natural happiness and supernatural happiness for the twofold goalsti it can be seen that Dan te did not diverge at all from the theologian's view •
•
�For he says that the natural inclination of man directs him to his connatural end ( 1)
according to reason or intellect, using as the starting point universal principles acquired by the natural light of the intellect - - these principles are for speculative and
practical matters -- and ( 2) according to the rectitude of the will, which tends naturally
to the Good as defined by reason. Man's supernatural happiness is achieved ( 1) according to reason or intellect, upon the reception of certain supernatural principles ob·
tained by the infusion of grace (or the divine light). These are things wlich are to be
believed about, which is faith. And ( 2) by the action of the will, which directs the
person to thi s end by hope, which is the movement of intention tending to that end as
something attainable, and by charity, which is a certain spiritual union whereby the
will is, in a way, transformed into that end. It may be said, then, that natural virtue directs man to the good and the theological virtues direct him to God. Or, as
Thomas would say, since the supernatural happiness surpasses the power of human
nature, man 1 s natural principles which enable him to act well according to his power
do not suffice to direct him to this same happiness. Hence, it is necessary for man
to receive from God some additional principles by which he may be directed to supernatural happiness. Such principles are called the theological virtues. The theological
virtues are so called because their object is God (inasmuch as they direct us rightly
to God), and further, because they are infused by God alone. That part of philosophy
which considers the highest cause differs from the theological virtues in that the former is an investigation guided by human reason while the latter make their investigation by the power of instilled grace from God. To learn the truth about God with the
aid of wisdom alone would be very hard. As Thomas says,
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For the truth about God, such as reason can know it, would only be known by a
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Thus, for Thomas, without grace there is no ascent. For grace is the power man
needs in order to be able to ascend to God. In other words, what the law (the Old
Testament and philosophy) and free will could not do, since our pleasure is bound to
earthly things, is done by God's grace coming to meet man with the eternal and supernatural gift. This is a downward movement,but it iis only the means to the end, which
is fellowship with God. And this is an upward appetitive movement of the will comprised of the two virtues, hope and love. As Thomas says,
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Two things pertain to the appetite, viz., movement to the end, and conformity
with the end by means of love. Hence, there must be two theological virtues in
the human appetite, namely hope and charity. 5
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Two further questions need be asked: what is the relationship between the theological virtues, and what is Thomas' conception of love?
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The relationship between the theological virtues in terms of precedence is presented
by Thomas in two ways, that of perfection and that of generation. In terms of genera.(
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Thus we must say that although grace makes it possible to win blessedness, virtue
must win it. Hence, grace and fellowship with God are two different things: grace is
the means, fellowship the end.
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tion (that is::- the way in which the three virtues appear as generated in a man) fait h
precedes hope and hope precedes charity. This view is typically Aristotelian. For,
just as matter precedes form, likewise imperfection precedes perfection. For the
movement of the appetite cannot tend to anything either by hoping or loving unless
that thing be apprehended by the intellect. It is by faith that the intellect apprehends
what it hopes for and lovesa But in order of perfection charity precedes faith and
hope~ because faith and hope are quickened by cha:rity and receive from charity their
full complement as virtues. One of the Thomistic arguments for the supremacy of
charity would rest upon the view that a demon has faith but no love for God and hence
has only "formless" faith, Thus charity is the mother and root of all the virtues,
since it is the form of them alL Central to Thomas' doctrine of what constitutes perfect virtue is his distinction between "formed" and "formless 11 faith. For he maintains
that faith and hope without charity are 1 'inchoate," but with charity, are perfect virtues. This statement rests upon his definition of perfect virtue. Perfect virtue is,
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that which gives the ability of doing a perfectly good work and this consists in not
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To do something well belongs to a power of the will; and since a work of faith is to
believe in God and to believe is to assent to some one of one's own free will, hence
Thomas would say that to will not as one ought would not be a perfect work of faith.
Thus the act of faith requires an act of the will and an act of the intellect. ' Hope is
the virtue that makes faith pe rs eve re~ but faith precedes it in order of generation,
since one cannot hope to obtain eternal happiness unless one believes this possible,
since hope does not tend to the impossible.
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Thus the reason that Virgil can say to Dante, 11 Make pleasure now thy guide~ 11 7
is that what Dante ought to do (reason or faith) and what he wants to do (will) are now
the same, for the will is whole. Virgil says,
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For Thomas as for Augustine all love is fundamentally acquisitive. Love corresponds to the acquisitive will and this latter to the natural quest for happiness. As
certainly as everyone loves hims elf and wants his own happiness, so must everyone
be disposed by nature and in accordance with reason to love God above all things.
The reason that we love God at all is that we need him for our bonumo Indeed,
Thomas does not hesitate to say:
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Or, in Augustine is words, "love and do as you like." The concept held by Augustine
and Aquinas that love is the root of all virtues, is certainly not foreign to Dante, nor,
for that matter 1 to any Christiano For the seven deadly sins (that are removed in
the seven cornices of Purgatory) are all misdirected forms of love.
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Assuming what is impossible:> that God were not man's bonum.:i then there would
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Thus, self-love is, for Thomas, the root of love and reveals to man his true nature
and goal and thereby directs his love towards God and the eternal. The cause of love
is expressed by Thomas thus:
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From the fact that a man thinks he can obtain a. good through some one he begins
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In like manner, a man loves a thing because he apprehends it as his good. Now from
the very fact that a man hopes to be able to obtain some good from someone, he looks
on the man in whom he hopes as a good of his own. Hence for the reason that a man
bases his hopes in someone, he proceeds to love him. 11
But charity, according to Thomas, is not just any kind of love of God, but that love of
God by which He is loved as the object of beatitude, to which we are directed by faith
and hope. Thus, one may say in summary that Thomas' conception of love is that it
is a striving, acquisitve action of the will whereby man hopes to obtain his "summum
Bonum."
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The problem now is to define both eras and agape. Probably the most complete account of Hellenistic eras is the one given by Socrates in the Symposium. Central to
the Socratic notion of eros is the notion that love desires what is good and beautiful
because he lacks these very things. On account of this, love cannot be a god, because
gods are happy and beautiful and hence in secure enjoyment of what is good and beautiful; and since love is a being who has no share of the good and the beautiful, he cannot
be a god. No god, in the Platonic view, is a lover of wisdom or desires to be wise,
because he is wise already. On the other hand neither do the ignorant love wisdom or
desire to be wise; for the ignorant man, who possesses neither beauty, goodness nor
intelligence, is perfectly well satisfied with himself, since he does not believe he
lacks anything. Hence love is somewhere between ignorance and knowledge: eros has
a dual nature. He is a daemon, a spirit which is neither mortal nor immortal but
something intermediate between having and not having; he is the son of poverty and
energy3 and his function as an intermediate nature is to bridge the gap between gods
and men.
Eros is the movement of that which is lower in power and meaning to that which is
higher, and consequently, gods cannot possibly love in terms of a definition such as
the following:
Man loves and desires only that which he wants and has not got, for who in the
world would desire what he already has? 12
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Thus eros is an acquisitive love which is conscious of a present need, and it is the
effort to find satisfaction for it in a higher and happier state: eras is the love for the
good and the beautiful. Thus eras directs itself to an object which is considered
valuable. The divine is unmoved, and eras as activity and movement belongs exclusively to man's side.
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Thus t}1erc is a tvvo , .· fold p:res 1.·opposition for eros: the recognition of value in the
loved object and the consdousness of needing this value. Since eros is motivated
by the qualities in 11is object~ it iG therefore dependent on contingent characteristics
which change and are pa rtiaL It is dependent upon repulsion and attraction, on passion and sympathyo Eros does not seek the neighbor for himself; it seeks him in so
far as it can utilize him as a means for its own ascent to the summum bonum -- the
good and the beautifoL Eros can utilize the neighbor only in so far as he is a. creature who is participating in this bonum.'.! though in an imperfect way. Thus objects
are stepping~ s<;ones to hig~J.er things and inust be left behind as one advances further
in the asce::.~to One expects that tlJ.e logician or mathematician is wholly detached
with respect to his sub ject, since the nature of his subject does not involve the question of hio existence~ But even in t1:'8 construction of geometrical figures the re is
an elen1ent of i::r»·olvernent.~ for the logician and mathematician are driven by eras,
including desire and passion~ since there is a beauty in mathematics though it be one
of the higher stepping~· stones .
Unlike the Plc.tonic gods~ the God of the New Testament works toward the fulfillment of every creature and toward. the bringing~together into the unity of His life all
who are separated a::.-_d dls rupted< Christ is the supreme sacrifice and example of
divine loveJ r
i'hesc two statements lead to the assertion that God is love. That is,
the divine love is an ontoiog:i.c23. concept; this means that the divine love has the character of lo•,,-e bu·~ beyo nd the d~_ stin:::tion between potentiality a.nd actuality •. Hence,
this kind of unders\:ancEng b cco:r~1c c 2. mystery for finite understanding. For one must
assert that love in g e neral inch:des desire and a certain longing for reunion (in the
sense that in Christia:1ily the indi. ~.ridual longs to return to the unity to which he belongs,
in which he participates in his ontological being) . One must also say that all love is
directed tov,rard a definite ob ject with whom it wants to unite the bearer of love. Love·
wants the other being , The New Testament uses the word a.gape to signify the divine
iove but it also u ses this word for man 1 s love to God and to his neighbor. But so far
this gcnerai 1.u1d erst2.nding could be applied equally well to either eros or agape. We
must see now in what eense agape differs from eros. Unlike eros, when we say that
God is lo\re we are not ecffirming anything about the nature of the object to which this
love is direc·ted; that isr this is not a judgment upon what man is like but what God is
like: th2,t it is :Jod's n a ture to love" Hence God's love is not dependent upon the contingerd: characteris·d cc of the object.., It is an unconditional affirmation. It is indifferent to value because God love::; sinners (God's grace, or love, is in a human sense.
paradoxical,) sbcc he accepts that which is unacceptable). No one with whom a relationship io pos d i,l e :!.c excluded; nor is anyone preferred. Agape is the love 11 in spite
of" which i3 the decisi \~e inessage of Christianity; that is, it is the Christian message
of" sirnul peccatLi_r~ si:i:nul ju.stus :' 11 the doctrine of justification for which the Pauline
sentence iB 0 justii:.icatio::1 by g:race through faitho •1 This is a statement expressing
a notion which is ir~ n o Yvay dependent upon man~ Agape must then be spontaneous,
unmotivated and un:i.?ersal (th;r~ io ~ independent of any qualities or value such as higher
or lower in the object) ,, for ho',~l e l se can Jesus' exhortation to love one's enemies be
understo od? Fo::.' JeEu.s says ii~ 1\1fa-::thew ~
But I say to you ~ love your e::.3::ni e o and pray for those who persecute you, so that
you may be sons of your F' 2.~~1 er who is in heaven; for he makeo his sun rise on the
evn and o:a the goo ~: . - c.::::c~ :J encl:: :rain on the jest and on the unjust. 13
�This divine agape which man must imitate in his relationship with athe r men must
n€eds be the desire for the fulfillment of the longing for reunion of the other being,
for his as opposed to the lover's fulfillment. Kierkegaard's exposition of what it
means to truly love one 1 s neighbor is very helpful for understanding agape:
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The man who truly loves his neighbor, therefore loves also his enemy. This
distinction, "friend or enemy," is a difference in the object of love, but love for
one 1 s neighbor truly has an object which is without discrimination; the neighbor
is"the absolutely indistinguishable difference between man and man, or it is the
eternal resemblance before God fmderlining is mine]-- and the enemy also has
this resemblance. We think that it is impossible for a man to love his enemy,
alas! for enemies can hardly bear to look at each other. Oh, well, then close your
eyes -- then the enemy absolutely resembles your neighbor; close your eyes and
remember the commandment thou shalt love, then you love -- your enemy? No,
then you love your neighbor, for you do not see that he is your enemy. 14
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Thus, the motive for agape towards the neighbor must be almost negligible. That is,
it is unconcerned with any such reason as that love for one's neighbor helps us to win
God's love. It does look, strangely enough, as if neighborly love were bereft of any
actuating principle and therefore had the nature of unreality. The motivation must be
supplied, since love, by definition, is a movement toward an cbject. One can say
that Christian neighborly love is a love for God's sake. But this must be qualified,
for God in this case is not the end or ultimate object as in eros but is the starting
point. He is the starting point not as the prime, unmoved mover but in the sense that
he is Himself involved in the motion. That is, it is not "as being loved" but as loving
that God sets love in motion. Hence, the phrase "for God's sake 11 has no teleogical
significance but only a causal significance.
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In this last statement lies the profound distinction between eros and agape. For,
substituting the phrase "for God's sake" for the phrase "for beauty's sake" or some
such Platonic phrase, one could say that for Plato this phrase has a teleological significance. That is, one has eras for one's neighbor because he possesses some
shadowy gleam of the perfect beauty which is the ultimate goal. The motivation that
Kierkegaard would supply for agape is "the eternal resemblance before God." A.
similar statement would consist of a motivation which occurs as a result of the
ultimate unity of being with being within the divine ground,
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Agape, then, is spontaneous, unmotivated, indifferent to value, and unconditional •
One may say that agape is an indifferenc e to value in a sense diametrically oppo sed
to privation, the basis for cr o s. Thus, the word desire when used in connection with
agape does not have the sense of privation that it does in eros. The difference lies
in the distinction between egocentricity and theocentricity. Agape may also b e defined& ,creative love and this may best be seen in Paul's conversion. One must ask
in this connection what meaning is to be found in the fact that the most zealous of
the persecutors of the Church of God was called to be an apostle. The first meaning that can be inferred from the conversion is that it shows the unmotived and
indifference-to-value characteristic of agape-love. For, how contrary to all human
calculations God's love and calling are, that He should call a persecutor, the least
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�worthy person of all, to be an apostle! Paul considers hims elf to be a paradigm of the
upholder of the law, for his previous way towards fellowship with God was man's way:
the strict observance of the law and traditions of his fathers. He says,
• • • and I advanced beyond many of my own age among my people, so extremely
zealous was I for the traditions of my elders. 1 S
And he says again, as if he were worried lest there be any doubts in people's minds
about the meaning of his conversion,
-'.
••• if any other man thinks he has reason for confidence in the flesh, I have more:
circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a
Hebrew born of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee, as to zeal, blameless. 16
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that God's agape is creative in the sense that Paul becomes of worth by being the
object of God's love. That is, one may say that while agape does not recognize value,
it does create it. This is so if one can assert, as I think it is possible to do, that
Paul 1 s religious position is entirely theocentric. Nothing :rroceeds from man,
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• • • for the re is no distinction; for all have sinned, and fall short of the glory of
God. 17
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The spontaneous and unmotivated character of God's agape can further be seen by this
passage in Romans:
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(Previously Paul says Christ died for sinners, the unworthy or the unrighteous; here
it is stronger: the ungodly.) Continuing, he says:
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Why, one will hardly die for a righteous man--though perhaps for a good man one
will dare even to die. But God shows his love for us in that while we were yet
sinners Christ died for us. 18
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Agape is then identified with Christ crucified, and this in turn points to God's love,
and they are considered to be one and the same.
In Corinthians I xiii Paul states
in quite a long passage about agape that it is the greatest of the whole faith-hope-and
charity trinity because it
• • • bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
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19
The chief difficulty that arises in interpretation of this passage is that in the beginning
of the passage Paul seems to be talking of neighborly love but at the end speaks about
love, faith and hope abiding, indicating that he has switched to love towards God. Perhaps the error lies in looking at this passage as if Paul were concerned with the objects of love. For perhaps for him it is not a question of the object of love but of its
nature; that is, he might be saying that where love is truly agape it is grounded in
God and for that reason is one of the things that abide. Paul does seem to be making
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.:. cH ?t incho~ ~e t weer... ::~ej. lcnisti c gnosis (knowledge) and Christian agapeu Gnosis (the
see:dng ·~ o ~.::.now} i s di. s-::ing:.:~i shei fr o 1n agape in that the form.er is egocentric and the
l;J.tte r -Cheocent :rico Fo:r P2.ul sa 7s; 11 o '° o 1k nowledge 1 puffs up but love builds up" 11 19
Per}-1::ips it io r.ot in ..::on·ect t o U~'}.derstand gnosis as t he visi:::m of Godo If this is so~
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pu:ceJ.y b•. ff.n a ~.1 ·~-.~:.e ~: e2. .J agar,e is s i1n_r:;1y -1.n o lltflow of God 1s iove and hence not humano
G :c.o : :: is :i.c:, f c :r 2 2,:11; one o:Z the thing o i:~1.at 11 vvrill pass away" in contradistinction t o
agapev wh::_ .-:-:h ';:-:iE ': .:J..:~. d. e ,. ' 1
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The q u c:stion t!.;.at r22,Hy :rnus: be asked is :1 if God 1 s love for man is spontaneous and
t:;,.:::i::.'lriotivate d .~ t i1en i i r~:a.n is to h:-:... ve aGape for God r.n.ustn!t it also be sp o ntaneous and
C":li1'10t i ·,··<J.te6? Tl_i o question hingc3 o n a. sirn.ilar o ne~ namel y, isn 1t man's love for God
r:..10t :~~vateJ. i:n t}:i<3 hif;h.cs t C!.egre e by God 1 s love?
It is perhaps this question" if it is
::>.~:-1swered.,, ih::,:~ will. ::::-~sJ~2 2 le:l.:r Paul· s reticenc e a bo ut speaking of man is love f or God§
L:::. at J.e2.st -:.:w::i re s ::::-:.w.::s :P :-: \.-~}. ::::1:~ ,-2 t b.2.t the whol e law is fulfilled in one wo:a:·d ··- namely:i
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~ you sh2.ll love yo L T neighbor a s y o urself" 11 20
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.:;::':".: f.'. pt to lmre One a:..i.other; for he who loves hi3 neighbor
}:-,_2.. s foJ.fil:Le _:;, t ~-:-.c law" T £_.9 c ort"_. -~-_'l::.i. nc.n-1ents ,1 ''you shall net c o mmit adultery'., you
::-, : F: !1 :;,1.ct 3i:ec;J ) ;/o-:; E:1::~U n :Ji: :dE: 1ou shall n ot covet .• " and any other com1nandJ.n.ent
;:-3:::; Gc.:::nmed u.p i::~ f\ i ;::; Gc1t0n c e~ 11 y o u shall love your neighbor as yourselL i >
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its tradiEono.l c on.nection with love t o G o d,, one must certainly rernark at thin
~: ·;,.:: . ·.:! :3e m-:.iss ;.on .~;. i: i0 e::.ey t ·-: :i urd crstand how the agape of God towards rr1an and the
<:< :~: ::;.p? bc:t•Nee::: rn £r_ co '"1"8 spo nd ~
·:-: in-: 1=; ~he a gape bet w e en rnen is simply God 1 s infi..rned
J. o .,..rc 2 -r):1 he r:. c c :". ::: C 1r:.:.: ::2.. ~::-.i"i.'3 love ; br;.t t he agap e of :man t owards Gcd falls outside fr.ds
co::-:r :c: .~.2 ~ io.n.
F or r na-r1 :..:c..n.no'>; lov e G cd "in 0pit e ofi' or in f org iveness as he c a n lcwve
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Tr~PG o::.;:::; ~.nuc ·i: c .::.y e~_the r t ha:: thic as·L. r:_,_!;-J·;: cons i st in eros or that perh2.p s this
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lo.-·e i r si:c.rq:Ly a :_;ort c·!. res:po:ae>e ,
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80 ~:--.:-...c t>i.:'.'{~ . '.: :i:·c::;~y g:ve~.-.. , n anl 31Y:' Go:F::; agape"' it may be that Paulis reticence is :h:.e to
!.:..:. c e::~:~::-:e-.~::1::; '"20:1c: s:.-:::1 ~o ::;:--:.c: 1:-.e i t .-::l e2.i· that GhristiaEity is a theocentric :telig i on and he
'.:·:"J.. :_T~:-J t:-J ~;_" efer E:VP.ry ~3. ;;_ :~g t o Go ct
If he v1e-::e t o ::all n .Lan 1 s l o ve to god agape::: he rnlght
see tha t this c:. . gc.,~)2 21, :;~~ r. es f ::.-on1 :;: na :n 1 [] i:nnc r re sources" Furthe 2"; it is obvious that if
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.7ere a reve::ri h: c :ccL~. ~: ion Gl-:. iy:, bc:;:iweeI: God and ma n: then God 1s agape would be
:•· :::.-~'-7. ,.: s:l to rna ·:.:.' :_ 3..g ;-1 :=8 {cieno' :: :>"J.~~: c m:: :. e kJ nd of equality which would b e utterly fo 1·ei g:1.
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;; _ Ct:r 1. ::;~.:_2 r.<it1 o :. : n-;.:..~.t'. 1 .s agu.1:<~ '>TY .1 be e1. 2vated to God: s .~ ne ce s siti.i.ting an egoc;::mtric
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Hence~, Paul con,~
·--sr::.1.e :;:ri:l; doc:;s n o\-. u3e ~ :i::e vm :;:: d a.t 2,ll '.Nith :.i:-eference t o man;s relationship with God,
':\']:_;_~ fact tha.t Pa.':o.l snow s tl ~i s re'Li.cen c e d o es not~ however., justify our unde1· standing
b.·i_1:.L·1 to i.""..ne a.n tll~t love to G·od ~. ;: i:;:ro ~;~
l:n spice of Paul 1 s hes:~tation about calling it
:..,• ;2+e;, the Pa'1Enc no2io:r; o:; rnc..n's loving sur render to God as a respc:moe to God;s
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�agape differs from eros. For God is not the highest good as in eros in the sense that
He is more desirable than all other objects of desire: He cannot be classed with objects of desire. The difference lies mainly in the distinction between a theocentric
love and an egocentric l ove. Man loves God, not because on comparing him with other
things he finds Him more satisfying than anything else, but because God's unmotivated
love has overwhelmed him so that he cannot do otherwise than love God. That is,
.
even when God seems t o be the object of man's love as in the commandment, God is
really the subjecto
·,.
The final consideration c oncerns the nature o f the Thomistic caritas. The question
that arises from such a c onsideration is whether Thomistic caritas is a synthesis of
eros and agape or simply the Latin word for agape. From what has been said about
Thomas in the preceding pages, two things may be observed: first, that for Thomas
there is no merit without grace, and second, that love is the root of the virtues and
the root of all love is self-love. From the former notion arises the idea of a two-fold
movement: that of grace coming down to man and the instillation of certain supernatural principles wherein he may begin an upward movement towards God. Thus
this do \WU. --;ar d movement called grace is really none other than God's agape, and
hence we may say that Thomas is in accord with Paul thus far. But his notion of
caritas as an upward tendency, based as it is upon the foundation of self-love, seems
to accord badly with the Christian love which "seeketh not its own." Thomas ,seemed
to realize this difficulty, however., and tried to overcome it with the introduction of
the Aristotelian doctrine of friendship. In doing s ,'J, Thomas tried to make a distinction between two types of self-love, acquisitive love and the love of friendship. He
asserted that the latter was caritas; that is, one loves God, himself and his neighbor
with the love of friendship. This notion of friendship which Thomas introduced for the
sake of being able to correct his view that all love is egocentric (eros), he was pleased
to find did not contradict his first premise that all love is self-love. For, even if I
love my friend for his own sake, I still only love what is for myself a "bonum. 11 Thus ·
the unity of the Thomistic doctrine of love was preserved, inasmuch as with the addition of the notion of friendship, the proposition still h olds that all love goes back to
self~~love and man can only love that which is a "bonum" for himself.
Thus, it seems
that Thomas 1 notion of love is basically eros and hence diverges radically from the
Pauline agape towards one's neighbor. The real difference between Pauline agape and
the Thomistic caritas may be emphasized by saying that the former is an almost completely downward movement and the latter is considerably more upward. Thus the
medieval theologians, more specifically Thomas and Dante, are fundamentally concerned with the ascent to God. Certainly this is true of Dante's Divine Comedy. That
is~ the Thomistic phrase 11 no merit without grace" is non-Pauline.
The Pauline under,..
standing is always that of grace and love in the form of Christ coming down to us. We
never ascend but achieve fellowship on this le val; whereas in Thomas, though grace is
a terribly necessary prerequisite to merit, without our own ascent we cannot achieve
fellowship,,
In summarizing what has been said about agape, one may conclude that with such a .
defin:.tion of agape as has been given, it is imp ·.J ssible for man to have agape towards
God in any Christian's understanding. Hence, the chief difficulty that arises is that if
one is to speak of a theol o gical virtue of love, its meaning must be radically different
�.
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from that of agape. Thomas saw this difficulty, and hence he ma1e caritas more like
eros and less like agape. On account of this it is extremely difficult for Thomas to
speak of agape towards one 1 s neighbor, since his caritas has such egocentric principles.
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Further, it has been shown that the real difference between grace and God's love,
for Aquinas and for Paul, is that the former considers grace as essentially a means
for man's ascent to God whereas the latter knows n o ascent. That is, Paul conceives
of grace as bringing about fellowship on our level whereas Aquinas considers grace
as necessary for bringing about fellowship on God's level. For Aquinas, grace is the
v
divine assistance man needs in order to be able to ascend to God and the power whereby his upward-directed love (eras) is set in motion. For Paul, grace is the same as
God's agape, and is God's gracious will whereby he enters into fellowship with sinner~.
Thus, for Paul, love is always agape, but for Aquinas it is a synthesis of eras and
agape; for God 1 s l ove is agape but man's love for God is fundamentally eras.
. .i
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FOOTNCTJ!:S
Dilnte, De Monarchia, Book II, Chapter 16, tr. H. ·w. Schneider.
Summa Theologica., II, Dist. 44, .~ ; . 2, a. 3, ad. 4. The Summa Theologica
(Random House edition) is the source of all quotations from 3t. Thomas in
this paper.
3. II-II, r._;. 147, a. 3.
1.
z.
.
4.
5.
6.
.
~
4, a. 5.
1. Dante, Divine Comedy, II, xxvii, 130, tr. D. L. Sayers.
8. Ibid., 139.
9. I-II, (~ . 26, a. 13.
10. 1-11, r . 62, a. 4.
11. Loe. cit.
12. Plato, The Symposium 200, tr. Jowett.
13. Matthew 5. 44-45, Revised Standard Version.
14. Soren Kierkegaard, Journals (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1938), tr •
Alexander Dru •
15. Galatians 1. 14.
16. Philippians 3. 4.
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Q.
�PIETY AND EROS
Harrison J. Sheppard
All men by nature desire to know 11 ; and with this begins their pain. In the beginning,
man's sole concern was to stay aliveo But there ar e animals stronger than man, and something besides physical strength was ne cessary for him to survive. This necessity, in conjunction with the gre garious instinct, caused man to become a social animal; and his rea9on
enabled him to make his society effect ive. Thus_, practical motives initially impelled men
to band together and seek permanent habitations. With the abandonment of the nomadic anq
bestial life and the establishment of societies , laws were established to regulate the societies. From laws arose the sense of right and wrong, and painful conscience. But this
is a question which has been asked since the laws b egan : did right and wrong begin when
men made laws_, or did men formulate the laws because there was right and there was wrong?
11
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At least by the first time a man felt h~uself wronged by the laws, speculation had begun, investigation into the very basic questions which accompany the institution of laws:
what is just? what is virtuous? what are right and wrong?
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In order to explain the myst erious phonomena of the physical world, cosmologies were
invented. A cosmology is es sential to the laws and to speculations about the nature of
virtue, for with a mythical account of the origin of the universe, comes a further vindication of the laws" The gods furnish an ultimate reason for civil obedienceo And at
the same time , some cosmological system m
ust be supposed prior to the development of any
ethical scheme. For with a purely materialistic cosmology presupposed (such as that of
Lucretius)~ the ethical s ystem will be directed primarily toward ends attainable in this
world. On the other hand) if the ethical scheme has as a bas is a cosmology which posits
the existence of spiritual bei ngs (such as that of Hesiod) and non-material essences in
general, it will be direct ed t oward ends beyond this world. Thus the importance of the
cosmology on which the eti1ical s ystem is based is manifest.
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An ethical system based upon a cosmology positing the existence of spiritual beings
who affect men (for there are cosmologies which accept the possib ility of the existence
of divinities) but deny that t hey would be concerned with men, e. g., that of Lucretius)
would say that obedienc e to the will of these bein gs; which we call piety, constitutes
virtue. Thus in some ethical systems we find the laws divinely sanctioned, for they are
divinely decreed. But here again is the question of the origin of law~ since cosmologies
were at least framed by menJ did God create the l aws, or did the laws create God? Or
more exactly stated; did men formulate the laws becaus e of divine injunctions, or did
men create their gods to give additional strength to their laws?
•.·
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If obedience to the will of the gods constitutes virtue , the nature of the gods must
be asc ertained, and it is ne cessary to determine exactly what their will is. The
11
Timaeus 11 is a statement of the Platonic cosmology, and Timaeus t ells of gods who are
concerned with the affairs of men. This then is the question : who are the Platonic gods,
and what constitutes piety for Plato?
·
In trying to answer these questions, we s hall examine the nature of those beings whom
Plato calls gods and attempt to ascertain which of them he really r egards as divinities.
Then we shall determine the natur e of the beings toward whom Plato beli eves pious action
should be direct ed . In judging wheth er or not a specific being referred to by Plato as ·
a god is one toward whom Plato believes true piety is to be directed, we shall use the
criteria that he be in some way knowabl e, and that he have some e ff ect upon mortals. For
if nothing about the divinity is knowable, and if he cannot affect men in any way, then .
there is no basis , object) nor r eason for piety, and the word becomes meaningless.
�The Euthyphro ( non Piety 11 ) concerns itself solely with the Homeric gods as the objects
of pious action, When Euthyphro) who is prosecuting his father for murder, invokes the
myth of Zeus' punishment of his father, Cronos, as justification for his act, Socrates
replies: 11 Is not this> Euthyphro, the reason why I am being prosecuted, because when
people tell such stories about the gods I find it hard to accept them? 11 l The myths of
the Olympian gods are unacceptable to Plato. By rejecting the myths in the manner and
to the extent which he does) he denies the existence of the gods themselves. Plato's
censorship of the poetic accounts of the actions of the gods includes the elimination
of their following attributes and activities~
! .: .,' ',
1ifarring and plotting against one another:
1
Neither must we admit at all that gods war with gods and pl ot against one another
and contend, for it is not true.2
Punishing men without benefiting them;
God is the cause of good things only, but the cause of evil we must look for in
other things and not in God ;-and when the gods punish mortals the poets J must declare that what God did was rl ghteous and good, and they were benefited by his chastisement .3
Desiring to appear before mortals:
If God is altered, it must necessarily be for the worse. For we surely will not say
that God is deficient in either beauty or excellence .... It is impossible then even
for a god to wish to alter himself, but as it appears, each of them being the fairest
and best possible abides forever simply in his own form. No poet then ...• must be
allowed to tell us that 11 The gods in the likeness of strangers many disguises assume
as they visit the cities of mortals . 11 We must not suppose that while the gods them- ·
selves are incapable of change they cause us to fancy that they appear in many shapes
deceiving and practising magic upon us . . .• For would a god wish to deceive, or lie,
by presenting in either word or action what is only appearance?4
Experiencing grief or any other passion:
We beg l9f the poets-! at least not to describe the gods as lam
enting or crying. 5
To hear how Zeus forgot all the ~esigns ~hich he devised because of the excitement
of his passions will not be permitted .
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Committing any acts of intemperance (Republic 389C-390D).
Being influenced by sacrificial offerings:
"·'.' .
It is certain we cannot allow the gods to be acceptors of bribes or greedy for gain
!}o the poets cannot chant 11 Gifts move the gods and gifts persuade dread kings. 11 7
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Now if the gods never visit mortals, and cannot be moved by sacrifices, and feel
neither grief nor happiness because of the actions of men, the connections between men
and the gods have been severed, and the Homeric gods can have nothing to do with men.
And furthermore, since the stor i es surrounding their births and early history are denied,
the result is that, if the r e are any gods at all left, they are not the Olympians. It
was for this sort of expurgation and denial of mythology that Socrates was convicted of
impiety. Athena., as the founder and protectress of Athens, was an essential part of
•
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---- - - - - --
every state activity. At the beginning of 8Very state enterprise of importance, the gods
wer e invoked and sacrifices wore offer ed. To deny that this would h~lp in1pcl the gods to
protect Athens would be a grave political offense, for this denial would lead to disas- ~
trous results. It would destroy the moral force of the actions of the state, that is,
Athens' support by the gods. And this would result in political disorder, not to mention
the loss of morale among the people, and in time of war, in the armies.
In the Timaeus Plato r es tates his disbelief in the existence of the mythical gods:
To know or tell of th e origin of the other [QlympianJ gods is beyond us, and we
must accept the traditions of the men of old time who affirm themselves to be the
offspring of the gods--that is what they say. Although they give no probable or
certain proofs, still, as they declare they are speaking of wgat took place in
their own family, we must conform to custom and believe them.
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Thus Plato rejects the conventional Greek piety, for he rejects the conventional Greek
deities.
However, in the Republic, and even more forcefully in the Laws, Plato himself speaks
of the necessity that the people accept the existence of the gods. In the Laws the Athenian Stranger says:
No one who in obedience to the laws believed that ther e were gods, ever intentionally did any unholy act, or uttered any unlawful word; but he who did must have
supposed one of thre e thingsJ--either that they did not exist ... or if they did
took no care of men ... or that they were easily appeased and turned as~de from
their purpose by sacrifices and prayers.9
Even in Plato 1 s own ideal stat es of the Republic and the Laws, he places great importance upon the institution of conventional piety for the gGneral populace. To aid
in the maintenance of order in the stat e, it is necessary to have the citizens believe
in the existence of virtuous gods who are concerned with the actions of men, and who
cannot be brib ed, so to sp eak, by sacrificial offerings.
. · '
:
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But to return to the major question: Plato also speaks about the gods of the heavenly
spheres in the Timaeus. He classifie s the heavenly bodies as 11 divine and eternal animals" becaus e of his definition of soul: "the motion which can move itself" lo; and in
his discussion of the soul in the Phaedrus, he demcnstrates that "that which is moved
by itself is immorta1. 11 ll Thus the heavenly spheres , being s elf-moved, possess immortal
souls. Plato says of the s pheres: they 11 are not altogether immortal and dissoluble, but
they shall certainly not be dissolved, nor be liable to the fate of death. 012 They are
11 not altogether immortal 0 be caus e they are compos ed of matter, th e stuff of the world of
becoming, but they are "not liable to the fate of death 11 because they have immortal sou:f-s.
:
, , •. l
But the divine spheres have no concern with mortals, for
they ever continue to think consist ently the same thoughts about the same things.,.
divine and eternal animals, ever abiding and revolving a ft er the same manner and '
in the same spot.13
They cannot be the objects of pi ety, for they are unconcerned with the actions of men, .
and do not themselves confer any benefit or punishment upon them as reward or reprimand~
We now have to d eal with the creator of the heavenly sphe res--the Demi-urge. It would
seem that the creator of the universe is the one who instituted the laws determining pious
action, and that he is th erefore the one toward whom pious action is directed. However,
the Demi-urge, after making the universe, fixing the motions of the Same and Other, en- .
dowing the gods with immortal souls, and making the material
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�proportion (fire:air: :air:water: :water:earth), departs, "remaining in his own accustomed nature 11 14 apart from the gods and man. He has no connection with mortals, for if
he did "they would be on equality with the gods . 11 15 So the other gods are left to create
the mortal animals, including man. But in light of the fact that Plato really rejects
the Olympian gods, how are we to understand the role they play in the creation of man?
. :. · ..
The Timaeus is a "likely story," a metaphor. Both the Demi-urge and the Homeric gods
are metaphorical beings who represent those things which are the creative forces of the
universe: the Demi-urge the unknowable artisan who is the ultimate source of the creation of all things; and the gods, the children of the Demi-urge, those beings who are
known to men as their direct creators, and the immediate source of the things which
exist in the world of becoming.
The Timaeus is a cosmogony, an explanation of the creation of the physical universe;
but Plato is not only a cosmogonist. Besides an explanation of the creation of the
universe in metaphorical terms, there is a metaphysical scheme, a metaphysical cosmology. At the apex of the hi3rarchy of metaphysical essences is the Good:
••. the author of knowledge to all things lm.own, and of their being ang essence, and
yet not itself essence but far exceeds essence in dignity and power.l
The Good is the source of the forms: the intelligible world, the knowable divinities.
In turn, from the forms, come the qualities which exist in the physical world. There
are the five basic forms, Being, Same, Other, Motion and Rest (the first things utilized by the Demi-urge), and all the other forms which give qualities to the world of
becoming: Beauty, Justice, Largeness, etc.
At the top of both systems we find something which is unknowable to ordinary men, and
to which they can have no direct connection. At the next step in the hierarchies, we
find that which gives existence to the creatures of the visible world, and is knowable
to mortals. Thus:
Demi-urge:Good: :Gods:Forms: :Gods or Forms:Visible ·worlct17
In the Republic., the following qualities are ascribed to the gods by implications
drawn from the qualities which are denied to the gods: 18 They are incorporeal, perfect,
changeless beings who can only bGnefit men, even when they are punishing them; they
have no history, for they are etern2l. These are all qualities which tho forms possess. Furthermore, the conventional mythology of the gods designates one essential
characteristic to each of them; as each form is the form of some on0 thing.
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But how can th e forms llpunish 11 men? In the Phaedo Socrates gives an account of
the afterlife in highly sensibl e terms, and vividly describes the horrors of Tartarus,
Cocytus, and so on. And yet in the Republic1 9 he objects to the poetic accounts of
these places, for he says they are untrue. Socrates' telling of the myths immediately
before his death must needs be interpreted as a metaphor: Those who were impious are
bound to the things of the body, and cannot see the beauties of the forms. Their
bodies weigh them down because of their attachment to the things of the body on earth,
and thus Socrat es tells the myth of phys ical punishment. The punishment received by
an impious mortal when he dies, is denial of the sight of the realities. To Plato
this would certainly be th e severest possible punishment, for it is his doctrine that
all men desire the Good, the sourc e of the realities. On the other hand, the account
of paradise in the Phaedo is also given in terms which are vivid images of sensible
things. Of the pious, Socrates says: "But thos e who are found to have excelled in
~ :
•
�holy living are freed from these regions within the earth and are released as from prisons; they mount upward into their pure abod -:; ." In their 11 pure abode 11 they behold the
realities, the forms themselves. This is metaphorically expressed in the Phaedo in such
terms as 11 white that is whiter than chalk" and gems which are 11 by far purer than ours. 11 21
Since the forms are the only knowable divinitie s, the gods would seem to be metaphorical representations of them in physical terms. This inference, in conjunction with the ·
doctrine of recollection, makes understandable the t erm i i di vine inspiration" in the Platonic context. What Plato must mean by divine inspiration, since he does not accept the
existence of the Homeric gods exc ept as m
etaphors, is the knowledge of the forms which
the soul receives prior to its encasement in the body. The poets cannot explain their
art, just as the personages of dialogues frequently cannot explain their own statements
although they may be truec However, the question then arises: If the poet's inspiration
is received from having seen the forms before his birth, why then doed Plato eject the
poets from the state? The reason is that this knowledge is corrupted by attachment to
the body:
·;._: ( ;
·-
···-· ·- ·
What shall we say of the actual acquirement of knowledge? Is not the body a hinderer? I mean to say, have sight and hearing any truth in them? Are they not, as
the poets are always telling us, inaccurate witnesses? 22 It has been proved to us
by experience that if we would have pure knowledge of anything we must be quit of
the body.23
The body is an obstacle to knowledge; it corrupts and impairs the vision of the forms
seen by the soul prior to its imprisonment in the body. And thus it is with the poets:
their attachment to the body r e sults in a corruption of the knowledge which they, like
all other men, possess of the forms; and this corruption causes them to ascribe physical characteristics to the forms themselves.
. . ; ..
Plato retains the mythical gods in the state, with many modifications, and for this
reason: only the philosopher-kings of the Republic are to know the truth of the divinities:
·; 1
Every one will admit that a nature having in perfection all the qualities which
we required in a philosopher !Temperance, courage, justice, love of truth, gentility, good memory, complete~absorption in the pleasures of the soul, Republic_
485-487], is a rar e plant which is seldom seen am?ng men. 2 4
The worthy disciples of philosophy will always be a small remnant. 2 5
: :.
.
Philosophy, the noblest pursuit of all, is not likely to be much esteemed
the people] • 26
ffiy
The general}Dpulace would find the mythical gods, as more personal, embodied deities,
more understandable than the forms. Thus there would be a conventional piety in the
state, which is necessary to its order, as was pointed out before. Although it would be
but an image of the true piety, the true virtue, this is necessary; for if the truth about
the divinities were told, lack of comprehension by the general populace would result in
general disbelief, and hence disorder. So the truth, that the forms are the true divin~
ities, is to be reserved for the philosophers alone. And the people will guide their
actions according to the metaphorical gods, believing in the divine sanction of the
state by personal deities. As for Plato himself, he ~ertainly believes that the
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laws are divine, There is the form of Justic e , and although the justice dispensed upon
earth is also but an image of that True Justice, still it had its origin in the divine
model of Justice Itself.
.. ~ :
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.
;
In the Euthyphro, Euthyphro defines piety as "that part of the right which has to do
with attention to the gods . 11 To this So;crates replies: "I think 2ou are correct, Euthyphro .•.. but I do not yet understand what you mean by attention. 11 7 The forms are the only
true divinities for Plato, and attention to them means seeking knowledge of them, the desire for knowledge of the Good~ the source of the forms: Eros. All true virtue comes only
with knowledge, and knowledge comes through the pursuit of knowledge or wisdom: philosophy. The philosopher is the only truly pious man, tending his soul by seeking knowledge
of the realities:
The soul takes nothing with it to the other world but its <edu.C'Cili'">n and nurture.
28
Only those who have duly purified themselves b2 philosophy will be freed and pass
to more beautiful abodes than we can describe. 9
As to the question of a divinity other than the forms, the fact that the highest
beings in the Platonic dialogues, both metaphorical and metaphysical, are both unknowable
t o mortals, indicates that Plato feels that if there is such a supreme deity, he too would
be unknowable to men. But this makes no difference so long as there are the forms: the
essences of the intelligible world. Thes e ar e ample guides to living a pious life and
11 holding fast ever to the heavenly way," the way of philosophy and true virtuf3 .
FOOTNOTES
1.
3.
5.
7.
9.
11.
13.
15.
17.
19.
21.
23.
25.
27.
29.
Euthyphro 6B
Ibid. 379B-380B
I bid. 388C
Ibid. 390E
Laws 885B
Republic 287C
Ibid. 381B-382A
6. Ibid. 390C
8. Timaeus 40E
10. Ibid. 896A. In Timaeus 37 the soul is
also called 11 the self-moved. 11
Phaedrus 245C-E
12. Timaeus 41A
Ibid.40A
14. Ibid. 42D
Ibid.41B
16. Republic 509
There is a certain ambiguity in the role the Demi-urge plays. On the one hand he :
represents the power which fashirr1s: the material of the uni verse, looking toward "the
divine and eternal model, 11 most likely the forms. On the other hand, he is representative of the source of the forms. In a way ho is himself the model. As is said
in the Timaeus (29E): 11 He desired that all should be , so far as possible, like unto
himself."
18. Republic 378-391
Ibid. 3 87C
20. Phaedo 114C
Ibid. 110-114
22. Ibid. 65A
Ibid. 66D
24. Republic 491A
Ibid. 496B
26. Ibid. 389D. The section from 488 to 503
concerns itself with the qualifications of the philosopher, the incapabilities of
most people to be philosophers, and the unpopularity of philosophy.
Euthyphro 12E
28 . Phaedo 107D
Ibid. 114C
2.
4.
�------------ - - - -------- --- ----.
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.
SOLUTION OF A MATHEMATICAL PROBLEM
David C. Jones
Part 1. Prove: If Pn is the number of parts into which a plane is divided by n lines,
no two parallel, and no three meeting in a point: that Pn-t-l =Pn..Jr n.ftl--1.
Let there beg such lines, and let one additional line be drawn under the given conditions, making n intersections: for it must intersect each one of the g lines, and each
at a separate point. (Given)
Between each two consecutive intersected lines, the segment of the intersecting l ine
crosses no further lines; for if so, the intersections would not be consecutive.
Therefore there is a single part of the plane immediately on either side of the segment;
and let these parts be A and B.
But A and B are unique, i.e. are connected with no other such parts adjoining other segments; for the segments are determined by intersecting lines, and each such line divides
all the plane into two unconnected parts, one segment in one, one in the other. Therefore A and B are unique, etc.
But if any segment were removed, the two unique parts A and B would be joinea into one
part, A+B •
· " :'
.·· . .
So each segment of the line divides a
parts, A .and B.
single~
unique part of the plane,
A~B,
into two
But the line, from first to last of its g intersections, contains n-1 such dividing segments. For the first two intersections contain one such segment, and each additional
intersection determines one more.
But before the first intersection, and after the last, the intersecting line divides
the previously single part it crosses, in a similar manner, into two parts.
: .. 1.
But this is the total line, and the sum of its divisions. So there are n-1+2 or n+l
single spaces divided into two spaces by the additional line; or n+l additional parts
created.
. '1 ..
But if Pn is the number of spaces contained by the n lines, Pn+l=Pn+n+l .
Q.E.D.
Part 2. Prove: If Sn is the number of parts into which all space is divided by g planes,
no two parallel, and no three meeting in a line, or any in parallel lines (or more than
two lines meeting at a point): that Sn+i~Sn+Pn parts.
Let there be n such planes, and let there be one additional plane passed under the given
conditions; so that each of the g planes inters ects it and there are g lines of intersection on it, no two parallel, and no three meeting in a point. (Given)
Therefore the lines divide the plane into Pn parts. (Part 1)
(continued )
�But each part is cut by no further planes, for ther e is no furth er line of intersection;
and so there is a single part of space immediately on e ither side of the planar part.
Let those parts of space be A and B.
Now A and B are unique, i.e. are connected with no spaces touching other parts of the
plane, other A' A or B's. For there is a line of intersection between any two parts of
the plane, and therefore an intersecting plane between the spaces touching any two planar
parts. But the plane s eparates the two planar parts by a division of all space into two
unconnected parts. Therefore A and B, etc.
But if any part of the plane is r emoved, the unique parts A and B > either side will
n
join into one part, A+B.
So each part of the plane divides a single , unique part of space, A+B, into parts, A
and B.
But there are Pn such dividing parts of the added plane . Ther e for e the added plane creates Pn new parts of space . But if Sn is the number of parts which already existed,
Sn+1=Sn+Pn parts.
Q.E.D.
Sonnet for a Warm Seas on
David Jones
Languorous serpent slipping through the dark)
Cool summer wind sloughs smoothly through my screen;
Whispers, and sighs, and searches to depart,
But leaves a distant scent of summer green -Weeds crushed by children, grasses cut by men
Who shed their sweat this morning with the dew,
And stopped to rest a moment in my wind;
And one of them, to wonder what is true.
Counties away, he sleeps now through the night,
In quiet mounds of softly aching sheet.
Only the wind remembers morning's light;
And drops the morning's moment at my feet .
And he, and I, and all the winds that pass,
Can only tell of wond e r, and of grass.
�
Dublin Core
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The Collegian
Description
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The Collegian began as a student newspaper; became a college community literary publication in 1952 and continued until 1969; became a student newspaper again in 1969; discontinued publication from 1980 until 1989 when it again became a student literary publication.<br /><br />Click on <a title="The Collegian" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=26">Items in The Collegian Collection</a> to view and sort all items in the collection.
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Annapolis, MD
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61 pages
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paper
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Collegian 1958, October
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The Collegian, October 1958
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1958-10
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Issue of The Collegian. Published in October 1958.
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Jones, David (Editor)
Ronquist, Eyvind (Editor)
Stinchecum, T. B. (Editor)
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Annapolis, MD
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The Collegian
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