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WIND BY ROLF NESCH 











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JANUARY 1958 





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ROGER ORTMAYER EDITOR 
HENRY KOESTLINE MANAGING EDITOR 
MARGARET RIGG ART EDITOR 


EDDIE LEE McCALL 
HELEN POST 
WILLIAM HARRISON 
WANDA LENK 


CIRCULATION MGR. 
PROMOTION MGR. 
EDITORIAL ASST. 
SECRETARY 


M ] T I Vv E 


JANUARY 1958 VOLUME XVIII / 4 


CONTENTS: 


CONTRIBUTING EDITORS: HERBERT HACKETT ¢ HAROLD EHRENSPERGER 


EDITORIAL COUNCIL: JOHN O. GROSS « H. D. BOLLINGER 


WOODROW A. GEIER « RICHARD BENDER ¢ HOWARD ELLIS « HARVEY BROWN 


HAROLD W. EWING « MYRON F. WICKE ¢ JAMESON JONES 


john e. jordan 


1 W.S.C.F.’s CALL TO THE DAY OF PRAYER 
2 AN ORDER OF WORSHIP for the universal day of prayer 
5 TWO-WAY TRAFFIC robert h. hamill 
8 THE SEARCH FOR INTIMACY: THE FAMILY — gibson winter 
11 ALL FOR ONE myron scholnick 
14. THE TERRIBLE SICKNESS IN SHAKESPEARE’S OTHELLO 
norman penlington 
” ROLF NESCH (ARTIST) barbara lee bachmura 
25 TWO STORIES  erich kaestner 
27. NULLUS EPISCOPUS, NULLA ECCLESIA jj. hamby barton, jr. 
29 THE CONSENSUS: WE'VE HAD IT 
33. LETTERS 
departments 
34 MUSIC I. p. pherigo 
36 CAMPUS ROUNDUP FROM OXFORD, ENGLAND 
38 BOOKS 
cover 3. PRAYER (Print) margo hoff 
cover 4 EDITORIAL roger ortmayer 





COVER ARTIST: 


MOTIVE: 

motive is the magazine of the Methodist Student Move- 
ment, an agency afhliated with the World Student Chris- 
tian Federation through the United Student Christian 
Council, published monthly, October through May, by the 
Division of Educational Institutions of the Board of Edu- 
tation of The Methodist Church; John O. Gross, General 


Rolf Nesch, metal print: Wind. See art feature on pages 16 through 24. 


POST OFFICE BOX 871 NASHVILLE 2, TENNESSEE 


Secretary. Copyright 5 
The Methodist Church 
Subscription rates: Single subscriptions, eight issues, $2. 


e Board of Education of Nashville 2, 


Group subscriptions of fifteen or more to one address, $1 
each. Foreign subscriptions $2.50. Single copy 30 cents. 
Address all communications to motive, P. O. Box 871, 


Tennessee. Please accompany articles, stories, 
poems and art work submitted with return postage. 
Entered as second-class matter at the Post Office at 


Nashville, Tennessee, under act of March 3, 1879. Accept- 
ance for mailing at special rate of postage provided for in 
Section 1103, act of October 3, 1917, and authorized on 
July 5, 1918. 











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With these words, the World Student Christian 
Federation once again calls the Church everywhere 
to make intercession for the universities of the world. 

There is no doubt that the New Testament com- 
mands us to pray. The imperatives are hard, even 
sharper than we think at first glance. ‘‘Rejoice always,” 
at all times. ‘‘Pray constantly,” without ceasing. “‘Give 
thanks in all cireumstances.”” And what is more, we 
are commanded to do this ‘for all men’”’ (1 Tim. 2:1). 
The New Testament does not show much interest in 
whether we want to pray or not. Our will is not decisive 
here. Another will wants these things, and that will 
is the commanding one. “This is the will of God!” 

Can we agree? Can we allow this will to take place 
in us, if not always and constantly, at least here and 


January 1958 


W.S.CF.’s call te 
the day of prayer 


Rejoice always, pray constantly, give thanks 
in all circumstances; for this is the will of 
God in Christ Jesus for you. | Thess. 5:16- 
18. 


now, in this place? Are we willing here and now to be 
given the gift of joy, of a thankful heart, of valid 
prayer? While we weigh this possibility, the New Tes- 
tament speaks once again: that which God wills has 
already taken place “‘in Christ Jesus.” You do not 
decide whether God’s determination to have a joyful, 
praying, grateful creature will happen or not. God’s 
will has happened in the Man of Nazareth! In him the 
Creator hears the grateful ‘‘let it be so!’’ of his Crea- 
ture. In the Man of Nazareth, the life of faith in all 
these forms—joy, prayer, gratitude—is a reality, not 
just a possibility. 

And this Man of Nazareth has to do with us here, 
today. This Lordly Man believes, rejoices, prays, gives 
thanks ‘‘for you.’’ In him your Day of Prayer has al- 


l 





ready begun. In this Man of Nazareth, God is glad 
about you, his own creature! In this Man of Nazareth, 
God himself prays for you, his friend! In this Man of 
Nazareth, God in his own inconceivable way, gives 
thanks for you, his own beloved child! Your hard will 
and deadness of heart he wants for himself. His free 
will and living heart he wants you to have for yourself. 
His command to rejoice, to pray, to give thanks is an 
invitation to let his life be your own. God wants this 
life for you. 

“For you’’—‘‘for all men.’’ What God wants for 
you, he has already begun “‘in Christ Jesus’ for all 
men. Can we rejoice and pray and give thanks for that 
in the universities where we study and learn and teach? 
“All men”’ is not an abstraction in the New Testament. 
It means ‘‘each man’’: each man and woman in the 
universities of the world, especially those we know 
and see every day, and most particularly those we 
might prefer to leave alone. Professors—the interest- 
ing and the dull ones! Fellow students—the clever 
and the foolish ones, the rich and the poor, the cour- 
ageous and the cowardly, the trustworthy and the 


untrustworthy, the Christian and the non-Christian, 
the religious and the skeptic and the indifferent, the 
good and the evil—all men are included in the for you 
which we celebrate today. 

And those also who help us to study: families—the 
understanding and the misunderstanding ones, the en- 
couraging and the depressing; officials—the helpful 
and the hindering ones, the just and the unjust; and 
the merchants from whom we buy, and the poor of 
every kind among whom we study and live. For all these 
we are invited to rejoice with the Heavenly Father, 
who ‘‘in Christ Jesus’’ sees not only the heart of each 
man, but the destiny of all men. For all these we are 
invited to pray with the Lord who holds them lovingly 
and without ceasing before the heavenly throne. For 
all these we are invited to give thanks in all circum- 
stances—not pharisaic thanks for things unworthy of 
thanks, but the thanks of those who know that their 
own sins have been forgiven, and those of all men. 

Rejoice always, pray constantly, give thanks in all cir- 
cumstances; for this the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. 
Amen. 


ANN ORDER OF WORSHIP 


for the universal day of prayer 


felrmmary 16, 1958 


This service is offered as a suggestion for use by student 
Christian groups meeting together in response to the Call 
of Prayer issued by the officers of the W.S.C.F. It is only 
a suggestion, and groups are free to use it any way they 
wish, to alter it, or even to make use of a different service 
altogether. Some, however, may wish to follow this order in 
the knowledge that other Christian students in different 
parts of the world will be praying the same prayers. Ap- 
propriate hymns are to be chosen by each group. 


This service includes portions with responses. The parts to 
be said by the congregation are given in capital letters. 


aA 








—— 








oa 














THE READING OF THE “CALL TO PRAYER” 


INVOCATION 
Blessed is the Kingdom of the Fa- 
ther, Son and Holy Ghost 
Now and forever, World without 
end. AMEN. 


HYMN 


ADORATION 
Almighty God, most blessed and 
most holy, before the brightness of 
whose presence the angels veil their 
faces, with lowly reverence and 
adoring love, we acknowledge thine 
infinite glory and worship thee, Fa- 
ther, Son and Holy Spirit, eternal 
Trinity. 
Blessing and honour and glory and 
power to be unto our God for ever 
and ever. AMEN. 


CONFESSION OF SIN 
O God, our Father, by whose power 
we are sustained, and by whose 
mercy we are spared, look down 
upon us with compassion. We have 
not loved thee with all our heart; 
we have not loved our neighbours 
as ourselves, we have done amiss 
and dealt wickedly. We beseech 
thee to forgive us and to cleanse us 
from our sins and to lead us in the 
path of righteousness. 
WE CONFESS TO GOD ALMIGHTY, 
THE FATHER, THE SON AND THE 
HOLY SPIRIT THAT WE HAVE 
SINNED IN THOUGHT, WORD 
AND DEED, THROUGH OUR 
GRIEVOUS FAULT. 
THEREFORE WE PRAY GOD TO 
HAVE MERCY UPON US. 

Lord, have mercy upon us 
CHRIST, HAVE MERCY UPON US. 
May the almighty and merciful Lord 
grant unto us pardon and remission 
of all our sins, time for amendment of 
life, and the grace and comfort of the 
Holy Spirit. 
AMEN. 


PRAYER OF THANKSGIVING 
We give thanks to thee, O Lord 
God, Father almighty, together 
with thy Son, our Lord and Saviour 
Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit. 
We thank thee for all the blessings 
which in the riches of thy great 


January 1958 


mercy thou hast bountifully poured 
down upon us and all men. 

Let us not live but to praise and 
magnify thy glorious name. O Lord, 
we especially thank thee for giving 
us the privilege of serving thee in 
and through (the SCM and) the 
World Student Christian Federa- 
tion. We offer thee our humble 
thanks for all thou hast been pleased 
to do through the Federation (and 
the SCMs) in every part of the 
world. We praise thee for all those 
whom thou hast raised up as wit- 
nesses in our midst and through 
whose lives and words we have been 
enlightened. We beseech thee that 
we, being encouraged by their ex- 
ample and strengthened by their 
fellowship, may not fail thee in the 
day of opportunity. 

Through Jesus Christ our Lord 
AMEN. 


HYMN 


READING 
(St. Luke 10:17-24 or I Thessa- 
lonians 5:14-25) 


SERMON 
OFFERING 


PRAYER OF INTERCESSION 

These prayers of intercession should 
be made as specific as possible, per- 
haps by direct reference to other 
movements with which your move- 
ment has had a special concern in 
the past year. Short periods of si- 
lence may be observed after each 
item. Reports about other move- 
ments are published in the Federa- 
tion News. 


Let us bring before God the needs 
of the students of the world. 

God our Father, who hast promised 
that thou wilt grant the requests of 
those who are gathered together in 
thy name, we bring before thee the 
needs of our fellow students in every 
country. We pray for those who 
have lost the sense of their signifi- 
cance as students and those whose 
existence as students is threatened 
by injustice in society. 


WE BESEECH THEE TO HEAR US. 


—For those whose anxieties do not 
leave their minds free to think 

WE BESEECH THEE TO HEAR US. 

—For those tormented by difficulty 
of choosing a career and those 
who face unemployment 

WE BESEECH THEE TO HEAR US. 

—For those who study in foreign 
lands, those who are homeless, 
lonely or hopeless 

WE BESEECH THEE TO HEAR US. 

—For those who yet have had no 
opportunity to hear thy call to 
follow thee and those who have 
heard thy call and not yet obeyed 

WE BESEECH THEE TO HEAR US. 


Let us bring before God the Student 
Christian Movements throughout the 
world and the World Student Chris- 
tian Federation. 


(Following subjects are suggested 
for intercession) 


For all Movements in our world fel- 
lowship; for the Movements in Asia, 
Australia and New Zealand; for the 
Movements in Africa and Latin 
America; for the Movements in North 
America and Europe (specific needs of 
each Movement may be mentioned 
here). 

For groups of students in countries 
where there are no SCMs. For the 
various activities of the SCMs, for each 
of our members, in whatever situation 
he is; for the senior friends of the 
SCM; for those who spend their whole 
time in Christian work among stu- 
dents; for the work of the national 
Movement, its officers and staff, for 
the work of the World Student Chris- 
tian Federation, its officers and staff. 

Our Father, who hast given thy son 
to reconcile the world unto thyself and 
to abolish the walls of partition be- 
tween classes, races and nations, may 
our ministry in the World Student 
Christian Federation be a ministry of 
reconciliation. In times of strife and 
tension, of wars and rumours of war, 
may our unity in thee remain un- 
broken, our faith in thee unshaken. 

Through Jesus Christ our Lord. 


AMEN. 









A PRAYER FOR INSTITUTIONS 
OF HIGHER LEARNING 


Almighty God, we beseech thee 
with thy gracious favour to behold 
all institutions of higher learning, 
especially the (mention the institu- 
tion or institutions in that place), 
that knowledge may be increased 
among us, and all good learning 
flourish and abound. Bless all who 
teach and all who learn; and grant 
that in humility of heart they may 
ever look unto thee, who art the 
fountain of all wisdom; through 
Jesus Christ our Lord. 





















AMEN. 





A GENERAL PRAYER 
O God, creator and preserver of all 
mankind, we humbly beseech thee 
for all sorts and conditions of men; 
that thou wouldst be pleased to 
make thy ways known unto them, 
thy saving health unto all nations. 
Especially, Father, we pray for 
countries, for the peace of the 
whole world, and for thy holy catho- 
lic Church so that she may be 
guided and governed by thy good 
spirit. Through Jesus Christ thy son, 
our Lord, who liveth and reigneth 
with thee and the Holy Ghost, ever 
one God, world without end. 

AMEN. 
























LORD’S PRAYER 





HYMN 


PRAYER OF DEDICATION 

O God, our heavenly Father, we 
commit ourselves into thy hand, 
make us to love what thou loveth, 
to will what thou willest, and to de- 
sire what thou desirest; to serve 
where thou sendest and to be ready 
when thou callest; through Jesus 
Christ our Lord. 





























AMEN. 








BENEDICTION 
Grace, mercy and peace from God 
the Father, Son and Holy Spirit be 
with us hence and for ever more. 


AMEN. 








motive 



































TWO-WAY 
TRAP 


across 
university quenwse 
BY ROBERT H. HAMILL 


Here Robert Hamill speaks to the dichotomy between the 
church and university at the University of Wisconsin. The 
implications, however, are widely applicable. 


January 1958 





Fe aera ste to the book of Acts the Athenians spent 

their time on the Areopagus hearing or telling some- 
thing new. St. Paul and the philosophers argued there 
among people characterized by tolerance, curiosity and 
mental astuteness. In the modern setting all this is equiva- 
lent to the church and the university standing side by side 
on University Avenue, where the crowds traffic back and 
forth and argue daily about all new things. It is elemen- 
tary, my dear Watson, that your life is being shaped by 
church and university. 

You may try to separate them into compartments. Some 
say that church and university, like religion and politics, 
oil and water, cannot mix. “East is east, west is west. . .” 
which is like saying, Men are men, women are women, 
and never the two shall meet, for church and university 
have much in common. They are costly, to begin with; 
it is hard to raise money for them, and however much 
you raise, it is never enough. They are both prospering; 
education and religions are big business, and booming 
in popularity. They are nevertheless the outcasts of so- 
ciety. For instance, that sobering book The Power Elite 
(by C. Wright Mills) declares that religion, education 
and the family are but poor cousins to government, busi- 
ness and the military, where real power and real wealth 
are concentrated. 

Yet religion and education are alike also in this, that 
they carry the seeds of regeneration, the capacity for 
self-criticism, the power of growth. Consider the state- 
ment of Dr. Charles Malik, ambassador from Lebanon 
to the U. S., and head of the Lebanese delegation to the 
United Nations. He analyzes the West, which he deeply 
respects. He speaks of the many phases of Western life 
which are repulsively materialistic, the general weaken- 
ing of moral fibre, the eclipse of quality in favor of 
quantity and size, the failure of leadership, the bank- 
ruptcy of fundamental ideas. It is a devastating critique. 
Then he concludes, 


Whatever be the weakness and decadence of the West, it 
still has one saving glory: the University is free, the Church is 
free. It is a great thing to preserve unbroken the tradition of 
free inquiry started by Plato and Aristotle, and the tradition of 
love started by God. Truth can still be sought and God can still 
be loved and proclaimed in joy and freedom. And this fact 
alone is going to save us. It will not be by pacts, nor by atomic 
bombs, nor by economic arrangements, nor by the United Na- 
tions, that peace will be established, but by the freedom of the 
Church and the University each to be itself. 


The church and the university therefore have relations 
of mutual respect and criticism, across University Avenue. 
Traffic flows in two directions, not just south. How arro- 
gant it would be for us in church to feel that we come 
here to gain purpose for an otherwise purposeless study; 
to build moral power to face a wicked Babylon, as though 
we and we only were faithful to the Lord. Nonsense, and 
pride. We don’t come across University Avenue empty- 
handed, empty-headed. We come with work to do, service 
to render here. 


THE UNIVERSITY THE INTELLECTUAL 
CONSCIENCE OF THE CHURCH 


You bring first of all an intellectual judgment against 
religion. You bring the sharp mind and the tools of honest 


5 























thought. The university stands as a relentless rebuke to 
all shabby religion. It shouts anathema against all super- 
stition, all uncritical faith, all anemic belief. Conse- 
quently, some students lose their faith; they deserve to 
lose whatever cannot stand the scrutiny of hard thought. 
The university turns the X ray of scholarship upon the 
Scriptures, for instance, and studies them as it studies 
any other documents. Thereby we learn that Genesis con- 
tains two accounts of creation, neither of them accurate 
science, neither of them intended to be. We learn that 
Moses was not the author of the first five books, especial- 
ly not of the passage which records his own death and 
burial. The Gospels were not written by eye-witnesses 
who knew Jesus personally, but by second- and third- 
generation disciples; they are composite books, reflecting 
the faith of the early church, books of faith and not news- 
paper reporting. The Bible contains contradictions and 
records of bad morals. Scholarship looks at this book 
honestly, as it looks at the evidences in geology, history 
or any literary documents. 

Here on this modern Areopagus the philosophers will 
question Paul not only about Scriptures, but about the 
religious experience itself. For instance, Reinhold Niebuhr 
recently wrote a popular article about Billy Graham. He 
treated him gently because he knows that Graham is 
sincere, genuine, honest, although he feels that his mes- 
sage is irrelevant to the mature modern man who is aware 
of the tragic dimensions of life. The only letter which 
Niebuhr received criticizing him for his gentleness came 
from a college freshman. 


You say Graham is sincere. I suppose he is; but can a man 
really be sincere when he constantly repeats in his calls for de- 
cision, “You may never be as close to the Kingdom of God as 
you are this moment.” Isn't that reducing the mystery of the 
divine to petty proportions and isn’t it egoistic to make your- 
self the master of mystery? 


Niebuhr comments, “That is rather astute for a college 
freshman—or for anyone else.” This is exactly the business 
of those who traffic from university to church. Criticism 
is ultimately a protection of true religion. Good criticism 
is the best defense, it saves the genuine article. This is the 
purifying work of the intellect. Nels Ferré makes it clear. 


The church needs the university to check its claims, to steer 
its search for truth, and to test the consistency of its faith, both 
for self-consistency and with all known facts. The university 
should be the intellectual conscience of the Church.* 


* Christian Faith and Higher Education, p. 244. 


When you come across University 
Avenue you bring critical judgment. 
THE CHURCH PUTS QUESTIONS 
TO THE UNIVERSITY 

In turn you go back to the univer- 
sity with a similar kind of critical re- 
spect. Just as the church cannot live 
on faith without reason, so the uni- 
versity cannot live on reason with- 
out some prior faith. It has faith al- 
ready. The scientist believes. He 
believes in the regularity of nat- 
ural phenomenon, and takes it for 


granted. He believes that litmus paper and the spectro- 
scope give reliable information about the structure of 
atoms, which no man has ever seen. He believes that his 
own senses are trustworthy; he trusts his power of ob- 
servation. He believes that all natural events will ulti- 
mately yield to understanding. He believes many things 
which cannot be proven. 

The university believes that knowledge is worth striv- 
ing for. It does not entertain the notion that knowledge 
is a waste of time. If you believe that, you get expelled, 
for the university is intolerant. The university has pre- 
suppositions, axioms which it takes for granted and sel- 
dom examines. According to one critic these axioms in- 
clude “a belief in progress, a confidence in the goodness 
of man, a naive view of objectivity, an unbounded faith 
in science and education, an uncritical worship of reason, 
and a bourgeois evaluation of success.” (John Coleman) 
All this is faith, and the church serves the university by 
asking, Do you recognize that you have this faith? Is 
this faith adequate? 

The church presses upon the university another prob- 
lem also: Does the university recognize the temptations 
which are peculiar to the academic life, the particular 
sins of the mind? Why is it, for instance, that knowledge 
was the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden myth? If 
men are created but a little lower than the angels, does 
this mean that men can think all God’s thoughts after 
him, or can think none of them accurately? What does 
it mean when Paul says that the foolishness of God is 
wiser than the wisdom of men? Here on the modem 
Areopagus the church serves the university by pressing 
these questions. Students, professors and administrators 
carry these matters across University Avenue. 


TWO BROKEN COMMUNITIES 

Both church and university are communities, com- 
panies of people committed to common tasks. Both, alas, 
are badly shattered. 

The university asks, By what right do you in the church 
claim to be united? You are broken into severe separa- 
tions, Protestant, Catholic and Orthodox. Within, you 
are divided into hundreds of denominations. Even your 
local congregation is divided into two “sittings” like 
movie showings. How can you be the One Body of Christ 
when you cannot worship together, or eat together, even 
meet face to face? When you come south across the 
Avenue, never relent in pressing this question! 


In turn, the university itself is fragmented. Last June 
we invited here to discuss the A-bomb fallout two dis- 
tinguished professors, one a notable chemist who is ad- 
visor to the Atomic Energy Commission, the other a 
famous historian and author; these men have both been 
on this campus since 1947, yet when they walked in the 
church door I introduced them to each other. How can a 
university understand itself and its work, when its great 
men do not even know one another? I was hunting a cer- 
tain engineering professor’s office, and wandered by mis- 
take into the mining and metallurgy building. When I 
asked a student where I might find Professor So-and-so, 
he replied, “Gee, Mister, how would I know? He’s in 
M.E. I am in M. & M.E.” Those same days a young coed 
received a check for $25 from the university with no 


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explanation in the letter. She felt it was a mistake; it 
must be a bill! No one seemed able to explain it; the 
dean’s office, the counselor, had no answers. After two 
hours of telephoning all over campus, a secretary learned 
that this was an award given to the freshman girl who 
ranked first in English. Imagine a great university giving 
out scholarships without knowing why. These are the 
marks of a broken community. 

The church asks therefore, what is it that holds this 
university together, and makes it cohere? What is the uni 
in the university? To this question the University of Wis- 
consin has two answers. 

First, the “Wisconsin Idea.” Dr. Leroy Luberg recently 
described the Wisconsin Idea as the concept of service 
to the state, the plan which weds the labors of the scholar 
and scientist in the university with the practical concerns 
of farmer, industrialist, politician; the ideal of service to 
democracy rather than the individual advancement alone; 
it concerns the increasing dignity of man. Here, obviously, 
is a great concept. 

Secondly, the university proclaims freedom, freedom to 
think and to teach what you are convinced is the truth. 
Have you ever stood down on campus, looking up the hill 
toward Bascom Hall? You have the Capitol building be- 
hind you, and the broad expanse of lawn rising up ahead. 
On the sides you scan the buildings surrounding you like 
riches of learning: law, music, education and the sciences, 
then farther up, the social sciences, and you walk up to- 
ward Lincoln’s brooding statue, and read the immortal 
words, then you pass on up onto the porch of Bascom, 
and read the plaque which was replaced and rededicated 
again last spring. The words come from the Board of 
Regents of 1894, 


Whatever may be the limitations which trammel free in- 
quiry elsewhere, we believe that the great State University of 
Wisconsin should ever encourage that continual and fearless 


sifting and winnowing by which alone the truth can be found. 


There is an eloquent statement of the second idea. These 
two marks set forth a great tradition of service to society, 
and freedom. They are the external and internal dimen- 
sions of a great university. 

Now in respectful friendship, the church asks the 
university, Are these two marks adequate? Have you not 
left some large questions still unanswered: what is the 
purpose of education here? and what is the unity in your 
curriculum? 


THE WHY AND THE WHAT 
OF UNIVERSITY EDUCATION 


What purpose for education do you instill in students? 
What is the modern equivalent of that purpose which 
founded Yale College in 1701, and other great American 
universities? “For the educating and instructing of youth 
in good literature, arts and sciences (Yale was founded): 
that so by the blessing of Almighty God they may be the 
better fitted for public employment both in Church and 
in Civil State.” Is it still the purpose of higher education, 
as it was in former days, “to escort the soul to the fron- 
tiers of knowledge,” or is it to escort the student to the 
employment office of a big corporation? 

If the university is to have any unity it must instill 
at the heart of its curriculum some matters, some values, 
some content which make things cohere. The modern 


January 1958 



















































university offers many courses beyond the 3 R’s and their 
refinements. You can learn how to build a bridge, cure 
rabies, fill cavities, make dresses. You can find courses in 
basic jazz, bridge-playing, radio gag-writing, baseball 
umpiring, mountain climbing. The university has become 
a multiversity. Intellectual life lacks direction. There is 
no common faith, no body of principles to shape the uni- 
versity’s purpose. Almost the only common requirement 
upon all students is attendance; everyone should be edu- 
cated, but there is hardly any one thing that everyone 
should know. Consequently a student can graduate from 
the university without any consistency in his thought. 
He can be an evolutionist in science, a materialist in 
history, a New Republican in economics, a state’s righter 
in politics, a Puritan in morals and pantheist in religion 
—all at once. No wonder the divided mind makes for 
tangled personality. 


In reality the university exists to find and proclaim the 
unity of the universe. Whatever unity there is in the 
universe, that is the only valid source of final unity in 
the university, and that of course raises the religious 
question. There is no way for a university to avoid the 
religious problem. All learning—pure or applied—is 
simply an effort to explore this most comprehensive and 
essential question: what is the nature of Final Reality, 
what makes it function as it does, what makes it work to- 
gether? The unity of the universe should be used to create 
unity in the curriculum. The modern university has been 
likened to a city that is all suburbs: many specialties 
spread across the intellectual map in formless clusters, 
with only trickles of communication, and no heart, no 
unifying center. (Ferré, 237-8.) If the university intends 
to educate the whole man with a true and whole educa- 
tion, it must search for some cohesion in its own curricu- 
lum, and it will have to confront the final religious ques- 
tions. 

It is the saving glory of the West that a free church 
and free university will thus address each other in 
mutual respect and mutual criticism. You will traffic 
across University Avenue, coming south with intellectual 
tools that purify the church, going north with a concern 
about the purpose of the university. 


RESPONSIBLE ACTIVITIES 

The university is not an intellectual agency only; it is 
a living company of people with diverse activities, as a 
church is not creeds only, but picnics and committee 
meetings. As such these two can learn and benefit from 
each other. 

For one thing, let the church al- 
ways remind us that activities can 
be a folly and delusion. Some peo- 
ple hide from themselves in a panic 
of activities. Others plunge into 
campus life just to accumulate 
Brownie points, or credits for initia- 
tion. My wife’s sorority at North- 
western University allowed four 
points for attending a football 
game, and one for attending 
church; one hundred required for 
initiation. Likewise in church, it is 

(Continued on page 38) 


the search 


A fresh look at marriage and family life has been taken by Chicagoan Gibson Winter in his soon-to-be-published volume 
Love and Conflict: New Patterns in Family Life. Doubleday and Company will publish the full work and we are grateful to 
them for making possible this portion. 


| ire most virulent poison created 
by industrial society is excessive 
loneliness. Our way of life uproots 
people, carrying them upward or 
downward in the struggle for success. 
Human bonds are pulverized. Those 
who cling to family ties are soon left 
behind in the economic struggle. 
Those who press forward find them- 
selves cut off from friends and asso- 
ciates. We are the uprooted. We are 
the producers of things and the serv- 
ants of machines. We live with things, 
ideas and prices. We rarely have time 
to live with people. 


E vEN though the basic loneliness of 
our lives cannot be eliminated, we can 
share intimate contacts with others 
which make our loneliness creative 
rather than destructive. Our society 
has narrowed the sphere of intimacy 
almost exclusively to the immediate 
family of parents and children. The 
family is now the only antidote to the 
poisons of excessive loneliness. 

The principal question about the 
American family is whether it alone 
can be a sufficient antidote to the 
poison of isolation. Can one intimate 
group meet all our needs for intimacy? 
Can the family meet such excessive 
demands for intimacy? 

The strains in family life today can 
be attributed primarily to the narrow- 
ing of intimacy to the home. Two 
kinds of tension seem to be paramount 
in the modern home. The family is 
torn between its need for intimacy 
and its need for authority to guide its 
life. The family is also caught in a 
difficult struggle to provide children 
with a sense of belonging that does 
not tie them too closely to their par- 
ents. Both of these dilemmas have 
arisen as the family has become the 
exclusive sphere of intimacy on the 
American scene. 

The more intense the loneliness of 


8 


husband and wife, the more difficult 
it is to develop a center of authority 
in the home. Personal intimacy and 
authority are contraries which always 
exist in tension. The stronger the per- 
sonal need for intimacy, the more 
disturbing is the subordination to 
authority. Since people today are suf- 
fering from intense needs for intimacy, 
we can assume that few families can 
tolerate much formal authority in the 
home. If the male authority is to be 
recovered in the modern family, it can 
only be done very slowly. The central 
job of the family is to provide a sphere 
of intimacy in which excessive lone- 
liness can be overcome. This is its 
primary task. All other concerns must 
be subordinated to the accomplish- 
ment of this task. If we accept this 
fact, we can handle the problem of 
authority without undue haste and 
without doctrinaire claims that it must 
be such and such. A proper division 
of authority can only arise as a fruit 
of personal intimacy. 


T HE conflict between authority and 
intimacy is clear from the nature of 
intimacy. An intimate relationship is 
a bond of mutual concern and support 
between equals. Two people stand to- 
gether as equals in their concern for 
each other. No distinctions of ability, 
mental aptitude, riches or office can 
be allowed to dominate an intimate 
relationship. These barriers may exist 
in other settings, but they cannot be 
allowed to operate in friendship or 
marriage. Barriers of inequality are 
excluded from consideration in inti- 
mate relationships. Persons bound to- 
gether by mutual love and concern 
exist for each other. Each will help 
the other and support the other. They 
counsel each other in difficulty and 
rescue each other in danger. These 


or intimacy: 


are the qualities of an intimate rela- 
tionship. The intimate relationship 
assumes an equality as persons. How- 
ever unequal the persons may be in 
ability, they are simply persons in their 
intimacy. 

Authority, on the other hand, intro- 
duces inequality. Authority can only 
be exercised when one person sub- 
ordinates himself to another on a par- 
ticular matter. Let us picture the situa- 
tion on the Titanic at the time of the 
tragic sinking. Husband and wife are 
on deck. The wife wants to stay with 
her husband. They have children at 
home. They resist the idea of being 
separated in this catastrophe. The hus- 
band insists that the wife enter the 
lifeboat and return to the children. 
In this crisis, the husband exercises 
an authority to which the wife sub- 
ordinates herself. In this decision, they 
are not equal. So long as husband and 
wife agree, there is no issue of sub- 
ordination and matters can be settled 
by consensus. When they disagree on 
critical issues, authority introduces a 
problem of subordination and in- 
equality. 

It seems desirable that wives en- 
courage their husbands to take a more 
authoritative role in the home. Their 
husbands have been forced out of the 
home situation by the circumstances 
of modern life. Such a recovery of 
male authority is bound to upset the 
equality of intimacy. It need not 
threaten the intimacy, if husband and 
wife feel assured of the mutual con- 
cern in their relationship. This sug- 
gests that the real issue to be worked 
through is the personal intimacy of 
the relationship. If the personal bond 
is soundly established, allowing room 
for privacy and a sense of support, 
then the devision of authority may 
follow. On the other hand, many 
couples cannot deal with their per- 
sonal intimacy because the power 


motive 

















x 
| 


~~ ee FP ee —_=rw EE we $e 


; = = 2" 


= 





THE FAMILY 


























BY GIBSON WINTER 



































HENRY MOORE 


struggle has frustrated both of them. 
The modern family will undoubtedly 
lean toward equality and intimacy no 
matter how chaotic the home becomes. 
It is the nature of loneliness to de- 
mand its due at any cost. Nonetheless, 
full intimacy cannot develop in a 
chaotic home that is ruled by children. 
At the risk of disturbing equality and 
arousing conflict, the problem of 
authority will have to be faced for 
the long-range good of the family. 
There is no great danger of undue 
inequality if the biblical injunction is 
kept in mind and put into practice, 
“be subject one to another.” This is 
the ground of equality on which inti- 


January 1958 


FAMILY GROUP 


macy rests. Husband and wife will 
differ in their abilities, interests and 
responsibilities. Despite these differ- 
ences, they are joined as equals in the 
covenant of intimacy. Every inequality 
in marriage is subordinate to this 
fundamental equality. The two have 
become one flesh. 


THE need for intimacy also creates 
tensions between parents and chil- 
dren. Such strains reflect additional 
problems of equality and inequality 
in intimate relationships. A fully inti- 
mate relationship is a person-to-per- 
son response between those who stand 


together in their personal life. At mo- 
ments of deep intimacy, the persons 
shed the inequalities and differences. 
We occasionally experience such mo- 
ments of intimacy across the barriers 
of inequality. A foreman and a worker 
may experience such personal en- 
counter. These are moments when the 
responsibilities of our particular jobs 
are set aside and the fullness of our 
equality as persons takes the fore- 
ground. Then the work of life con- 
tinues and we don our inequalities 
once again. 

Parents treasure moments of full 
personal intimacy with their children. 
They cannot, however, fulfill their re- 
sponsibilities to the children if they 
expect intimacy to be the normal state 
of affairs. Children are not equal to 
parents in the order of family life. If 
they were, the parents could not pro- 
tect and guide them as they mature 
to full personal responsibility. Our 
deep needs for personal intimacy 
tempt us to transgress the inequality 
between parent and child. We want 
to draw children into more intimacy 
than is proper. We treat them as 
equals, when they need the protection 
of an unequal, parent-child relation- 
ship. Our own need for intimacy 
seduces us into excessive intimacy 
with children. The children cannot 
meet these excessive demands, so we 
reject the children. 

Inequalities separate us in life, but 
they also protect us from unfair com- 
petition. No one expects a student to 
complete with his teacher on an ex- 
amination. A child is exposed to emo- 
tional demands which he cannot meet 
when he is drawn into intimacy as an 
equal. A child is also forced to fulfill 
obligations as an adult, when he is 
treated as an equal. The transgression 
of the inequality of the parent-child 
relationship leads to excessive inti- 
macy with children and makes them 
overly dependent. Ultimately it de- 
stroys their confidence in themselves. 
It also destroys their confidence in a 
protective and competent parent who 
can assure the stability of the world 
into which they are growing. 


THE need for intimacy in our time 
makes it difficult for parents to walk 


9 





this narrow line between personal 
intimacy with children and protective 
authority over them. It takes great 
skill to be a parent in our day, since 
the modern home carries the full 
burden of personal intimacy for our 
society. The capacity of parents to 
maintain this tension between per- 
sonal intimacy and realistic discipline 
is the most important parental skill 
in modern family life. The remarkable 
fact about the modern home is the 
success with which so many parents 
are executing this difficult job. 

Personal intimacy has always had 
a place in family life. Human beings 
always married for companionship and 
mutual support. Intimacy is not pecu- 
liar to the modern family. However, 
intimacy was formerly a secondary 
aspect of family life. If the family 
did not provide satisfying intimacies, 
there were always other relationships 
in which persons could find satisfac- 
tion. This middle ground between 
family and commercial life has been 
narrowed and impoverished. There 
are few intimacies which can provide 
alternatives to an unhappy family 
situation. The alternative spheres of 
intimacy are too transitory in a rapidly 
changing social scene. Even friend- 
ship has become a rare experience. 
Personal intimacy is no longer one 
aspect of a family’s business. It is now 
the business of family life. 

There is no crystal ball in which we 
can discern the prospects for this inti- 
mate family of our time. There is an 
unquestionable growth of interest in 
the family and concern for the home. 
There has been a steady rise in home 
owning for some years. Men and 
women are marrying at an earlier age. 
The birth rate has achieved a steady 
and vigorous level. Home owning and 
bearing children are both votes of 
confidence in family life. Divorce 
figures, by contrast, are rather 
frightening on the surface. They are 
not, however, quite so devastating as 
they look. 


THE much discussed rise in the rate 
of divorce over fifty years has largely 
come from the tendency to legalize 
most if not all marital arrangements. 
These figures are also augmented by 


10 


the freedom for women to escape im- 
possible marital situations. The family 
today is not much less stable than the 
family of a few generations ago. In 
view of the strains in the intimate 
home, this suggests that more effort 
may be going into making a stable 
home than was necessary in earlier 
periods. Moreover, men are giving 
more time to their homes than was 
customary in earlier American or 
European life. Battle fatigue is suf- 
fered by so many women in the inti- 
mate home, but very few turn volun- 
tarily from the intimacy of marriage 
to the business world. Children seem 
more rebellious today, although it is 
difficult to gain an adequate picture 
of child-rearing in earlier times. De- 
linquency rates certainly indicate an 
intensifying of rebellion among the 
young. 

On the other hand, children are 
dependent on their parents until a 
much later age because of the in- 
creasing pressure for education. Such 
prolonged dependence is bound to 
generate strains. On the whole, the 
balance sheet for the intimate family 


the diary 


| can still see, Nan, 


looks reasonably good. The pressures 
of loneliness in our society have driven 
men and women to exert more time 
and effort on the intimacy of family 
life. 

We seem to be entering an era of 
family living such as our society has 
not experienced. Family life is gain- 
ing rather than losing importance. 
This is, perhaps, an optimistic assess- 
ment of the situation but most of the 
evidence points in this direction. Life- 
long intimacy in marriage is one of 
the chief concerns of most young peo- 
ple. In “The Lonely Crowd,” to use 
David Riesman’s phrase, men and 
women want time for intimacy. 

There is little danger of casual mar- 
riages today, although most people 
seem concerned that young people 
enter marriage without _ serious 
thought. Of course, casual marriages 
do occur and are regrettable. Actually, 
however, our danger is that young 
people are trying too hard to suc- 
ceed in marriage. They want so much 
to have an “ideal” marriage. Unfor- 
tunately, there is no such animal. 

(Continued on page 37) 


Your diary. Dragons of roses 
On every page, you pasted there, and then 
Went walking, light as air, filling each day 


I can still see 


To the war. 
During the war 


With polgyglots of poetry and praise. 


Where the grey kitten pinched one leaf 
With teeth as thin as teak through the candle 
You had drawn to light your lover, Anson, 


Your diary was filled with varsouvianas, 
Mazurkas, polkas, and you had a topaz velvet 





Toque and muff of seal, and all Columbus, 
Georgia, danced in the Confederate cotillion, night and day. 


Anson died and the plaintive blacks were freed. 
The carpetbaggers had the mortgage and the deed, 
To your acres in the cabbage roses of their fists. 


The paint flaked slowly, like cracking leaves; 
The arbitrarily dead 

Peeled the gold-leaf plaster from your mind 
And all the days were shabby, shabby. 


Great, great-great Aunt Nan, whose grief, 
Whose life is in this book, who died mad, 
Hair springing like a frowzy silver crown, 
| find in your diary, days 
Numbered the same as mine, weeks 
Full of the saturnine, old grace 
That is not mine, and months 
Reaching into the venerated years 
That make your old house glimmer in the dark. 
All wars default old diaries 
That defy tears. 
—RAMONA MAHER MARTINEZ 


motive 








di 


st 


Sez se 


pms 











a shou story 


all Jor one 


BY MYRON SCHOLNICK 


E came from the basement of the apartment house 
by the lot and he was black as the coal they stored 
in the basement to satisfy the furnace, and he smelled of 
burning coal and of the soot. He walked into our scrim- 
mage, tall and strangely thin in his bulky leather jacket, 
and we stopped tossing the football around to watch him. 
He spat a mouthful of brown ten feet ahead onto 
the crisp December ground. 

“He even spits colored,” mumbled Johnny Stern in 
amazement. 

“It’s chewin’ tobacco,” said the black boy thickly. We 
drew back at his queer way of speech. 

“You a foreigner?” I asked. 

“Come from th’ South,” he said. “Atlanta.” 

I whistled and my breath was smoke in the cold 
steel air. “Why that’s in Georgia. It must be a thousand 
miles.” 

“Ah know,” the black boy said. We could see he was 
proud that he had come so far. 

“What’s your name?” Bart Kreuger asked. He was the 
oldest among us, already in the fifth grade, and he liked 
to think himself our leader and spokesman. 

“Jefferson,” said the black boy. “Jefferson Lincoln 
Jones.” 

I whistled again. 

“That don’t sound like a name a fellow could have,” 
said Bart Kreuger. “Those are two Presidents.” 

“Ah was named fo’ two Presidents,” said Jefferson 
Lincoln Jones. “Jefferson Davis an’ Abraham Lincoln. 
The two greatest Presidents we ever done had.” 

We all shifted a bit uneasily at this, because, while we 
had heard of Abraham Lincoln and a Jefferson named 
Thomas, we had never heard of one called Davis before. 

“What are you doing here, Jefferson? And why haven't 
we seen you in school?” It was Larry Bogan speaking. 
He was one of the brighter students in our class and was 
always buttering up Miss Atkins, our teacher. 

“Ah’m with ma old man who's workin’ in this apart- 
ment,” said Jefferson, “an’ Ah don’t aim to go to school.” 
He reached out, ruffling Larry’s blond curls. “School is 
fo’ smart kids like you,” he added, and there was no 
mistaking the twinkle in his eye. 

We smiled and liked him at once. But we didn’t get 
to know him for most of that winter. 


IT was a good New England winter, the kind a boy can 
call his own, with the thermometer line plunging earth- 


January 1958 





ward day by day and the ponds parading their coat 
of skating ice; with the wind that stomped through 
attics and across front porches every night, and the 
glory of the snow, special gift of winter’s heaven, that 
tumbled to the world of men and boys and became 
vast carpets to track with crunching boots, snowball 
battles to wage, coasting down angel hills, and the 
morning shoveling of steps and walks and garage en- 
trances. 

Yet Jefferson rarely seemed to enter this hearty world. 
He remained in the basement of the apartment house 
all day as far as any of us knew, restrained by forces 
we could not fathom, appearing only late in the after- 
noon when the sky contracted in dusk and just prior to 
the time we'd have to leave for dinner and homework. 

Jefferson was never seen near school, so we took it 
for granted that he didn’t have to attend. He never 
joined us in football or other activities, though asked 
repeatedly, and when I once invited him home for 
dinner he uttered such a violent refusal that we came 
to think him somewhat of a snob. 

But, without at all understanding why, we enjoyed his 
company. He would saunter out of the coal basement 
each afternoon as we played on the lot, just at dusk and 
shortly before we would head for home, and he would 
stand around with that mysterious air of his, spitting 
tobacco juice at the ground and passing a few slim words. 

We asked our parents about him but they expressed 
only ignorance and a lack of interest. 

“What black boy?” queried my father at dinner one 
evening, after references to Jefferson had been made for 
weeks. “There aren’t any Negroes in town.” 

“There is one,” said Mother. She placed steaming 
bowls of chicken broth on our plates and smoothed her 
apron. “A new janitor for the old apartment building 
down by the food store. He was hired last month.” 

“Strange I didn’t hear anything about it,” said Father. 
“You'd expect that someone would have mentioned it to 
me before this.” 

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Mother. “He didn’t 
bring any children with him. This boy Mike refers to 
must be visiting.” 

“But he lives there, Mom!” I protested. “He’s been 
there since the first of last month. We see him nearly 
every day.” 

“Eat your soup, Mike, and don’t talk so much at meal- 
time,” said Mother. And that concluded that. 


im 











It was the same with all my friends. None of their 
parents were willing to admit the possibility of Jefferson 
Lincoln Jones’s continuing existence in our town, and 
none seemed interested enough to explore the matter 
further. When we told this to Jefferson he just laughed 
and said that that was the way he wanted it. 

We didn’t mind it that way either. We knew that if 
Jefferson were discovered by the merciless adult world 
he would have to start school, and this was too painful 
to imagine. We recognized, by beardless instinct, the 
futility of subjecting Jefferson to disciplined education— 
the education that would force him from his basement 
to the classroom, make him don shirt and tie, and take 
away his chewin’ tobacco. 

Besides, if Jefferson went to school we would have 
to share his acquaintance with dozens of people who 
could never appreciate him as we did. We had dis- 
covered him and could accept him and he was ours 
alone. Ours to look for on days at the lot, to watch and 
listen to when he appeared, to attempt, in every way 
we could, to make him a part of us. 

Although it was never openly mentioned, we all had 
the same desire in wanting Jefferson to lower his veil 
of aloofness, depart from his policy of minimum contact, 
and become more of a friend, at least in so far as foot- 
ball participation was concerned. But no matter how 
we tried, Jefferson avoided a closer relationship as 
though it might contaminate him, detract from his 
stature. We had all but given up hope there would be 
any change when one afternoon, with February to begin 
the following week and a thin covering of snow on the 
lot making us slide at each other so that we could barely 
grasp the football, Jefferson, in one calculated stroke, 
became not only a part of our group but its undisputed 
leader as well. 


|T was a day we would all remember because it was 
the first time we had been admitted into a secret society. 

We were just about ready to go home this particular 
afternoon, and were tossing some of the snow around 
rather than the ball, when Jefferson stepped from his 
basement and came toward us. 

He carried a can of beer in one hand. 

Now all of us had seen beer before, some of our folks 
even drank it, but it had been denied us completely. And 
we had never cared to try it either, since Gene Harper's 
drinking some of the previous summer had put him to 
bed for three days. (Or at least that’s what Gene said. ) 

With Jefferson, however, it was different. We weren't 
surprised or even concerned at his having beer, only 
curious, as one might be curious at an unexpected knock 
on the door or an unexpected ring of the phone. 

“How can you drink that?” asked Gene Harper, in- 
credulously. “It’s awful stuff.” 

“Ah likes beer,” smiled Jefferson Lincoln Jones. 

“You'd better be careful,” warned Bart Kreuger, thrust- 
ing his hands into the pockets of his Mackinaw, “you 
might get drunk.” 


12 


“Only gals an’ sissies get drunk,” said Jefferson. He 
shoved the can in my direction. I could see the two 
holes on top and the sprinkling of moisture. “Here, 
Mike, have some.” 

I drew back, smiling weakly. “No thanks. I don’t care 
for it. I’ve tried it and don’t care for it at all.” 

I knew they didn’t believe me, but none dared chal- 
lenge my assertion for fear he would be offered a drink. 

Jefferson looked pleased with our discomfort. He 
kicked at a rock half covered by snow. “If you was 
members in th’ society, you wouldn't be afraid to drink 
or nothin’ else neither. You'd be brave an’ men.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Bart Kreuger. His suspi- 
cions, aroused when he first beheld Jefferson, were now 
blossoming into maturity. Bart was finally beginning to 
sense the threat to his leadership emanating from Jeffer- 
son’s poise and inscrutable ways. 

“Ah mean if you was ’nitiated into th’ society... . 

“What do you mean, society? What are you talking 
about?” Bart was flailing the air with his hands, the 
mittens dim streaks of red in the growing dusk. 

“Ah mean th’ secret society,” said Jefferson calmly. 
“It’s a club where you has to pass a ‘nitiation to see if 
you're brave.” 

Bart had had enough. “You're crazy, Jefferson, just 
plain crazy!” he shouted. “Every afternoon acting like 
you own this lot and as though we only come here to 
see you. Now talking about some secret society that 
only you know anything about. I’m tired of it and of 
you, and I’m not going to stand here any longer and let 
you make fools of us. I’m going home.” He jerked his 
head. “Let’s go.” 

None of us moved. 

“Well, good-by,” said Bart, and he tramped heavily 
to the edge of the lot. He turned around and looked back 
once, but when he saw we were watching him in silence 
and making no motion to follow he spun on his heel and 
left. 

“Any mo’ a’ you scared an’ want to go?” asked Jeffer- 
son, taking what seemed to be an immense swallow of 
beer. 

We murmured “no” in quivering unison. 

“Then follow me,” he said, and started for the apart- 
ment house basement. 

We glanced quickly at one another—Johnny Stern, 
Larry Bogan, Gene Harper, Al Sawyer, and myself— 
then nervously followed. 


” 


WE almost lost him in entering the basement. It was 
the darkest place that any of us had ever seen, we all 
admitted later, and it was heavy with the smell of dust 
and coal and the heat of the furnace, a one-eyed giant 
of searing iron before us. The furnace made a devour- 
ing noise and the eye belched smoke and flame. 

“Here,” said Jefferson, appearing in front of us as a 
magician from a cloud of white, “this way.” 

We followed him to a corner of the basement where he 
switched on an overhead light. 


motive 








“You all want to do this, don’t you?” he asked. 

We nodded. 

“Just what is a secret society like this?” demanded 
Larry Bogan. We had all desired to ask such a question, 
but only Larry had possessed the courage. 

Jefferson patted Larry’s curls, as was his wont. “Th’ 
society,” he began, “is our way a’ gettin’ together with 
each other an’ becomin’ close friends.” He smiled. “An’ 
we won't keep things from each other an’ we'll trust 
each other. An’ when one a’ us is in a fight the rest will 
fight on his side. An’ when he needs help we'll help. An’ 
we'll be like brothers in a family are.” 

“If you really want to be our friend,” interrupted 
Johnny Stern, “why don’t you play football with us? We 
asked you to.” 

“Well, from now on Ah will,” smiled Jefferson Lincoln 
Jones. 

“Hey, I bet it’s pretty late,” said Al Sawyer. He was 
always worrying about the time. “I have to get home.” 

“Don’t you want to be ‘nitiated and in the society?” 
asked Gene. 

Al rubbed his watch. “Yeah. Sure. But it better not 
take long.” 

“It won't take long,” said Jefferson. 





He motioned for the five of us to crowd around, 
and we watched wide-eyed as he drew a sewing needle 
from his pocket. 

“What's that for?” I gasped. 

“This is to bind us by blood,” said Jefferson. 

“What?” shrilled Al. His voice trailed off into the 
depths of the smoldering basement. We were all feel- 
ing the heat now and it added to our fear of what was 
going to be proposed. 

Jefferson had lit a match and was holding the needle 
over it. We could see the metal blacken. 

“What are you going to do?” asked Larry. His chubby 
features were covered with sweat. I ran an ungloved 
hand across my own brow and it came away drenched. 

“Look,” said Jefferson, and one by one, before our 
horrified gaze, he swiftly punctured all the fingers of 
his right hand. Five little drops of blood appeared, grow- 
ing larger when he pinched each finger. Jefferson laughed 
softly. 


January 1958 


“All you has to do is stick one finger,” he said. 

“I got to go home,” said Al quickly, “it’s getting late.” 

“Are you afraid?” I sneered. I wanted to show Jeffer- 
son that I was the bravest. And besides, I thought fiercely, 
what’s a needle stuck in a finger? It had happened ac- 
cidently numerous times before, and at the doctor's on 
purpose. 

“I'm not afraid,” said Al. “I'm just as brave as you. 
Who’s scared of a needle anyway?” 

“Good,” said Jefferson, “let’s start.” 


TENSELY, and with pounding hearts, we passed the 
needle around the circle that had been formed beneath 
the naked bulb in the stifling basement. We punctured 
a finger almost by reflex, hardly looking, except to 
pinch a trifle and see the speck of blood ooze forth. 

Then Jefferson raised his hand and each of us touched 
his cut finger to one of Jefferson’s, and Jefferson said we 
were bound by blood. 

Then we held our handkerchiefs tight on our fingers— 
Larry didn’t have one, so Jefferson gave him his, for- 
getting altogether about the holes in his own hand— 
and we each took a drink from the can of beer. It tasted 
awful. 

“Now,” said Jefferson, “we have to yell our motto.” 

“What is it?” sighed Johnny, exhausted. 

“Ah'll tell each a’ you seperately, an’ then when Ah 
say so we'll yell it together.” 

“Hurry,” said Al. “It’s late.” He held his punctured 
finger in the fist of his other hand as though he would 
never let go. 

Jefferson bent toward each of us in turn, whispering 
into our ears. 

We clasped hands and closed the circle. Jefferson 
stood in the center, his black face awash with sweat, but 
the eyes clear and vital and piercing in the quiet light. 

He motioned to us and for a second we looked at 
him in silence, Jefferson Lincoln Jones our leader, then 
in unison chanted the motto: “All for one! And one for 
all!” 

We were very young. 





From: The American University Writer. 





13 





the terrible sickness in shakespeare 


OTHELLO 


BY NORMAN PENLINGTON 


EANINGLESSNESS is a terrible 

illness. The meaningless person 
suffers deeply because his life lacks 
direction toward a mark that takes 
account of natural and moral reality. 
Lacking such a mark the victim tries 
to manufacture one. But the pursuit 
of a manufactured mark may still 
further divorce him from reality and 
magnify his misery. 

That is why history demonstrates 
man’s need for a system of values. 
To be effective values must live and 
be evoked within man’s deepest being. 
To remain alive they must be en- 
shrined within the rituals of an in- 
stitution. In times like our own in 
which all values are challenged or 
appear irrelevant, the power of rituals 
often diminishes and fails; and with- 
out the nourishment of living values 
man’s life becomes meaningless and 
“dead.” 

But man is so constituted that he 
cannot tolerate it to think of himself 
as a cypher; and that man in whom 
meaning is waning will do his utmost 
to deny its decay. He usually does so 
in three ways. First, he may reaffirm 
the desiccated meaning, as for ex- 
ample, in the current “return to re- 
ligion.” Secondly, he may find ap- 
parent substitutes for meaning in 
power and indulgence, for example. 
Thirdly, he may evade the problem by 
denying its importance. Many social 
scientists have endeavored to demon- 
strate that man is nothing but a higher 
animal, and that the problem of mean- 
ing is “meaningless.” 


WHETHER these or other ways 
are used to disguise meaninglessness, 
they are usually rationalized in turn. 


14 


In the course of time, however, the 
impact of natural and moral condi- 
tions may so strain the structure of 
rationalization as to bring about its 
collapse. Then the meaninglessness 
of man’s life may be laid bare in all 
its nakedness. In despair he may 
sense the possibility of discovering a 
meaning based on reality, and set out 
on a lonely, painful, and lengthy 
odyssey. Alternatively he may reason 
that his life is worthy only of destruc- 
tion. 

Shakespeare’s tragedy, Othello, il- 
lustrates this problem. The leading 
men fearing and concealing their es- 
sential meaninglessness are unwilling 
to face their empty selves. Instead each 
one plays a role: Roderigo pictures 
himself as a worthy but rejected lover; 
Cassio, as a loyal but disgraced com- 
panion; Othello, as a noble warrior; 
and Iago, as a superman. The first 
three—Roderigo, Cassio, and Othello 
—judge others by appearances in 
order to be similarly judged; the last 
plays deliberate roles to exploit his 
insight into human nature. By con- 
trast the leading women—Emilia and 
Desdemona—do not need to consider 
themselves in relation to others; they 
confront themselves as they are and 
life as it is. 


A STUDY, therefore, of the prob- 
lem of meaning in the lives of the 
six leading characters, and its bearing 
on the plot, may go far to illuminate 
Othello. This may be most easily ac- 
complished through an examination 
of character and plot in relation to 
Iago; for the chief impetus to action 
in the play comes from his lust to 
demonstrate his own superiority. 


Iago completely dominates Roderi- 
go. The audience first sees Roderigo 
firm in the belief that he has bought 
his way into Iago’s friendship and 
that he is disappointed in the failure 
of his suit for Desdemona’s hand. 
Feeling that his heart is broken though 
only his vanity is hurt, he falls in 
with Iago’s plan to accompany him 
to Cyprus, where his companion 
promises to buy Roderigo’s way into 
Desdemona’s presence. For, he is as- 
sured Desdemona will soon tire of 
Othello. In the course of gulling 
Roderigo, Iago also swindles him of 
money and jewels, uses his as a tool 
to strike Cassio, and murders him te 
avoid exposure of his own infamy. 
Later editors have called him a 
“gulled gentleman,” yet whenever 
Iago first broaches his fantastic sug- 
gestions, Roderigo shows a skepticism 
that indicates no lack of discernment. 

Why does Roderigo allow himself 
to be so easily overpersuaded? He is 
a spoiled and lonely person, and ap- 
parently only Iago takes notice of 
him. He is flattered to have as an 
acquaintance the knowing man-about- 
town and the prominent soldier, even 
though the price of this friendship is 
not merely money, but also abuse and 
contempt. In his loneliness, however, 
abusive notice is better than no 
notice. Hence, once having put him- 
self in the false position of accom- 
panying Iago to Cyprus and giving 
him money to bestow on Desdemona, 
he has no practical alternative but to 
continue being led along the same 
path. 

Iago is utterly contemptuous and 
chameleon-like he plays whatever 
role is necessary to control Roderigo; 


motive 


oo 











ss st 


— Gwe © Oo 




















now he acts the bullying owner of a 
dog: “Come hither,” he commands his 
obsequious companion; now he pours 
into his ear a torrent of learned lan- 
guage monotonously interspersed with 
the drum-like command: “Put money 
in thy purse.” When the promises to 
Roderigo remain unfulfilled, Iago 
cynically acts the priest soothing a 
disappointed penitent: “How poor are 
they that have not patience!” After 
Roderigo’s patience is all but gone, 
Iago skilfully bides his time until the 
former’s anger is exhausted, and then 
suggests their joining together in “re- 
moving” Cassio. Having so far degen- 
erated under Iago’s pliant influence, 
Roderigo is ready to engage even in 
murder; but his failure to kill Cassio 
endangers Iago, who, fearing his own 
exposure, stabs the “young quat.” 
Iago’s fear is well grounded; for 
letters implicating him are discovered 
on Roderigo’s person. 


Liss weak than Roderigo is the af- 
fable and easy-going Cassio. Except 
for his loyalty to Othello, Cassio is 
largely the creature of circumstance. 
Othello appoints him as second-in- 
command, Iago causes his disgrace, 
and the Venetian Government ap- 
points him as successor to Othello. 
Without Lodovico’s injunction at the 
end of the play calling on Cassio to 
punish Iago, the audience might well 
wonder whether he has the strength 
of character to do so alone. Cassio is 
also inclined to take the tone of the 
group he is in. In the presence of 
Othello and Desdemona his good-na- 
tured amiability seems nobility, at a 
carousal he is easily made drunk, and 
alone he drifts into the arms of a pros- 
titute. Yet he is loyal to Othello, and 
ignores Iago’s hint that he become 
inveigled with Desdemona. 

Contrary to Othello’s command to 
stay sober, Iago has little difficulty in 
indulging Cassio with drink. Indeed 
Cassio virtually asks to indulge his 
weakness and, falling a victim of 
Roderigo’s attack, becomes the ob- 
ject of Othello’s disgrace. As a result 
of being cashiered, he wallows in 
abasing self-recrimination. Iago, play- 
ing the role of worldly-wise com- 
panion, at once seeks to transform 


January 1958 


Cassio’s recrimination to his own ad- 
vantage, and skilfully inquires: “I 
think you think I love you.” Upon re- 
ceiving hearty reassurance, Cassio is 
instructed how to escape disgrace. He 
guilelessly listens to the plan that he 
should induce Desdemona to plead 
his cause before Othello. His sub- 
sequent meetings with her and her 
concern for his fate appear to confirm 
Othello’s suspicion, sown by Iago, 
that his wife and chief lieutenant are 
unfaithful. 

Superficially Othello seems an 
honorable soldier brought to destruc- 
tion as a result of ignorance. The 
audience sees him held in high regard 
and silencing in a few words a 
drunken brawl instigated by Iago. It 
also sees him provoked in that brawl 
by evasive and uninformative ex- 
planations. He warns the brawlers that 
he is a man of passion whose “blood 
begins my safer guides to rule... .” 
By admitting an emotional response 
to the situation Othello can hide from 
himself not only his emotional re- 
sponses to most situations, but also 
his craving for such responses. Thus 
action is not loved for its own sake, 
rather it is loved because of the emo- 
tional thrill it produces in him. Emo- 
tion, too, plays a large part in his 
sense of honor—a sense that has 
grown out of his military deeds: 

the big wars 
That make ambition virtue! 


N OR is honor loved for its own 
sake, but as a virtue excited to satisfy 
the need to give meaning to his life. 
Othello thus keeps reminding himself 
of his honor and imputes honor to his 


















































































associates and his wife. He is so 
carried away with relating his deeds 
of honor to the avid Desdemona that 
he scarcely realizes their effect upon 
her. Indeed, he is virtually proposed 
to. 

He does not really love Desdemona; 
he loves himself as he appears in 
his deeds, but disguised as Desde- 
mona admiring those deeds: 

She loved me for the dangers I had 
passed, 
And I loved her that she did pity 
them. 
He justifies his wife’s suggestion of 
accompanying him to Cyprus on the 
ground of a Platonic view of love: 
he is not taking her, he tells the 
Venetian Senate, 
To please the palate of my 
appetite,... 
But to be free and bounteous to her 
mind. 
If Othello does not yet love Desde- 
mona, he soon becomes aware of his 
need for her. After the hazardous 
voyages to Cyprus, he is not moved 
by the safe arrival of a beloved wife, 
but by the need to be in her presence. 
Mere proximity to her brings such a 
calm to his soul that 
If it were now to die, 
- "Twere now to be most happy; 
otherwise, he dreads there may suc- 
ceed an “unknown fate.” Thus for 
Othello, action, honor, and love, emo- 
tionally masked, are essentially devices 
to escape from a lonely self. 

His presumption of superiority irri- 
tates Iago. He has discerned that 
Othello’s character, built on the sands 
of loneliness, may founder and that 
Othello 

thinks men honest that but seem to 

be so, 
And will as tenderly be led by th’ 
nose 
As asses are. 
Helped, too, by his own position as 
aide to Othello and by his reputa- 
tion for honesty, Iago divines that 
the means for the destruction of his 
superior is to dishonor his sense of 
honor. 


WE have seen how Iago has first 
moved indirectly against Othello in 
(Continued on page 30) 


15 





RELIGIOUS SIGNIFICANCE IN THE GRAPHIC ART OF 


16 





BY BARBARA LEE BACHMURA 


PHOTOGRAPHS, COURTESY MELTZER GALLERY, NEW YORK 
AND FROM BARBARA LEE BACHMURA 


lt was a torrential rain. In fact as we were driving upward on that narrow, wind- 
ing road in the mountainous Hallingdal area the rains came down as if propelled by 
forces beyond human comprehension. Lightening and thunder; the rocks them- 
selves seemed to shake. Getting out of the cab | walked down the long muddy 
pathway to be greeted there by Rolf Nesch coming out of his home-studio. We 
exchanged few words as my Norwegian was poor. ‘‘Could | cook soup?” ‘“Well, 
| could make a good stew.”’ We both liked strong coffee. We would get along fine. 


motive 











January 1958 








Ro NESCH is a German artist who came to Norway to 

leave behind the militarism of his own country. He is 
now a Norwegian citizen with a Norwegian wife. Although 
they do have an apartment in Oslo this artist is more at 
home in the community of Aal away from the disruptive 
big city elements. Here close to nature he can find time 
to think. His day is divided into periods of work and relaxa- 
tion. 

A small garden gives him both pleasure and food. Home- 
grown chive adds delicious flavor to an original Nesch 
omelet. The artist gathers milk and eggs from neighboring 
farmers, some of whom still wear peasant dress and appear 
a little bit bewildered when talking about a son or daughter 
who has left the farm for city opportunity. Sometimes when 
the postman, delivering both groceries and letters, brings 
an exciting, colorfully stamped message from foreign parts 
he too joins the artist in a chat over afternoon coffee. 

Rolf Nesch seeks and finds true reality in direct contact 
and observation of people, animals, earth, and sky. He por- 
trays this reality in a most interesting graphic form of his 
own invention which he calls the ‘“metallgrafikk.” By plac- 
ing textured, dimensional pieces freshly painted on a plain 
or engraved metal sheet, and then laying dampened paper 
on top, and running all this through the hand press he is 
able to achieve unending variety in pattern, color, and 
textural effects. There is also a resulting embossed dimen- 
sion to add to depth illusion. 

However, real depth comes through religious communion 
between artist and subject matter. The artist is able to 
sense the innate reality of the subject and to portray it in 
bold, almost expressionist masses of color shape and color. 
Although direct reference to religious subject matter is to 
be found in such examples as “God the Father,” “Saint 
Olav,” “Saint Sebastian,” and in “Saint,” ‘Lazarus,” and 
“The Three Kings” (the last three pictures a part of the 
permanent collection of the Hamburger Kunsthalle in Ham- 
burg, Germany, the museum in which the majority of Nesch 








works are housed), such titles make up a comparatively 
small portion of Nesch subjects. Nevertheless, no matter 
what the subject matter, “one senses in the work of Rolf 
Nesch a strong feeling of pantheism. A distillation of this 
philosophy is revealed in all of his images, indicating a 
spiritual struggle manifested sometimes in a certain awk- 
wardness which, in itself, is the quality and charm of nat- 


“ak 


ural growth. 


Nescu himself has written, ‘You ask me to explain my 
frequent use of religious motifs in graphic art. That is not 
easy. When | began with “St. Sebastian” | felt that he 
stood for something universal. An upstanding human being 
who loves his fellow man is bound to suffer like St. Sebas- 
tian, even a thousand years hence. My next big work “God 
the Father” shows God with a burning globe in his hand 
soaring through infinity. Evolution and the laws of nature 
are in themselves so rigid that the pattern of all develop- 
ment on earth was laid down at the time of creation itself. 


* From a statement to the writer by the Meltzer Gallery, the U. S. A. 
dealer for Rolf Nesch in New York city 


18 
CRUSADER 


A change from that which we have come to expect in our 
way of life—like abolishment of war—may require a major 
change in our solar system through the displacement of 
the earth’s axis, or through atomic explosions. What do | 
know? Anyway, Angels and Bishops can tell us as much 
as “Pukk” or “Pan” or “St. Sebastian.” This view may not 
be that of the theologist. However, is it not always peoples’ 
experiences which make them religious? It is faith which 
influences us. Some become Catholics, some Protestants, 
and some Sectarians—and why not? Blessed are those who 
believe with all their heart and become happy.” ** 

He used to spread fifteen or twenty of his most recent 
prints on the floor and we would drink coffee and look at 
them and talk about them, comparing notes. Yes, indeed 
it was the best-tasting coffee. Nesch would grind it himself 
and brew it in a pressurized percolator. 

The delightful “Angel,” who swings around in an orbit 
of moving circles, is appealing with its naive, childlike 
charms; “Daughter-in-law,” poised, almost severed head 
with flickering red eye; “Bishop,” serene, with upraised 
hand, but with double face, a caricaturelike portrayal. 
“Nesch is aware of the opposites in existence: good and evil, 
tragic and comic, sublime and grotesque. These concepts 
are expressed in forms which have their origin in nature, but 
become abstract through understanding the universal 
essence of things.” * 


Now as an older man and consummate artist Nesch is 
most content at work in the idyllic Hallingdal countryside. 
There all his artistic impressions—from memories, from 


** Aid in the translation of the letter from the original Norwegian 
was given by Johan Wetlesen of Murfreesboro, Tennessee. 









































PUCK—SECOND STATE NESCH IN HIS HOME WITH PRINTS AND COFFEE MAKER 


experiences, from present-day observations—can find con- 
crete art form through the perpetual experimentation with 
materials: a corrugated piece of metal may take the shape 
of a guard officer’s head with a helmet, cardboard discs 
become bird bodies. So it is: castoffs of a machine age are 
transmuted to nature's basic living forms by an artist who 
himself has lived through a life of military automotism but 
who now chooses an environment more conducive to con- 
structive contemplation. 

Rolf Nesch’s professional success is evidenced not only 
in Germany but in cities like Bern, Paris, Milan, Sao Paulo, 
New York, Oslo. Nesch is pleased but not impressed by 
these demonstrations of his success. He does not allow his 
eyes to become blurred by surface unessentials. ‘The 
originality of his creation and the almost rugged energy of 
line and color reveal him as a highly intuitive artist who 
has never lost contact with primitive creative force. Yet 
there emanates from his work the sensitive, lyrical quality 
and inner calm of a deeply religious man,” ** 


January 1958 19 








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ST. JOHN 1943 





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January 1958 


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January 1958 





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by E: 
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Janc 








two stories sy "ERICH KAESTNER 


ANSLATED BY RAINER F. MEYEROWITZ 


UPPOSITIONS which plainly lead to an obvious conclusion are called 
premises; every high-school boy, active or retired, knows this. The fol- 
lowing true story has two such premises. One: Art and Reality are capable 
of producing the strangest effects. Two: The Tirolese are a playful lot. 
To enlarge on the subject of the second premise would be a cinch; but 
the present case, which was disclosed to me by a well-known actress, deals 
simply with the Tirolese. One should not dilute true stories with phantasy 
(no ten drops to one pint of facts) ; what | recount here comes straight 


from the bottle. 


N°" too long ago—in the year 1948 
—a film was being made in Tirol. 
Everyone was making “contemporary” 
films; this one was no exception. Be- 
cause it was “contemporary,” that is to 
say because it took place in Hitler's 
Third Reich, a number of SS-men were 
needed. Because genuine SS-men are 
no longer available and because there 
were not enough genuine actors to go 
round, the director picked out the eight 
most handsome, magnificent and ath- 
letic, the biggest, healthiest and man- 
liest specimens from among the local 
village beaus. He had the costume- 
maker cut them splendid black uni- 
forms and used both, the beaus as well 
as the uniforms, for his shooting. He 
was well pleased with the whole works. 
The natives of the Alps have a natural 
bent for, shall we say, play. The mid- 
summer revels, the Jesuit baroque- 
theater, the peasant theatricals—the 
delight and power in make-believe, it’s 
born in them. 


Durinc a break in the filming (may- 
be there were too many or too few 
clouds) the eight imitation SS-men 
strode to the local inn. Tirolese wine is 
all there. So are movie salaries. The 
eight saw distinct possibilities. As they 
were striding along what should meet 
them but the bus which keeps traffic 
and civilization going in the mountains. 
And because Tirolese are so playful, 
our SS-men blocked the road. The bus 
stopped. One of the eight tore the door 
open and bellowed: “Everybody out!” 
Another, mustering the trembling pas- 
sengers as they got out, said in his best 





* These pieces come from “Der Taegliche Kram” 
by Erich Ksestner, Atrium Verlag, Zuerich. All 
rights reserved. Translation by Rainer F. Meyero- 
witz. 


January 1958 


Tirolese, Da samma wieda! Which, in 
plain English, means: “Here we are 
again!” namely, the SS and the Third 
Reich. 


You cannot beat the born desire to 
pass for something else and the talent 
that goes along with the desire. The 
passengers trembled with such reality 
that one could literally hear them 
shake. The eight began to ask brusque 
questions, look through wallets and ex- 
amine passports (Tirol belongs to Aus- 
tria, and in Austria passports were al- 
ready available again). While these 
eight were going through their dra- 
matics, the director happened along, 
saw the mischief, called his film-SS to 
order, and sent them into the inn where 
they wanted to go anyway. 

He apologized a thousand times to 
the pale-faced passengers who were 


standing about, nervous and with chat- 
tering teeth. To one passenger the di- 
rector had to apologize inside the bus. 
He was an old, sickly gentleman, this 
last passenger. He had been too scared 
to be able to get out. A native of these 
parts, he had been what is called “an 
opponent of the Third Reich.” 

He had made that clear in his time 
on occasion and had, therefore, made 
acquaintance with the SS. And now he 
sat in the corner, white as death, in- 
capable of movement, speechless and 
terrified—the personification of misery. 
“But my dear sir,” said the film direc- 
tor, “please calm down. We are making 
a film, a contemporary one, you know. 
For that | need SS-men. What you've 
just seen has nothing to do with the 
film or reality. It was sheer deviltry, 
nothing more. Boys will be boys. Don’t 
take it so to heart; they are harmless, 
jolly ski instructors and shepherds from 
the village!” 


THE old, grey-haired gentleman shook 
his head softly and said quietly: “I got 
to know the SS in this region more than 
once, Mr. director. You chose well. They 
are... the same!” 





25 





pple can't keep quiet because they are schoolmasters and school- 
masters must follow their trade. In the remotest corner of their hearts 
grows the crazy, ridiculous hope that, despite all the mischief in the 
world, the human race possibly might mend its ways just the littlest bit 
if one scolds it, begs it, insults it, and laughs at it often enough. 


Satirists are idealists. 


Thus wrote Erich Kaestner, eleven years ago. In 1948 the following 
fairy tale of reason was published in the Neue Zeitung. 


NCE upon a time there was a nice 

old gentleman who had the bad 
habit of thinking up sensible ideas from 
time to time. It was a bad habit be- 
cause he didn’t keep his ideas to him- 
self but regularly expounded them to 
the experts. As he was rich and there- 
fore respected—despite his plausible 
ideas—they had to listen to him pa- 
tiently, if most unwillingly. There is, 
undoubtedly, no worse torture for an 
expert than to have to listen to a rea- 
sonable proposition with a smiling face; 
because reason, as everyone knows, 
simplifies difficult things in a manner 
which gives experts the willies. They 
look upon such suggestions (quite cor- 
rectly) as an attack upon their hard- 
won legal rights. One feels inclined to 
sympathize with them: what would the 
poor creatures do if they had to relin- 
quish the reins to reason? | ask you. 


One day the most important states- 
men of the world were assembled to 
banish, or so it was reported, the squab- 
bles and woes of our planet to other 
regions, when the nice old gentleman 
was announced outside. “Heaven help 
us!” they thought. “What can he want 
now with his confounded common 
sense?” But they had him brought in. 
He came, bowed to them old-fashioned- 
ly, and sat down. He smiled. They 
smiled. 














“My dear heads-of-state and heads- 
of-heads-of-state,” he began, “I have 
what I believe is a useful idea. Its prac- 
tical application has already been 
tested; | would like to recommend it to 
you. Please listen carefully. You owe 
it not to me, but to reason.” They 
nodded with their stately heads, smiling 
sickly. “You are attempting,” he con- 
tinued, “to guarantee your countries 
peace and plenty. That can only mean, 
firstly and reasonably, no matter what 
your economic beliefs are, that you are 
interested in the welfare of all people— 
or am | mistaken?” 

“Goodness, no!” they cried. “By no 
means! Dear nice old gentleman, you 
shouldn’t even ask that!” 

“Wonderful!” he replied, “then your 
problem is solved. | congratulate you 
and your nations. Go home and take 
from your budgets proportionate to the 
means and in keeping with the constitu- 
tions of your countries until a sum total 
is reached which | shall name at the 
end of my proposal. This sum will pro- 
vide the following: each family in each 
of your countries with a pretty little 
six-room house, a garden, and a garage 
as well as a car for extra good measure. 
That still won’t use up the sum in ques- 
tion; so you can, and that too is calcu- 
lated carefully, build a new school and 
a modern hospital in every town on 
earth which has more than 5,000 in- 
habitants. | envy you; for while | do not 
believe that material things embody the 
highest values, | realize that peace be- 
tween nations depends in the first in- 
stance on the superficial contentment 
of human beings. Actually | don’t envy 
you; | am relieved and happy.” He 
reached into his vest pocket and lit a 
small cigar. 


His audience sat bewildered. Finally 
the head of the heads-of-state pulled 
himself together and asked with a 
hoarse voice: “How high is this sum 


which you require for your purposes?” 
“For my purposes?!” retorted the nice 
old gentleman, and a slight note of es- 
trangement crept into his tone. “Out 
with it!” cried the second highest head 
of the heads-of-state impatiently; “how 
much money would be needed for this 
little joke?” 

“One trillion dollars. A billion has a 
thousand millions, and a trillion has a 
thousand billions. | am talking about a 
1 with 12 zeros.” Then he puffed away 
at his cigar again. 

“You must be completely nuts!” 
someone yelled. Also a head-of-state. 


THE nice old gentleman sat up 
straight and looked at the yeller in sur- 
prise. “What makes you think that?” 
he asked. “Of course that’s a lot of 
money—but the last war, as the statis- 
tics prove, cost exactly the same 
amount!” 

Whereupon the heads-of-state and 
the heads-of-the-heads-of-state broke 
into howling laughter. They fairly hol- 
lered. They slapped themselves and 
their fellow heads-of-state on the legs; 
they gurgled hysterically and wiped the 
streaming tears from their eyes. 

The nice old gentleman viewed the 
whole spectacle helplessly. “I can’t un- 
derstand your amusement,” he said 
when the hubbub had died down a lit- 
tle; “would you be kind enough to ex- 
plain to me what all this merriment is 
about? If a long war cost a trillion 
dollars, why shouldn’t a long peace be 
worth the same? What in the world is 
funny about that?” 


Tuis resulted in renewed orgies of 
laughter. A thousand devils in hell 
couldn’t have made a bigger racket. 
One head-of-state could not contain 
himself any longer. He jumped up, held 
his aching sides, and called out with his 
last ounce of energy: “You old block- 
head! A war—a war is an entirely dif- 
ferent matter!” 


The heads-of-state, the nice old gentle- 
man, and their merry discourse are all ficti- 
tious. But that the war cost a trillion dollars 
and what could have been done with the 
same money is no fiction. American statistics 
have shown that these figures manifest the 
simple irrefutable truth. 


motive 














A Methodist preacher writes, “My ordination . 


. . is not apostolic, and it 


ought not to be.” You read these words on page eighty-seven of Dr. Edmund 


NULLUS 


Perry's Confessing the Gospel Mark Preached. In this statement he raises one of 
the most critical of present ecumenical problems, the problem of the ministry. 


EPISCOPUS, nulla ecclesia BY J. HAMBY BARTON, JR. 


soso fact that churches disagree on the definition of the 
ministry is dramatized by the multiplicity of the One 
Lord’s Table at ecumenical gatherings. On the basis of 
their theory of Apostolic succession episcopal churches 
refuse intercommunion with other Christians, and, in 
Dr. Perry’s terms, can justify such action because any 
other church “is not Christ’s Church according to the 
scriptures.” 

Apparently Dr. Perry has expressed himself in hope of 
stabbing awake our awareness to the banalities of Meth- 
odism and goading us on toward ecumenicity. But to 
accept as normative one view of Church and ministry is 
not a movement toward ecumenicity so much as toward 
the very type of narrowness which causes our present 
divisions. Has Dr. Perry accepted a narrow Anglo- 
Catholic view of Church and ministry? I do not like to 
believe that he has, but the section of his book with 
which we are dealing (section “2” beginning on page 86) 
is in agreement with their manifesto, The Apostolic Min- 
istry. 


Wuat does this view of the Church mean? It asserts 
that Christ gave his disciples a deposit of Grace and 
authority which was to be substantially transferred to 
their successors in office; that therefore the Twelve and 
their successors, ordained by a fixed ritual, are necessary 
vessels to contain this Grace. The continuation in history 
of this transmissible Grace is the essence of the Church. 
Furthermore, the “succession” is limited to the bishops; 
other Christians may receive the benefit of this Grace, 
but only the Bishops can distribute or transmit the es- 
sence of the Church. Thus, nullus episcopus, nulla 
ecclesia: no bishop, no church. 

This restricts the action of the Holy Spirit to the hands 
(sic) of certain men, “successors to the Apostles.” So 
Dr. Perry goes back to the authority of the Apostles to 
support his attack on The Methodist Church. He says, 
“The Church of Christ is first and foremost Christ’s Apos- 
tolic Community, founded once for all with the Twelve. 
. . . Unless our Church originated in and continues in 
history from Christ and this Apostolic community, it is 
not Christ’s Church according to the Scriptures.” St. Paul, 
lacking any ordination by the Twelve is an embarrass- 
ment to this view (Gal. 1:1 f). A further embarrassment 
is that Dr. Perry’s authority, Vincent Taylor, fails to sup- 
port him, even in the essay quoted. Dr. Taylor says, “Of 
hierarchial powers possessed by the Twelve and of a 
commission which they can impart to others there is no 


1 Ed. K. E. Kirk, London, Hodder & Stoughton, 1946. 
January 1958 


authentic sign in the Gospels.” Again, “the evidence is 
far indeed from sustaining the idea of an unbroken suc- 
cession from the original Apostles.” 2 

Dr. Perry states that churches which have the succes- 
sion are “scripturally right.” What are the facts of Scrip- 
ture? 

Let us examine the term Apostle. It is a Greek word, 
apostolos, translated, one who is sent. It is not a typical 
Gospel word; its usage in Luke is probably an anarchron- 
ism, and Mark does not use it as a title at all. Those who 
are later termed Apostles are in the Gospels called dis- 
ciples or, the Twelve. 

The Twelve were chosen by Jesus. They were with 
him throughout his ministry. The Gospels record two 
commissions for them, first, for the Galilean mission 
(Mk. 6:7 f£), which was to cast out demons and to preach; 
second, for a world mission (Matt. 28:19 f), which was 
to “make disciples,” baptize, and teach. Dr. Perry sug- 
gests that they were plenipotentiaries of Christ. This 
would be, in accord with Jewish custom, agents or attor- 
neys, called sheluhim. But such authority was absolutely 
not transmissible. 


Yer there was a uniqueness in the Apostolic company, 
they are the founding Fathers of the Church. But this 
Apostolic function is unique, it cannot be transmitted or 
repeated. Other ministries may build on this foundation, 
other men may be “sent” by God, as that “Apostolic Man,” 
Francis Asbury, was sent into the wilderness of our land, 
as Apostolic men like Schweitzer labor yet. But only at 
the beginning can there be “The Apostles”; other min- 
istries stand in their shadow. 

Those who adhere to a doctrine of episcopal succes- 
sion are at pains to trace a physical linkage between the 
Apostles and today’s “Apostolic Men.” I have chosen 
above two examples who cannot be so “linked” unless one 
is willing to accept the validity of Reformed and Meth- 
odist ordinations. Nor do even these “orders” constitute 
their “Apostleship.” Paul-like, they were sent by Christ. 
Any doctrine of “Apostolic succession” which unchurches: 
these men must be opposed to its face, it stands con- 
demned (Gal 2:11). 

Hints of the organization of the Church in the New 
Testament tantalize us but do little to inform us, as 
though one picked up a small handful of pieces from a 
5,000-piece jig-saw puzzle. Ephesians 4, lists apostles, 
prophets, evangelists, pastors and teachers. We see the 


? Vincent Taylor, The Gospel According to St. Mark, London, 
Macmillan, 1952, pp. 628, 627. 


2T 





elders of Ephesus admonished by Paul to be good 
bishops! (See also Titus 1:5-7.) One cannot deduce from 
these scattered pieces any pattern, even the words which 
later become so important are only commonplace words 
of the Greek language: servant, messenger, agent, over- 
seer, old man. The New Testament Church was not dis- 
organized, but its organization was functionally suited to 
the needs of its various divisions. Three hundred years 
ago Bishop Stillingfleet came to conclusions which still 
hold good; “Neither can we have that certainty of apos- 
tolic practice which is necessary to constitute a divine 
right; nor secondly, is it probable that the apostles did 
tie themselves up to any one fixed course in modelling 
churches.” 3 


4 O succession fails in finding support in Scripture. The 
next step is to appeal to the Fathers. And this appeal is 
able to prove that there were bishops in the Church 
within its first century of development. And by the third 
century the Apostolic Constitutions can say of a bishop, 
“he is, next after God, your earthly god.” But the honest 
scholarship of Jerome knew no such divine right of 
bishops. Jerome reports of the development of bishops, 
“The apostle clearly teaches that elders are the same as 
bishops. . . . When subsequently one elder was chosen 
to preside over the rest, this was done to remedy schism.” 
Again he says, “Let bishops be aware that they are 
superior to presbyters more owing to custom than to any 
actual ordinance of the Lord.” 

Episcopal systems of church government hold that a 
bishop has a higher grace (spiritual rank) than ordinary 
ministers (called elders). This grace gives him the ex- 
clusive authority to appoint (ordain) elders. John Wesley 
considered this problem as he studied the Bible and the 
Church Fathers, and he became convinced that a bishop 
was only a regular elder who exercised oversight over 
others. This was Jerome’s view, and the regular practice 
of the Church at Alexandria down to mid-third century. 
On this basis John Wesley could write to his brother 
Charles, saying, “I believe that I am a scriptural episcopus 
[bishop] as much as any man in England, or in Europe.” 


WESLEY'S adherence to the Church of England was 
based on his belief in the authority of an established 
state church rather than on the divine appointment of 
bishops by episcopal succession. Consequently, when the 
newly independent United States “disestablished” the 
English Church, and the Methodists of America cried to 
Wesley for ordained ministers, he knew it was his duty 
to supply them. His ordinations of Whatcoat and Vasey 
as elders and of Coke as “superintendent” (or bishop) 
were done with the concurrence of other elders. There is 
no “bishop” in Methodism, our “bishops” are regular 
“elders” who have been given the superintendency of 
the church. 

Now we are ready to move toward the root of our 


* Edward Stillingfleet, Irenicum, III, vii, 15. 
28 


problem. Dr. Perry states, “The Church of Christ is not 
a congregation or fellowship of believers first of all,” 
With this we agree if he is trying to emphasize the fact 
that the People of God, the Body of Christ, cannot be 
segmented into isolated groups. He continues, “It is first 
and foremost Christ’s Apostolic Community.” He then 
goes on to identify this community exclusively with those 
churches which depend on episcopal succession. This is 
to make the Church dependent on a privileged cast which 
holds the essence of the Church, the ministry, the sacra- 
ments, as its exclusive possession. The Christian ministry 
is a function of the body of Christ. By virtue of the fact 
that Christians are “a chosen race, a royal priesthood” 
(I Pet. 2:9), any group of Christian people who may 
become isolated by the accidents of history have not only 
the right, but the duty to raise up a ministry suited to the 
needs of the Church which is his body. The Apostolic 
character of the Church is its Apostolic faith and witness, 
tested by Scripture. Apostolic succession is the con- 
tinuity of faith, not a history of “ordinations.” 


Tuis problem, not merely one of church organization, 
is of fundamental concern for salvation. Does the saving 
Grace of God come to men through the Church, as Catho- 
lics affirm, or through faith alone, as Protestants hold? 
This is the division, so if we seek one Church this issue 
might be met. But it must be met in an atmosphere of 
Charity. “Let all these smaller points stand aside. . . . 
If thou lovest God and all mankind, I ask no more: ‘give 
me thine hands.’” (Wesley) 





motive 





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ae ai. 


Jar 








 -_— «= aS 


Aw 









AES 


TUDENTS aren't excited about 

anything and there is little hope 
that they will be in the near future. 
This is the general consensus of mo- 
tive’s editorial board. There were only 
a few hopeful remarks that students 
might shake their apathy, get inter- 
ested again in social issues or be in- 
spired to plead a cause. 

Miriam Taylor of Syracuse re- 
marked: “There is such a trend to 
conformity and to group ideals. If 
they (students) go ‘all out’ for their 
religion or a particular cause, they are, 
in effect, oddities, completely different 
from the majority. So most are afraid 
to stand up for their convictions 
against the social pressures and cries 


January 1958 


motive decided recently to ask its editorial board three questions: (1. Why 
aren't students seemingly excited about any particular cause or intellectual en- 
deavor, (2. What do you think will move them in the next year or so, (3. If you 
believe they'll stay unexcited, why do you think so? 


THE CONSENSUS: WE'VE HAD IT 


to conform.” Most of the board mem- 
bers agreed and added that only an- 
other world war would have a pro- 
found effect on students at present. 

Only a few thought that religion 
would make much impression on the 
student in the next few years. Carl 
Hartman of Dickinson College said: 
“Religion has become too common, 
too secularized. The ‘American’ reli- 
gion of mediocrity, joy, prosperity and 
a good slap on the back has taken its 
place. . . . Students reject this bosh. 
They have an idea that Christianity 
is not to be found on the bulletin 
boards.” Shirley Saunders of Long- 
wood College seemed to feel that all 
that is left are the institutions. “And 
the institutions are remote from every- 
day living with little involvement in 
causes,” she said. 

Charles Lerrigo of the University of 
Alabama, who polled 50 students, said 
they felt, for the most part, that stu- 
dents nowadays were driving hard 
after one thing: security. Most of them 
agreed, he said, that there is little to 
be excited about. He did mention, 
however, that the racial question 
would no doubt be a major “excit- 
ment” at his school in the next few 
years. 

There were a few scattered hints 
that students might shake their apathy. 
But just what will be capable of doing 
it, no one knew. It was suggested that 
perhaps international affairs, a new 
literary binge, the racial problem, or 
the great change in education that 
must come with the new influx of stu- 
dents, might have some effect. But 
these suggestions, which were actually 
half-hopes, were completely over- 
shadowed by the consensus that 
“We've had it.” 

“Conformity” was a word that ap- 
peared again and again in the stu- 
dents’ reports. Jane Miller of Hendrix 
College was typical of those who used 


it over and over as she remarked: 
“The term ‘careful young men’... 
seems to be a highly appropriate term 
in explaining why today’s college gen- 
eration is seemingly unexcited about 
causes. It doesn’t pay to become too 
enthusiastic or excited . . . you might 
get branded a ‘nonconformist’.” Eva 
Smith of Boston University seemed to 
agree. “Only something that threatens 
their security will excite students,” 
she said. 


MokE than one remarked that 
schools and teachers do little to direct 
students into any avenue of enthusi- 
asm. Paul Bodurtha of West Virginia 
Wesleyan felt that students must 
necessarily be stimulated through the 
processes of their education. “But edu- 
cation,” he said, “is mostly slow, dry 
and unexciting.” C. Edward Roy of 
Brevard College said: “Many college 
teachers do not have excitement and 
enthusiasm for their work and there- 
fore are unable to communicate the 
stimulus much needed on the part of 
the student.” 

Also reflected in the editorial board 
poll was the feeling, on the part of stu- 
dents, that there is really no need to 
get excited about anything. Paul 
Bodurtha, who also polled 50 students, 
said, “If some crisis does develop, they 
feel they can cope with it; until then 
—relax.” Noel McInnis of Northwest- 
ern University also made a report con- 
sistent with this. Students feel that 
they are in control of their environ- 
ment nowadays, he said. But at the 
same time that they have these opti- 
mistic attitudes, he said, they also re- 
veal a shocking ignorance of world 
affairs and the general intellectual 
climate. 


Tuus, it’s the consensus that pres- 
ent-day students will not raise their 
eyes, let alone their thoughts. 


29 





CONTINUED FROM PAGE 15 





PENLINGTON/OTHELLO 


the disgrace of Cassio. Othello’s irritation 
with his lieutenant makes him receptive 
to Iago’s insinuations about Cassio. Thus 
Iago can hint at the beginning of the 
“Temptation Scene” that Cassio was act- 
ing reprehensibly in avoiding his com- 
manding officer. He further whets Othel- 
lo’s suspicions by warning him against 
knowing Iago’s inmost thoughts, and that 
this concealment is to protect Othello’s 
noble soul from jealousy. Othello, piqued 
that his ensign does not at once confide 
freely in his friend, replies in effect: “How 
preposterous!” When Othello apparently 
forces the seemingly reluctant Iago to 
disclose his suspicions, the contrast be- 
tween the anticipation and the revela- 
tion utterly casts Othello down. Iago re- 
minds Othello three times that he is much 
“moved” by the revelation, but each of 
Othello’s denials only moves him the 
more. Thus Othello cannot rationalize 
away the full import of the suspicion that 
Desdemona and Cassio are unfaithful— 
“tis the plague of great ones” to be 
abused, as he later laments. 

His mood of dejection soon changes to 
one of confusion. Now he is supplied 
with apparent proof—the alleged dis- 
covery in Cassio’s room of the handker- 
chief Othello had given Desdemona. To 
besmirch Desdemona’s and Cassio’s honor 
is to besmirch Othello’s honor, for Othello 
sees himself mirrored in them. Preserva- 
tion of his own honor requires the de- 
struction of Desdemona and Cassio. Emo- 
tionally overwrought, therefore, by Iago’s 
accusations, Othello prays for “black 
vengeance” and cries for “blood.” To 
translate Othello’s jealous desires from 
the world of emotion to the world of 
reality, Iago cynically accompanies him 
in prayer, and transforms his cry for 
“blood” into “bloody business.” Othello’s 
descent to murder is _ temporarily 
checked by a short absence from Iago’s 
direct sway, by a faint inkling that he 
loves a real person, and by the paradoxi- 
cal release of a genuine sense of honor 
that recoils from the logic of his emo- 
tional commitment. 

To complete his purpose Iago accord- 
ingly adopts a more direct line of at- 
tack. He no longer hints at sinful rela- 
tions: he makes direct accusations. When 
he reports that Cassio has lain with 
Desdemona, Othello faints. Upon recov- 
ery, Othello is cynically mocked “to be 
a man” for 


30 


There’s millions now alive 
That nightly lie in those unproper 
beds... 


But for Othello to be a man in Iago’s 
eyes, is to accept the fact of evil, even in 
his wife and his friend; but to do so is 
to deny his cherished view of good, 
which he imputes to them, and in turn 
identifies with himself. When Othello, in 
effect, protests his pity for Desdemona, 
Iago crushes the sentiment by reminding 
him of his own moral scruples. Iago’s 
deadly scorn and a frightened admiration 
for his wisdom reduces Othello to despair. 
Othello is helpless to protect his falsely 
based ideals or to escape the abyss into 
which Iago has thrust him. Intolerable 
conflicts break out in his soul. Only an- 
nihilation of the apparent threats can 
bring peace. The conflicts have already 
produced a headache and a fainting spell; 
and ready to believe the worst, Othello 
strikes Desdemona and finally smothers 
her. 

Alone, the “heavy hour” of despair 
comes over him. In the presence of others, 
he turns for support to his honor. He 
justifies himself against Emilia’s accusa- 
tions of ignorance with the evidence sup- 
plied by her husband. Iago’s admissions 
and his action in stabbing his wife ex- 
pose the falsity of this justification. As 
Othello gazes down upon the lifeless 
Desdemona, the enormity of his crime 
for a moment strikes him: 


When we shall meet at compt, 
This look of thine will hurl my soul 
from heaven 


And fiends will snatch at it. 


His eyes are partly opened to himself as 
he is and was. 


HE now tries to vindicate not his char- 
acter but his motives: he calls himself an 
“honorable murderer.” He is forced to re- 
tract this vindication, reminded of his 
consent to the proposed murder of Cassio. 
Trapped, he pathetically inquires why 
that “demi-devil” Iago has “ensnared” 
him. With his character gone and his 
motives exposed death remains at the 
state’s hands or his own. Still unwilling 
to face the evil of his murderous deed, he 
clutches desperately to the honor of him 
“that was Othello,” pleads raison d état, 
for he has done the “state some service” 
and killed one of its traducers; excuses 
himself as one “perplexed” who has loved 
“too well”; and dies palliating his crime: 
“I kissed thee ere I killed thee.” 


By taking advantage of the weaknesses 
of his associates Iago enjoys the thrill of 
domination. He towers above them in 
energy, intellectual acumen, and know]- 
edge of human nature. He is a consum- 
mate actor who can manipulate most 
situations in his own favor. In general he 
poses as the blunt, honest soldier, but his 
apparent honesty disguises a frightening 
frankness that ferrets out or insinuates 
evil. By confusing his frankness with 
honesty, his associates unknowingly be- 
come his victims. They are attracted, too, 
by his amusing and ribald descriptions 
of the world. These appear to proclaim 
a man who has wandered about the gut- 
ters of humanity; they sneer at humanity’s 
pretensions to good. For Iago, to know 
people, is to know evil about people; the 
evil to be used, if necessary, for their de- 
struction. Yet in spite of his initial mas- 
tery, Iago fails to commit the “perfect 
crime,” as some of this writer’s students 
have put it. 


H IS final failure comes because he com- 
mits too many crimes, and is crushed by 
the widening entanglements of his own 
plots. Although he is quite confident of 
his ability to continue manipulating peo- 
ple, he cannot foresee that his wife 
Emilia, ennobled by the sweetness and 
innocence of Desdemona, will denounce 
him. Nor can he stop scheming, for he 
seems like a man possessed exhilarated 
by his own successes and driven on to 
self-destruction. 

How is this infatuation to be explained? 
Early in the play Iago gives a clue to his 
ultimate failure. When he deliberately 
twists Jehovah’s declaration, “I am that 
I am” into “I am not what I am,” he pre- 
tends to be more than a “Divinity of 
hell.” His brash confidence confirms that 
he regards himself as a superman. A 
superman is a person, who, dissatisfied 
with his limited lot, believes that he can 
transcend the physical and moral limita- 
tions of the universe. In some ways, Iago 
typifies Renaissance supermen, but only 
a few Renaissance figures, however, were 
outright Machiavellians deliberately em- 
bracing evil. Iago could never have so 
openly embraced evil before the play 
began because of his reputation for hon- 
esty. Is the audience to assume, there- 
fore, that Iago’s spite and hatred for 
Othello appear for the first time when he 
fails to receive promotion? Shakespeare 
provides the audience with no direct 
evidence for the prime source of Iago’s 
malignity; and such turns in the life of 


motive 











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individuals are often unfathomable mys- 
teries. 

Yet there is historical and psychological 
logic to Renaissance Machiavellianism. 
Many men turned from Medieval to 
Renaissance beliefs because there ap- 
peared meaningless and irrelevant. Hav- 
ing lost faith in God, what was more 
natural than to turn to faith in self? Since 
the rejection of Medieval beliefs implied 
the substitution of human for divine 
powers, worldly for cosmic values, pride 
for humility, what was more natural than 
to embrace power and evil? 


Bur Iago is not a Renaissance super- 
man, however close the resemblance; he 
is not incredible, but a real human being 
with human limitations. In his own eyes 
he does not really seek power; he seeks 
reassuring demonstrations of superiority. 
This need, his incessant scheming, and 
his observation that he dare “dull not de- 
vice by coldness and delay,” show him 
to be a man in the grip of uncontrollable 
power. He cannot stop to question his 
actions, for to do so would be to doubt 
his superiority. Thus he is not, as he 
thinks, the captain of his soul—“our wills 
are gardeners,” as he tells Roderigo—he 
has become the instrument of a need to 
demonstrate his own superiority. 

The real importance of the demonstra- 
tions lies not in superiority, but in justi- 
fication of evil means. For Iago thinks 
that moral considerations are one of life’s 





irrelevancies: “Virtue! a fig!” he exclaims 
to Roderigo. In fact the evil is as com- 
pulsive as the demonstrations. He justifies 
his evil plans by a variety of motives. He 
does not really weigh the motives care- 
fully, for to do so would be to introduce 
standards outside himself which one of his 
goals is to deny. His only apparent stand- 
ard is success—a sort of perpetual prag- 
matism. His successes thrill him, though 
he does not admit they serve the pur- 
pose of justifying to himself the superiori- 
ty of evil. The practice of evil is essen- 
tially an attempt to deny the importance 
of good, and in denying good Iago be- 
comes a victim of his own villainy, other- 
wise unrepressed good inhibits the vic- 
tim’s trust in evil. 

Iago is not a superman of sin; for he 
does not quite succeed in crushing his 
own sense of good. Why, for example, 
should he complain of Cassio’s “daily 
beauty” and call his wife a “villainous 
whore!” when she proclaims the truth of 
his villainy? Unfortunately for Iago, good 
is not a mere custom subject to time and 
place, it is an objective reality, whether 
called God, the Good, or that part of a 
man’s psychic nature, which a psycho- 
analyst can assist, if the patient wills, to 
bring back to wholeness. 


In their compulsive attitudes to good and 
evil, Othello and Iago strikingly resemble 
and contrast with each other. Othello 
must kill, apparently bad people, to pre- 














oo— 


“I'VE GOT STRENGTH OF CHARACTER TO WITHSTAND ADVERSITY, IT’S THIS GOOD 


LIFE THAT’S KILLIN’ ME.” 
January 1958 


serve his own virtue; Iago must kill to 
demonstrate the superiority of evil. For 
Iago, good must not triumph or his own 
trust in evil will be shaken. Because 
Othello cannot deny he is a murderer he 
destroys himself, but he does so justifying 
his evil deed to the end. Apparently more 
deliberate, Iago refuses to destroy him- 
self. Self-destruction appears to him the 
action of a coward and a denial of the 
validity of his way of life. Rather than 
admit that he erred in choosing to demon- 
strate evil superiority, that is rather than 
impugn his own merits, Iago prefers cer- 
tain torture and death. 

In spite of his villainy Iago extracts a 
grudging sympathy from the audience. 
Othello’s emotional outbursts contrast 
with Iago’s stoical bravery. No cry of 
mercy passes Iago’s lips. When Othello 
pathetically requests that someone de- 
mand from 


that demi-devil 
Why he hath thus ensnared my soul and 
body? 


Iago contemptuously retorts 


Demand me nothing. What you know, 
you know. 


True to his evil goal, Iago will never more 
open his lips—not even as Lodovico in- 
quires, “to pray?” 


WHATEVER roles the leading men 
play, the two women have no need to 
play roles; Emilia and Desdemona are 
mature persons confronting the world as 
it is. Emilia is content with her lot as 
wife of a soldier, and professes devoted 
love for Iago. An undercurrent of fric- 
tion, however, exists between her and her 
husband, in part presumably prompted 
by Iago’s biting tongue. On arrival in 
Cyprus, Emilia after being silenced by 
one of his derisive remarks, can only make 
a sulky retort. Iago soon jollies her out 
of her sulk, for hitherto he has apparently 
easily dominated her. Though apprehen- 
sive of her husband’s intentions, Emilia 
willingly gives him Desdemona’s hand- 
kerchief, which Desdemona has dropped 
and Iago urged his wife to steal. She is 
also prepared to cuckold her husband if 
it will advance his position. 

But her sins, contrasted to her hus- 
band’s, are venial in the extreme. Al- 
though she possesses a worldly wisdom, 
a latent good within her awaits but op- 
portunity for expression. In contrast to 
Roderigo who degenerates under Iago’s 


31 





yoke, Desdemona redeems Emilia; for 
Emilia has come to love her mistress. 
Emilia is enraged at the “insinuating 
rogue” who is poisoning Othello with 
suspicions of Desdemona. Whereas Des- 
demona prays that “heaven pardon” such 
a rogue, Emilia shrieks out “A halter par- 
don him!” for sudden emotions burst forth 
from her. 


AFTER Desdemona’s murder, she is 
utterly bewildered at Othello’s explana- 
tion that her husband provided the evi- 
dence for the deed. She is torn between 
the abounding goodness of her mistress 
and the love for a husband who is incom- 
prehensibly unmasked as a fiend of hell. 
When her husband appears her “heart is 
full,” for she will not believe her hus- 
band abetted murder. After Iago ad- 
mitted telling Othello his suspicions, 
Emilia is so beside herself at a villainy 
beyond her grasp that Iago thinks her 
mad and orders her home. Worse strikes 
the broken Emilia, for in giving Des- 
demona’s handkerchief to Iago, she dis- 
covers too late that she has become an 
unwitting accomplice to the murder. Her 
revelation of the handkerchief episode so 
enrages her husband that he stabs her. 
“So come my soul to bliss as I speak true,” 
she cries as she dies consoled at being a 
witness to Desdemona’s true love, even 
for a cruel fool—Othello. 

Desdemona, too, is mature, content 
with her lot and true to her best self. Al- 
though brought up under the watchful 
eyes of an irascible father, she is a woman 
of spirit, initiative, and some knowledge 
of the world. She it is who virtually pro- 
poses to Othello, withstands her father 
before the Venetian Senate, and suggests 
accompanying her husband to Cyprus. 
To win Othello, to keep him, and to be 
with him, Desdemona takes the initiative. 
But initiative is succeeded by passivity, 
the outcome of which is death. When 
Othello demands the return of the hand- 
kerchief, accuses her of infidelity, strikes 
her, and finally smothers her, she is half- 
hearted, if not passive, in her defence. 
How is this paradox of initiative and 
passivity in her character to be explained? 

At the beginning of the play she scarce- 
ly marries a man; she marries rather a 
noble military reputation. She informs 
her father and the Venetian Senate that 


I saw Othello’s visage in his mind, 
And to his honors and his valiant parts 
Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. 


Inevitably she misunderstands much of 


32 


her husband’s character. Instead of ap- 
pealing to Othello’s honor, as Iago does, 
to gain her way, Desdemona tries to 
“nag” Othello into accepting Cassio once 
more into his good graces. Few worse 
methods of convincing a lifelong soldier 
could be conceived. When Othello de- 
mands the return of the handkerchief, she 
is left confused and at a loss: “I ne’er saw 
this before. . . . My lord is not my lord. 
...” She has some inkling, however, that 
to Othello the handkerchief betokens a 
treasured symbol, even as to Desdemona 
it symbolizes more than something “to 
kiss and talk to.” She has begun to have 
insight into her error, when she declares 
that “we must think men are not gods.” 
She does not reproach her husband but 
herself: for his unjust accusations serve 
not to weaken but to deepen her love. 
She “ever will . . . love him dearly. . . .” 


For now she loves not merely a repu- 
tation but a human being for whom for- 
giveness and mercy are due. To Emilia’s 
lament, “I would you had never seen 
him!” she at once retorts: 


So would not I. My love doth so approve 
him 

That even his stubbornness, his checks, 
his frowns— 

... have grace and favor in them. 


Yet Desdemona is neither a Platonic 
archtype, nor a monster of goodness, nor 
the mere upholder of the less-exciting 
domestic virtues. She is a living woman 
with temptations, doubts, and fears. 
When at the last she calls for her “wed- 
ding sheets,” weary and uncertain, she 
intends using her feminine charms to re- 
gain her husband’s love. She fancies the 
possibility of a happier married life with 
another: Lodovico, the good-looking 
official from Venice, crosses her mind. “O, 
these men, these men!” she rues; and even 
inquires whether Emilia would cuckold 
her husband. After Emilia makes an 
eloquent defence of feminine rights in 
the matter Desdemona, true to her own 
nature, thrusts such advice aside: 


God me such usage send 
Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad 
mend! 


For Desdemona, love and kindness are 
intrinsic qualities of character which she 
showers on all about her. Her response 
to Othello’s unjust accusations is a test 
and a proof of her love. Truth and love 
are objective realities, and Desdemona 





is one of their instruments. For Othello, 
on the contrary, virtues are subjective 
means to give significance to his life. 
Therefore as means he uses them to justi- 
fy even murder itself. Othello kills for 
honor and love; Desdemona dies for the 
truth of hers. The highest virtues are en- 
shrined in Desdemona’s life and death. 
Emilia’s redeeming cry: “O, she was 
heavenly true!” becomes a cosmic stand- 
ard to measure the fall of Othello and the 
villainy of Iago. 

Thus tragedy in Shakespeare’s Othello 
arises primarily from a meaninglessness 
that ignores the natural and moral uni- 


verse. 





Onn 


“YOU'LL GET AHEAD FASTER IF YOU DON’T 
QUESTION THE SYSTEM.” 


motive 




















conbritmiors 


ROBERT H. HAMILL was for many years the writer of 
motive’s “Skeptic’s Corner.” About 1950 he decided that 
students were no longer interested in skeptics and it was dis- 
continued. But Bob’s own interest in university life has con- 
tinued, and now as pastor-director at the University of 
Wisconsin Wesley Foundation he is involved for sure in the 
university problem. GIBSON WINTER is a member of the 
faculty of the University of Chicago Department of Social 
Sciences and the Federated Theological Faculty. The book 
from which the article is drawn is to be published in March. 
RAMONA MAHER MARTINEZ, now on the staff of the 
New Mexico Quarterly, was during her undergraduate days 
at Texas Christian University an outstanding creative writer. 
MYRON SCHOLNICK is a student at American University, 
Washington, D. C. NORMAN PENLINGTON is a member 
of the Department of the Humanities of Michigan State 
University which has been widely renowned for its experi- 


ments in general education. BARBARA LEE BACHMURA, 
formerly art instructor at Denison University, spent her 
sabbatical year on a Fulbright scholarship studying with 
Rolf Nesch in Norway. Currently her home is in Nashville 
where she keeps up a home for her professor husband and 
little boy and continues as a brilliant producing artist. 
LOUIS MILES’s poetry is already familiar to motive readers. 
After graduation from the Boston University School of The- 
ology, he has taken a position as the director of the Wesley 
Foundation at Ashland, Oregon. JOHN E. JORDAN was 
elected to the National Methodist Student Commission 
while a student at Illinois Wesleyan. As his letter reveals, 
he is now studying at Oxford University, having been re- 
cently honored by receiving a Rhodes Scholarship. MARGO 
HOFF is a professional artist (painter) who makes her home 
in Chicago, Illinois. 





LETTERS... 


I want to acknowledge my indebtedness 
to... McLean and Rigg for their great 
work, and express my appreciation for 
your excellent journal, the modern para- 
bles and everything. You may be inter- 
ested to know that I came across motive 
in the offices of the National Council of 
Churches of Indonesia in Djakarta, about 
twelve months ago. I was at an ecumeni- 
cal work camp in Java at that time. 


—o. m. olds 
dunedin, new zealand 


Thanks again for motive! It breaks into 
the rapid and the vapid which are all 
about us. Incidentally, could it be that 
Elwood Ellwood is Ortmayer in dis- 
guise? I think I detect a gospel shining 
through. I have artist Friemark’s “Medi- 
tation” on my office wall now and it is 
wonderful. (You can’t light it from be- 
hind.) 
—bob hawthorne 
palo alto, california 


My main reason for writing is to express 
my gratitude to all you people who work 


January 1958 


so long and hard to give the Methodist 
college student the most inspiring pub- 
lication for this age group, motive. When 
you told me that you were the managing 
editor of motive, I was still in high school, 
and you might as well said you were the 
chief operator of a three-speed ditch 
digger and I would have been just as 
impressed with the title! I am being 
facetious, of course, but I never realized 
at the time how much motive meant to 
the life of a college student. 


I am a sophomore here at Tech and I 
have taken motive all during my college 
career of two years. I read it from each 
interesting and fascinating cover to 
cover. 


—Mary Lynn Carroll 
cookeville, tennessee 


I have recently received a copy of the 
magazine, motive, from the Wesley 
Church here at the University of Illinois. 
It impressed me very much. Ordinarily, 
I do not take time to read during the 


school session except the assignments and 
related material. However, when I read 
“The Careful Young Men” and other 
articles (October issue), I wanted to 
continue reading. 


—Mada Beauchamp 
champaign, _ illinois 


I am a freshman attending Hope College 
here in Michigan. This month was my 
first experience with motive. It is great! 
It’s designed for the college student. The 
art, which I noticed was not praised too 
highly by the readers in October, is ex- 
tremely modern. And why shouldn't it 
be? I enjoyed the article on Heri Bert 
Bartscht by Mrs. Thomas especially. 


—jon a. bolthouse 
holland, michigan 


Some magazine! Let’s face it: most of 
the articles were over my head, I suppose. 
The only one I could really understand 
was Ellwood’s “Return From Miltown” 
and I disagreed with him. 


—john doss 
new york, new york 


33 








By L. P. Pherigo 


TS THE oldest conductors who are 

making the news now. Leopold 
Stokowski (born 1882) has produced a 
phenomenal version of The Planets by 
Gustav Holst (Capitol P 8398; $3.98). 
Neither the music nor the Los Angeles 
Philharmonic has ever sounded like this 
on records before. This certainly puts 
aside the need for another version of 
this music for a long time to come. It 
is Stokowski’s first recording of this 
music, and a superb recording technical- 
ly. 

Pierre Monteux (born 1875) has 
scored also. I can recommend without 
reservation his new version of Petrouchka 
and The Firebird Suite, with the Paris 
Conservatoire Orchestra (RCA Victor 
LM-2112; $3.98). Monteux gave the 
world premier of Petrouchka in Paris in 
1911, while he was conductor of the 
Diaghilev Russian Ballet. He also pre- 
miered Le Sacre du Printemps (in 
1913), and has long been associated with 
the works of Stravinsky as one of his 
foremost interpreters. I would rank the 
performances on this record before all the 
others, without saying that Monteux’s dis- 
places all the others. Those by the com- 
poser, Stokowski, and Ansermet remain 
permanently important documents. 

Karl Bohm is a veteran German con- 
ductor whose appearances on records 
(until very recently) have been largely 
confined to that of leading the orches- 
tral support for the distinguished soloist 
in a concerto. Three new Decca records 
now give us a much better chance to ap- 
preciate his musicianship. First to appear 
was R. Strauss’ Ein Heldenleben, with 
the Saxon State Orchestra in Dresden 
(DL 9927; $3.98). Then came a 
Brahms Symphony No. 2 (DL 9933; 
$3.98), and a record containing both 
the Beethoven Symphony No. 5 and the 
Mozart Eine kleine Nachtmusik (DL 
9942; $3.98), all with the Berlin Phil- 
harmonic Orchestra. 

These performances of Bohm all 
aroused my genuine respect. He is un- 
doubtedly a master conductor. Neverthe- 
less, his Heldenleben is no match for 
Mengelberg’s (on Camden CAL 837; 
$1.98), even though Mengelberg’s ver- 
sion was recorded thirty years ago. If 


34 


you insist on a modern one, Bohm’s is 
as good as any. 

The other Béhm performances are 
more important. They tend to be delib- 
erate, powerful, and full of surprising 
subtleties. His version of Eine kleine 
Nachtmusik is one of the slowest on 
records, yet it does not bog down at any 
point, and I have moods when it sounds 
best this way. The first three movements 
of the Brahms symphony are very seri- 
ous and deliberate; the finale is vigorous 
and lively. The over-all impact is quite 
effective, but some will prefer a lighter, 
more lyrical version of this music. The 
Beethoven Fifth ranks among the best 
half-dozen on records; the last three 
movements are especially well done. But 
music with Béhm is a very serious busi- 
ness: if you like the light touch, he’s not 
your man. 


Or special interest to fans of contem- 
porary music is a fine performance of 
Werner Egk’s French Suite after Ram- 
eau, and K. A. Hartmann’s Symphony 
No. 6, by Ferenc Fricsay and the RIAS 
Symphony Orchestra (Decca DL 9861; 
$3.98). Both compositions are worth 
serious investigation. 


THREE excellent orchestral program 
records come from Capitol. Six orches- 
tral excerpts from four of Wagner’s 
operas are performed with great justice 
by Schmidt-Isserstedt and the N.W.D.R. 
Orchestra (P 18047; $3.98). Felix Slat- 
kin leads the Hollywood Bowl Symphony 
Orchestra in very competent perform- 
ances of four overtures (the 1812, Wil- 
liam Tell, Light Cavalry, and Poet and 
Peasant) (P 8380; $3.98). More histor- 
ically important is a Stokowski record 
called “Landmarks of a Distinguished 
Career” (P 8399; $3.98). With an un- 
identified orchestra that plays very well, 
the famous conductor records again some 
of the most popular of his old 78s, in- 
cluding Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D 
Minor, Debussy’s Clair de Lune and Prel- 
ude to the Afternoon of a Fawn, Sibel- 
ius’ Swan of Tuonela and Finlandia, and 
J. Strauss, Jr.’s Blue Danube Waltz. None 
of the old touch is gone; if you like Sto- 
kowski you'll like this. If you haven’t lis- 
tened to him enough to understand the 
controversy around him, then this record 
will inform you well. Every collector 
should have this record, for historical 
purposes, at least. 


THE release of the new Artur Rubin- 


stein album of all five of the Beethoven 
piano concertos (RCA Victor LM-6702; 
$15.95) is an event of major importance. 
His performances carry a special dash, or 
verve, that are not quite matched in any 
of the rival versions. There is an out- 
ward, compelling kind of enthusiasm 
here, a robust excitement that is irresist- 
ible. Rubinstein does not have the feel- 
ing for the classical line, or the capacity 
or inner subtlety that marked the old 
Schnabel set (also on Victor), or the 
deliberate expressiveness of the more re- 
cent Kempff set (Decca; on _ three 
records, and hence the cheapest of the 
three sets), but his performances are 
great in their own way and in their own 
right. Krips and the Symphony of the 
Air (Toscanini’s old NBC Orchestra) 
give excellent support. 


Two new violin concerto records are 
important. Heifetz has done the Tchai- 
kowsky concerto again (ho hum!), this 
time with Fritz Reiner and the Chicago 
Symphony Orchestra (RCA Victor LM- 
2129; $3.98). It definitely supersedes his 
earlier one, and many will acclaim it 
the best version available. Its superb 
precision is, however, accompanied by 
a cool, nonchalant offhandedness, and I 
therefore perfer to stick with the equally 
precise, but warmer, controlled romanti- 
cism of the Oistrakh-Konwitschny per- 
formance (on Decca). 

The other new concerto record is by 
Nathan Milstein, with Steinberg and the 
Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra (Capi- 
tol P 8382; $3.98). Unless I miss my 
guess, it too will be very highly praised 
in some circles for its undoubted musi- 
cal virtues. I’m not won over, however. 
Milstein plays the Dvorak and Glazounov 
concertos expertly (especially the latter), 
but not with the grace, smoothness, and 
phrasing ability of Oistrakh (who offers 
the same concertos on a Vanguard 
record; avoid the inferior Colosseum 
copy). Oistrakh is much more poetic, 
and matches at every point Milstein’s 
virtuosity. The slight superiority of Mil- 
stein’s sound and orchestral support are 
not sufficient compensation for his 
rougher tone and more awkward phras- 
ing of the melodic units. 


F OR something different try the new 
Capitol recording of Smetana’s four 

zech Polkas and ten Czech Dances 
(P 8372; $3.98). Rudolf Firkusny (him- 
self a Czech) gives us a brilliant complete 
recording of this collection. 


motive 





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NE of the more remarkable com- 

mentaries on the American campus 
at the present time is that there are no 
student literary idols. And there have 
been none for some time. Just what this 
means is not easily determined. One of 
the better guesses is that there are no 
significant young writers capable of 
catching the student fancy. And it may 
be that students would remain quite 
aloof even if another Goethe was in their 
midst. 

In France, however, the students do 
have an idol. She is Francoise Sagan, 
who, at 22, has now completed her third 
novel. The first Sagan novel, Bonjour 
Tristesse, was a world-wide best seller. 
Written when she was only 17, it dealt 
with the amoral, meaningless, frightened 
world of a young girl on the threshold of 
love. Of it, the authoress remarked: “It’s 
impossible to explain. Such enormous 
printings! It’s a sociological phenomenon. 
None of it makes sense to me, either, and 
I don’t find it amusing.” 

Critics had a field day with the first 
two Sagan novels. They were crude and 
repetitious, they said. But in her recent 
novel, Those Without Shadows, many 
critics have altered their opinions a little. 
So when one of her critics said recently, 
in a pleased way, “She’s finished,” Nobel 
Prize winner Francois Mauriac replied: 
“She’s beginning.” 

Last April Francoise Sagan was in an 
automobile accident that almost took her 
life. She narrowly missed death when her 
sports car overturned. Along with a frac- 
tured skull, broken ribs, a broken collar 
bone and other physical injuries some- 
thing happened, says French editor 
Francoise Giroud, that couldn’t be diag- 
nosed so precisely: the young girl suf- 
fered excruciatingly. She became a re- 
cluse, leaving the Paris back streets to 
convalesce at a rented villa. She lived on 
drugs. She drank quantities of whiskey. 
And once, in her bed, she groaned the 
words of the eighteenth-century moralist 
Chamfort: “God deliver me from my 
physical sufferings. I'll take care of the 
moral ones.” 

While popular among the students, she 
is generally regarded as a flash in the 
pan. The French are no more tolerant of 
success than anyone else, says M. Giroud, 
especially where someone well-off and so 
young is concerned. 

Certainly, she is well-off. As a 17-year- 
old college girl from a substantial bour- 
geois family, she wrote her first novel 
between examinations and mailed it to 
a publisher who turned her into a literary 


January 1958 


FRANCOISE SAGAN: BONJOUR OR ADIEU? 


phenomenon. Her royalties have been 
fabulous. She lives high and fast, support- 
ing numerous friends and acquaintances, 
most of them freeloaders, struggling 
young actors and actresses, students, 
writers, but mostly freeloaders. 


PERSONALLY, says M. Giroud, she is 
anything but the star, the gamine. She is 
the picture of the well-raised French girl 
of a good family; well-mannered, reticent, 
modest. She wears simple clothes. She 
speaks with a slight stammer. 

But to young France, she is already 
something of a symbol. In a sense, she is 
what James Dean was to American youth 
at the time of his death. But her appeal 
is much more intellectual, much broader. 
And whereas Dean’s appeal was pri- 
marily to the teen set, Francoise Sagan’s 
appeal is to a somewhat older and more 
mature group. She writes some almost 
every day and reads constantly. She is 
one of the more intelligent young existen- 
tialists of France. And so her fame is of 
a somewhat different kind. 

Love is the principal subject of her 


books. Her frankly amoral point of view 
has often branded her as a person of little 
virtue. But she puts no great store in what 
people think of her. She is interested, she 
says, in questions of morality and reli- 
gion. But she insists she must deal with 
these things in her own way. “I have two 
ambitions,” she says, “‘to live a great love 
and write a great book.” So far, she has 
had many attempts at both. 


l T seems to be the personal struggle, the 
fight that she constantly has with herself, 
that is most appealing to French youth. 
Other people’s opinions of her she does 
not mind. She can ignore the critics and 
the moralists. But she cannot ignore her- 
self. “Life is like music,” she once said. 
“It should be possible to hear it twice.” 
So she feels that life is slipping away, a 
feeling strongly reflected in her work. 

This feeling of disassociation, of lost- 
ness, of a kind of meaninglessness has 
made her the symbol that she now is. For 
many French students, standing and 
waiting in the pall of present affairs, no 
doubt feel this too. 


elegy for a young man 


He left with a song in September, 
And the red road-dust powdered up 
Behind relentless wheels that bore him off. 


A sharpshooter, a sniper in the war, 
He played an old game that had lost its sport. 


It was a cruel game, with death, 


And there was fear. 
Some cried. 


He cried tears that striped face griming dust, 
And a buddy held his head, cradled on an arm, 
While he held another head, older than his own. 


But still they fought; 
Afraid to fight, they fought. 


They all expected death, and they all died, 
Blown to bits by concentrated mortar fire, 


Their entrails falling where they could not find a resting place before. 


Flag-draped coffin, holding only bones; 
And words from clergy books .. . 


Weeping mother beside a coffined grave 

Now dug in rusted earth, 

And wretching father holding hat in hand 

Curse death that came too soon for them. 

Touch earth now, and watch grass that grows upon his chest; 
Hear rain fall, and listen for crows that dung his face. 


There are no ashes, and heaven knows no dust. 
—LOUIS MILES 


35 





ISTORY and traditional practices 

greatly influence religion at Oxford. 
The University, founded in the twelfth 
century, was originally centered almost 
entirely in the Church of St. Mary’s, 
where theology, the main emphasis of 
university learning at that time, was 
taught and where the students and 
faculty met for corporate worship. 
Though the ancient building of St. Mary’s 
still stands at the center of the University, 
its importance for the academic commu- 
nity is mostly a formal recognition of 
this past tradition—a high-church An- 
glican service each Sunday morning at- 
tended by the vice-chancellor and other 
officers of the University and consisting 
mainly of a scholarly sermon preached by 
some theologian, dean, professor, or chap- 
lain, and usually a man from the Uni- 
versity itself. 

The main center of corporate worship 
by the academic community is found in 
each college chapel (most of these are 
Anglican colleges and served by Church 
of England clergy, but open to all). 
Morning and evening daily prayers, com- 
munion services, special services and dis- 
cussions are organized and led by the 
chaplain, who also lives in college to serve 
in a counseling capacity. Though I often 
crave more freedom of worship than these 
services allow, I am finding a deep sense 
of worship and spiritual growth as I be- 
come more familiar with the ritual and 
liturgy. Because these services bind one 
closer to his college community, operating 
on a deeper level of experience than 
merely living, eating, and studying as a 
close-knit group of about 170, in my 
case, one begins to feel a new sense of 
purpose and coherence in the work one 
does. 

Corporate worship and religion become 
a normal part of one’s daily life. This is 
one of the unique aspects of Oxford—the 
closeness of corporate worship and the 
academic process, the spiritual life and 
the intellectual life (at least this is offered 
to those who avail themselves of such an 
opportunity). This does not mean there 
are no militant atheists or agnostics—we 
have them on the faculty and among the 
undergraduates—nor does it mean that 
other colleges and universities have no 
common search for and expression of reli- 
gion, but at Oxford we find a rather dif- 
ferent, inclusive, and traditionally ancient 
oneness of religion and learning that 


36 


offers great opportunity to the Christian 
student seeking to apply his faith to all 
of life. 


Many students attend Sunday morning 
worship in churches within the city of 
Oxford, for no college chapel seeks to 
compete with the function of local par- 
ishes. I have attended the Wesley Me- 
morial Church, a fairly large congrega- 
tion which has the main responsibility of 
ministry to the university for the Meth- 
odist Church. The church was founded 
in the 1870's from funds raised in a na- 
tional campaign as a memorial to John 
Wesley and his work here at Oxford. 

Some of the features about the worship 
service are different. The psalms, or 
“canticles,” are all sung rather than read 
responsively. There are no bulletins, and 
all announcements (there seems to be a 
great similarity in the great number of 
items on the schedule) are read aloud at 
some point during the service. Though I 
know a few of the hymns they sing, I 
know almost none of the tunes they use. 
When some familiar ones, such as “For 
All the Saints” or “O God, Our Help in 
Ages Past,” come in the service, I fear I 
sing with undue fervor to help clear the 
frustration from the unfamiliar hymns. 
One item is especially noteworthy, I 
think. Each person, as soon as he takes 
his seat, bows his head for a few moments 
of silent prayer and meditation, even 
though the service may have started and 
the congregation is standing or singing. 
This creates an atmosphere of genuine 
worship. 

Some have told me that church life in 
England is not very alive or important 
at the present time—quite the opposite, 
supposedly, of the popular trend in the 
United States—but Oxford is certainly 
the exception. The church is packed, and 
some churches urge undergraduates to 
arrive fifteen minutes early so that each 
may find a seat, even if it is on the win- 
dow ledge. Also, the quality of preachers 
is quite high—many important clergy 
and laymen are invited to preach at the 
various churches at this ancient center 
of learning. 


PrrHaps of even greater interest to 
you would be the kind of religious stu- 
dent organizations and activities one finds 
outside the formal worship services. The 


John Wesley Society is a local organiza- 
tion (there is no real national Methodist 
student organization) of considerable im- 
portance. It has a membership of 200- 
300 and has several specific types of pro- 
grams. About every two weeks there is a 
general meeting, the program being a 
speaker and subsequent discussion. 

One meeting was entitled “Some Ecu- 
menical Fallacies,” and the speaker was 
Dr. C. W. Ranson, general secretary of 
the International Missionary Council. He 
said that the first fallacy is that “unity” 
can be separated from all the other ele- 
ments of the life and work of the church. 
Developing this same pattern, he went 
on to state a second fallacy as the con- 
cept that “the missionary era has ended 
and the ecumenical era has taken over” 
—he acknowledged that certain mission- 
ary procedures are outdated, but that the 
concern for unity finds its origin and 
urgency in the Mission and missions of 
the church. 

The other fallacy he mentioned was an 
overemphasis on world denominational- 
ism—a “Methodists of the World, unite!” 
kind of attitude. This led him to examine 
the nature of the church—it is not a fel- 
lowship of like-minded or culturally asso- 
ciated people, he said, but rather a “fel- 
lowship of the forgiven in Christ.” Unity, 
he added, cannot be expressed through 
the meeting of national structures when 
local unity is not found—and in the 
world encounter, we must transcend 
“Western” Christianity, for “ecumenical” 
means the whole inhabited earth. Dis- 
cussion followed, raising such issues as 
the relationship of the ecumenical move- 
ment and the Roman Catholics. The en- 
tire meeting was an excellent experience. 

The other main, and perhaps most 
significant, aspect of the J. W. Society’s 
program is a series of over twenty small 
study and discussion groups, consisting 
of about eight or ten persons each, and 
meeting each Sunday afternoon for two 
or three hours. My group is studying I 
Peter, following a guide that gives back- 
ground and some interpretation. With 
and after our tea, cookies, etc., we get 
into very interesting and enlightening 
discussions of pacifism, capital punish- 
ment, the H-bomb and many other 
issues. I not only feel quite at home in 
the group, but the quality of the dis- 
cussion is stimulating, and it reveals the 
British student’s Christian concern. The 


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John also has a 


Wesley Society 
Preachers’ Fellowship and has occasional 
prayer meetings. 


THE two important Christian societies 
which have national and international 
affiliation are the Student Christian 
Movement and the Oxford Intercollegiate 
Christian Union (affiliated with Inter- 
varsity Christian Fellowship). The SCM 
has a rather fine program with many and 
varied opportunities in which to par- 
ticipate. A series of general meetings 
is dealing with the theme “Your Faith 
and Your Faculty,” seeking to relate the 
Christian faith to such academic dis- 
ciplines as science, philosophy, and his- 
tory. “A Christian View of Sex and Mar- 
riage” is the topic of a series of luncheon 
meetings addressed by one of the col- 
lege chaplains, the series to be concluded 
by separate meetings for men and 
women addressed by doctors. An occa- 
sional social is sponsored by the SCM. 
Also, a number of separate weekly study 
groups working on such issues as church 
unity, religion and politics, religious 
drama, and the like, add another dimen- 
sion to the program. 

One other main function should be 
noted—the prayer services of the SCM. 
These prayer sessions not only focus at- 
tention and concern on aspects and 
groups of the University and of the whole 
world, but bring together many Chris- 
tians—people from each college, from 
many denominations, and also the Catho- 
lics (who meet with the SCM once each 
week for special prayers for unity). The 
O.I.C.C.U. also has a rather extensive 
program, and is conducting a special 
“Mission to the University” this week— 
similar in technique and emphasis to our 


January 1958 


Religious Emphasis Week, except that 
it is sponsored by this one group. 

I attended the opening sermon and 
was impressed with the approach. The 
speaker laid open for inspection the 
Christian claim that Christ was truly God 
in human form. He noted many theories, 
showing how some have not the slightest 
basis, and putting forth a fine intellectual 
challenge in the points of the claims 
of Christ, the consistency of his moral 
and spiritual life, and the evidence of the 
Resurrection in making certain the deity 
of Christ. His reference to the Bible as 
a book of history and record of expe- 
riences that gives us the basis and under- 
standing (but not necessarily the literal 
formulation) of our faith as seen in the 
lives and words of Jesus and his con- 
temporaries was an excellent and most 
stimulating presentation to the somewhat 
cautious, reserved, and critical intellec- 
tualism he was facing. There are men 
living in each college during this week 


CONTINUED FROM PAGE 10 





WINTER/FAMILY 

Marriage is a give and take of love 
and conilict that never ends in an ideal 
state of harmony. Young people want 
successful marriages so much that the 
slightest difficulty becomes a major 
tragedy. Minor failures seem like total 
failure. Personal differences become a 
source of anxiety, whereas personal 
differences actually enrich an intimate 
relationship. Differences are not 
erased by intimacy. Our modem 
search for intimacy leads us to identify 
sameness with intimacy. Thus, com- 
munity becomes conformity and inti- 
macy becomes intolerable. 


T HERE is no question that the inti- 
mate family can gain by extending its 
life through intimacies outside the 
home. No group can mature to its full 
stature in isolation. Such groups be- 
come ingrown and obsessed with their 
limited concerns. This is particularly 
true of a family which is training its 
members for life in a society. Never- 
theless, the family is coping success- 
fully with much of the loneliness that 
threatens to poison our common life. 
We may be expecting too much in 


to meet the students at tea, in Hall, and 
in a generally informal encounter. 


l HAVE never been more fully aware 
of the universal and transcendent nature 
of the Church than during these first 
few weeks at Oxford. In worship, and in 
religious discussion and activity, I felt 
an immediate fellowship with my new 
associates here in Oxford. No other group 
offered such immediate welcome and 
sense of belonging as did the Christian 
societies, organizations, and congrega- 
tions. Secondly, I felt a closeness to all 
my Christian friends in America which 
was especially apparent in worship. And 
most of all, I felt a much greater need 
for God and a satisfaction of that need 
through the strength, direction, and fel- 
lowship that comes from him. My greater 
experience and understanding of the 
“more than human fellowship” will, I 
sincerely pray, enable me to more fully 
live and proclaim the Christian faith in 
the days and years that are ahead. 
—JOHN E. JORDAN 


imagining that the family can carry 
the full burden of intimacy for a 
whole society. This would suggest that 
the middle ground between family 
and commercial life needs to be 
strengthened. We need time for inti- 
macy in friendship, neighborhood and 
church. We need some time for inti- 
macy in every sphere of modern life. 
Whether such a transformation comes 
or not, we are now looking almost 
exclusively to the family for the satis- 
faction of our deepest human needs. 









ee art ii. 











CONTINUED FROM PAGE 7 





HAMILL/TRAFFIC 
easy to confuse meetings with the Kingdom of God. Beware 
of activities. 

Yet some “activity” does contribute to the good life in 
church and campus. You cross University Avenue in this di- 
rection in order to worship, to study the Scriptures, to engage 
in the lively company of fellow Christians who work together. 
Here we undertake to teach, to surround every man with 
incitements to do good, and chances to lay his hands and 
heart to tasks for human betterment. You come here to work 
at the Christian life. 


THEN you return to campus, and there too you can be a 
responsible citizen. In WSA, where real power lies and real 
decisions are made, are you making any Christian impact? 
Substantial issues arise in the houses, and SLIC, where the 
dignity of students is at stake; do you exert any influence 
there? The Daily Cardinal is raising significant questions 
about discrimination, compulsory ROTC, enrolment policies; 
do you make your conscience felt on these matters, pro or 
con? Do you engage in the United Nations conference, the 
Players, the creative organizations which try to make the 
campus a modern Areopagus of exciting thought? Are you 
making any Christian impact upon campus life? Some peo- 
ple are afraid that the church would thereby become another 
pressure group. I fear that the church becomes a no-pres- 
sure group, a marginal institution sitting here off the side of 
campus, across the avenue. On-campus activity by committed 
Christians who engage there on the real issues—this is the 
means of Christian witness. 

Still one more matter we can learn from one another. 
Fraternities, for instance, and sororities, can give examples 
to church. A fraternity (and labor union) nowadays calls its 
members “brother,” the word which Christians once used. 


They really are brothers. When a member goes broke, they 
find him a job; when he gets behind in his studies, they 
tutor him; when he is lonely, they find him a date. They 
really love one another. The Greeks can teach the Methodists 
something here. 


Church people in turn go onto the campus with a lively 
concern for those who have neglected, or been alienated by 
the church. You can be concerned about the Greeks, to 
begin with, who are tempted to substitute sociability in 
place of substance and depth in life. Concerned about the 
Big Wheels, who are tempt2d to substitute power and 
prestige for responsible leadership. Concerned for Joe College 
and Betty Coed who are tempted to hurry through college 
like a product on the assembly line, being shaped and 
polished but feeling irresponsible. Concerned for professors 
and administrators who are tempted to substitute age and 
position for real maturity; they often are lonely and troubled 
people. All these people need the surrounding fellowship of 
Christians who care about them, but they will forgive you 
your caring about them only if you demonstrate that you have 
something to share; some victory over evil in your own life, 
some honest, genuine experience of the company of God, 
some convictions about right and wrong, some principles you 
hold to humbly but positively. Your concern about them and 
their souls—this is the outcome of your own Christian ex- 
perience if it is at all genuine. St. Paul wasn’t arguing with 
the Stoic and Epicurean philosophers just for the fun of 
debate; his heart was alive with a real experience, and he had 
something to share, for their good. 


HEARING AND TELLING SOMETHING NEW 

Here, too, where University Avenue is the Areopagus, 
we have traffic of mutual respect, mutual criticism, mutual 
contribution. It is the great glory of our time that the church 
and the university, each of them free ana responsible, may 
save us from further disaster. It is a great experience for us 
to traffic between these two, learning and speaking all things 
new. The newest thing, the best news, came to the Greeks 
that day from Paul who told about Jesus, about the wonder 
of his life and his power to make and remake men. Athens 
was never the same again. Likewise on University Avenue, 
when that Man lives and speaks through his modern disciples, 
He makes an impression which church and campus can 
never forget, and never avoid. 








THE KIND THAT STAY 
ON YOUR SHELVES 

When a fellow (or a gal) has only a 
limited bit of money (which it is safe to 
say is the condition of most motive read- 
ers) he hesitates to put that bit of change 
and folding money into a book that may 
be forgotten next year. Purchasing the 
current choices is risky for the classic is 
usually hidden from its contemporaries. 


38 


But there are some books of which you 
can safely say, “I need them. I want 
them. And they will be with me for a 
long time.” 

Take The Oxford Dictionary of the 
Christian Church, edited by F. L. Cross 
(The Oxford University Press, $17.50). 
It is one of the latest in the excellent Ox- 
ford series of reference books. It main- 
tains the usual vigorous scholastic and 
research standards expected of the Ox- 
ford reference volumes. A perfectly amaz- 
ing attempt has been made to bring into 
one volume some concise comment on 
most of the important personages, move- 
ments and events in Christendom. Most 
of the brief articles have a bibliographical 
listing for those who want more informa- 
tion. 

It is, however, strictly a piece of Brit- 


ish scholarship. The editor admits that 
the selection and emphases may seem to 
be a bit parochial. They are. For instance, 
Mary Baker Eddy is not even listed and 
while she may have been a heretic, the 
movement she let loose has certainly 
made an impact upon Christendom. And 
reading the article on Methodism would 
lead one to imagine that American Meth- 
odism is of slight consequence when dis- 
cussed along with that in the mother- 
land. (Could it be that the editors are 
right?) And just why our British brethren 
should completely omit any discussion of 
the World Student Christian Federation, 
so influential in the whole development 
of the ecumenical movement, quite es- 
capes me. 

But it is impossible to put everything 
in. No matter what my own and private 


motive 











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choices might have been, it is useless to 
second guess the editors. This is a com- 
petent work and a valuable addition to 
the student’s library. 

About a year ago motive published one 
of its “specials” that got an unusual 
amount of critical commendation. It was 
an issue that tried to explore some of the 
implications of the word “communica- 
tion.” 

In establishing the community of un- 
derstanding, which is communication be- 
tween human beings, nothing has yet 
been invented to take the place of those 
lively and changing symbols we call 
words. When we speak or write it is with 
the desire to communicate, to be under- 
stood. Usually, that is, for there is some 
private discourse going on, but we usually 
term it to be a sickness. 

Nothing is more certain about words 
as symbols than that they are loaded with 
mutations. (Now just why has it been 
allowed to happen that the volume I now 
want to discuss pays no attention to the 
word “mutate” in this age of nuclear fis- 
sion? I just wanted some help on whether 
or not I could use “mutable.”) These 
words change all the time—there are 
no fixed and static rules for words in Eng- 
lish and the sixth grader who is uneasy 
when he must diagram sentences prob- 
ably has a better intuitive sense concern- 
ing language than the teacher who made 
the assignment. 

But, of course, if he does not take 
his word study seriously then he becomes 
one of that great horde of persons who 
freeze up if they have to write or speak 
in a manner that will be criticized care- 
fully. He is afraid because he does not 
know what is correct. 


A Dictionary of Contemporary Ameri- 
can Usage by Bergen Evans and Cor- 
nelia Evans (Random House, $5.95) is 
a marvelously interesting reference book 
for this day which delights in informal 
English usage. While the compilers insist 
that their bias is for correct literary forms, 
they are sufficiently imaginative and re- 
silient to locate the current and report 
on it fairly. They have also maintained a 
healthy skepticism. Note what they have 
to say, for instance, on the word “cuspi- 
dor” (perhaps a sitting duck, as nobody 
any longer uses cuspidors except third- 
rate hotels and taverns hunting for phony 
atmosphere) : 


cuspidor. The substitution of the Portu- 
guese cuspidor for the already fairly 
ornate American spittoon must mark 
a height of vulgar elegance exceeded 


January 1958 


only by the derivative cuspidorian 
bestowed upon its caretaker. 


This is not a dictionary in the ordinary 
sense—only extraordinarily is it a dic- 
tionary. The authors have correctly as- 
sumed that our sixth-grade grammar les- 
sons, reinforced by noncredit freshman 
refresher in grammar, have been suffi- 
cient to drive all interest in its intricacies 
forever from our lives. So what they have 
done is to give as much information on 
the changing lives of words as possible. 

Lots of fun, and (this is pure clover) 
informative too. 


FILM ART 

We have had a hard time making up 
our minds as to whether movies ought 
to be dignified by the name of art. The 
formalists have gagged a bit at such 
identification. Art for them is beauty and 
beauty is one of the absolutes. There- 
fore the cinema mishmash of farce and 
sentimentality, realism and _ stupidity, 
could only have the most tenuous con- 
nections with ART. 

But approaching art as the Bergens 
have studied words, then the film is cer- 
tainly art, and a nimble art too: The 
Liveliest Art by Arthur Knight (The 
Macmillan Company, $7.50). 

Arthur Knight is about the best person 
I could imagine to write the story of 
movies. He has a mind as lively as his 
subject and love and prejudices to match. 

Because Knight is clear about art being 
something more than a theory of aesthet- 
ics, his analyses of film art are not the 
kind that bend the discussion to fit a 
theory. He does not expect from Griffith 
the kind of camera work of Rossellini. 
And, as the name of Rossellini reminds 
me, he sees the relationship of morality to 
art and has many delightful asides re- 
garding the pernicious influence of moral- 
ism on film art. The formal moralists are 
just as difficult as those demanding a 
formal aesthetic. Each is disruptive of 
good art. 

One of the best aspects of this book is 
the study of the relationships and em- 
phases of films from different lands and 
cultures, influencing and reacting to one 
another. Some of those directors whom 
we thought to have been innovators are 
discovered to be derivative. The sources 
of some of cinema’s most fascinating mo- 
ments are located and the story told of 
how they have been brought into life of 
movies. Also there are the sad commen- 
taries, the pathos and unrealized hopes of 
what started with promise and was com- 


promised, bribed or bullied and ended up 
all hollow. 

The appendix is excellent: an annotated 
list of “100 Best Books on Film,” a list of 
16mm film sources, an index to film 
titles and a general index. On the art of 
the film, this book is current and choice. 


International Film Annual No. I, 
edited by Campbell Dixon (Doubleday, 
$6) is a pretty good record of the current 
life of the liveliest art. It is something of a 
hodgepodge, what with Deborah Kerr 
writing a brief but emotive introduction, 
Peter Ustinov chatting about how they 
do it in France as compared to Italy (and 
too briefly), and Orson Welles sounding 
his Cassandra note on scenarios. Some of 
the commentary is tripe, some is won- 
drously seasoned and thoughtful. O.K. 
. . . but it is loaded with reproductions 
of scenes from both the good and the 
mediocre. How delightful to leaf through 
this annual and recall Wallach feeding 
Baker in “Baby Doll,” the bullfight in 
“The Sun Also Rises,” bringing on the 
roast fowl in “Gervaise.” 

A record of an art as visual as films 
should have lots to look at as well as 
read. This annual has just this—some of 
it in full color too; Yul Brynner three 
times, but there is also the inevitable (in 
1957) Mansfield and Monroe. But the 
color is all right for window dressing— 
you can skip it. 


mrorqurt hip'st 


39 








The International Film Annual is satis- 
factory for the first year of publication. 
Let’s hope it is continued, and that edit- 
ing it will become more rigorous and the 
criticism more vigorous. 


ON THE SUBJECT OF 
CHURCH BULLETINS 

Every time the subject of the Christian 
churches and art comes up it is almost 
inevitable that scornful words be said 
about the art of illustrations on the Sun- 
day bulletins. The demerits are justified. 
It is hard to image anything more trite, 
sentimental, silly and altogether lacking 
in quality than bulletin art. 

The Seabury Press (281 Fourth Ave- 
nue, NYC) has persuaded Gregor 
Thompson Goethals (she once was mo- 
tive’s art editor) to design a series which 
is for sale in The Seabury Bookstores. 
The designs are for Ash Wednesday, 
Good Friday, Palm Sunday, Easter (2), 
Whitsunday and Trinity Sunday. For bul- 
letin art they are fresh, modern and dif- 
ferent. A couple of them, Whitsunday 
and Palm Sunday, are fine. I wish the 
others were up to them in design but 
even so they are so far above the tawdry 


40 


to which we are accustomed as to invite 
no comparison. I hope the publishers will 
persist in their good works and a com- 
plete selection in modern dress will be 
available for those in need of bulletins. 


SPECIALS IN THE PAPERBACKS 

ANCHOR—DOUBLEDAY 

Perry Miller, The American Transcen 
dentalists: Their Prose and Poetry— 
$1.25 

Richard Chase, The American Novel and 
Its Tradition—$1.10 

Jessie L. Weston, 
Romance—$95 cents 

Denis de Rougemont, Love in the West- 
ern World—$1.25 

John Rickman, ed., A General Selection 
from the Works of Sigmund Freud 
—$1.25 


From Ritual to 


LIVING AGE—MERIDIAN BOOKS 
Marvin Halverson, ed., Religious Drama 
—$1.45 
Auden, “For the Time Being” 
Fry, “The Firstborn” 
D. H. Lawrence, “David” 
Sayers, “The Zeal of Thy House” 
Schevill, “The Bloody Tenet” 


wag's' 





Rudolph Otto, Mysticism East and West 
—$1.45 

Reinhold Niebuhr, Leaves From _ the 
Notebooks Of A Tamed Cynic—$1.45 

H. H. Rowley, The Unity of The Bible— 
$1.45 


PHOENIX BOOKS—UNIVERSITY OF 
CHICAGO PRESS 

Kenneth P. Oakley, Man The Tool-Maker 
—$1.25 

Paul _ Tillich, The 
(abridged )—$1.50 


Protestant Era 


REFLECTION—ASSOCIATION 
PRESS 

Bernhard W. Anderson, The Unfolding 
Drama Of The Bible—50 cents 

Robert L. Calhoun, God And The Day’s 
Work—50 cents 

Seward Hiltner, Sex And The Christian 
Life—50 cents 

Wayne H. Cowan, Ed., What The Chris- 
tian Hopes For In Society (Christianity 
& Crisis) 

Albert N. Williams, What Archeology 
Says About the Bible—50 cents 

John L. Casteel, The Promise Of Prayer 
—50 cents 


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THE ORIGINAL ESTATE 


Tw shaggy dogs, named Hep and 
Shep, became concerned about their 
plight. “Why is it,” complained Hep to 
his pal, “that being shaggy dogs we al- 
ways come off so unpredictably?” 

“It is in our nature, | guess.” 

“Why? ... Now just why is it that a 
St. Bernard always rescues the freezing 
traveler and even if he becomes a bit 
tipsy on his own stimulant, he is dear 
and endearing? And the poodle is silly, 
but silly like a clown so he is under- 
standable; but a shaggy dog, oh, the 
shaggy dog! What, my friend, can | do 
to be saved from being a shaggy dog?” 

Shep had no answer to make to Hep 
except to resort to the observation that 
one should be satisfied with his place in 
life, make the best of it, and then 
things would turn out for the best. 

Hep was not satisfied. He insisted 
that if he remained a shaggy dog there 
was no best to be made of it. Shaggy 
dogs do not have a best. 

By now Shep was himself disturbed, 
so they decided together to go on a 
quest to search out how they might be 
saved. 

In due course they met an angel, and 
they inquired from him as to how they 
might be saved from being themselves. 
The angel did not know, but he had an 
intimate acquaintance who was an arch- 
angel. He was pretty bright, even for 
an archangel, and the angel felt that 
he would have an answer to their quest. 

He gave them directions to the abode 
of the archangel and a note for intro- 
duction. 

When Hep asked the archangel what 
he could do to be saved from being a 
shaggy dog, the archangel inquired as 
to just how earnest he might be in his 
desire. Hep said he would do anything 
to be saved. Shep said he would also. 

Would they like to try the existence 
of a duck? 

It was not what they would have 
chosen, but they would give it a try, es- 


pecially if they could have a go at some- 
thing else if that did not work out. The 
archangel agreed. 


THEY became ducks. It did not take 
them long to be unhappy as ducks and 
they clamored for a change. The chance 
at something else was not long delayed; 
even an archangel wants to do some- 
thing about it when ducks make a deter- 
mined racket. 

“What's the matter with being 
ducks?” he inquired of Hep and Shep. 

“Ducks have no imagination,” Shep 
replied. “They go North and they go 
South, they paddle and they fly, but 
mostly what they do is quack. Quack- 
ing gets tiresome.” 

“What would you like to be?” 

“We have talked it over, and believe 
that what we want more than anything 
else is to be saved from being shaggy 
dogs by becoming human beings.” 

“Become men!” The archangel was 
currently irritated with men, having had 
to find quieter quarters since sputniks, 
muttniks and their various successors 
kept beeping through his boudoir. “You 
mean that becoming human would save 
you from existing as shaggy dogs?” 

“Humans are the lords of our world. 
They have about everything we desire, 
including plenty of soup bones and a 
logical plan of salvation.” 

“Oh, well, if you insist. But it is really 
against my better judgment.” 


So Hep and Shep became human be- 
ings, slightly postadolescent in age, and 
matriculated in a university. They went 
to the university because it soon became 
plain that humans put what knowledge 
they have had about getting saved into 
their centers of learning, mostly on the 
graduate level. 

They studied economics but it took 
only eight graduate hours to discover 
that Marx was in error, Adam Smith 


was ancient mythology and that the 
treasury of the richest nation in the 
world had long since deserted the gold 
standard, and had just inscribed its new 
paper money with the legend: “In God 
We Trust.” 

While they were coming to think 
there was some connection between God 
and getting saved, they did feel that 
putting his name on the greenbacks 
after dropping the gold standard was 
something of the kind of solution a 
shaggy dog would have made. 

So they turned to sociology. 

They took a number of surveys and 
made some generalizations on the basis 
of their findings which proved indubi- 
tably that human beings are human be- 
ings. Hep and Shep could not quite ac- 
cept this as scientific fact, for while 
they had become human beings and 
reacted as Homo sapiens they felt this 
was decidedly a shaggy-dog conclusion. 

They therefore turned to the Bible— 
the holy book of that community of hu- 
man beings known as Christians. They 
discovered that the Bible had lots to say 
about being saved. It was summed up in 
a story of a cultured young man of the 
best of families who inquired of the 
Master how he might be saved. He had 
obeyed all the commandments and lived 
a good life. But he went away sorrowful 
when he was told ”’. . . go, sell what you 
have, and give to the poor, and you will 
have treasure in heaven; and come, 
follow me.” 


Hep and Shep looked at each other. 
“Give away all you have . . . and you 
will have treasure?” 

Somewhat bitterly they petitioned the 
archangel to return to their original 
estate. What a trick to have played on 
them . . . to have such high hopes for 
salvation and find that it was summed 
up in a shaggy-dog story. 

ORTMAYER