Lost Piece IV Getting to Know You

8/8/2019 Lost Piece IV Getting to Know You

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LOST PIECEan undergraduate journal of letters

VOLUME I, ISSUE IVGetting to Know You


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LOST PIECE: Issue IV

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Copyright, Lost Piece; All rights reserved.

No part o this journal may be used or reproduced by any means,

graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, record-

ing, taping or by any inormation storage retrieval system without the

written permission o the EditorInChie except in the case o brie

quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Te works included

in this journal are printed with explicit permission o their authors.

Lost Piece: An Undergraduate Journal o Letters

Te University o Notre Dame

Center or Undergraduate Scholarly Engagement

PRINED IN HE UNIED SAES OF AMERICA


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an undergraduate journal of lettersXS

LOST PIECEan undergraduate journal of letters

VOLUME I, ISSUE IVGetting to Know You

J

Stephen LechnerEditor in Chie

Raymond KorsonSupporting Editor

Jose Kuhn

Conor RogersEditors


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Table of Contents

Lost Piece: Issue IVSomething of a Mission StatementFrom the Editors ...................................................................................5

Meet the WritersLost Piece ...............................................................................................6

Searches

Stephen Lechner .....................................................................................8

In Search of MyselfDaniel ODuy ......................................................................................12

LifelineClaire Gillen ..........................................................................................16

Man, According to Primo Levi

James C Dever .......................................................................................17And How He Is

Scott Posteuca .........................................................................................26

BayviewWilliam Stewart ....................................................................................30

Interpretations and Intersubjectivity

Mark ancredi .......................................................................................36People By DayStephen Lechner .....................................................................................41

Penury EverlastingNicholas Brandt .....................................................................................46

A Portrait of T.S. EliotJose Kuhn..............................................................................................48

A Girl Without A CountryMaria Santos .........................................................................................51

GoodbyeJavier Zubizarreta .................................................................................57


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Something of a Mission Statement

From the Editors

Lost Piece exists to acilitate undergraduate reading, discussion,

and writing o an intellectual nature beyond course curriculum

and without distraction rom the grade point average.

Lost Piece seeks to help undergraduates to complement

and even uniy what they learn in their classes with

their own personally driven intellectual pursuits.

Te goal o Lost Piece is to combat mediocrity in all

things, and particularly in all things intellectual.

Lost Piece holds that the goods proper to intellec-

tual activity are ends in and o themselves and are to

be sought regardless o whatever recognitions may or

may not be extrinsically attached to such activity.


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Meet the Writers

Tese groups have contributed

to the writing o the Fall 2010

Edition o Lost Piece. We

encourage you, as an undergrad-

uate, to contribute your writing

to uture editions whether indi-vidually or as part o any such

intellectual society. You can

send your writing and eedback

to the editor at [email protected].

D

Te Program of

Liberal Studies:

So it turns out that PLSstudents dont only like to talkabout such trivial things as

ree will or the meaning olie as approached throughthe lens o certain GreatBooks, but they also like,even need, to engage ideaswherever they can nd them.

Tats why a ew o them gottogether to watch movies everyweek, rst as a social eventand later more as a discussiongroup. Tey like to think theyare staying true to the spirito the word seminar (whichliterally means seedbed) byholding proound conversa-tions on their own rom whichthey hope to bear the ruits onew ideas, serious dialogue,and lasting riendships.

Istum:

(Also called Tat Ting) Treeyears ago, a group o riendsdecided to get together every


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weekend to start a literarysociety. Its members includestudents rom the Colleges oArts and Letters, Science, andEngineering, but strangely

none rom the college oBusiness. Tey write, simplyput, despite the obvious actthat they are only tyro writ-ers, and they criticize eachothers writing as best they

can. One o their goals is tobring back the essay (whichliterally means an attempt)as a orm o writing and asa rhetorical work o art. Tegroup takes its name romone o Ciceros orations.

Te Philosophy Club:

Te Philosophy Club isa group o a ew dozenundergraduates who enjoyarguing, using big words,

attempting to answer liesgreat questions, asking morequestions, and arguing.

:

is a group o undergradu-ates who meet together todiscuss issues o importance,ranging rom theology to

philosophy to current issuesin any and all elds. It is acasually structured, sociallyengaging event that welcomesthe opportunity to nd bothcommon ground and a mul-

titude o opinions on topics.And they drink tea, too.

Te Orestes Brownson Council:

As a club, OBC is ocusedon better understanding theCatholic intellectual tradi-tion and its interaction withphilosophy, politics, andculture. It takes its namerom the American Catholicpolitical thinker who isburied in the crypt o the

Basilica o the Sacred Heart,Orestes Brownson. V


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Searches

An IntroductionStephen LechnerClass o 2011Editor-in-Chie

I once heard someone de-

scribe lie as an autobiographical

dramatic narrative; I have yet tohear a description I like better.

Its a story, simply put, and a

collection o storiesstories

rom many places, distant and

varied, that come together

sometimes in patterns andsometimes in explosions, oten

colorul, always mysterious.

Tis issue can be better under-

stood i one knows the stories

that pieced it together. Id like

to tell some o those stories now.Te rst story concerns the

journals name, Lost Piece. I

dont know i youve ever suc-

ceeded in assembling a puzzle,

a large puzzle, ater hours

o umbling with cardboardwedges only to nd a single

piece missing rom the picture.

Te rustration o such a

situation is, perhaps, enough

to justiy an early end to ones

career o puzzle-piecing. But

I must coness: it wasnt until

working on this journal that

I actually experienced this

rustration literally. We had

already decided on the name,Lost Piece, and Ray and I were

piecing together a puzzle to

see how we liked it. o say we

were shocked to discover that

there was, in the end, one piece

missing does little to capturethe ridiculous situation in which

we ound ourselves: there we

were, two editors o a new

journal titled Lost Piecetearing

apart the room trying to nd

the lost piece to the journals

cover on our rst attempt

at piecing it together. Te

irony was magnied when we

realized that the piece we were

looking or was, like the oor,

brown and that the two o us

are both colorblind. Needless

to say, we never ound it...

Another story is, perhaps,

more to the point. In the all o

2007, there was a reshman at


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Notre Dame who decided that

he was missing something in

his education. He had classes,

riends, a place at an excellent

university with excellent proes-

sors, and a great interest inlearningin short, all that he

ought to have wanted. But nev-

ertheless he needed something

more, something he couldnt

seem to nd, something to pull

it all together and put it intoperspective. I this all sounds

amiliar to you it is because I

took his idea o something

missing and made it the

cornerstone or the rst issue o

this journal. And what did he

decide this something was?

One might call it an intellec-

tual community, a community

within which he could not only

go to class and learn things, but

really live an intellectual lie in

which all o itthe classes, the

riends, the books, the degree

cooperated in a sensible way.

It was with the intention

o starting such a community

that he and I undertook to start

the literary society that would

eventually become one o the

driving orces behind this

journal. Istum has met once a

week or three years now and allthis while we have been sharing

our thoughts, arguments, and

writing with each other as

riends. Why? Because we like

to. Because we are riends. Its

an eclectic mixPhilosophymajors, premeds, Teology,

English, Math, Political

Science, Classics, Economics,

and several engineersand

a small oneabout seven

regulars and another eight

or so who come every now

and later, usually averaging

anywhere between seven and

ten. It seems to have worked

out well, even though we never

had a place to put our writing

when we nished it, until now.

But evenIstumwas not quite

enough or Jerrysome o you

know him, Im sureand he

decided to leave Notre Dame


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ater his second year. Why? He

couldnt see the point o staying

here. Why college? o get a

degree? What use is a degree?

o land a job? What should

college have to do with that?And nobody else seemed to

even question the point, despite

the orty-six thousand dollar

price tag that comes with it

every year. In the end he took a

year o to work at home, a yearthat became our years when he

joined the army last March.

Was that the only reason he

let? Who can tell or sure?

But it was or no less. His

grades were well above average.

He had, and still has, many

riends here. His is easily

one o the sharpest minds Ive

ever come across, and he had

an ambitious and genuine

interest in studying. He

should have had all he wanted

herehe even told me so.

So why do I tell Jerrys story

now? Do I want you to leave

college, perhaps to join the

military? Ten why havent I

done so mysel? No. I tell it

now in hopes that you might

consider your own point to

college, a point that you may

or may not have actuallyconsidered recently, or even at

all. Strangely, its airly easy to

ignore the question o a point

to collegeeveryone else is

here, and nobody else seems

to be wondering why. And solong as riends are near, beer

cheap, and a career soon to

ollow, whats to worry about?

What could be missing?

But evidently something is

missing, because Jerry isnt here

right now. It isnt something

unique to Notre Dame; rather,

universities in general seem

to share this absenceeven

the Ivies, which seem to ool

themselves most successully

o anyone into thinking that

the virtue o scholarship can be

institutionalized. More impor-

tantly, it isnt something that

either the administrations or


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aculties o universities are miss-

ing. It is something that under-

graduates themselves are miss-

ing and need to provide i they

are to gain a higher education.

Te notion o having a pointextends beyond ones college

careerindeed, it extends to

lie itseland it is with this

in mind that these writers have

presented their thoughts. Let

these insights give credence tothe claim already presented in

a previous issue: that human

beings, as rational animals,

cannot live without purpose.

Human beings thrive on

purpose. A story, to be

called a story, requires at least

enough order to make a plot.

I should say that Jerry, as last

I heard rom him, is still serving

saely at his post in Iraq, having

been commissioned there this

September, and is reading the

entire works o Shakespeare in

what little spare time he has.

His plan, as last hes considered

it, is to nish his studies at

Notre Dame upon his return

rom the Army three years

rom now. Ultimately, he will

have earned his education by

his own very dicult serviceas a private in the Army, and

the expense o his education

will burden neither his ederal

government, nor his university,

nor his amily. He is the only

person o whom I know Ican say this. I most certainly

cannot say it o mysel.V


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In Search of Myself

An EssayDaniel ODuy

What am I? Science tells

me that I am Homo sapiens,

constituted o atoms that orm

cells shaped by billions o years

o evolution, but this does not

answer my question. Tough I

may zoom into my body with

science and see my elements, I

am no closer to understanding

my innermost sel. Troughouttime, man has zoomed in on

himsel with the intellect,

questing or answers. From the

insight o the social sciences

to the wondrous perspicac-

ity o literature, humans haverecorded their attempts to nd

themselves. Trough tracing

these thoughts, I marvel at the

epic tapestry that illustrates the

human experience. I am enrap-

tured when touching the mindo another yet still I cannot

grasp at the truth, the answers

to those uniquely human ques-

tions. How may I come to know

other minds or my own i

all I see are shadows dancing

on a cave wall? I ask, what is

love? and I am told that it is

like like a red, red rose. I ask,

what is lie? and I am told thatit is but a brie candle. Tese

answers, like anything encoded

in language, can only irt and

it with the truth, never truly

encapsulating it. We are limited

by language and experienceto hear mere echoes o truth.

Never will we be able to truly

convey in words or show or say

the secret o that which most

undamentally constitutes us.

Te answers to human identity

may thus only be ound with

introspection, not extrospec-

tion. Searching or mysel, I

will take as my guide the great

philosophers, ollowing their

meditations. I ask mysel, then,

where I can be said to exist. Te

answer is apparent, Cartesian

in nature: I am that which asks

what I am. I look to my mind.


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Nietzsche beckons me backinto mysel with the promise

that there is indeed something

more, that I am hidden beyond

the deluge o mental activity.

With Hume, I looked withinto nd only passions, but I do

not conclude that this is all I

am. Ater all, there must be

a subject o these perceptions,

I read Hume and ollow his

gaze, peering into my con-

sciousness. I try to make sense

o what I nd but all is at sea, a

tumultuous crashing o percep-

tions, thoughts and eelings thatthreaten to drown me under a

cascade o sensations. I try to

swim through it to locate the

locus o being, but I am unable

to see through the perceptions

that all into my awarenesslike shiting curtains o rain. I

can aect its angle somewhat,

as the wind does during a

storm, but I am powerless to

prevent its inevitable descent.

Breathless, I retreat to normal-

ity, chastened. Is this all thereis to humans an ephemeral,

elusory existence consisting

o no more than eeting pas-

sions? Hume concluded thus,

denying the existence o sel.

Is this the end o my journey?

For my part, when I enter most intimately into what I call

mysel, I always stumble on some particular perception or other,

o heat or cold, light or shade, love or hatred, pain or pleasure.

I never can catch mysel at any time without a perception, and

never can observe anything but the perception. (Hume)

Behind your thoughts and eelings, my brother, there stands a

mighty ruler, an unknown sage, whose name is sel. (Nietzsche)


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something to experience them.

Is this me? I turn my gaze

rom the constellations o

perceptions around me to look

down at the nameless gure,

this pivot in the center o it all.

Spurred on by Wittgenstein,

who talks o a sel beyond that

which I had contemplated,I reach the nal intellectual

magnication o the sel, at last

approaching the nucleus o being.

I look down into the awareness

within to see... nothing. Te

observer in the middle is a void,

an entity entirely devoid o

character. Tere is no wondrousanswer, no Grail at the end o this

quest, just... emptiness. I am the

empty vessel into which experi-

ence is poured, nothing more.

Te philosophical I is not the human being, nor the human

body, nor the human soul with which psychology deals. Tephilosophical sel is the metaphysical subject, the bound-

ary nowhere in this world. (Wittgenstein)

Te mental and the material are really here, but there is no person to

be ound. For it is void and ashioned like a doll. (Visuddhimagga)

I have not ound my sel , only

diaphanous awareness. All o

the things that I had once calledme, my thoughts, my eelings,

are apparently no more than poor

players upon a stage, moving and

interacting in the Cartesian the-

ater by a script that I do not write.

Like Descartes, I have worked my

way down into the bottom o a

doubt parabola, questioning everylevel o my existence down to the

absolute minimum point - some-

thing is aware. Tis is all I know,

all I can know or sure, unless

I can construct an edice o


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knowledge to ascend once more,

zooming back out and escaping

this dark cave o ouroboric

questions. Tis is the essence o

philosophy. We live in the midst

o plethoric puzzles that screamat us, begging to be answered:

What are we? What is reality?

Attuning to these thoughts can

be maddening, or liberating; it

is no doubt much saer to plug

our ears! Te greatest mindso humanity nevertheless tied

themselves to the mast o

reality and turned to ace that

sirens call. Did any nd their

Penelope? I do not know. Tey

have let me clues to their path,

a path that I may ollow out, but

ultimately this odyssey must be

undertaken alone. Following

philosophy, I have journeyed

to my innermost sel, zooming

in to nd nothing. Following

philosophy, I may journey back

to reality, and nd meaning.V


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Lifeline

A PoemClaire GillenClass o 2011Philosophy Club

Tough blessed beyond measure, still I grumble.Preoccupied with charting an assured way,

Trough daily duty, I umble, stumble,

rying to stay upright, measure each day.

Just as my maps nearly complete, I all

From my high peak into raging ocean.

Water drives relentlessly, sapping allMy strength in its perpetual motion.

At length, the mighty orce recedes and hurls

A wounded, gasping girl upon the shore.

Alone, conused, within hersel she curls

Doubts her power to recover, ace more.

But, when placing trust in my greatest riend,My yoke is easy; anxieties end. V


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Man According to Primo Levi

A Literary Research PaperJames C DeverClass o 2011Orestes Brownson Council

From the outset it is impor-

tant to note that Primo Levi, in

is workSe questo `e un uomo, isboth participant in and narrator

o various encounters with men,

all o which contribute to his

conversation with the reader

regarding mans nature. For the

sake o ocus and clarity, I willretain this division between

Levi as author and Levi as

participant in one o these

encounters, addressing rst how

he as author is expressing his

conception o mans nature andsecond how he as participant

came to his understanding. Te

particularity o his experience

as participant will serve as

evidence or the various themes

the work examines as a whole.I will constrain my discussion

to one particular encounter

ound in Il canto di Ulisse. Te

orm o Levis text, written not

in order o logical succession,

but in order o urgency,1 deals

almost exclusively in particu-

lars. In compiling numerous

experiences o lie in the Lager,

Levi constructs a rich and

complex picture o humanity.His writing demands that the

reader engage general questions

regarding the human condition

on the level o particular. Levi

invites the reader to deepen

his or her reection on thequestions he is raising, rather

than provide denitive answers

o his own. In this essay I have

attempted to synthesize Levis

treatment o particulars in a

ashion that does not neglect the

complexity o his work. Having

reected on Levis text, I will

argue that or Levi, a man is a

being driven by the seemingly

unquenchable desire to discern

meaning in experience, reect

upon this lived experience in

memory, and then convey the

contents o those reections to

others by means o language.


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Mans Search or Meaning

In Il canto di Ulisse Levi

as both author and participant

grapples with questions sur-

rounding mans desire tosearch or meaning. For Levi,

man hungers or meaning,

and attempts to discern the

content o lived experience

according to principles o

reason. Levis reection onDantes canto di Ulisserom

the Commedia establishes

an implicit parallel between

Levis search or meaning in

the Lagerand Ulysses search

or meaning inInerno. Levi

begins his meditation abruptly,the canto o Ulysses. It

is motivated initially by the

desire to teach Jean Italian, but

is soon transormed into an

opportunity to discover mean-

ing in the inerno o the Lager.Levi rst draws the parallel

between Dantes text and the

current situation o the two men

So on the open sea I set orth. O this I am certain, I am sure,

I can explain it to Pikolo, I can point out why I set orth is not

je me mis, it is much stronger and more audacious, it is a chain

which has been broken, it is throwing onesel on the other side

o a barrier, we know the impulse well. Te open sea: Pikolo

has traveled by sea and knows what it meansthere is nothing

but the smell o the sea; sweet things, erociously ar away.2

His interpretation o the

passage points towards the

similarity o their situation in

the Lagerto that o Ulysses,

throwing himsel on the other

side o a barrier, crossing into the

unknown, driven by the human

impulse or meaning. Jean knows

what the open sea means and

thus its particular relevance or


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Te impact o this moment

is tremendous or Levi who

seems to have received a kindo divine revelation about his

situation in the Lageras well

as what it means to be a man.

On Ulysses words, men ollow

ater knowledge and excellence,

pursuing the great questions omans existence in an attempt

to discern meaning. On all o

Levis descriptions, the Lageris

essentially a place o dehuman-

ization, breaking down what it

means to be a man in the minds

o the prisoners. Te revelation

rom Dantes Ulysses that men

are made to seek ater knowl-

edge and excellence and the way

that he and Jean are engaging

in conversation seems to ll his

soul with an armation o hisown humanity. Te essential

dierence between Levis search

and that o Dantes Ulysses

is the role community plays

in deepening ones ability to

pursue knowledge and excel-lence. Ulysses abandoned the

very members o his community

that Levi emphasizes must be

remembered. In engaging in

the search or meaning with

another Levi arms the need

or community and riendship.4

Ulysses. Te open sea is in-

scrutable, but still calls Ulysses

to search. Levi quotes Dantes

Ulysses again and comments

Tink o your breed; or brutish ignorance / Your mettle was

not made; you were made men, /o ollow ater knowledge

and excellence. As i I also was hearing it or the frsttime: like the blast o a trumpet, like the voice o God.

For a moment I orgot who I was and where I am.3


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Memory and Connection

to the Past

Se questo `e un uomo is essen-

tially a collection o memories.

Elsewhere in his work Levidescribed himsel as a normal

man with a good memory.5

Levi was an author who was

very concerned with human

memory and memorys role in

the communication o truthabout the human condition.

In this section I will address

Levis emphasis on the power o

memory to create connections

with the past. Tis is signicant

both on the level o being asan essentially human capacity

associated with meaning, and

on the level o the ability o

memory to recall instances

o lived human experience,

especially in moments when

ones humanity is in doubt.

Within the narrative,

Levi begins his journey with

Jean speaking about various

memories that shed important

light on Levis subsequent

exegesis o Dantes text. Levi

writes, We spoke o our hous-

es, o Strasbourg and urin, o

the books we had read, o whatwe had studied, o our mothers:

how all mothers resemble each

other!6 In this brie exchange

between the two men, their

memories enable them to

establish a link with their pastlives. Memory, in creating

that link between the past and

present, allows Levi and Jean

to reect on a time when their

humanity was not somehow

in question, a time when they

knew they were in act men.

Levi relates as much o the

canto as he is able to remember.

He struggles to translate and

comment on the ragments he

is able to recall, while stitching

together what he has produced.

Here memory perorms the

same act o linking Levi in the

Lagerto words and ideas that


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transcend the Lager, allowing

him or a time to orget who he

is and where he is. Levis lapses

in memory point to the power

o memory to transcend imme-

diate circumstances. He writes,I would give todays soup to

know how to connect the like

on any day to the last lines.7

In asserting his willingness to

surrender this ration, Levi is es-

sentially claiming that he wouldhave given his lie to remember

the way the nal lines o the

canto are connected. For Levi, it

would be better to contemplate

the imagery o Dantes text

with Jean in the manner o

men. Te capacity to remember

and to relate ones memories to

another is something uniquely

human. Te power o memory

is urther attested to as Levis

rendering o the canto sparks

other memories, notably o his

home in urin, do not let me

think o my mountains which

used to show up against the

dusk o evening as I returned

by train rom Milan to urin!8

Te pain o memory is lasting,

yet reviviying, echoing Levis

sentiments earlier in the book,

For a ew hours we can beunhappy in the manner o ree

men.9 Tere is something

uniquely human about the pain

one can suer rom a memory

that while transporting one

rom his or her environmentmakes them acutely aware that

it will only be temporary.

Language and Community

Ones ability to search ormeaning and reect on lived

experience in memory are

ultimately rustrated without

the capacity to express onesel

in meaningul language. As

with the power to discern

meaning, and reect on

memory, the use o language

is something that is essen-

tially human. Furthermore, in


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order or communication to be

meaningul it must be directed

towards a listener, establishing a

community. In this nal sec-

tion I will show how language

acilitates the creation ocommunity between Levi and

his readers as well as between

Levi and Jean in the Lager.

Te epitaph rom Coleridges

Rime o the Ancient Mariner

is ound at the beginning ohis work,I sommersi e i salvati,

Since then at an uncertain

hour, / that agony returns, /

And till my ghastly tale is told

/ Tis heart within me burns.10

Levi writes o the burning

desire to share the ghastly tale

in the Preace to Se questo `e

un uomo, Te need to tell our

story to the rest, to make the

rest participate in it, had taken

on or us beore our liberation

and ater, the character o animmediate and violent impulse,

to the point o competing

with our elementary needs.11

Both o these statements echo

similar sentiments o a violent

impulse to share ones storywith others as well as notions

o community and otherness.

Levi is deeply concerned with

ones ability to communicate

meaning to others. InI som-

mersi e i salvati, he writes:

Except or cases o pathological incapacity, one can and must com-

municateo say that it is impossible to communicate is alse; one

always can. o reuse to communicate is a ailing; we are biologicallyand socially predisposed to communication, and in particular to its

highly evolved and noble orm which is language. All members o the

human species speak, no non-human species knows how to speak.12


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Jean arms Levis burning

desire to speak by providing

him with a willing ear to listen.

Beyond mere courtesy, however,Jean has been aected by Levis

story. In sharing his transla-

tion and commentary, Levi is

able to deepen Jeans ability to

reect with him on the great

questions o meaning they ace

in the Lager. Tis experience

o communication sharedbetween the two men allow

both to recognize the humanity

o themselves in the other. For

Levi and Jean, who dare to

Tus, to speak is something that

is essentially human. It is the

manner in which one relates to

the rest. Te exercise o lan-

guage is carried out in commu-

nion with other human beings.Te main action o Levis

commentary inIl canto di Ulisse

is an attempt to establish a

orm o community with Jean

by teaching Jean his native

language. Jean is depicted as the

ideal listener throughout Levis

rantic lesson. Levi mentions

his great attention and how

good Pikolo is.13 Jean partici-

pates verbally only once, but or

a majority o the time ollowsLevis reections intently,

deepening his own reections

on their condition in the Lager

as they are implicitly compared

to those o Ulysses. Levi writes,

he is aware that it is doing me good. Or perhaps it is something

more: perhaps, despite the wan translation and the pedestrian,

rushed commentary he has received the message; he has elt that it

has to do with him, that is has to do with all men who toil, and

with us in particular; and that is has to do with us two, who dare toreason o these things with the poles or the soup on our shoulders.14


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reason about these things in the

Lager, shared communication is

another way in which humanity

may be retained. Tis is the

act o mans lie on earth that

Dantes Ulysses neglected.In separating himsel rom

human community in order

to search ater knowledge and

excellence he rebelled against

mans natural impetus towards

ruitul social interaction andthe virtue o riendship.

Tus ar, I have attempted to

show an understanding o man

as rational, linguistic, and social

in Levis relation o his encoun-

ter with Jean inIl canto di Ulisse,

but to reduce Levis relation o

his encounters in Se questo `e un

uomo to a dogmatic denition

o man, however, would be

oensive to the complexity o

Levis text. As we have seen

Levis work is characterized by

its emphasis on the particularity

o human experience. Levi

chooses to relate his experiences

as experiences o individuals. As

author, Levi invites the reader

to become participant in those

experiences and engage the text

as a living strand o conversa-

tion on what it means to be

human. His reconstructions ohis human encounters provide

the basis or the search or

meaning, investing his readers

with a sense o purpose as they

ollow his thought in the text.

Levis memory provides the areain which the search or meaning

is carried out. He invites the

reader into his most intimate

thoughts with all the urgency o

the original moment. Both the

invitation and sense o urgency

are expressed through Levis use

o language. Language creates

the relationship between the

speaker and the listener in a

manner that demands o the

listener a willingness to reect

with Levi on the nature o

man. In the same way Levis

encounters are necessarily

singular, so too is the response

to Levi derived rom his


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readers. InIl canto di UlisseLevi

oers his own commentary

and interpretation o Dantes

poetic text with a particularity

o circumstance that provides

new meaning to the text itsel.By allowing the reader to

ollow his journey with Jean

through Dantes text. Levi has

provided us a model to ollow in

interpreting his own. Probing

the depths o meaning that arepresent, taking adequate time to

reect what we have managed

to grasp, and nally carrying

on the conversation once more,

deepening our understanding

each time we return. Se questo

è un uomo does not oer us a

nalized denition o what it

means to be a man, but rather

invites the reader along the

path o Levis own search or

meaning through his memory

and expressed in his language

indicating that these three

components o mans nature

were essential to his under-

standing o what man is.V

Cited:

1 Se questo è un uomo, p. 15-162 Ibid, p. 1193 Ibid, c.4 Inerno XXVI, 94-99, Notenderness or son, no duty owed/ o aging atherhood, no lovethat should / have brought my

wie Penelope delight / Couldovercome in me my long desire /

burning to understand how thisworld works / and know o humanvices, worth and valor; note 95 Levi, Stories and Essays, quotedin Wool, FromI this is a Man toTe Drowned and the Saved, p. 356 Se questo è un uomo, p. 1177 Ibid, p. 1208 Ibid9 Ibid, p. 82, A Good Day10 Coleridge, Te Rime o theAncient Mariner, 582-58511 Se questo è un uomo, p. 1512I sommersi e i salvati, p. 8913 Se questo è un uomo, p. 118, 11914Ibid, p. 119-120


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And How He Is

A Poem

Scott PosteucaClass o 2011Philosophy Club

It is so easy just to throw up

your arms and to pretendit is all pretend.

Te nauseating drone o the alarm clock

tiresome, bothersome, a nuisance

Get up, it says, Get up and go... go... go...go... go...

tiresome, monotone, and clueless

ails under quick fngers

and we sink

into

dreams...

dreams do not complicate

(dont say theres nothing to do in the doldrums...)

dreams are easy.

But that is just the thing

(Aye, theres the rub):

Perhaps it is too easy, this throwing up, this pretending,

too easy to bethe proper response to it

all (lie, work, love, breathing), all

that being as man entails.


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It seems to me that by beingman, I demand certain

things rom the Reality about me

: or one

that it be more

more than just pretend

more than just a dream

:or another

that it be worthwhile,

worth a great deal

(worthy o a sunset,

perhaps, on a warm summer

day at the edge

o the sea;

worthy o a deep look

into its vast,

shimmering eternity;

worthy o a good whio the salt

spray o unknown Adventure)


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:and or another, perhaps

most importantly,that it be

real, that it be

relevant, that it

exist, that it not be

a lie!

Man, or him to exist

as man,

requires

demands,

depends upon

ruth;

and how he is

restsless upontil he beriends it.V


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w


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Bayview

A StoryWilliam StewartClass o 2012Istum

Te clocks all look out

toward the shore, each tick

and each tock pointed to theshore. It is a city o hands,

asymmetrical pairs, one little,

one big. Soaring above the

streets and smokestacks, the

time-piece towers stand over

the actories and warehouses,solitary sentinels o the surge

and setting o the day. Te

sweeps obscure the aces as

the hands wave in and out the

highways, the railways, the

port lanes. Even the summitso the churches inhabit a

breed o these mechanical

star-gazers, a metronome

or the worshipers and their

God. My ootsteps along the

side walks are matched by thetolls o the hour: inhale, high

tide, tick all mirrored with

the tock, low tide, exhale.

Madeline and I ound our-

selves in a land o rummage

sales and violin repair shops

that day. For her, it was a

slow stumble through a rag-

mented memory o disinterest

and the impatience o an

eight-year-old: underexposednegatives that would never

quite ully develop. For me, it

was a chance to retrace an all-

too-hurried, rantic and lost

aternoon when the blackness

o the sky began to ll thecab o the pickup as the radio

blurted warnings o impend-

ing weather. We decided to

walk the streets we had only

the aintest remembrance o.

Te sign just said books,

vertically, three eet tall,

beginning just above the

crown o my head. It may

have been lit at some point,

but the hours had corroded

its wires and cracked its glass.

On the window glass was

posted Closed but also Open

June 19-20. Craning my

neck, I opened the door.

Close the door! came


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the reply. Close the door!

We skirted hurriedly

through the doorway as the

voice emerged rom beneath a

precariously balanced teepee o

dust jackets and rst editions.Its air conditioned.

Naturally air conditioned,

see, the teepee explained.

Te chie who emerged was

ancient, with three days o

acid-ree paper stubble embel-lishing his chin. His pants

hung high, suspended by elastic,

the brass clasps worn with age.

Glasses, thick with text, shaded

his brilliant, sunken eyes, the

arms running rom the heavy

lenses to his tired ears across the

valleys o his cheeks and temple.

I quickly stepped to the

side, out o the way, leaving

Madeline to greet him.

Te place is open, he

answered absently when queried

i we could look. Im only here

or a ew minutes. Probably

about teen. I just have to

nish this letter. But you are

welcome to look around.

Hoping to stumble across

some priceless treasure bound

with glue and string, I turned

down the miniature isle,

drawn by the shelves uponshelves o orgotten best-sellers

and abandoned novelty.

But he continued,

trapping Madeline.

Nicer in here than it is out

there, eh? Cooler down here.Tats why I say naturally air

conditioned. Just a ew win-

dows and plate glass. Keeps it

cooler in the summer. I just am

writing this letter. I dont really

own the place, just Im running

it or the day. But thats why

I didnt want you to have the

door open or too long. It lets

all o the cooler air escape.

Like this, see, there is no extra

bill. People dont think o that,

though. But it helps you not

have to pay. So thats why I put

there, on the sign, naturally

air conditioned. See. Because

there is no real air conditioner.


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But its conditioned air. Its just

been conditioned by the build-

ing. As long as it is dierent

that the air outside, its con-

ditioned. So this air is colder

than the air outside but itscolder because o the building,

so its naturally air conditioned.

Anyway, Im just nishing

writing this letter then I need

to go, but you can sure look

around here while I am here.He shufed back into

his cavern o binding and

Cubs-Indians on the radio.

Madeline laughed at me with

her spread eyes as I sniggered

into a volume I had absent-

mindedly pulled o o a shel.

Te shelves appeared towers,

stacking up to the low ceiling

instantly, crammed with every

variety o book, every variety o

time, every variety o subject,

and in no particular organiza-

tion. I let her by the sections

on Lincoln and Bestsellers,

loosely designated, tip-toed

past our book and baseball

crier, and gracelessly scrambled

over box and bag into the ar

back corner o the store. Te

entire shop could not have been

more than 200 square eet.

I recognized even less pat-tern on these shelves, with

signed copies sharing space

with pulp ction and nudists.

How am I going to nish

this letter? It is a book, he

muttered to himsel, droningo into indecipherability but

certainly remaining in the

realm o audibility. Te players

were tied in the 11th inning.

He just wanted the company.

Ralph Nader could have

been president! He snapped

out o his contemplations

when Madeline asked to

make a purchase, but not

beore dragging the ront

end o his derailed train o

thought through his teeth.

O, these are old ones,

he commented. You ever

know about, asking her about

some long-orgotten great.


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What?! You never heard o

him?! I cant believe that. One

o the smartest men to ever act.

He played in, and then he was

in. Maybe you say it is because

you are young. But you knowwho Charlie Chaplin is. I I

ask you who Charlie Chaplin

is, you would know who he is,

wouldnt you? Tat just doesnt

make sense because you dont

know about one guy who waslater than one, but i I ask you

about Chaplin, you would know

him, but not the younger one.

But what about Ralph

Nader? resurrecting his old in-

ternal debate. You know about

him. He almost couldve won

the last election. Te one beore

last. He wouldve had enough,

but, they always do that kind

o thing. You know that i the

people who voted couldve voted

instead o the electors, because

you mean to tell me that the

electors vote the very same or

all one guy as just the people

voted or, but when they all go

to one side, instead o how they

used to decide or every person,

each one to his own vote, you

know? But, instead, he didnt

get the votes, so they couldnt

elect him, but i they had justlet the votes all as they were,

he couldve taken enough away

himsel. He couldve been

president. A run o, at least.

I laughed, eeling bad

that I had stranded heragain with his rambles.

Alright, lets see what we

can do here. I probably am

going to leave in about ve

minutes. I want to get to

church a little early today. So

I will probably leave in a ew

minutes. But I think it will

be, lets see. wo books, hmm,

yea, two books, two dollars.

Tank you. I guess now I can

close up and head out. He

shut o the radio mid-pitch.

I clamored out rom behind

the avalanche o books above

me and handed him my choice.

Heh, we were about to


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close up. What do you have

there? Ah, a Merton. Disputed

Questions? I have never, I dont

remember this one. Let me see.

I have more Merton here in the

oce. But I dont know aboutthis one. He gestured to a wall

o the teepee, and I careully

inched out a well-read copy o

Te Seven Storey Mountain.

He thumbed rantically

through an appraisal book,considerably agged and

underlined and circled. Calling

out our digit numbers o prices

and explaining that he usually

charges some incomprehensible

amount or his books, depend-

ing on ten percents, the phases

o the moon, and the Chinese

New Year, he tried to determine

the going rate or my choice.

His thought process was spo-

radic, most o it leaking through

his mouth. But it was too

much, even or him. He ended

up reluctantly asking me or $10

or both. I was happy to pay.

When I asked him when

he would be open again,

he shook his head.

oday is the only day.

Ten it will be closed until

September. But its not mine

anymore, see. I sold it to anoth-er guy. I have to go in or treat-

ment. Surgery or my heart. So

theres not really time or me

to nish setting the shop up.

But I think he will nish that

back room that you were in,gesturing to the natural disaster

that I had just escaped rom.

As we turned to

leave, I stopped.

Ayn Rand, you say? Ain

Rand? Ain. Yea, I think I

have some right here. Right

here. Somewhere on this

shel. I think so. I just put

some up there. It might be

side ways. Hmm. You just

have to look. He trailed o.

Dont worry about it. Teres

not enough time. Besides, you

need to get going. Church?

Te door closed emphatically

behind us. We reached the top


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35


o the street, turned at the inter-

section, and I cast a glance back

over my shoulder to the crack in

the masonry rom which we had

just exited. Open one day the

whole summer. Hal an hourlater and the bookseller would

have ailed to even exist or us.

Te serendipity o the

aternoon, stepping into the last

15 minutes o a mans career,

to listen to him calmly nisha letter to his brother, it was

like catching an extra inning

o game whose turbulent at-

bats were not betrayed by the

placidity o the identical scores.

Inside the naturally air con-

ditioned basement, where the

only windows looked straight

up to the sky, time had paused

to let us into a story that would

end as soon as we reemerged

into our city o clocks. Had I

walked back down the street to

the sign that had not glowed

books in twenty years, I

have no doubt that I would

have ound the shop to already

have been swallowed up by

the storeronts abutting it,

swallowed up by the city that

took no notice o it, swallowed

up by the clocks that soared so

ar above its basement stacks.Te sidewalk carried

our eet around the block:

step, step, high tide, low

tide, tick, tock. V


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Interpretations and Intersubjectivity

An EssayMark ancrediClass o 2011Istum

Suppose there is a man

living on a deserted island

who has never known anotherperson, but has instead raised

himsel entirely and learned

independently all those things

that he needs to know about his

behaviors. His behaviors might

be peculiar rom our point oview. Perhaps he scratches his

ears with his oot or snorts

when happy or talks to himsel

by slapping his ace and clasping

his hands around his arms or

perorms any number o otherodd rituals. Suppose also that

there is a man living in our own

society who exhibits all o these

same behaviors. I we reect on

these two persons, is it not pos-

sible or us to say that the rstis sane while the second insane?

And would we not say this

because o the contexts in which

their behaviors developed?

What is understandable in light

o a mans being alone on an

island might be incomprehen-

sible or a man living in New

York City. But do we not also

recognize in the man rom the

island an altogether dierentunderstanding o what we call

happiness that owes itsel to

that emotions being cultivated

in a dierent context? We might

think that the man rom the

island understands happinessin the same way we dothat

he understands at base the same

emotionand that he is simply

acting it out in a dierent way.

But what reason do we have to

think this? Why do we eel that

happiness is pure and simple

and that emotions are uniorm

and unaected by the practices

that embody them? Is it not

possible that the island-mans

happiness and our happiness

are similar but not the same,

in the same way that an Oak

and a Maple are recognizably

dierent and yet both trees?

And now I ask, why should


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the man rom the island have

any behaviors at all? I they

are outward demonstrations

o something intrinsic to him,

who are they demonstrations

or? Tat is, why should he havebehaviors rather than mere acts

o instinct? I I rub my eye to

signal that I am tired, what

distinguishes that behavior rom

my rubbing my eye because

there is an eyelash in it? Howis it that another person can

interpret my behavior? What

does that other person need to

know? I my intent is what is at

issue, there must be something

that supplies others with

knowledge o my intent. For i

my riend asks (or suggests) that

I am tired and I insist that I am

not, he may still argue with me

that I am, and argue urther

that that is the reason that I

rubbed my eye. Tis can only

be because he has interpreted

my action in context. Tis, I am

going to suggest, tells us not just

about actions and behaviors, but

also about emotions. Behaviors

give expression to emotions,

but they also do something

more: they provide identity and

substance to emotions; they

help to dene emotions ratherthan merely embody them.

* * *Emotions are contextual; the

ability to identiy a particular

emotion as happiness or joy

is more than simply puttinga name on it. Naming is only

one part o identiying, and

the name happiness is only a

label, just as Mark ancredi

is merely a label or me.

Happiness stands in place

o all those eatures that are

held together in the emotion.

But those eatures or which

happiness serves as shorthand

are not qualities o only the

emotion; they are also quali-

ties o its use. Tus emotions

are not basic entities that just

need to be named. Identiying

an emotion means noting its

eatures along with something


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about the appropriate situations

that evoke those eatures.

Notice that this does not mean

that I must identiy all those

situations, but it does mean that

situations provide a componento the emotions identity; in

experiencing situations, I

learn the emotions identity.

Happiness is not something

internal that merely responds to

a given circumstance. I it was,we could call something happi-

ness by describing just its ea-

tures without noting anything

about the context in which it

is experienced. But this is not

possible, or what would we say?

Even i the subjective eeling

o happiness does not change

with circumstance, the identity

o that eeling does. Here I am

not simply saying that the same

basic emotion can be given

a dierent name depending

on the context. I am instead

suggesting that the identity o

an emotion is contextual; the

context does not serve simply

to provide a name, but it serves

to provide an identity. Context

eeds back onto the emotion o

interest and makes us under-

stand it and understand how toact on it. Even i excitement

and ear subjectively eel the

same, they are not separated

only by context; they are phe-

nomenologically distinct.

An emotion is not an entitythat we know rom experience

or that we can isolate and

describe the eatures o.

Nothing can be said about an

emotion except that it is an

emotion (and perhaps that it is

pleasant or unpleasant) unless

context is taken into account.

* * *Consider how one learns to

act on a very basic emotion

sadness, or example. While

crying may be universally

consistent, it is largely instinc-

tive as a behavior; mourning is

neither o these things. I I am


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to mourn, I must rst learn to

recognize those situations in

which mourning is appropriate.

I then learn the appropriate

behaviors to exhibit, words

to speak (Im sorry or yourloss, My prayers are with

you, etc.) and activities to do

in such situations, and later I

begin to repeat them. Finally,

I make them my own. Only

at this point can I be said tounderstand the sadness that

calls or mourning, or I now

understand how to express sad-

ness to other people. Only then

can I go through a card aisle in

a grocery store and understand

why dierent cards are grouped

in dierent sections. But more

importantly, I learn something

about emotions and the actions

they might elicit at the same

time; the actions provide scope

and detail to my emotions, and

as I begin to clariy my emo-

tions, I also begin to understand

how I might put them to use.

I I were later to understand

some other way o expressing

sadness, I would then have

learned more about sadness.

Te movement is dialectical,

and without such a movement

my emotions remain just emo-tions; they are not sadness

or happiness or anxiety.

Tat I can observe happiness

in a very young inant says

relatively little about the inant

and comparatively more aboutsocialization. Tat I can, in

act, interpret happiness rom a

smile says much about me. Tat

an inant can smile is perhaps

reexive; that that smile can be

a response to the inants eeling

o what I may call happiness is

more signicant; but that I can

call that eeling happiness,

that I can interpret the move-

ment o an inants lips as a

smile, that I can read the child

as conveying a recognizable

emotion to me when I cannot o

course know rst-hand what the

child is eeling suggests some

level o intersubjectivity. It is


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not that I am projecting onto

the child, i this is understood

to mean that I am ascribing

behavior to the child that the

child does not intend, or I

can never know what anyoneintends unless I interpret their

behavior in the same way that

I interpret the smile o an

inant. What this suggests is

that emotions are neither basic

nor distinct entities. Tey are

also not rmly ingrained, and

particular emotions need not

be universally elt. Rather,

emotions are something o a

capacity, something awaiting

development and clarication

by interpersonal relationships.

* * *We spend much o our lives

ocused on emotionson

satisying them, on rectiying

them, on assuaging them, on

pursuing courses o action thatwill produce the most o certain

kinds o thembut we oten

do not give thought to what

inorms them nor, indeed, to

whatorms them, except when

it is a convenient reason or us

to discount objections to our

own thoughts. So happiness

is generally thought good to

produce, but rarely thought

good to orm and even lesslikely to be thought o as some-

thing that needs to be educated

or learned. (What would that

even mean to most o us?) And

gut reactionswhat we just

eelare deemed reliable and

should be listened to; unless,

o course, that gut reaction is

that o a riend with whom we

disagree. But in this case, what

are we let with? Weighing one

persons gut reaction against

anothers? My sorrow to myneighbors pride? As long as

emotions are common currency

or talking about right and

wrong behavior, we will never

actually talk about right and

wrong behavior. Nor will we ac-tually talk about emotions, since

to talk about them would be

undamentally to talk about the

behavior that molds them.V


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People By Day

A Tought ExperimentStephen LechnerClass o 2011Istum

Imagine that a new drug

becomes ashionable and highly

accessible. It makes a personeel really good, it makes them

orget their problems or a

little while, it cures simple

depression temporarily but

thoroughly, gives them a sense

o companionship with otherswho take the drug, provides a

certain boost or high that can

make even the most stressul

situations become a Sunday

picnic, and has a bearable health

recoildenitely not enoughto cause serious injury, and only

enough to cause a slight dis-

comort that is much less than

the typical stresses o daily lie.

Question: Would you take

the drug? I so, how oten? Onspecial occasions? In tough

times? On holidays? On

weekends? Ater a hard days

work? Ater work? During

work? When you wake up in

the morning? Constant IV?

* * *Now say that while a person

is under the inuence o this

drug, they retain an appearance

much like that o any otherrational human being, but that

at some point they begin to

act in an irrational manner.

Tey begin to do things that

they would ordinarily not do,

whether or not those things arethings that they would want to

do under normal circumstances.

Tey moan and groan a little,

they nd suddenly that they

can dance and sing when

previously they could not, and

they suddenly begin making

love to any other human being

o the opposite sex (or o the

same) that they nd the slight-

est attraction to. Tey do all

sorts o ridiculous yelling and

screaming and singing and

stumbling and jumping and

crawling and spitting and biting

and howling and even some o

the unspeakable, but they do so


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mostly amongst themselves and

instances o bad things like ac-

cidents, violence, injury, assault,

death, rape, etc are almost

always amongst themselves

and even then have the reputa-tion o occurring so seldomly

that one need not worry that

they happen to onesel.

Same questions as beore.

* * *

Now say that while a personis under the inuence o this

drug, they retain the appearance

much like that o any other

rational human being, but that

at some point they begin to act

in a more seriously irrational

manner. Tey gain unexplain-

able strength and a certain

hunger or esh and blood along

with an inability to distinguish

between other animals and

ones own kind, although

they strangely do not have an

appetite or anyone who is also

under the inuence o this drug.

Tey tend to roam universities

(it is popular especially amongst

young people) at night in ocks

looking or sources o esh and

blood and have been witnessed

to be capable o tearing animals

apart as a means o satisying

this hunger, but they rarely everkill people, since people quickly

learned to avoid them (they can-

not move about very quickly, or

they become slow and clumsy)

and to lock their doors at night

(they do not hunt people intheir rooms, but there have

been instances when they have

mistaken other rooms or their

own and things have ended up

badly). Lets say that or some

reason the proper authority is

either uninterested or incapable

o stopping people rom taking

this drug and that the drug

is suciently available that

anyone who wants it can get it

with little eort, and they do.

Question: Assuming that

you would not take the drug

(although you might, given

its positive eects), do you get

angry at these people?


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Note that the eects o this

drug wear o within eight hours

or so (or whatever is a good

nights rest) leaving the druggy

as something like a supposedly

normal person, so several othese people who walk around

as zombies at night are the same

people who you go to class with

in the dayyes, even the same

people who work hard during

the day and get As (As!) intheir classes and go on to get

high paying jobs. Teir nightly

activities might aect their daily

activities, but not enough that it

be noticeable to the proessors,

rectors, parents, etc or at least

not enough or them to care or

do anything about it. It is so-

cially accepted that these people

do what they do at night and it

is socially abnormal or people

to complain about this or to

think it strange or stupid, etc

Question: Do you complain

in any way? Do you pretend

not to think it strange?

* * *

Say that one Saturday night

you walk in the hall o your

dorm past a young man, a class-

mate o yours named Bob, who

is under the inuence o this

drug and whose appetite ndsyou likeable to a hal-pound

burger. He begins stumbling

ater you and wailing, and you

shake your head in pity or him

as you usually do to people

in such situations (especiallyBob), and you make or the

exit door behind you. o your

distress, the door is inoperable.

You do not know whether it

be jammed, locked, blocked

rom the other side by another

drugged person, but neither do

you have time to nd out beore

Bob walks up to you and sub-

sequently devours you. You do

not particularly like Bob, and

or the time being you cannot

think o another drugged up

human being by whom you

would more despise being de-

voured. You turn to meet him,

nd the hall suciently narrow


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that you cannot circumvent him

without some probable contact,

and discover that he is about

ve hobbles away. You coolly

walk up to him, take your bottle

o Guinness that you have beendrinking and, as he lits his

hungry, shaky arms towards

you, you bash the shapely

glass bottle over his orehead

(he is a little taller than you)

sending beer and glass yingacross the hall in a glittering

golden spray. Bob stumbles

to the ground and with little

hesitation you walk past him

to your room to go to bed.

You lie awake or a while that

night because o a complex

combination o eelings: you

are shocked because you have

nearly been devoured, you

are angry at Bob or nearly

devouring you, you are mourn-

ul that you had to waste a

hal-bottle o Guinness in

order to save yoursel, and

you are very proud at having

successully broken a glass

bottle o beer over someones

head just as one sees in the

movies. It shattered beautiully.

Question: Do you hate Bob?

Question: Do you nd it odd

that you do not nd it odd thatthis sort o thing happened?

* * *wo days later, you have to

give a presentation in class. At

the question-answer part o the

presentation, the rst person toraise a hand to ask a question

is none other than a sane and

sober Bob, a perectly normal

Bob except that he has a black

and blue bruise on his orehead,

the appearance o which he

cannot seem to remember.

Question: Do you have a

reaction to his question? Do

you listen to his question? Do

you answer his question? I

you do answer his question, is

your answer non-violent? Can

you give any explanation as to

why you might eel the sudden

urge to repeat what you did

to him two nights ago, except


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perhaps with a chair this time

instead o a bottle? I in act

you do repeat said action, do

you realize beorehand that

you will have to convince the

proessor o the soundnesso this explanation upon the

completion o said act lest you

nd yoursel in the hands o

some uninormed and punish-

ing authority? I in act you do

repeat said action, how do yousuppose Bob might react? V


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Penury Everlasting

A Poem

A ighty air or afuence,

Mocks the tyrant poverty,

Basking in the garden o earthly delights,It rests on the golden ashes,

O its predestined oreathers.

Many will go, many will go,

And I will stay, or this I know,

Tat just as the sun rises in May,So also my golden earthly bouquet.

It is the constant gardener,

Te still point in Eliots turning world,

Because McMansions have McOwners,

McMarkets have McBrokers.



Tat just as the market paves its way,

So also my golden earthly bouquet.

Was it not Matthew who dared proclaim,

Te poor you will always have with you?

Te poor reap harvests o harvests not theirs,

Devouring the sweat o laborious lament.

Nick BrandtClass o 2012


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Tat just as the armer grows his pay,So also my golden earthly bouquet.

And I am not their savior,

I am the captain o Her Majestys Jewel,

Te ship o the line,

Te treasure trove o prosperity,Te perect target,

For vicious piracy.



Tat just as the sea holds its sway

So also my golden earthly bouquet.

And even when I die, this much I say,

Much like your poetry, so must gold stay,

And shine in brilliance upon my grave,

Bathing me in sunlight, as a light upon a wave.V


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A Portrait of T. S. Eliot

A StoryJose KuhnClass o 2011PLS

Old men ought to be

explorers, thought one as he

ventured out the door intothe grey London street, once

cobblestoned, now paved.

History always gets paved over,

but Eliot was conscious o the

cobblestones buried beneath his

eet; his ootsteps sent vibrationsdown to them, which they sent

back up, slightly altered. He

received these intimations o the

past into his head and churned

them about as he walked, eyes

downcast and brow urrowed,trying to apply words to the

shadow-pattern shapeshiting

through his mind. He looked

up or one second and noticed

the day was overcast, or maybe

it was just the twilight. A blackcat itted across the sidewalk

in ront o him, disappearing

behind some rubbish bins.

Te street lamp sputtered, the

street lamp mutteredyes,

the street lamp was talking to

him! He, Eliot, twenty years

o age, his grey hair combed

neatly so that no one would

ever suspecthe was secretly

training to become a prophet.Waitthat man there, the

one with the briecase, smells

dusty, like he stepped right out

o Ezekiel. A terriying vision

suddenly ashed beore Eliot o

a brown scar o earth, the driedhusk o the T ames, winding

under London Bridge, and the

million umbrellas o London

open on the bridge, waiting or

a drop o rain, but none came

and they were all just blown

away, along with everyones

top-hats. And then they all

just stood around, looking

dumbounded and glum.

As he progressed down

Bloomsbury Way, the prophet

ngered the lapel o his green

jacket. Green, on the one side,

but red on the other; he was

sure people could see it, the

blood rom his bullet wound,


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soaking through the abric o

his let shoulder, the blood o

the Lamb. It was on his ace,

too; he could eel it, warm and

sticky, although he could also

eel plants growing there, grassand clover; these spread down

across his jacket, which was,

ater all, a lively spring green.

His visage hadnt always been

so springy, so sanguine; back

in the days o straw men, livingin limbo, he had powdered his

ace a pale green and stalked

through the streets like a living

disease. It was his need, then,

and his burden, to question

everything, even asking who he

was. Tomas, he ound, or the

dubious Apostle; Stearns or his

brooding countenance, driving

all easy companionship away.

But he was also an Eliot, with

roots dug down into the earth o

East Coker. Both o these aces

were his, and only the vertex

o the two could point him

on toward the horizon. Yes, it

had taken him a long time and

much searching, many inernal

nights, to nd that there are

only two ways: the way up and

the way down. And the only

way up is the way down. And

the only way out is the way in.Tere are only two ways,

wo-Face Eliot repeated to

himsel as a mantra while he

passed a church, St. Peters

or St. Pauls. As a boy, in a

white-washed room with lowceiling and wooden benches,

he had eaten bread, and under

high stone vaults trimmed with

gold ourishes, he had eaten the

Lord. He remembered shing

in the mud o the Mississippi

and oraging or crabs on the

coast o Massachusetts. Te

sea-breeze wated into his

nostrils as he played among

the rocks, Mother watching

him closely because o his weak

legs. Dear Mother, where is

she now? He owed so much

to herhis education, his

appreciation or letters, his

desire to know God. And later,


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when he had read Pascal, he

had thought back on her, her

simple acceptance o miracles,

and realized she had been right.

So the end o all his learning

was to arrive at his summerhome back in Gloucester, back

where he had started, and to

know it or the rst time.V


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A Girl without a Country

An EssayMaria SantosClass o 2011PLS

Its Salsa Night at Legends.

Ive never been beore, but

my riend Kelly promisedthat she knows some guys

who are great dancers. She

was right. My dance partner,

one o her riends, guides me

eortlessly across the oor.

He twirls me around, hismovements smooth and uid.

He is sure and graceul, poise

incarnate. I trip, mid-twirl,

and step on his oot. Again.

He gives up ater a ew

minutes. Teres no hope oteaching me to dance. Hes one

in a long line o ailed instruc-

tors, including my mother,

all my high school riends,

and several ex-boyriends.

I stand by the wall lookingor Kelly, who is nowhere to

be seen. Silently, I rearm my

vow, broken again, to avoid

dancing at all costs. Kelly

utters over at last, breathless

with excitement. It takes me

ten minutes to coax her to

leave. We scurry through the

cold night, relaxing at last

in her Walsh Hall room.

Im so jealous o yourCuban genes, Kelly giggles.

She is still thinking o the

dashing boys who asked her

to dance. How much better

my salsa would be! And my

tango and merengue, too.\I begin to point out, Being

Cuban doesnt make you a good

dancer, as I am living proo,

but I stop mysel. Tere is no

point in arguing. I learned

that at a high school dance

three years ago, when my date

actually got mad at me or my

admittedly clumsy dancing.

You have to actually move

your hips, he lectured with

mounting rustration. Finally,

he burst out, Come on, youre

Cuban! Tis is in your blood!

Is there a gene or dancing?

I there is, why am I apparently

the only Cuban who it skipped?


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* * *What does it mean to be

Cuban? What qualities, physical

or intangible, am I lacking?

However you dene Cuban,

I dont t the description. Myparents used to be Cuban.

Now they live in Chicago. In

act, with my light brown hair

and pale skin, Midwestern

accent, and Fighting Irish

pride, Im a better t orSouth Side Irish mysel.

My grandparents used to

tease me or my gringa accent

when I spoke Spanish. Now

they pretend not to notice that I

barely speak Spanish anymore,

only throwing in the rare

muchas gracias or te quiero.

I sued to live in Miami, where

everyone spoke Spanish. Now,

my amily doesnt even speak

Spanish at home. My ew

Spanish phrases are a nal ploy

to prove to my grandparents,

and really to mysel, that I

am somehow still Cuban.

In one sense, nothing can

change me rom being Cuban.

Cuban blood ows in my

veins- whatever that means.

But in actions and appearance,

Im as American as the Fourth

o July Parade, as whiteas Te Preppy Handbook.

I hate that choice Ive had

to make again and again,

between being white and

being Hispanic. I rst

noticed it when I started takingstandardized tests. Tey ask

you to Choose one in the

Race category. I eel like a liar

when I ll in the Hispanic

bubble. I always do anyway. Its

a statement, a protest o one.

And o course, I hoped it would

help me get into better schools.

Te thought behind that

hope was the worst o it, actu-

ally- when people assumed that

I got into Notre Dame because

I am Hispanic. It makes my dad

urious that people think that.

Is there a school where you

get armative action or being

rude? he exploded once, when


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a riends mom said that my

race must have really helped

in my college applications. My

dad went to Harvard and then

to Columbia Medical School,

and my mom holds a Ph.D, sothey are convinced that it was

my naturally inherited ability

and not my race that earned

me a spot at Notre Dame. I

try to believe that my parents

are right, but I know my highschool grades were no better

than those o my riends who

werent admitted here.

Am I a raud? I wonder,

sometimes, i Notre Dame

only let me in to boost their

reputation or diversity. I was

a poor choice, i thats the

case. I dont look Hispanic

and I have no interest in any

o the multicultural student

agendas they like to publicize.

Beore I decided to come

here, Notre Dame invited me

to spend a weekend at Notre

Dame, an event or prospective

minority students. I never

even replied to the invitation.

Te event scared me, partly

because I knew I wouldnt t in.

I could picture it in my head:

random white girl who cant

speak Spanish surrounded bystudents imported direct rom

Puerto Rico. I was araid o

eeling out o place, but I was

more araid that I would be

exposed as a ake. One look

at my pale ace, my thin hair,and my hopelessly butchered

Spanish, and they would never

believe that Im Cuban.

* * *I cant prove that Im Cuban,

Ive realized. Examine my

blood. est my genes. Youll

nd no special evidence.

Tat is what makes me lie,

telling anyone who asks that

Im uent in Spanish. Tat

is why I make a big show o

camaraderie whenever I meet

another Hispanic. Its why I

say silly meaningless things

like Americans dont know

how to show emotion or


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Cubans have a much better

sense o style. I am clinging

to an identity o which I am

almost completely ignorant.

My racial identity crisis has

only grown worse since I got tocollege. Here at Notre Dame,

Im awash in a sea o All-

American varsity, polo shirts,

and Ugg boots. My riends

who attend Northwestern

joke, when they visit, that myschool looks like a live J. Crew

Catalogue. I oten dress and

look like a prep mysel. When

I tell people that Im Cuban, at

rst, they never believe me.

* * *What do you become when

your nationality is just a label?

Im not the immigrant rom the

Old Country who mourns her

childrens detachment to their

heritage. Im those childrens

child, and I do not know what

my heritage is. I dont even

know i it exists. Ater all, the

Cuba o my grandparents was

not the Communist Cuba o

today. Miami, that haven o

reugee Cubans, is an interna-

tional city which is much more

American than the die-hard

Cuban abuelos like to admit.

Te Cuba I try to identiy withmay exist only in the minds o

my grandparents generation.

Still, I cannot stop searching.

I have always been dened, at

least in part, by my Cuban-ness.

I was the only Hispanic girlin my elementary school class.

I taught the other girls nursery

rhymes and playground games

in Spanish, passed down rom

my mother. I ell asleep most

nights o my childhood to my

mother singing Spanish lul-

labies. My dad says a blessing

in Spanish whenever my riends

come over or dinner, perhaps

his own small way o asserting

that he is still Cuban. I used

to play a game with my sisters

called Escaping rom Cuba,

based on my grandparents

ascinating stories o eeing

Castros Communist regime.


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On Christmas Eve, my amily

eats a traditional Cuban meal

and holds a parade through

the house with images o the

Nativity, a Cuban custom.

Ideas and images o Cuba,sometimes garbled, dominated

my childhood, and continue

to arrest me at amily events.

Tat part o my identity is still

too present to be abandoned.

* * *Last summer, my boyriend

brought me to his annual amily

reunion or the rst time. His

relatives interrogated me.

What does Cuban

ood taste like?

How do you eel about

the United States relation-

ship with Cuba?

Do you preer to be

called Cuban-American or

Hispanic? Are you oended

by the term Latina?

Tey had never met a

Cuban beore. Tey were

so kind, so genuinely inter-

ested- and I was so ignorant.

I was dened, again, by an

identity I dont recognize or

eel. I elt like an ambassador

sent to represent a country I

had never visited. Perhaps I

will always eel that way.Race is a tricky thing to

dene. Morgan Freeman asked

that he no longer be called

black, believing that the best

way to end racism is to stop

talking about it. On surveys andcensus reports, my dad reuses

to choose between Hispanic

and White. Instead, he checks

Other and writes in Human.

I will never learn to Salsa,

and my Spanish is a long way

rom uent. Yet whatever it

means to be a Cuban, I am

one. Tat is the truth behind

the Cuban-American label.

I am lucky enough to live in

America, where I am dened

by my talents rather than my

ancestry. And I am lucky

enough to have an ancestry,

still unamiliar to me in many

ways, that nonetheless gives


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me traditions and customs

that are airly unique. Raised

more Ameri

Documents

Lost Piece IV Getting to Know You