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THE PHOENIX October 1960

PUBLISHED AS A LITERARY

SUPPLEMENT TO

THE ORANGE AND WHITE

This issue marks the beginning of the second year of life for The Phoenix. Three additional copies will be made available throughout the year. These small magazines are designed for and dedicated to the recogIlition and pub­lication of student talents in the literary field. It is hoped we shall also stimu­late and challenge other students toward creative efforts.

Creativity is a vague and elusive quality to confine within the walls of definitions. It is a process initiated by man's basic hunger and desire to communicate. Its formation is dependent upon sensitivity, insight, and intellect; its sustaining force is imagination. Causing to exist that which is beautiful and valuable is a divine and awesome process. Creating is a lonely labor. It demands sincerity and humility. It is exacting, teasing, and fre­quently frustrating. The rewards are to be found in inner feelings of accom­plishment and occasional senses of satisfaction that are pleasant, but that never serve to satiate the urge to create.

Please enjoy and profit by The Phoenix - your literary magazine. Approach its contents with appreciation and respect. Our Phoenix is a rare bird, indeed, and one deserving of your concern and admiration.

Library The University of Tennessee

Knoxvil1e

JEFF GREENE

October, 1960

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editor

JEFF GREENE

section editors

fiction

exposition

art

JIMMY CLEMMER

JULIA WITT

DORIS RIVERS

LAURA JEAN GOSS reviews

!faff

RENNI DILLARD

BECKY ROBERTS

SANDRA BROWN

MARY CLAIRE WYATT

business manager

FRED GENTRY

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advisory board

DR. PERCY G. ADAMS, DR. DALE G.

CLEAVER, DR. ROBERT W. DANIEL,

DR. JAMES F. DAVIDSON, PROF.

JAMES E. KALSHOVEN, PROF. FRANK

THORNBURG.

''-' ,',, :' '

Orange and White Literary Supplement THE UNIVERSITY OF TENNESSEE

Knoxville, Tennessee

contributors

JENNIFER HAMILTON

Dialogue in Darkness

KURT HARRIS

Through Broken Stained Glass Windows, Fragments, 2

JIM SPARKS

Shades of Grey

RENNI DILLARD

Perspective of a Conscience: A Review of The Conscience of a Conservative by Barry Goldwater

LAURA JEAN GOSS

The Fall of the House of Intellect: A Review of The House of Intellect by Jacques Barzun

PHILIP P. DURAND

; The Evolution of Dramatic Form in Euripides . r

. :: .DOlUS • RIVERS

The Ghost of Mirth, Wake of Beauty, Adulthood, Cover: Scratch, Sea Make-Believe.

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"The Ghost 01 Mirth"

Dialogue In Darkness

The crispness of early November's fallen leaves­I can hear a dog trot across them. I, lying here in this shimmering darkness. Then wonder if it is a man. But not afraid, now, for the moonlight disturbs the darkness. And in the room I know I am alone.

The moonlight! Satining the dresser-top and be­traying un-ironed clothes in the basket. The sounds­the dog trotting across the yard. Or it is a man-or a boy-running lightly over the leaves. Twigs fall out there, out in the autumn night. Twigs fall from the oak trees.

Floors creak, like one turning over in slumber on a bed with old springs. The house in slumber ... the others breathing softly, their chests rising and falling slowly ... in other rooms of the house.

The cold-the bed more snug than warm. Smoke in shafts, coming in the window with the moonlight. It is the smoke of leaf ashes, from still-smouldering leaf heaps. Cologne, too, evaporating, rising from an old bottle. Leaf smoke and cologne scent.

The house is asleep. And I am here, in this little room transformed with moonlight.

Hushed dark pulling gently. Pulling the eyelids closed. Then the pictures. Colors first, colors racing, greens and golds, red and violet. Numbers run, but not in sequence. Letters spin, and no words. Horses galloping, galloping. White horses, manes tossing and proud. Then a baby-round and smiling. Dark-eyed and dimpled, a baby to hold.

Faces are next, many faces. Laughing, merry faces. Somber, sad faces. Undulating waves. Warmth, deep and dark. Drown, and he may come, the other one. Yes, almost come.

Together now, lost together. Warm together, safe. Two together, eyes, lips and arms, falling wondrously away into a quiet land.

The sound! Penetrating. Piercing. Insistent sound. What is it? Where? I am confused.

The alarm clock? No, no. Again! Ah, the telephone. The telephone. Unslip­

pered feet on bare floors, flannel gown brushing ankles.

Stumbling. Quiet, quiet! Do you want to wake them? Hurry, hurry, down the hall. Answer softly, softly.

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Jennifer fiamilton "Hello." It is his voice. His voice is strong and warm. His

words, coming through the dark: "I had to talk to you. I feel a little lonely tonight.

I need to be with you." "Shh!" "What's the matter? " "I thought I heard someone getting up. Wait." Uncarpeted steps are cold. Huddle closer to the

wooden banister and listen. No more sounds. "Just the floor cracking, I suppose. I'd better

whisper." "Whisper loud." Whispering through the wires. Whispers running

through the darkness, finding one another in the night.

I must ask him a calm question: "Have you studied for the examination?" His expected replies. My trite responses. What is conversation? Conversation is books,

examinations, papers due. We are impatient with con versation.

"We need each other right now." "It won't be too much longer." "That's right. Pretty soon we'll have those degrees,

and can leave this town." We are unconvinced. We talk, believing our non­

beliefs. "Y ou looked a little tired this afternoon. Are you

feeling O.K.?" "Think I'm losing my looks, huh?" "You know what I mean. I just wish you'd get a

little more rest, that's all. I want to see you feeling fine and looking pretty for me."

The concern, the little anxiety. Someone caring, while I sit on a step of stairway, and the house is dark and still.

He, fin1)ly: "You're trying to do too much. You can't do every­

thing and keep up your studies." "I'll take vitamins." Our laughter-he deeply but quietly, and I in

whispers. He, suddenly, "Let's get married." "You crazy thing. Let's fly to the moon."

Marriage? Marriage is work. Marriage is responsi­bility.

"I've got it figured out. You could quit school for awhile and work until I got out, then I'd go to work and you could come back and finish school."

"That sounds lovely." "O.K. What're we waiting for?" '~Don't be ridiculous." "Are you really in love with me?" "You know without asking." "Say it anyway." "I love you." What is love? I do not know, but without it we are

all lost, lost. A moment of no words between us. Nocturne of

wind outside, ruffling the leaves. Again to him: "I really do love you." "Good. Now I'd better let you get some sleep." A winter bird chirps in the night. Lonely sounding,

just a few notes. Do not go away. Do not lose me. "Have you seen the moon? I've never seen it so

wonderful. " "It's like that over here, too." "I wish we were together." He, reassuring: "Someday we will be." Then, practically, "Hurry

back to bed. I'll meet you in the morning before class."

Two goodnights said softly. Receiver down, with no noise. Tiptoe through the hall, and close the bed­room door.

Again the moonlight . . . gliding the window sill, illumining the curtains, silhouetting a stack of books. Moonlight drawing me to the window to see the black and silver world. The cold. The chill of limbs and body. The shiver from the cold and more.

The beauty of it-oaks dark and tall; silvered dry leaves stirring lightly with the wind. Star-laden heavens, vast and far away. Solitude of earth and sky. Quiet, so quiet.

The moon! Lifting, yearning all things upward in silver strength. The inquietude of the moon.

The second shiver, up the limbs and to the heart. The cold.

The bed, cold now, too. Curl up, curl up for warmth. Eyes already heavy.

Outside in the world, a train whistle-low and solemn. A train traversing the land in the moonlight.

The soft persistence of slumber, cradling, relaxing the body into formlessness.

No pictures, no whirling numbers. Only the moon­light filtering the darkness and leaf smoke wafting in. And the autumn without.

The autumn without.

"Wake of Beauty"

Perspective Of A Conscience: A Review of The Co'nscience 01 ,a COlnservative by Barry Goldwater

Spring of 1960 saw the country's eyes focused somewhat fuzzily on the rise of John F. Kennedy and the collapse of diplomatic relations with Cuba and Moscow. It also saw the publication of a slender volume in which a relatively obscure Republican Senator aired his conscience. To suggest that the latter event may have the farthest-reaching conse­quences of the three is perhaps less absurd than one might imagine, for Barry Goldwater's conscience has become that of an ever-growing portion of the popu­lation-whose goal is to make it the conscience of the nation.

Whether or not this goal will be or should be attained is open to debate; the impact of Conscience of a Conservative is not. In the few months since its appearance the book has undergone three hardbound and five paperbound printings and is now in a ninth printing. It appears to be as firmly entrenched on the best-seller lists as is Mr. Goldwater's seat in the Sen­ate. This success is particularly notable in view of the oft-repeated "fact" that conservatism is a dead cause and the notorious unpopularity of the stands this particular conservative chooses to take. With incom­parable bluntness and brevity he discusses States' Rights, the farm problem, labor, taxes and spending, the Welfare State, and education-using the constitu­tion as the touchstone for evaluation. The last section of the book is devoted to a candid and knowledgeable assessment of the Soviet menace and ten proposals for elimination of that menace-using the question "Does it or will it help defeat Communism?" as the touchstone. His opinions on every issue stand in glar­ing opposition to one powerful group or another, as can be seen by a random sampling:

". . . Government has a right to claim an equal percentage of each man's wealth, and no more . . . I do not believe in punishing success . . . The gradu­ated tax is a confiscatory tax. Its effect, and to a large extent its aim, is to bring down all men to a common level . . . to rediStribute the nation's wealth . . . We are all equal in the eyes of God but we are equal in no other respect."

"Welfare programs cannot help but promote the idea that the government owes the benefits it confers on the individual, and that the individual is entitled,

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lenni ::Dillard by right, to receive them ... If we take from a man the personal responsibility for caring for his material needs, we take trom him also the will and the oppor­tunity .10 be free.' ~

"No powers regarding education were given the Federal Government ... It so happens that I am in agreement with the objectives of the Supreme Court as stated in the Brown decision. I believe that it is both wise and just for Negro children to attend the same schools as white ... however ... I believe that the problem of race relations, like all social and cultural problems, is best handled by the people directly concerned."

"In the main, the trouble with American education is that we have put into practice the educational philosophy expounded by John Dewey . . . In our desire to make sure that our children learn to "adjust to their environment, we have given them insufficient opportunity to acquire the knowledge that will enable them to master their environment."

"Graft and corruption are symptoms of the illness that besets the labor movement, not the cause of it. The cause is the enormous economic and political power now concentrated in the hands of union lead­ers."

"As long as union leaders can force workers to join their organization, they have no incentive to act responsibly. "

"We have been persuaded that the government has an unlimited claim on the wealth of the people, and that the only pertinent question is what portion of its claim the government should exercise . . . The need for "economic growth" that we hear so much about these days will be achieved, not by harnessing the nation's economic forces, but by emancipating them."

"A tolerable peace . . . must follow victory over Communism . . . Peace has never been achieved . . . b~ rival nations suddenly deciding to turn their swords into plowshares. No nation in its right mind will give up the means of defending itself without first making sure that hostile powers are no longer in a position to threaten it."

Obviously, Goldwater must for varied reasons be opposed by progressive educators, Modern Republi­cans, Liberal Democrats, and all advocators of

"peaceful co-existence" and disarmament, not to men­tion the N.A.A.C.P., the K.K.K., A.F.L.-C.I.O., and Walter Reuther-a formidable array to say the least. He stands as the arch-enemy of Big Labor, Big Gov­ernment, Big Business, and all collectivists-be they Liberals, Socialists, or Communists. And, he does not hesitate to suggest a kinship between these last three in idealogy:

"The collectivists have not abandoned their ulti­mate goal-to subordinate the individual to the State -but their strategy has changed. They have learned that Socialism can be achieved through Welfarism quite as well as through Nationalization. They under­stand that private property can be con.fiscated as effectively by taxation as by expropriating it. They understand that the individual can be put at the mercy of the State-not only by making the State his em.,. ployer-but by divesting him of the means to provide for his personal needs and by giving the State the responsibility of caring for these needs from cradle to grave.

"People can understand the consequence of turning over ownership of the steel industry, say, to the State; and they can be counted on to oppose such a pro­posal. But let the government increase its contribution to the "Public Assistance" program and we will, at most, grumble about excessive government spending."

The conscience of the Conservative is pricked by anyone who would debase the dignity of the individual human being ... therefore, he is at odds with dic­tators who rule by terror, and equally with those gentler collectivists who ask our permission to play God with the human race."

The expected fate of any politician holding such views would be total obscurity or swift and effective repression by opposing power-groups. Such has not been the case. Goldwater has become the undisputed leader of the conservative wing of his party; the undis­puted champion of Conservatism everywhere, regard­less of party. His newspaper column is now carried in 26 papers. Requests for speaking engagements and letters of support flood the Senator's office daily. To use Newsweek's well-turned phrase, the Goldwater standard is at an all-time high and still rising. "Why?" is a question that the powerful but panicky Goldwater opposition hardly has time to ask.

One reason doubtless lies in the Senator's ability to make his point. Basic concepts of conservatism are given unequivocal and highly articulate expression'. But Goldwater does not stop where so many have with eloquent theory; he uses these concepts to un­sparingly spotlight government policy, showing with irrefutable logic precisely why the present policy in

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a given field is not working-or why it is dangerous. Again, he does not stop here. Critical assessment of specific issues is followed by specific proposals whose practicality cannot b~ denied if one accepts the premise from which they logically develop.

But perhaps the rising Goldwater standard can best be attributed simply to enlightenment. To those who have never thought of collectivism as destructive, of labor leaders' power as threatening, of Soviet appease­ment as suicidal Goldwater's statements come as an awakening. To those who have been aware of the seemingly uncontrollable advance of Socialism from within and Communism from without, they come as hope. And to all who have not yet lost their illusions about a constitutional Republio, the Goldwater stand­ard comes as invaluable ammunition against the final replacement of individual freedom by governmental power. Conscience of a Conservative makes one feel that the exchange is rather a poor one.

Fragments, 2 J~rt fiarrid

We are the little children, The little wide eyes.

But the world is telling us, Now you are big,

Jesus loves the little children.

Now you must put away Your seven league boots And deflate your red balloon.

All the children of the world.

Now you must put Take your little tin soldier down from his dusty shelf And discard him.

Red and yellow .

Now you must break your drumsticks, And burn your flag, And put your fife away.

Red and ...

Now you are FREE WHITE AND TWENTY ONE And nothing like you ever was.

The Fall Of The House Of Intellect

The sound of a shrill voice pierces the dusky twi­light shadows and starts a young girl from her reverie, as she makes her way along the sidewalk through the thick darkness. Looking about, she spies under the rays of a street lamp a crowd attentively gathered around the spot from which the shrill voice emanates. Moving closer to this throng, she sees a wizened, gray­ing old man perched precariously upon a not-too­stable plywood box. Sensing the intense interest of those around her, she listens as the speaker continues, ". . . if we want a vital cultural tradition we must recognize that it is drawn from, and nourished within, the selL -contained stronghold of a middle-class elite, accustomed from birth to the properties and responsi­bilities of the intellectual life."

Such was the visual image created while reading The House of Intellect by Jacques Barzun. Dr. Bar­zun, in the course of shrilly presenting his doctrine of Intellect and how it should be preserved, presents an ofttimes obscure picture of the source of intellec­tual potential in America. First he inveighs against the whole intellectual world for its betrayal of Intellect and then proceeds to urge that this Intellect be pre­served only by that self -same intellectual world. The death of Intellect, capitalized by Barzun, is a case not of murder, but of suicide. This crass betrayal of Intellect, fuzzily defined and thinned out almost to an abstruse philosophy, has been performed by "the middle-class elite" through their extension of the abil­ity to read and write to everyone: literacy, he says, was "the great secret of its [Intellect's] power." Rath­er, he would again steep learning in a feeling of obscurity and awe. To accomplish this would, of course, mean the immediate suspension of all educa­tion, except for those who since the days of kinder­garten have been driven to school by their chauffeurs. Now, granted there is a tendency to berate intellectual endeavors - more prevalent in high school than in higher education, but when it comes right down to being denied the right of an education on the grounds of one's ancestry and the label sewn to the inside of one's overcoat, it is doubtful that anyone would stand silently on the sidelines. Not only would this be a regression in our whole democratic educational pro­gram for raising our standard of living by opening the doors of a more enhanced, autonomous life for all, but it would narrow our educated and hence respon-

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sible population while enlarging the ignorant and hence irresponsible masses. Thus those of the con­temporary cult of the 'casual' stance, which is wide­spread on college campuses today precisely because of democracy, would assume the unchallenged, un­limited rule over the great unwashed.

According to Barzun, the three chief enemies of Intellect are Art, Science and Philanthropy; the latter being defined as ". . . free and equal opportunity as applIed to things of the mind." Art has become devoid of Intellect chiefly, he claims, because of would-be artists who happily proliferate under the banner of creativity producing unintelligible garble. Yet, can Dr. Barzun say definitely that modern art is not an expression of the ability of the mind (the seat of the Intellect) to move in realms which are above the recognizable rectinlinear limits of table and chair? Off in another direction, Dr. Barzun deprecates the spe­cialization of Science and its resultant inability of one branch to communicate with another. This, agreed, is an unfortunate situation, but one which, it must be realized, is necessary to the further development and learning in science just as in medicine or other related fields where the information now available is so enormous (and continually growing) that it requires a lifetime to be adequately familiar with even one particular branch. The previously defined Philan­thropy undauntingly dissects America's pseudo-intel­lectual scene in the classroom. Here, the wittiness and biting humor of the author shines through brilliantly as he attacks modern methods of teaching by enliven­ing texts for the passive students, by trying to present a new concept in familiar terms, and by otherwise avoiding serious demands on the mentally lethargic. But, in further exposing this betrayal, he does not limit his field of argument enough. Rather, he directs it to other numerous areas jumping from one to an­other with the result that rather than following through his logic on one topic to a point where one might be forced to think again with reformation, the barrage of public administration, communications, conversation, home life, education, etc., with which one is bom­barded conveys more a feeling of helpless and hope­less engulfment to which there is no alternative but to succumb.

There is much in this book with which to find common cause. It is easy by the confusing presenta-

tion to be trapped into thinking that, because Barzun perceptively points out some obvious faults of our intellectual life, he therefore will lead the right way out. Don't be fooled by his 'glittering generalities': they are too absolute, as was shown in his statements on Art and Science. After all the argumentation is stripped away, the bare fact of the matter is that, if Barzun had his way, immediately following the topic of ACTIVITIES on college application forms there would be one which read ANCESTRY. As J. R. Ross

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of "The New Republic" once said, " ... if we hope to encourage a flow of Intellects to serve as the con­tinuators of thought of the Western tradition, we will never do so by snooping upon them into their life­style. To worry about whether a particular intellect's parents go to Europe or to zoos, to concerts or to drive-ins, to wine shops or fortune tellers, is not the way to encourage the capable offspring of either to an intellectual development which is balanced, ma­ture, vigorous, and just."

-LAURA JEAN Goss

II Adulthood"

Evolution Of Dramatic Form I n Euripides Philip P ::Durand

The thesis of this paper is that the discovery of the fundamental irrationality of the universe may be ex­pressed in tragic terms, but after the initial tragic expression, the consequences of the discovery can be presented and faced ultimately only in terms which are fundamentally comic. The analogy between the problems fa.ced by Euripides and those of the modern age are striking. The totality of Euripidean drama · is the revelation of .one man's disillusionment, reflected in the evolution of the dramatic style through which the disillusionment is presented.

Euripidean drama is divided into three general cate­gories: the initial discovery of irrationality, the expres­sion of the discovery in tragic terms, and the final expression of the consequences of the discovery in terms which, through the abandonment of the tragic form, are classified as comic. To make these distinc­tions, does not mean that on this basis the plays can be placed into easily definable categories, for the thought process is a slow evolution in which elements are born, developed and discarded in overlapping spheres. The transition from tragedy to comedy does not occur suddenly. It is possible to discern the vari­ous elements which are illustrative of the progression in several successive plays without destroying them either as legitimate illustrations of a trend, or as ele­ments which may be interpreted in slightly different terms in the context of the self -contained unit which is the individual play. Discernment of the several levels in the complete literary output does not invali­date any portion of that work, but rather pays tribute to the depth of the Euripidean mind and imagination, capable of simultaneously creating on two or more levels of consciousness.

We must accept as a basic premise to this analysis that man must search for a consistent philosophy upon which to base his thoughts and actions. This would be especially true of an author. If one is to express his philosophy of life there must be a basic element which will unify and refine thought to the degree where ex­pression through the literary form becomes meaning­ful. This does not mean that the unifying factor must be present and obvious from the beginning. Just as an author may be classified as an existentialist or a ra­tionalist' it is possible to find a unity in the entire literary output from the more subjective viewpoint of

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constant searching for that which gives life meaning, even though no final answer may be forthcoming.

Euripides, living in the fifth century B.C., in a city state which had stability and unity, (Athens), sud­denly discovered that this stability was, for him, illu­sionary and fragile. The world of moral order, ex­pressed in the plays of Aeschylus, was shattered. Euripides asked questions concerning the basis for rationality and stability, questions involving subjective factors such as virtue, justice, and the meaning of individual existence, and could find no answer in the actions and beliefs of his society. In the next century this sense of anarchy was to pervade the whole city­state of Athens, but in his plays, Euripides revealed more than mere diagnostic perceptiveness.

Euripides was no mere prophet, but neither was he a philosopher. He made no attempt to construct his own consistent philosophical system. Instead he re­mained within the limits of his own societal structure, and sought the basis for stability in life as he knew and experienced it. After the initial tragic discovery, Euripides moved in his analysis from gods to men, and thence to society, continually narrowing the scope of his examination and rejecting, in order, the sphere of the divine, the collective human personality, and the society built by men, until at the end of his life it was only the knowledge that he himself existed upon which he could rely.

Four plays can be pointed to as an illustration of this movement of thought; Medea, 431 B.C.; Hippo­lytus, 428 B.C.; The Trojan Women, 815 B.C.; and lon, not dated, but among his later works. Along with the sense of increasing disillusionment which arose as his changing subject matter continually failed to pro­vide an answer, we can see a "lowering of sights" as Euripides moved from the realm of revelation by the gods to the individual human experience. The earnestness and the quest remained, but the sense of irony grew, until at last Euripides sat alone, dependent upon nothing outside himself, and laughed at the uni­verse, at society, and at the individual, caught in the grip of irrationality, who could not realize, as did he, that with knowledge of the predicament comes under­standing, with understanding, stability - and with stability, meaning within one's own being.

In Medea, Euripides has utilized the familiar ro-

manti4c myth of the Argonauts.] Jason in his quest to procure the golden fleece, obtains the assistance of Medea, a CoIchian princess, who has fallen deeply in love with him. Endowed with the supernatural powers of a sorceress, Medea slays her father and brother, escapes with Jason to IoIcos, and again uses her powers in an attempt to regain for Jason his wrongfully usurped throne. Jason, unable to place himself in power, flees in exile to Corinth with Medea and two sons born of the union. It is here that the action of the play commences, with Jason, the su­preme egotist, married to the daughter of the Corin­thian king in order to consolidate his position. Medea, spurned after committing crimes in an attempt to bind Jason closer to herself, becomes charged with a hatred as violent and intense as her former passion­ate love. Through gifts of a poisoned robe and chap­let, Medea slays Jason's princess-wife and her father, the king. She then slays her own children in a scene of emotional intensity, presented with redoubled force since her love for the children momentarily weakened her resolve. Jason is rendered abjectly desolate, and Medea is permitted to escape in a dragon-chariot, presumably without punishment.

Euripides, in Medea, presented this revelation of irrational force in tragic terms and within the tragic dramatic framework. Although the tragedy does not consist, in Sophoclean terms, of the single irrevocable act which counteracts the moral order, raising the individual action above human standards in terms of purposefulness and dignity, it is, nevertheless, a tragedy. The single irrevocable act becomes the single irrevocable discovery that the foundation for human action is, .in fact, irrationality. Man suddenly discov­ers that the foundations upon which he has based the rational order of his society do not exist. Irrationality is revealed as the dominant factor in human existence.

Medea contains personifications of these irrational forces which disrupt the ordered life. Medea is pre­sented as one who has control over supernatural forces, thus removing her from the sphere of the purely human. Her actions, however justifiably moti­vated, are excessive and violent. Although her suffer­ings are intensely personal, Medea is unwilling to think on long-range, practical terms, and the result is that emotion becomes a destructive force. Euripides knew that the irrational and unexplainable elements of human existence are always the most destructive, as Medea's wrath and the actions emphatically illus­strate.

The chorus in the play is expressive of the power­lessness of normal human thought processes in deal­ing with the overwhelming force of the irrational. The

70

sum total is a complete destruction. In one horrible hour a rational, sell-contained, man-made preserve is brought to an end through the agency of that which none can comprehend. Creon, the king, and his daughter experience the intense pain which always accompanies irrationality in life. Jason, whose stub­bornness and lack of understanding forced the issue beyond control, witnesses the destruction of his long­range plans. For the children there is a future filled with the most exalted optimism, suddenly obliterated by a threat of imminent death from a force which has possessed a formerly loving mother. As climax, Medea is rescued by a chariot which bears her away from the wrath of Jason, which might, as Kitto surmises,2

represent the acknowledgment that the universe is not to be called upon to explain its inherent irrationality. This interpretation is supported by the last lines of the play, uttered by the chorus:

"Many a fate doth Zeus dispense, high on his Olympian throne; oft do the gods bring things to pass beyond man's expectation; that, which we thought would be, is not ful­filled, while for the unlooked-for, god finds out a way; and such has been the issue of the matter."

It is interesting to note that these same lines conclude a total of five plays, being used also in Alcestis, Helen, The Bacchae and Andromache.

That this play must have left the fifth century Ath­enians completely at a loss can be understood, for Euripides, as mentioned, bears the title of prophet. For Euripides himself the realization must have meant disillusionment with ideas nurtured from childhood, aptly illustrated by Medea's lines to Jason:

"Gone is now the trust I put in oaths. I can­not even understand whether thou thinkest that the gods of old no longer rule, or that fresh decrees are now in vogue amongst mankind, for thy conscience must tell thee thou hast not kept faith with me."

The gods have moved beyond the range of human comprehension, and although not denied existence, their importance for Euripides has changed. This re­evaluation of attitudes with regard to the sphere of the divine becomes evident in Hippolutus and The Trojan Women.

Medea is more of a revelation than an examination of consequences, for although the end results of over­whelming passion present the meaning of the play, there is no explanation for them beyond the fact that their origin was irrational. In Hippolytus however, the consequences are those which follow a prediction of

Aphrodite, a personification in the form of a goddess of one of these irrational powers.

The plot is relatively simple, and depends but slightly upon events that have transpired prior to the opening of the play. Theseus is now living with a new and younger wife, Phaedta. With them dwells Hippo­lytus, a bastard son of Theseus whom the queen of the Amazons had borne. Hippolytus is a victim of hybris' overweening pride, and worships Artemis, god­dess of sexual purity. This angers Aphrodite, goddess of passionate love, who contrives to disclose to Thesues that his wife feels illicit desire for his son. Upon learning the nature of the affliction of Phaedra, the nurse discloses the matter to Hippolytus, who is greatly angered. Phaedra, rather than disgrace her husband, commits suicide. Theseus returns to find a letter clutched in Phaedra's hand alleging that Hippo­lytus had violated her honor by force. Hippolytus is banished amid curses and with a prayer to the god Poseidon for his death. Shortly thereafter Hippolytus is mortally injured in a chariot crash. Artemis reveals to Theseus that Hippolytus was not guilty of illicit relations with Phaedra, father and son are reconciled before death in a scene of rare tenderness, and Artemis vows that she will exact her vengeance from Aphrodite for her favorite's death.

In this play characterization becomes a prominent factor, for these characters are not merely personifi­cations of irrational behavior, but human characters striving to order their own lives. While they represent extr.emes of approach to the problem, they are vastly more satisfactory as human beings than Medea or Jason, personifications too extreme to evoke sympa­thetic response. At least Hippolytus, Phaedra, Theseus and the nurse can explain their own actions from a particular approach to life.

With the last scene, Euripides shifts his focus from the gods to the human level, attempting to seek meaning from that one event in which the gods can­not participate, human forgiveness. The reunion of father. and son before death is poignant and meaning­ful on a level all can understand. But at this stage of development, individuals are not completely meaning­ful within the scope of their individual personalities, and this is the problem which is approached in The Trojan Women.

In a very real sense The Trojan Women seems to reflec[ Euripides' reaction · to a shattered ideal. The play followed closely upon the seige and capture of the Island of Melos by the Athenians. In a spirit of cold - blooded imperialism, Athens had taken the island, massacred the adult male population, and sold the women and children as slaves. The illusion of a

11

great and just democratic Athens crumbled into noth­Ing. Motivated by this incident, Euripides centers attention upon the women and children of the con­quered. The captive women, allotted to various of the Greek commanders, are presented in a series of tragic scenes proclaiming the cruelty, folly and futility of war.

Once again the gods act for no apparent reason other than the fact that one was insulted by the Greeks when her temple was defiled. They predict the destruc­tion of the Greek forces, but it is set for a time outside the time sphere of this play, indicating that the gods are not the focal point of the drama. Attention is focused instead upon the concrete results of one type of irrationality-hate; upon the victims of the war which it engenders, and upon the irony that a counter­force of irrationality, Eros, removes retribution from the head of the instigator of the war, leaving the human suffering without explanation. At least in Hippolytus the explanation could still be found in the whims of the gods, even though their motives could not be explained. Here human attempts at explanation can no longer resolve the problem. Instead the human element adds to the destructive results of irrationality. The execution of Polyxena is an act of terror with no meaning in the human sphere; death, although human in form, should remove the dead from a posi­tion of dominance in human affairs. The sacrifice of the child of Andromache as assurance of Greek con­trol in the future is meaningless, for man, subjugated to irrationality, can no longer predict a future course of events.

There is no "logical" order in this playas in Hippolytus. Events happen "after each other", instead of "because of each other". Reflecting upon a theo­logical code which man can never comprehend, the only remaining unity of action is suffering, from which individuals can discern no meaning, for the gods have moved further away from men. They will have nothing to do with this particular situation, and a comparison of gods and men on parallel lines is no longer pos­sible.

Until this point, Euripides' quest for meaning and unity in life has failed. Successive levels of experience have not stood up under close inspection. No founda­tion has been found upon which a moral order could be erected. The gods have failed; "humanness" as the basis of order has not stood the test. An examination of society is the next logical step, and with Ion, Euripi­des moves into this area.

Why then is there a change of tone in Ion which sets it apart from the previous plays? Why did Euripi­des reject the form of tragedy and adopt the form

classified as comic? The approach must be different than before, for society has one characteristic inherent in its nature lacking in gods and men alike; society is "created" instead of "being". The gods were presum­ably present when the world of man was created, and individual man existed before men combined as a group into a society. The gods therefore exist inde­pendently of either man or society, and man has a basic existence in ' himself, created by the gods but not dependent upon them for future existence. Society on the other hand was created by man, and is dependent upon man not only for its essence, its "personality", but for its very existence. Gods and men may exist independently, but without man's rationality and con­trol, society becomes anarchy, and ceases to exist. Applying these general statements to the area of the theatre, it can be seen that without the divine element, the Greek form of tragedy would be impossible, and from the view of the playwright, ineffective.

This explains why Euripides must change the tone of his drama. What powers of rationality and control man does have can exist only in the medium of his impersonal relations with other men, relations which do not run afoul of love, hate, and the irrational forces in man's nature. The Trojan Women was illus­trative of what happens when the abstract societal relationships are overpowered by irrationality; when society crumbles under the impact of one ruler's love for his wife and hate for her seducer. The form of the drama, and the resulting "tone" become meaningful in that they show that Euripides is unable to accept the irrational elements of life as a basis for stability. Otherwise these earlier plays, as a total literary out­put, would remain merely diagnostic statements with no, overall unity. Although it may be presumptuous to indicate that Euripides felt that a stable foundation existed on which to base a moral order, even though he himself was unable to find it, nevertheless it is necessary to insist upon this theory of movement to carry Euripidean drama beyond the range of the merely psychological.

Before considering how the change in tone has altered Euripides' method of presentation, we must for a moment consider "society". We may distinguish Ion from the preceding plays discussed by saying that while the other plays revealed Euripides' disillusion­ment, in Ion an attempt was made to explain the rea­sons for the actions of the various characters. Man may "discover" irrationality in the sphere of the di­vine, but thereafter he may only "examine" his society and illustrate the consequences of his initial discovery. Thus Euripides knew that society was fundamentally

12

irrational before beginning the play, and a further revelation was unnecessary.

Here we must keep in mind that as society was created by man, Euripides could explain the "why" about society, whereas he could not explain the "why" about the realm of the divine, or about human be­havior when it defied the bounds of reason. The most effective way to explain "why" is to show "how", for society in the present contains the same essential characteristics which went into its initial formation and evolution. These are human characteristics over which man has control, in that he can arbitrarily de­fine the standards to which the members of the society must conform. Justice as an abstract entity can change to conform to the views of those to whom it is ap­plied as a standard. Correlation with the infinite is not necessary for justice. Aeschylus, for example, manipu­lated the gods to conform with man-made standards. He did not, as Christianity and other relIgions have done, attempt to manipulate man to fit the standard of the gods. Thus the whole scope of 'the examination moves out of the realm which can effectively be ex­pressed by the tragic dralnatic structure. Euripides in his dealings with the purely human problems makes a careful distinction between the irrational and the co­incidental, a vehicle used in comedy throughout the ages. Comedy is a most effective means of presenting these purely human problems so as to reveal the foibles and idiosyncracies of men in societal relation­ships. In a sense, Euripides is the grandfather of Con­greve and Wilde and Shaw, in that this is the first "comedy of manners" in Western literature.

The final problem is Euripides' dismissal of society as a possible foundation for continuing moral order. The plot of Ion is complicated, and it is not necessary that it be summarized, but the plot reveals a series of fantastically conceived coincidences, perhaps not un­usual to those of this day and age where ever more complicated farcical plots are required to hold the attention of the audience, but certainly upsetting to the citizens of Athens. Coincidence easily elevates a general servant to a position of power and grandeur. Man's existence is so filled with sudden switches of fortune that there is no stability except the surety that the odds are against anything remaining stable for very long. Attempts at revenge on the purely human level are even more meaningless than revenge of the gods in arlier plays. Lacking a stable outlook from which to speak, the tragic chorus has nothing to say, and Euripides presents them as a group of tourists whose shallowness and eagerness to see without un­derstanding makes them not unlike the tourists of today. All this he welds together in a play in which

tragic action is impossible on the Sophoclean level, for even if Ion had been poisoned and died, as plotted, the only justice administered would have been the arbitrary justice of a society with no standard beyond the will of the majority in power. In this society the gods become ridiculous, and are portrayed as blunder­ing incompetents whose plans continually go astray, for these are the gods of society, existing only because society wills their existence; hence they are as unpre­dictable as the coincidences which characterize life.

At- this point we are left without the answer which Euripides was seeking. Moving from one level of hu­man experience to another, beginning with his tragic revelation and ending up in a man-made society, it is, nevertheless, conceivable that Euripides' final answ­er might have been that the only stability is that which man knows best, himself, and that even knowledge of instability can be a norm. The end result would be

U. T. ArchIve

perpetual seeking, perpetual examination, perpetual criticism, perpetual reform. Did not Socrates say "Know thyself"? In this way man may eventually suc­ceed in finding that foundation of order which would remain forever the standard of conduct. For 2300 years since Euripides' death, man has been on the same quest for meaning and knowledge, and until the golden mean is finally discovered, Euripides will speak strongly and clearly, showing through his own disillu­sionment and searching the fundamental confidence that there must be an answer somewhere.

1. I am indebted for plot summaries and historical context to the excellent condensations in The Complete Greek Drama, Oates and O'Neill, Ran­dom House, 1938.

2. Kitto, H. D. F.; Greek Tragedy, p. 208.

'Sea Make-Believe'

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Through · Broken Stained Glass Windows J<Url JJarri6

But it doesn't matter what they say; You remain yourself and I . . . I don't know who I am.

All our lives are bundles of yesterdays, Tied with a ribbon And left on the back of a shelf To grow old, And crumble, And be forgotten; Hopes and aspirations spent On longing for a shadow dancer To be our partner; Ancient chants, Resung and sung again; Ritual of our ancestors, Which will belong to our descendants, Begun so long ago

And we alone are.

We are.

When the doors open and close And the shadows file in, Who will know? Who will care?

No one. Nobody knows. Nobody knows.

We are. Let us shout it together, We are! Let the atmosphere fill with it. We are. Let clouds form of it No one knows from whence they came.

Nobody knows. Nobody knows. Nobody knows.

And let it flow down the hills and the valleys And form raging rivers,

Your lips seek mine, And find them;

And tiny, placid pools in mountain hollows. Let it open the doors so the shadows may file in. We are. We are. WEARE!

Shades Of Grey Jim Spal'td

In which lifeless shade of grey

Shall I paint my life today

Upon this slow unwinding scroll?

(Very slow and very grey.)

I must use no blue or green,

Nor black, nor white.

(The former is too animate;

The latter, much too definite.)

I may only paint today

In shades of grey.

JIM SPARKS

KURT HARRIS