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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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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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LOST PIECE: Issue IV
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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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LOST PIECE: Issue IV
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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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LOST PIECE: Issue IV
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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
`e 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 `e 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 `e un uomo, p. 1177 Ibid, p. 1208 Ibid9 Ibid, p. 82, A Good Day10 Coleridge, Te Rime o theAncient Mariner, 582-58511 Se questo `e un uomo, p. 1512I sommersi e i salvati, p. 8913 Se questo `e 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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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.
Many will go, many will go,
And I will stay, or this I know,
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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Many will go, many will go,
And I will stay, or this I know,
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.
Many will go, many will go,
And I will stay, or this I know,
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