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{word} = hard to understand, might be this

...but we see from -- say, from the first Greek Ionian philosophers to some indefinite progress, then ends abruptly, and then begins again with -- from -- with the glorious awakening of the spirit of antiquity, of science, and now has reached its apogee and climax in you. That is your na‹ve idea. Here you are, in 1957, and of course, you are so infinitely more clever than the people in 1515, that's progress. So you have two -- this is your picture. This is one cycle. Oh, no -- it's not a cycle, it's going straight this way. But here, this is a cycle. And damn it all--what happened in between?

Gentlemen, at this moment in -- in most rebarbarized countries like America and Germany, the era has disappeared, the Christian era, and people begin to talk first of all about cycles, and then they have abolished the counting from A. -- of A.D. and B.C. Most histories which I read try to erase this. Mr. Toynbee has erased the Christian era; Mr. Spengler, as I told you, has -- is -- nearly erased it; Mr. {Freyer} in Germany, to give another example; Mr. Hendrik van Loon, in his popular history, which is one of the most idiotic books that exists, but has sold over a million copies in this country. And so the mind is poisoned today. And if you look into your own selves, you are not quite sure in which era you live, gentlemen. It isn't so si- -- very simple now to admit that one does live in the Christian era. Very few people have reasons to say so. And the official teachers of philosophy--somebody like my co- -- my colleagues here in this department--would agree with the new slant that there is no reason in -- in important fields to count the years from zero, from the coming of our Lord to today, and say -- they say, "That's -- just superstition." You may of course go with the Jewish calendar, where it makes no difference, where no year changes. Everything is the same here, since the creation of the world. That's one other way of expressing disgust with the Christian calendar. But the Greek story of -- held by most humanists to this day is, that there was every reason to believe that the Periclean Age, and--down to Caesar and Cicero--was on the right track, then people lost sight of reason and fell into the abyss of religion, and so -- we all became superstitious again.

So you see the history of Greek philosophy is the cor- -- course in which this decision has to be made by anybody who -- doesn't want to take a course in college, but -- wants to understand his own time. The history of Greek philosophy must end in some connection with us. Why do we teach this course? This is very central. And most of you, I think, take the course for wrong reasons. And so I have to warn you, that the end of the course of Greek philosophy must lead you to the awareness: why it ended in Christianity, and why the fathers of the Church could look to the history of philosophy as a great odyssey, a tremendous

odyssey in which all the gems in -- pearls in the ocean were found, and fished up, yes; but it was an odyssey just the same. And it ended nowhere. It ended in mere repetition. There came the neo-Platonists; there came the neo-Pythagoreans; there came the neo- -- you see, neo- -- Stoa -- no -- new Stoa, and the new Epicureans, but the -- once the odyssey over the ocean of the mind -- human mind had been done, it was mere, fruitless repetition, and mankind couldn't live on it.

I began last time to reason with you already without saying so, why it had to come to an end. And I tried to tell you that the Greeks themselves believed that they were moving in a cycle. The circular character of Greek thought is that which I want to treat today. Because if I say myself that I move in a cycle, I cannot complain if the cycle is really experienced. And of course, mankind is, at any minute, gentlemen, in danger of moving in a circle, in a vicious circle. The -- progress, gentlemen, is a decision, of cutting the Gordian knot in -- by which we are entangled in a cycle. By nature, gentlemen, we are animals who remain in a cycle. But by our strange task, by the challenge that -- by our destiny, we are not allowed to stay in a cycle. Now your belief in automatic progress has taken it for granted that we shall not fall into a rut, as you call it, which means a cycle, you see. But by now it dawns, I think, on most people that whole nations, like Spain today--perhaps Hungary, now, or perhaps the United States--very well can move -- fall into a cycle.

If you look at a map of the -- Europe and of the earth, you find that more territories belong to areas where man has gone -- lived in a cycle -- in a vicious cycle and -- than the areas covered by -- lived in by groups -- inhabited by groups who have kept going. You look into the Near East, and any Israelite -- in Israeli will tell you that the Arabs are still moving in cycles, circles, and that's the real issue. -- They don't be- -- lead to the same age. All your attempts to be nice with Saudi Arabia--I've tried to tell this Mr. Mandaville--is he here? he is carefully absent--are idiotic. They live in the Stone Age, in -- in Moslem -- age. And Mohammed was a prophet who successfully sealed the tribes of a -- from Greek and Roman citification. And he has kept his tribes in these -- in this strange circular movement for the last 1500 years. That's the essence of Mohammedism, of Moslem, you see. Great fellow who freed these ancient tribes from magic, from superstition, and the human sacrifice; but on the other hand, forbade them to enter the life of the city, or the life of urbanization, the life of literature, the life of science, and everything else you like, of art; forbid them the arts, as you know. And in every Arab country, and take to -- this Egypt -- this unfortunate country of Egypt, the only people there who have ever filled any civil service, or any -- any office of medicine, or anything has been the Christian Copts, the 2 million Egypt- -- people in Egypt who did not go Moslem. They are the backbone of Egypt. They are treated as badly as the Jews in America, but they are

necessary.

The -- all Moslem are incapable of entering history, because they don't want it. Mos- -- Mohammed has said, "I'm the only prophet. I'm the final revelation. Not one word -- can come after me that's of any importance." As you know, every Moslem has to know the Koran by heart. And that's very bad, gentlemen, to know anything by heart, you see, if you -- because it stymies you. We don't have to know the New Testament by heart. That's why every year the New Testament can happen.

The cycle, gentlemen. I have here a book which I recommend to you. It came out in Holland. It's written by a Mr. {van Groning}. And it's called In the Grip of the Past: Essay on an Aspect of Greek Thought. Essay on an aspect of Greek thought. Now it has so much to do with our problem here, that I thought I should mention this book to you, because it shows you you can, in -- for a very cheap price, and with a very few pages, get access to the thing that's unknown in this country: that the difference between the Christian era and Greece is our relation to the future. In this country, that's all wiped away. And people say, "Oh, you can be a Greek and you can be a Christian." You cannot. You have to take your choice. In February, there will be a -- the visit of a man who's now at Union, also a Dutchman, {Henry Cremer}. He'll teach here, or at least lecture here. I hope he'll -- I hope he'll stay at my house. An old friend of mine. He was a missionary in -- or not a missionary. He was a philologist, as you may say, in the -- in the Dutch East Indies. And he is -- was the man sent by the Dutch in 1945 to the Dutch East Indies, and came back with the report that they would be lost, and was no use fighting for them.

And so he is a very book -- man of the world. But he has written at this -- just this year a very beautiful book on Christianity against humanism, in which he chides these silly people, especially in this country, who think they can reconcile humanism and Christianity. They are irreconcilables, gentlemen, because of the relation of the humanist to the future. The humanist believes in automatic future. And he doesn't believe that the future can only be created by giving up the past. The doctrine of Christianity is that without death, there is no resurrection. And if you don't give up what you have, you cannot gain the future, access to the future. The humanist thinks you can have more and more, and the mind goes just on a promenade, and first looks at one tree, and then he looks at the next tree. And finally he has all the trees in -- on his mind and in his mind. What he has is confusion, but no life. He has a museum.

If you go to New York, and go to the Metropolitan Museum, then you know--or the Metropolitan Opera, for that matter--then you know what the humanist can do. He can store. Or take the 120 impor- -- most important books,

the last desperate effort of humanism in this country. Nobody wants anything -- have anything to do with these 120 -- Great Books anymore, because they have been made a humanist fashion. The Bible has to be read always, gentlemen. It's not a Great Book. It's something quite different. Humanists can only -- is a storehouse of knowledge. Why, gentlemen? And that brings up the rel- -- our relation to time. And of this, I want to say something.

When Aristotle speaks of Greek tragedy, he we- -- has a very strange word which explains to you the riddle of the humanist. You remember that we said there are three positions by which a man is spiritually alive. He has to weigh in these three elements. Now when Pla- -- when Aristotle in the Poetics, writes on tragedy--and it's very significant that one of you has -- has used this sentence in his treatment of Aristotle--he says, "Greek tragedy stopped when it had fulfilled its nature." It stopped. It's a very strange Greek sentence. I'm -- I've jotted it down for you. Who -- has anybody taken Greek? Not one of you. So this will remain Greek to you, too. I'll write it down, just the same. I'll put it in Latin, because it is -- should startle you out of your wits. I don't want to put it in English first. It must be a foreign thought. It is not a Christian, it is not an American thought at all.

Put it this way. "{Tragoedia finita est}"--that's my own translation from the Greek--"{quando { } ipsius naturam}." Are not -- these words are not superfluous. You see already the word "nature," "natura" must appear in its full glory. That's Greek physis, of course. It's a very strange sentence, and it comes from the greatest thinker, the -- the disciple of Plato and of Socrates, at the end of the great center period of Greek thinking. And he says simply, "The tragedy stopped when it had once attained its nature." Will you take this down, please? Poetics, fourth book, 15th paragraph, Page 1449 in the {Stephen Stephanos} edition. Aristotle Poetics, IV, 15.

Now it's a sentence which not, of course, anybody in America who treats the Poetics of Aristotle ever mentions. It's too important for that. Since the idea in this country is that the Greeks must be the same as we, the point where they are farrest away from us must not be mentioned. But this is the point where they are farrest away from us. He -- they say -- it says that tragedy, like anything else, is a thing of nature, which -- when it comes to itself, it stops. That is, of course, for the -- the famous entelekheia of -- of Aristotle, the idea that we are on this earth to become what we are, to become what we are, you see. "Entelos" -- "ekhein" means -- "entelos" is the goal a man has, his destiny. And the entelechy of Aristotle says the highest man can do is to achieve what he is meant to achieve.

Gentlemen, when you think through these two ele- -- words, "entelechy,"

to become what I am meant to become, and "the tragedy stopped when it had once attained its nature," you see that the Greeks use the word "logos," use their power of the spirit to carry as many things from ethos into physis, and to look at your own tragedy, that is, the highest accomplishment of the city life, of the community, the Metropolitan Opera, or whatever you take, you see, something civic in any case, and say, "In the light of nature, what is its character?"

And so physis in the Greek mind always wins over ethos and as you -- I tried to tell you that since the first days of the Ionian philosophers, the attempt is always to carry the -- experiences, the first impressions, the first experience of the child, you see, into the light of nature, to generalize it there, and to make it -- understandable in terms of physis, in terms of nature. It is this primacy, gentlemen, of physis over logos, or -- and over ethos which leads men to grow discouraged, because if all political action, if the aristocracy, gentlemen, if monarchy, if tragedy is a form of nature, then it must share the fate of all nature; then it has definable contours, you see. A wolf is a wolf, and it cannot become anything else. And a lion is a lion. And if you try to change an ass, you get at best a mule. But the mule cannot procreate, so even the mule is stopped, when you try to mate the -- the -- the donkey and the horse.

Nature is what it is. It is -- can be classified, gentlemen. And the Greek mind ends in classifications. Now, in -- no classification, gentlemen, has any hope for the future. If you can classify the Spanish -- the Hungarian revolution as a "revolution," it will go the way of all the -- flesh of all revolutions. You can't forecast it. Cla- -- things that are of a class, gentlemen, have a circular development. Will you take this down? The cycle is simply the -- the temporary aspect of anything you classify.

Now your whole mind is Greek. It's feverishly active to classify away all your experiences. "This girl? Oh, she's like all other girls. Or -- she's { } like all other girls, but like some other girls." Already that satisfies your imagination. And so I'm "one of the teachers." You have this infamy of telling your -- the best man you meet, "You are one of the most interesting people I have ever met." Don't you -- know that this is an insult? You classify this man. Instead of admitting that you never have met such a man. That's the only response to a person that it deserves, you see, is -- his satisfaction. You have the af- -- infamy to tell a speaker, Mr. {Gateskill}, "You are one of the most interesting Englishmen I have ever met." It's of course a lie. You have never met an interesting Englishman before. But you say so, because you want to be a Greek. You want not to be found out by something admirable, by the famous { } of which Aristotle speaks when he says that in everything in reality is something to be so admired, so as to be so astounded by, you see, that you lose your speech. You don't want to be left speechless.

Gentlemen, the Greeks didn't want to be left speechless. Anybody who can classify a new event thereby denies that it is new. The whole attempt of the Greek mind was not to -- as yours -- not to be taken in. So you say to the greatest event in -- experience in your life, "It is one of the most interesting experience of my life." In this moment, it has ceased to be any experience, gentlemen. You don't know this. But you are sh- -- riddled with this. I haven't -- still to find a Dartmouth boy who has the courage to say, "I have never experienced this before." Before, you haven't experienced anything. Before, you -- can't -- haven't the courage to say this to yourself. You obliterate, you wipe away the whole {enamel} of the things that are -- you allow to experience, you rascals, by comparing, by always saying, "This -- he's a better lecturer," or "The other is a better lecturer," or "That's a better book than the other." Gentlemen, as long as you do not say that these -- book is unique, and the other book is unique, and that you decline to say which is better, you are a Greek. And you are very stupid. You me -- treat me as nature, and you treat my neighbor as nature, and you treat the girl as nature, and you treat your mother as nature. When Mr. {Bender} asked this incredible question in his questionnaire, "Whom do you love more, your mother or your father?" he's a Greek, you see. They -- they cease to be Mother and Father in this very moment. They are just father and mother in general. But they are no longer your father and your mother. Because about your father and your mother, you know absolutely no quantitative single thing. As soon as you try to know it, they cease to be your father and your mother. And they fall -- fall on the city dump of generalizations.

Now gentlemen, we come nearer to the important truth, gentlemen. Anything that is my first experience, on -- which I let stand as unique, has value. Anything that can be classified is indifferent, is indifferent. The difference between the two -- realms of experience are of value, of validity, and the other of indifference. More or less indifference. And you are proud of be -- remaining indifferent. That's all you want. That's why you tell even the -- the -- an earthshaking experience still is one -- "The Gettysburg Address is just one of the finest or- -- speeches ever made." As soon as you say this, gentlemen, you have lost all power to evaluate the -- the Gettysburg Address, you see. The only response to the Gettysburg Address is to burst into tears, which you cannot do, because you never cry with any great emotion. You think that's a -- that's a -- you even think it's a eulogy, it's a praise to call the Gettysburg Address "one of the greatest speeches." But don't you see that it has ceased to be a speech made for you? That as soon as you say, "One of the greatest speeches," it's in a museum, on a tin-can shelf of tomato juice, and orange juice, and other juices, instead of being a speech without which you would not be who you are. Which is the truth of you, gentlemen, that the only thing that is of perhaps some value in you at this moment is that you have heard the Gettysburg Address. The rest is shit, and urine, and dirt. But this -- Gettysburg Address, if it has ever taken habitation in

your mind, ennobles you. You are a better man because you know it. So what's your business to -- to classify it outside in physis, in nature? It is a part of your ethos, is it not? It's a part of the first impression out of which your own character is -- is built up.

You see how important now it is to say, "Tragedy stopped when it had reached its nature." That was written in the year of the Lord 340. Alexander the Great was just entering Greece with his conquest of the world. And -- the life of Greece was over. And Greek tragedy no longer formed and produced Platos and Aristotles.

And as -- if you say that tragedy has reached its nature, you see, it is a second impression, because it stands on the tin-can shelf of your library, instead of forming you into a citizen of Athens, or of Greece, or of the world. Can you see the difference? Where this tragedy happens, one is in a second group of the library, or of the college education, you see; and the other is, as I hope you will see when you go to a play, now Romeo and Juliet next week is your own doing--or it's this week, isn't it?--I am looking forward to it. And -- because I'm still made over by Romeo and Juliet. And we made a special effort, my wife will see it in -- in -- in Boston on -- on Wednesday. And I go to Professor Booth's, who's reading, and then we'll see it together on Saturday. So that's the way one should celebrate the power, which I still -- I still have, to be impressed.

I'm not a literary critic, fortunately. And I'm not an imitator of the literary critic, as you all are. I'm just a man who wants to be built up by Romeo and Juliet. It's first impression. And it's very difficult to produce in me and my age again this first impression. You have to see it three times in one week to expose myself to real pressure. That's what "impression" is, pressure. You want to escape the pressure.

And we can say, gentlemen, the treating of anything as nature is an attempt to recede from its immediate pressure. Nature is a second space outside of my immediate necessities. You can see this from the laboratory today, gentlemen. What can you put in a laboratory? Only things which you do not immediately need for your own life. You cannot put the -- into the laboratory and experiment with it the piece of bread which you must eat. That is a first experience, that you must eat. If you have enough bread, you can take away some of this bread and use it in a second realm, you see, as a natural experiment. Therefore, anything you use as nature, gentlemen, is not immediately part of your own existence. You don't know this, gentlemen. You know nothing about nature. But nature is your temptation. It is the sorceress which has bewitched you, so that you think you live in nature, and not in the city of men. Nature is that which the community can afford to experiment with.

That's nature. Will you take down this definition? Nature is that with which the community can afford to experiment with. A physicist is the man -- a henchman, as you see, of the government who now experiments with atomic energy. We allow him this, because we have enough, you see, to live -- immediately. So we allow him to explode the earth. It's very dangerous and we feel a little -- a little hesitant now, because we entrust him so much, of this surplus of the universe that it may backfire into our own community. And one day, we may not have anything to eat then. You see? But first, we trusted him for centuries, because we thought we could afford it, you see. We had enough to eat, and in addition, we allowed the physicist to experiment with that part of the -- universe which we didn't -- to which we could remain indifferent. Would you see this? If I pray, "God give me my daily bread," gentlemen, then it's -- of an immediate importance. If I then say, "Let us have hybrid corn," like Mr. -- Mr. Wallace in -- in -- in Iowa, that's so much gravy, as we say. That's in addition. That's a natural scientific experiment, isn't it?

So if and when Aristotle tries to say that tragedy is -- stopped when it reached its zenith, its nature, he said something very profound. You can also turn around and say, "Because it reached its nature," you see, "it became natural. It couldn't affect man any more, you see. It ceased to be tragedy." Can you see? You can reverse the sentence. For the Greek, however, it is, as I -- it ended when, it's simply descriptive. But after Aristotle, I'm afraid, the Greeks ceased to come into existence, because this one element of the tragedy no longer held immediate sway over them. But it was already put in this second -- realm in which you treat literature, something to talk about.

Has anybody some memory of Mr. Spender's talk here when he came to this campus? The -- the English poet Spender? Did nobody attend, two years ago? You probably weren't here, yet. Well, he -- he -- he said exactly what I'm trying to say here about modern poetry. He said, "These English -- professors of English and their students murder me before I have -- I am a poet, but I -- after all, I can produce perhaps six good poe- -- eight poems a year." And that's very much, gentlemen. A great poet writes perhaps 24 immortal poems during his whole life. You of course believe that he can produce whole volumes of poetry a year because professors of English can do that. And you can, too. But they are no poetry. They only look like that. They are tin cans. And you can write, of course, any number of essays in a college like ours, of course. There is complete contempt of writing, because you write all this stuff, it isn't worth being written. But by numbers, by quantity, it is sheer -- very impressive, and very suppressing. And so Mr. Spender said, "I only seem to write poetry to give nourishment to the silly college professors of English, and their students who -- who then try to learn be- -- to write better and quick. What I produce genuinely within one year is not enough to feed them for one week." It becomes nature. And it be-

comes trash.

And that's how the world today is -- is construed, gentlemen, the proportion of genuine and -- political, and religious life, and of natural life, is of course all in favor of the natural. Man has, so to speak, taken over the realm of nature. A zoologist has said, "Man is today like a cancerous growth on the surface of the earth with -- there where palm trees used to grow, and oaks, and -- and birds fly, and pigeons, and alligators, and crocodiles, and buffaloes, and moose, man is multiplying. But," he says, "he is just multiplying his nature. He's not multiplying in his creative power, in his religious power, as a -- liturgist, as a priest." The proportion on the earth of course is, gentlemen, that you and I, we must not become natural. But since it is your idea to become natural, the only thing is -- is now to produce 4 billion people on this globe, to wipe out all other organic life, and therefore, to destroy the equilibrium on this globe.

Man is absolutely lost if he is not satisfied to create communities. If you want just to be natural, know your calories, your vitamins, be an individual, then you become like one of these mushrooms, like these bacteria, one-cellular beings. Most Americans try to have this -- this hope that they will end up as an individual bacterium, absolutely unconscious, absolutely innocent, absolutely in- -- equal to everybody else. And all -- your dreams, gentlemen, are one of the second realm of reality of nature, where you become totally indifferent, and where you will -- might be wiped out by the bomb quite justifiably, because there's absolutely no reason, gentlemen, for any man to live unless he's unique. If I can classify you, gentlemen, head off. You have to put a man in uniform to persuade his enemy that he can shoot at him, because when man is classified as a -- in a uniform, you see, as one form of others, will you bring any decent fellow to treat him as his enemy. The more a man is -- is unique, the more you will respect the man. The more you put him in a uniform, the easier you can persuade people to go to war. It's a condition of warfare that the enemy must wear a uniform. Otherwise you can't shoot at him.

So to make war, gentlemen, is the attitude of treating any part of reality as nature. Nature is at war, or at the stage of war we s- -- call our environment "nature." Because you will admit if you treat a -- a cow as nature, you can slaughter it. You can sell it, its meat. You can use its -- its milk and cheese. If you have your chickens in your chicken coop as your pets, you cannot treat them economically. You have to have 13,000 broilers, as my friend now has in Vershire. It's just horrid. And 13,000 animals, you see, they're classified. No feelings left -- left, you see. The -- the sooner the better.

Gentlemen, nature is on the way towards death. To say, "This is natural," means that I treat it as less and less important. It's a lessening of importance

when I put anything -- on anything the label "nature." And this you have forgotten. Nature is unimportant. I used before the word "indifferent." The word "unimportant" is also right, because gentlemen, in nature there is no high and no low. There is no difference--indifferent we are, you see--because you have no right to say that anything in nature is more important than anything else. The judgment in -- of -- of anything that it is natural means that it is not important, because in nature nothing is more important than anything else. You have of course tried to treat society of human beings in the same way: "Nobody is more important than anybody else," gentlemen. I think we have reached the end of our rope, gentlemen. Every -- you have to tell everybody quite the contrary, as Mr. Saroyan tried to -- to write this -- you know, the Armenian poet in this country, Saroyan. He wanted to write, he said, so that everybody would feel terribly important and absolutely irreplaceable. But that is not natural, gentlemen. If each tragedy is unique -- if the new tra- -- writer of tragedy would feel that nobody had ever written tragedy, you see, Aristotle's sentence would not have come true, that tragedy ceased, you see, when it had reached its nature.

Gentlemen, you and I must never try to reach our nature, because that reduces us to what we have been, what has already been lived before.

So now let us -- I put this down in Latin, gentlemen, because I wanted to draw your attention to the very different character of these two words of "nature" and of "creature." The sound in your English -- in your English ear, and your American ear, both ending in u-r-e, and you will not make much of them, as being differently formed. "Natura," however, and "creatura" have a very important difference. Neither Lucretius, nor Aristotle, nor Plato could make this distinction between "natura" and "creatura." And Greece came to an end because it couldn't make this distinction. "Natura," that which has to be born, or which is in process of being born, the end- -- the syllable of "urus" always means "in process of becoming." "Nature" in--and "physis," by the way, in Greek--are words of growth of known entities. That is, things have been born, therefore the child that is in the mother's womb will be born. And "natura" really means, as you know, birth. "Nasci," the word -- verb becomes -- renascence, you still have it there, rebirth. And in the present tense it has this "s" in it, which then is lost here -- it's originally "nas-tura," you see.

The -- "creature" is something very different, gentlemen. The word "creatura" which we need today to oppose to nature, which you hear so often now mentioned when we hear "creative writing," which is so -- or "creativity" which is the last refuge today of human beings who are killed by nature, by their own idol, by your belief in nature, in this cruel deity, of death, and of killing, and of warfare, and of the -- struggle for survival, and of all the qualifications which -- which go with nature: worthlessness, indifference. "Creatura" has

this total accent in our not yet knowing what has happened.

We say that God created the universe, in retrospect, because we say that we are still in creation. You know, there is a famous hymn, which was, by the way, sung for some college students in Bowdoin College first, 1900 -- 1906 by DeWitt Hyde, "We" -- "Creation's Lord, we give Thee thanks that we are in the making still." Who knows this hymn? Who knows this hymn? "Creation's Lord." It's in every hymn book. Don't you think? Don't you know? Well, it's an important verse, gentlemen. Creation's Lord, we give Thee thanks that we are in the making still. The word "creation" is an attempt to say that we haven't yet heard what's going to happen.

In Rome, gentlemen, the word "creation" was used for creating consuls every year, to give a name to the -- to the present year. The name of the -- two consuls was, so to speak, the dating of Rome. And every year had a new date. And it wasn't 1957, you see, it was much more pos- -- poetically: it was "Postubius" and "Jubius," you see, or "Caesar," or "Julius Caesar" and his colleague "Lepidus Amelius." And so to create a co- -- the consuls meant to name the new year with a unheard-of name. Creation is that which is not yet heard, which nobody has the right to have named. That's a creature. A creature is the not-yet named.

And now we come to the important comparison with the Greek mind -- right -- back right away, gentlemen. Creation points to the fact that the past at one time was not yet created, you see. Was not yet created, and therefore looked to man as still being in the future. If you say, "God created Heaven and earth," it's an attempt to remind you that at one point, everything we know, you see, was still unknown. And therefore, we must judge the past from our own experience, how we behave towards the unknown. And since we behave very silly to the unknown, especially fear, you see, it is very easy to understand why the { } people -- made all stress on the right kind of fear, and said, "Fear nobody, except God." Because you fear all wrong things. You fear the authorities. You fear the Joneses. You fear public opinion. You fear the Committee Against Communism. You fear, you fear. But it never dawns on you that you will only live right, into the future, if you only fear God and not -- nobody else. You are the most afraid generation that -- that is -- has ever lived for the last 2,000 years, because for 2,000 years, all people have known that right through the past to this day the future is feared, is dreaded. The right future, God's future, created. You have been told it's all natural. So now you are all overcome with fear. You are all cowards, my dear gentlemen. I've never seen such a coward generation as the modern college: teachers, administration, and students. Despicable. If I tell you my experience with cowardice, you would be surprised. Because you don't know that you are cowards, that we are all by our nature cowards, because it is

our nature to dread the future. { }.

A -- here was a boy, a student, killed by his col- -- fellow students, by the athletes in this college. He was hated, so they had a -- a drunken affair and went to his -- his room, and beat him up, and in the process he fell and died. It was hushed up. Instead of making this a great case, everybody feared the consequence. To this day, his parents have not forgiven Dartmouth College this cowardice. Nobody said a word in public, how bad this was. Nothing. It was all hushed up, gentlemen, because it was natural. After all, boys are boys. They got drunk. It was 1 o'clock at night. They intruded into his privacy, into his dormitory. So then he died. Well, who can help it? It's like a -- a fly that is crushed. It happens.

Gentlemen, if this boy -- this then -- you know what The Aegis is. That happened in spring. The Aegis came out in May, or in June. His name was not in it. His picture was not in it. He was a senior. He belonged there. But then you would have had to say something about his untimely death, wouldn't you? They dreaded the consequences. Nothing was done. His own classmates dropped him and his picture from their yearbook. This book exists. I own it. It's a -- ever since, Dartmouth College in my eyes is contemptible. And you have never redeemed it. I don't know if it will ever be redeemed. You are all guilty of the same cowardice. It would -- you would do exactly the same if it happened in your ge- -- generation. It would be, after all, with the public, and Lebanon, and Hanover, and White River Junction, and somebody else -- they would be all upset if this would -- would be mentioned, would it not?

Another story. We had a team on which a colored boy was playing tennis, and -- five years ago it was, or seven years ago. We went down -- offered Mary and Williams a match. And they said they would gladly play us, but not with a colored boy on our team. So the -- the team obviously did the -- what they should do -- have done. They -- they didn't go. The Clairemont Eagle at that time was -- what now The Valley News is, the only paper here in the region that came out daily. They declined to report it. They declined to report this good deed, because it would arouse feelings. That's called "the press" today in this country, publicity. Omitting everything that's important.

You don't know anything about the -- what we have done in the last two months in the world, gentlemen. The papers don't tell you. It's all one pious lie. You are the mi- -- most miserable, evaluating people in the world, because you treat politics as -- as nature, as facts, as you call it. There are no facts without the fear of the Lord. Because they are all of the future, gentlemen. They are all coming. All these misdeeds of American politicians are -- have to -- come home to roost. And you or your children will have to pay the penalty. But you don't

believe this. You don't believe in the visitation of our -- of our maker and creator. You don't call Him "creator." You call Him "nature." Well, in nature it's all fatal. And you can't do anything any- -- anyway. If you live in nature, gentlemen, why get excited, you see? The only way, gentlemen, of getting out of nature is to fear God.

Now, the Greeks wanted--as anybody who has read Lucretius knows this--they were angry with their fear of the gods. That's his great attack on religion, you see. Because if you have nature, instead of creatura, gentlemen, then you do not--will you kindly sum this all up in a formula?--when you treat everything as nature, you treat the present as an image of the past. When you, however, have fear -- the fear of the Lord in your bones, and call it -- that -- you say, "I'm a creature," then you treat the past as an image of the -- of your own present, and your own future. That is, if I read the Bible, gentlemen, I know that the authors of the Bible drew their conclusions from their own experience of life towards the past. They said, "Since I am still in creation, obviously at one time, God must have created Heaven and earth. I am not yet. And I know what it is to be nothing, and nobody. Therefore I know that God created the earth out of no- -- nothing." And if you ever have succeeded in becoming a new man, gentlemen, then you know that the creation of nothing is every good man's personal experience.

Yes, you can't, because you are all nature boys and nature girls, gentlemen. You cannot become anything surprising. You can only go on the scales every morning and weigh. That's of course very physical. That's physis. That's the only thing you think that can increase, your weight. But a man who gets married, or a woman who gets married, know very well that they are made over by this experience. They have never existed before. They were just in a dither; they were just shadows of themselves. Anybody who has put his foot down, and given up -- a declaration of his faith, he says, "Well I didn't know what life is -- was before I have said this." Now he is luminous. He's himself. He has been born by this one word of truth to his proper character.

Don't you think that Luther became a new man when he had said in Worms, "Here I stand. I cannot say anything else, God help me. Amen"?

He who speaks, gentlemen, is reborn by his own words. That's the meaning of the Gospel of St. John. "In the beginning was the Word," and the Word creates. Jesus is only a different man from other people, because He said something different. That's the only quality you can give Him. Because what He said, He became. He threw Him -- His word, and He threw Himself after His word. And that's all creatura, gentlemen. That's creation.

So gentlemen, creation deduces the past from the present. Nature deduces the present from the past. Now you all deduce, at least allegedly, the -- the present from the past, and even the future. Therefore, the future is perfectly uninteresting, gentlemen, because everything that is natural is uninteresting. It's unimportant, it's indifferent, it's uniform, it's classifiable, it is predictable, and it is fearless. Anything that wants to -- to come to life dreads its coming into life. Life is dreadful, gentlemen, or it isn't life. Dead things are not dreadful. They are totally indifferent. Most of you are indifferent; if you only were dreadful. That's the first -- if a boy is dreadful -- I mean, out of a juvenile delinquent, something can become, because he's at least sensitized to the nonsense of his society. But if a boy sleeps through all these temptations, you see, and mi- -- doesn't mind, he will remain indifferent ev- -- also to better appeals, of course. You can always say that a -- people who doesn't go insane in certain insane conditions has no brain, no sanity to lose, you see.

Creation dates the path from the -- from the -- our experience with how we enter the future. And nature dates the present and the future from what has happened allegedly before.

Now we come to the Greeks, gentlemen. The Greeks come from a socalled mythical, religious scenery. They have a cult in the -- every one in his own city. They pray to the gods of the city. And they explain how this city was founded by the myth. So they have two tenses. The mythical time is the time in which all the guilds and crafts, families, cults, temples, walls of the city were created, the law. Every law in the city is ascribed to some creative founder, and he is rejected into a mythical time. Zeus, you see, did this; and Hephaestus and Prometheus gave them the fire. And the mythical time therefore is divided into gods and heroes. Heroes. And here are the modern men in Greece, you and me, the -- the students in Dartmouth College; and they look back and say, "In time before, this was the time of the founders," as we call it, with a little weaker expression, you see, "the founding fathers, then we wrote the Declaration of Independence; now we repeat it." Then they had the 4th of July, now we hold onto the Constitution. That is, in the la- -- mind of you boys, gentlemen, these times are the extraordinary times; you would call them "extraordinary"; the Greeks called them "mythical"; and then this is you. You live in ordinary times; you are "just a human being."

Now gentlemen, once you make this decision, which you all do in your -- that for some unbelievable reason there were, at some -- one time, the Apostles and Christ; and another time, there were George Washington and Jefferson; and now we have mediocrity and politicians. Once you make this division, your own time is incapable of ever producing anything new, because the new and the extraordinary go together, you see. Mythical times have produced fire, and

architecture, and priesthood, and astronomy, and writing, and reading, you see. My own time is ordinary; is reasonable time. We are reasonable people. We are practical people. We ask, "What do we earn?" You see, how do we sell our cars? But Mr. Benz, and Mr. Merce- -- the man who invented Mercedes, and Zeppelin, and so, they invented the motor -- the { } without any money. They lost money on it. This -- you cannot be asked. That's unreasonable.

So your own time is ra- -- rational, reasonable, practical, economical--everybody pays his own way, and everybody does only things as you are recommended, which do not conflict with the presuppositions of the existing order. You won't -- won't be called a subversive, would you? Terrible, you see! You will not hide behind the 5th Co- -- Amendment; therefore you will never do anything interesting or important. You will remain absolutely indifferent to all questions of politics. You will be as natural as can be. You will be an ordinary man. And all the things that you use are, strangely enough, come from a mythical time. That's by and large, your own { }, gentlemen, from a mythical time in which somebody like George Fox, the Quaker, had a hearing. Today, we would just arrest him and put him into a mental asylum in -- in New York. I mean, he's just a re- -- fanatic, I mean, mental, sick. We would analyze him, give him two concubines, and everything would go.

Well, that's by and large your view of the world, gentlemen. You all live like Greeks. You -- the past is the creative time when extraordinary things happened for the first time. But at -- now we are much cleverer. We have given over our life to Madison Avenue. They tell us beforehand how many things will sell. And we will only produce those things which will sell. And we won't do anything that we cannot be paid for immediately. That would be impractical. And we are reasonable people. And we know the laws of nature. And the first law of nature is that where nothing is, nothing comes. And therefore creation out of nothing is impossible, so we won't create anything, you see, because it can't be done. We can -- we can only follow, conclude, you see. If I have $10,000, I can get 3 and-a-half percent interest. That's logical, isn't it?

So gentlemen, the Greek mind uses logos to increase the amount of physis around it. And that is the path from logos to logic. I tried to say -- tell you this before. Perhaps now you understand the implications. If you say that logos is nothing but logic--which my colleague, Mr. Mandelbaum would heartily agree with, that logos should be treated as nothing but the laws of the ordinary mind, you see, and not the inspiration of the extraordinary mind--if logos is only the bridge from the first impressions and the first experiences, to classificatory experiences and statements, then logo- -- logos is logi- -- logic is treated as a mere -- nothing but the structure of the ordinary, indifferent, natural universe. And the Greeks have turned logos into logic.

But you have done even better. Gentlemen, there -- one boy wrote a paper on the Stoics. And I think it's an historical, an epochal event. The Stoics came from Cyprus, as you know. Zeno, the first Stoic, was free of the Greek idolatry of logic. And therefore, he said, "By what means do we recognize what is the spirit with which we divide ethic, community, human life, future life, and natural life, and recurrent order?" And he said, "First the five senses. Then our generative power, our power to -- to -- to love." He knew that love makes us speak fanciful things. "The poet's eye in holy frenzy rolling," I mean, you have to be in love to speak great truth. Then he said, "Language itself is a great inspirer of my mind. It fills me with all kind of powers, associations." And then he went on and said, "But the leading, the directing force in man's power of knowing, of recognizing, is the heart. And the whole logos comes from the heart."

Whereupon my Dartmouth student went and translated "heart" with "reason." And destroyed the whole idea of the Stoa. Who -- who is the gentleman, if he's good enough. I -- I -- you must have found it in your paper. Who is it? Will he not confess? It's a remarkable forgery, gentlemen. A remarkable forgery of a modern American mind, who cannot understand that this man Zeno already belonged to the 20th century. In Europe, people know this again. In this country, you still believe in reason. That is in something up here, and omit the directing power of the heart. The reason, gentlemen, of the brain, has no direction. It is merely pragmatic. You can never get from a -- the brain anything but reasons. But not direction. A reason is the opposite from a direction. You get reasons after you have decided where you want to go. You can adduce thousands of reasons why you want to go. That's called "rationalization."

But to call the heart -- translate the heart with the English word "reason," that's high treason. And it was done in this paper without any rhyme or reason, because after all, in his -- in his sources, it was clearly stated that Zeno, the founder of the Stoa and all the other Stoics, knew that direction cannot come from the logic, you see. Logos is more than logic, because logos is the power that fills reason with the task to explain what is already present. A theologian, gentlemen, is a man who has experienced God and then tries to give his reasons why he might persuade others, too. But if he hasn't experienced God, please don't let him become a theologian. It's hopeless. I know now so many theologians who have no experience of God. And they think they can study God. You can't. By no logic will it ever become plausible to you that there is a God.

I mean, I know many ministers who have the effrontery -- even Catholic priests, I know -- I met a boy from Manhattan College who gave all the reasons of St. Thomas for the existence of God. But of course, he himself was an atheist. I've never seen -- well, he had never any other connection with God except the

reasons he could give for Him. And you just felt so frozen out by his approach.

I was there together -- it was -- with this army camp in -- in upper -- in New York state, in the -- on the Bear Mountain Bridge -- Bear Mountain Bridge. They had a military camp after the war. And students could live there. And it was a quite an interesting group. And there was a boy there who wanted to study for the priesthood Thomism. But gentlemen, Thomism is atheism, if it isn't coupled with the first experience of the human heart to his creator. No use using your brain, giving reasons why there is a God, if you feel that the boy never knew of God, anyway.

And that it should have happened in this class, in one of the papers, I thought is significance enough to -- to tremble, really. I fear for the future of this country, gentlemen, because with this sleight -- legerdemain, you are able in -- in such a term paper even to omit the kernel. And you think you have done a good job. I -- I'm afraid I have given this man C+. I shouldn't. It was E. He omitted -- you omitted the gist of the matter. An attempt on the -- in the Greek history to -- to face about, and to stop this constant intrusion of logic and of nature upon our experiences of being created, of being not yet anything known, of having still to say what we will do -- want to be.

A girl that says "yes" to the man who proposes to her is a different person. She's changed by the word -- one word she has spoken. She becomes this man's wife, does she not? She enters history only as his wife. Nothing before matters. She's forgotten. Because she married Abraham Lincoln, she now is known. That's all. And that's what she lived for, for -- to speak this one word. One word is enough to make over a man. A man who takes a bride, or a man who says "no" at this decisive moment is only the man who turn- -- turned down the bride or who took it. And he is nobody else.

But you all take the bride, because you say it's natural. And your only hope is that you won't be found out. But you can only live -- and t- -- you can only have the courage to turn down the bride if you -- have the fear of God in your -- in your -- in your system. If you are only afraid of being found out, then of course you can take the bride, because you only have to feel then, you see, that it isn't the perfect crime. And that's the whole attitude of most of you: "I'll do it, but I make sure that nobody will find out."

Which always amazes me among your -- in your interest in -- in crime, gentlemen. The only interest you have: is he stupid enough to be found out? My only interest is in the crime, that it must be punished. I have absolutely -- I cannot understand how people can read detective stories. It's a mystery to me. It's a total perversion in my mind. Because that is all within reason, you see. You

understand -- why I mean. I'm interested in the man who doesn't commit the crime -- or who does commit the crime that his barrier of fear breaks down to God. But you only fear the -- the police. That's not a noble fear; it's not an interesting fear, even. It is a pure animal fear. Has nothing to do with humanity.

Nature and creation then, gentlemen, are divided in the Greek spirit in such a way that they are divided in a mythical time, and in natural time. The more nature permeates the mind of the philosopher in Greece, the more he says, "We people should live naturally." And the more the gulf is enlarged between the mythical time of creation, of which they cannot get rid, and their own time. And the more you -- enlarge this abyss between the mythical time and your own time, gentlemen, the more the present becomes the ordinary time; and the mythical time the extraordinary time; and the future is impo- -- it becomes impossible. It becomes absolutely impossible.

At that point, the Greek spirit broke down, gentlemen. What made Christianity win, is something very sim- -- simple. The Christians insisted that the mythical time was just as much ahead as it was in the past. And it was just as much in the present as it was in the past. And therefore the Bible begins with the naked couple, Adam and Eve. Not with Prometheus, and not with Heracles, and not with anybody extraordinary, you see. But the Bible is an attempt to make the people of the past ordinary and the present-day people extraordinary, because it had to correct the Greek mind. The Greek mind says, "The people in the beginning were heroic. And we are ordinary. We are reasonable. We -- therefore we can understand rationally what we're doing," you see. "And we can report these miraculous beings at the beginning." You understand? But the Christian revelation says that because man tries to behave as an ordinary man, he misses out about the future. And if he is not an extraordinary man, he cannot create the future.

And therefore, the whole -- the whole distinction is between creatura {hominis} and natura {hominis}. The -- the Christian church goes so far that it even appeals to the wine that is blessed in the Church, and to the bread as creatura, because -- gentlemen, please mark this well, because otherwise you'll never understand Holy Communion and what-not in the Christian faith. You will think also that's a superstition, because you can only understand nature. You know very well that bread has to be taken from the spears of the -- from the field, from the grain, from the wheat, or the rye, and then it has to be mi- -- put into the mill; and then it has to be ground into flour; and then it has to be mixed with water, and then you can have -- and the leaven, the yeast, and then you can have bread. And therefore you see that bread can only come off if, after nature has done its work, something social, something cultural, something historical, something technical is added. Bread is not what we find in the fields.

But the process of creation goes on in your own treadmill, in -- on your own oven. And that is all against your belief. You say, "That's just a { } social arrangement, that's such a second-rate thing, society." That's your { }. With the wine the same. There is no wine in the grapes. It has to be put in barrels. It has to be fer- -- has to ferment. It has to be bottled. It has to be then cooled or warmed. And then it is unbuttoned -- un- --how do you call it?--uncorked, and then it is ready for use after several years. The longer the time, the better.

So the Church has expressed this -- this enmity against the Greek spirit very well in calling bread and wine "creatura." They are still to be created beyond their process outside human society, you see. And the -- so the two great blessings in the Church for bread and wine begin: O creatura vini -- O creatura panis. Which goes to show that the Church is very radical, anti-Greek in saying that these creatures still await their final consummation, you see. And the real wafer at the Holy Communion is not general -- bread or -- or -- or cranberry juice in general, as they now give in Methodist churches. But it is the wine that has been waiting for you and for whom -- which you have been waiting. It's your Communion wine. If you cannot realize this, you will always be superstitious with regard to Holy Communion. If you think that's wine in general, gentlemen, you cannot be redeemed. It isn't. And most people, of course, drink to their own perdition in the Holy Communion, because they don't understand. And they think they're just taking -- they have just bought something in the general store at Macy's.

The drink is just as unique as you are at that moment. It unites with you because at that moment only does this wine reach his destination. And you have therefore to call it with the personal pronoun, "she" and "he." It isn't "it." That's why the Church makes this great detour and this -- solemn formula, "O creatura panis, O creatura vini." And that's not said in vain, gentlemen. That's the salvation of the human race, that you and I can feel that not only we are only at this moment coming to pass. The whole creation moans and groans in order to come to pass tomorrow. It's perfectly natural for me to believe, gentlemen, that God created in the beginning Heaven and earth, because for Heaven's sake, I do still hope that there will be a d- -- day in which out of your dead clay, and your -- this dead material of your -- of your background, or however they call it, you might be created. You aren't yet created. Don't believe that for a minute. You are -- at this moment, you are nature, pure nature. And you wait for the word that will bring you into life. You haven't yet heard it, your word, which nobody else can say.

There will be an hour in your life, I'm -- it comes to every man and nation -- comes the hour to decide. Perhaps you have heard this hymn? Does anybody know it? Or again am I a single theologian? Yes? "Once to every man and nation

comes the hour to decide"--isn't that it?--which means that every one of you, gentlemen, will have his dark hour of temptation, or his great hour of illumination, or his wonderful hour of love. In which form it ever comes, it is unique. And it has come to nobody else before. And if you miss this hour, as mo- -- -any people do, from fear of human agencies upon your sh- -- from your terrible anxieties of -- of being found out that you are something extraordinary, gentlemen, then you miss this hour; you cannot be created. Most of you remain nature. You remain dust. Most people are before their birth today. You are all pre- -- before your own nativity.

And this is so serious now in America, that you even yourself joke, and say you are "only 12 years old." What does it mean? You are before your own nativity. Because what is 12 years? It's the age before a man can say a word of his own discretion. When a word can be held against you because you have said it, then you are born. Not before -- as a man, as a person, you see. Anything you have said before is so general, you see, that people cannot hel- -- hold it against you. You say, "Oh, I just said that. I didn't mean it. I spoke -- talked through my hat."

Now since you all say that Americans are 12 years old, you simply say that you are not yet created. And this whole, great country gentlemen, is this side of its own creation. This is not a joke, gentlemen. I mean every word of it. I mean that in 150 years since the days of Jefferson, you have been so proud of going the way of nature, the way of all flesh, that you have gone it. Most of you, as The {Chirotekes} shows, and as all Dartmouth Col- -- College shows to me daily, are very proud that you will never be heard to say a word that can be held against you.

Gentlemen, as long as a man cannot say a word which can be held and must be held against him, he's a coward; he's a piece of dirt. He is not a man. And he certainly is not a human being in any sense of the word that entitles him to s- -- have a name, and to say something in -- in reality. Numbers, cattle, which you try to be. And you are very proud of this. That's so funny. But full of fear. And you have a whole -- a whole stable full of Egyptian sorcerers who try to tranquilize your fear. They call it sleeping pills, tranquilizers, psychoanalysis, gentlemen. What else is it? They say, "Don't be afraid." Gentlemen, I tell you, "Be afraid!" It is only the question -- don't you think I'm afraid? But I'm less afraid of your disapproval, gentlemen, than of some other person's disapproval, who is a little higher up than you. That's why I do not care what you think of me, gentlemen, really not. As long as I have the fear of the Lord, how can I treat you lordlings as important? But you are only afraid: the teacher has to be pleasant. Gentlemen, why should I be pleasant? It's not my business to please you at all. If then -- I cannot teach you if I want to please you. It's an unpleasant business to

teach people who want to be asleep.

This has very much to do, gentlemen, with the cyclical vision of the Greeks. The -- the era -- you have to be a pessimist about the future if you are Greek. Because if you really know that you discriminate between a creative period of mankind, the founders, and the ord- -- ordi- -- and your attempt to make everything look ordinary, and everything look natural, then you say that you are constantly reducing the energies with which the future has to be created. It is a constant running-down of the clock. And the physicists, as you know, have even invented this psychodynamic law, this physiodynamic law, thermodynamic law that the world is losing energy all the time a little bit, and it is getting colder all the time on this earth, and so -- and so on.

Now every one of you knows that the salmons go upstream, gentlemen. And every one of you knows that the penguins or -- who are these animals in the Pacific, who do not eat for three months when they mate? Who are they? The -- what? Ja, ja. And -- thank you. And therefore, it is simply not true, gentlemen, that we always consume energy. It is just as true that we wind up the clock as the fact that the clock runs down. All good clocks, gentlemen, are wound up by somebody -- in our household, at least they are, and they -- we have a clock that has to be wound up. And somebody does it. If I forget it, my wife does it and vice versa. And gentlemen, the whole problem of the Greek relation between community and nature is that they did not believe that anybody in their own lifetime could wind up the clock.

Now you see therefore that the problem of logic and log- -- logos is very -- very decisive in this fact. Logos is the power to explain how the clock runs down, and the power to wind it up again. For the Greeks, however, and for you, logos is only logic. And that only explains why the clock runs down, why it runs from ethos, from community, from sacrifice, from creation, from -- genius into ordinary imitation.

You can explain why one poet, Spender, can be imitated by 10,000 American college students. You cannot explain Mr. Spender. I'm only interested in Mr. Spender. I say, "The clock always will run down." That's natural, you see. But it takes a tremendous ethos, and a tremendous power of the logos to convince one man of you that he should become a poet, instead of selling short stories to the Saturday Evening Post, which is the opposite from poetry, which is infamy, which you shouldn't do. But you think that you can become a poet by writing short stories for the Saturday Evening Post. Gentlemen, that's impossible. That means you want to have the name of the extraordinary, a writer, for something ordinary. And that is the forgery of modern man, that he wants to keep these mythical expressions "creative writing." And what does he do with the course in

creative writing? He prostitutes it. He wants to please the editor of The Dartmouth -- of the Saturday Evening Post. This you cannot. That's not writing, gentlemen. That's imitation. You imitate writing.

And that you -- and that's why we -- colleges are today a stumbling block for progress. Because in these colleges, you imitate the creative life. You imitate mythical time. You talk big about the Gettysburg Address. But at the same time, you take courses which prove to you that you should never do s- -- anything unheard-of, that you should always comply with the orders, that you should never rebel, that you should not be subversive, that you should take an oath every month on the American Constitution, and so on and so forth.

Gentlemen, that's -- you are caught in a terrible lie, because you use these great words of poetry, of -- of freedom, of decision, and for what do you use it? To sell your wares. No.

Thank you.