{ } = word or expression can't be understood
{word} = hard to understand, might be this

(I'm troubled by your -- your ranking of senses. It seems to me that {to} put the nose first excludes what is obviously a much more intimate sense -- taste.)

I apologized in the beginning. Perhaps you overheard it. I said last time I would for brief- -- -ity's sake, omit taste. I wouldn't deal with it specifically. I might have, you see. You're quite right that you argue. But I have -- I think my argument doesn't suffer from this omission really, because the other senses are the ones that are, for example, used in the mental -- so-called mental processes. I mean, when you corrupt the children in your school, you use the other senses, hearing and -- and seeing, you see. So, since I want to rescue the child from you, I had to stress this abuse of seeing and hearing, you see. The smell in a school is very poor.

And so this would apply to taste, I mean { }. You're quite -- I mean, it is quite right that taste is even more central. But -- it would take me just a -- perhaps at the end of this turn, I can come back to this. There is -- it's a real omission, I know it.

Ja?

(Yes, I have a question. Maybe you haven't -- you -- you're -- you were going into this further this evening. Considering our -- your criticism of our being analytical of things before we do them, that we see it pass before us, we analyze it before we -- or tend to analyze it before we go into it. I wanted -- I was very confused by what you mean by "analytical," I think, because as an example, an architect builds a building. He has to draw on past experience and be fairly analytical about what he's going to do. In other words, he doesn't want the building to fall down. On the other hand, too, he can exhibit his flair for this particular task by architecting a different sort of a building, for instance, a church. He -- he could -- )

Well, you know well that we emerge from a period, from a century, in which a fa‡ade was drawn first and then something was put in. On our campus where -- at Dartmouth College -- we have an old Dartmouth Hall. That's the oldest building of the campus, allegedly, you see, and when you look at the front, which was rebuilt twice because arson burned it down, you have no idea what's going inside. All the rooms are carefully concealed and this they call architecture. So I mean, if you follow the eye, the architect is a poor architect. If he, however, reproduces his movements through the building, then it might be possible for a

visitor -- for a Pentagon, you see -- to find your way through it. But we emerge just from a period in which the eye dictated to the -- to the architect his behavior or his -- his craft, and the results are terrible, or have been terrible.

(So, he was being analytical...)

But you now call functional is an attempt to overcome, you see, this dead, still-life of -- through -- through the eye.

(Well, I -- I -- I think maybe I'm being too specific. I'm -- I'm trying to generalize in -- in the sense of, what is being analytical about something and -- and drawing from past experience?)

If the architect analyses movements, he's doing all right. If he analyzes vistas, he's doing wrong -- going wrong. So you see the eyesight { } difference.

(Yes.)

The word "analytical," of course, can mean good things and bad. I mean, in the -- I tried to show that it is the exaggerated importance of what we see which is behind this -- beginning with analysis. Because you can only analyze, usually, what -- what can be seen, or can be made visible. Rorschach tests, you see. And so we are all treated as insane. Well, we misjudge people from seeing, don't we?

Is there more? I mean, your question is a -- is very useful because we must -- of course, I'm very willing to sacrifice the term, "analytical." What I've started with is the --

(Well, that helps a great deal.)

Wie? What else? Ja? No? Eloise, no question? Ja?

(I might have one for Don {Hartzog}, the Presbyterian chaplain who was here last time, who asked about the -- the odor of death that one associates with Golgotha as -- as one of the senses; wanted a response.)

Well, I'm very glad you asked this question. The difference between ani- -- the animal and the human being is that all animals run away from death. And man has -- begins to be man at the very moment where he buries his dead; that is, where he stands by the corpse. That's super-human. And the recognition that my -- your death is my event, an event in my life, and has to be recognized -- as such, you see, is the beginning of history. The funeral is the first state. That's why all tribes, you see, all primitive people lay great store by the dirge, by the --. Jew --

the Jews, who are the most conservative people of mankind -- at this moment, as long as they have not gone back to Palestine, you see, still have wailers. The women wail and the -- men intone. You can see the transition from the animal cry to articulated language in this relation -- up to St. Paul, you see, and his famous and notorious words about the women -- the women in the services of any group shouted, wailed, cried, and did -- the men spoke. And when he says, you see, that the wo- -- women shall be silent in the congregation, he means -- he prepares them for their role today where they are allowed to be ministers because for 2,000 years they haven't wailed and shouted. This is unknown.

And the suffragettes abuse poor Paul because he has -- he has trained the female sex, you see, in coming over to the men's side by only -- by talking also -- speaking also articulatedly. All services of the magna Mater or Venus, of -- of Hera were -- such a way that the women, you see, would represent the -- the first stage of sound and tone, and as -- as I said, wail, shout, and chant -- sho- -- what's the opposite of -- of wailing. What would you say? Ju-- what's the verb of jubilation?

({ } "be joyful"?)

And a -- a friend of mine -- just to show you how primitive people go back to this -- a friend of mine lived on a -- on a broad way in Berlin, Germany, when Hitler came to power. And had a -- very beautiful windows looking over the -- the main street and -- Unter den Linden. And one day he was in his front room when several women appeared in Nazi uniform, and said they were ordered to come -- go here. There was a procession, you see, something big for the party, for the Nazi Party.

And he said, "But what are you going to do in my room here? In my lodging -- I don't understand."

"Oh, we are -- have been ordered to -- to jubil- --" to -- what is it? To jubilation?

(Rejoice?)

No! To make the noise of jubilation. Not enjoy at all. Make others enjoy it, or frighten the others, I don't know. But I mean, certainly make a terrible noise, you see. That's a return to real primitivism. And this -- this division between men and women was -- and in the first days of mankind -- that only the warrior spoke articulately and the woman shouted. And -- and with Christianity, you see, the transmission of articulated speech to the woman, even in religious exercises, became common. And the ignorance of our ministers only is so great that they do

not even know what to tell the suffragettes. They don't understand that St. Paul, you see, created for the first time the qu- -- the equality between woman and man. As you know, in the synagogue to this day the women have -- do not participate. And the orthodox synagogue, you see, the man still says in his prayer book, you see, "I thank you, God that I have not been created a woman."

That's very important, you see. Because all these old stages of -- of utterance have been kept and the transition from animal to man is marked out by man's fortitude to face the death of his hero -- of his leader. And what we call heroworship is exactly this, you see: the worship of the hero. A great passion is necessary is to overcome your first reaction to run away. A corpse is not a -- nice thing and it takes some persuasion to say "This is such a great man that he has to have a state funeral," you see. The natural man simply -- as a horse does, I mean, any -- any animal, you know, runs away from the herd when it feels it must die. And retreats. And the others leave him alone. No animal -- when it can, I mean, when it isn't shot by men, I mean -- dies within the fold, you see. It runs away into a corner, hides, and is no longer seen. And that's the way it ends its life. We have drawn death into the limelight of the group. And we gather around and the blessing of the dying man is, of course, through all antiquity an important part of his -- of the correct, so to speak, career of a life inside the group. And we, of course, have lost sight of this. We have -- we conceal again the dead people. We let them die in a technical way. We dr- -- I mean, we -- we drug them, and so on. That's just -- a sign of the complete disorder in our society -- that -- a father and a mother don't say farewell to their children when they die. I have been privileged that my father took his leave from all his children and gave to every child what had to be said. And it's -- I'm told that this -- most people avoid this. It's quite a different world in which a man lives who has been blessed by his father in his dying -- on his bed -- deathbed, and somebody who hasn't. It makes a difference.

And certainly for the origin and the power of speech, it is very decisive. All imp- -- the words that tie together nations, communities, congregations, you see, reach only stature and stability when the living and the dead and the newborn all belong in -- to some continuous stream. I mean, nothing is worth doing that doesn't outlast your or my life. You can leave everything that is only for your own fashion and your own appetite. This isn't very important. You can do it or you cannot do it. I mean, it is of no relevance. It is indifferent. But something that will be done by your child becomes very serious. And that's why education is a tormentious process, because mostly we -- we achieve the opposite. That the children do the opposite from what we want them to do, after we have gone. So it's a big mystery. How can we, you see, live in a society in which our grandchildren still will continue the path we have started on? I think that's a concern of the -- of the Birchists. It's their better instinct -- the better part of their instinct is this continuity, you see. They express it in a funny way, because it

certainly is the -- the wrongest way which they try to achieve this end, you see. Coercion will never do, or fright, fear, or so. But the riddle of your and my existence is, "What have we in common with our grandparents" and "What have you in common with your grandchildren"" If you have nothing in common, good night to Southern California.

When the great humorist and Catholic, Chesterton, came to New York, you see, the waiter showed him the city and said, "Isn't it magnificent?" They had all the skyscrapers which you now intend to bring -- build up in Santa Monica.

And he, Chesterton, of course, was frightened to death and said, "Oh yes, Sir," to the waiter. He was very polite. "You're right. It's a wonderful city, but will it be here tomorrow?"

You see. That is the whole question of all -- everything we do. And if death is not conquered, or realized, or faced, there's no hope. Mankind then will go in w- -- in circles. You all assume that you have the power to achieve something that your children will continue, and you all do continue -- mein the whole University of California, the state of California, everything is based on the assumption that what in 1849 has been started in -- by some hook and crook -- is going on, a very mis- -- despite the death of everyone who lived that -- there 100 years ago.

That's what we are concerned with here. The topic of my lectures is, "Which power enables us to establish what is called history and what is called society and what is called continuity?" And where -- the first question you wi- -- you may ask me is, "What does it matter? Tomorrow I'm dead." Because the funny thing is that not one of the existing people here in this room will live 100 years from today. And yet, what I say here is for this reason not irrelevant. I -- it has to be said here today, for this very modest -- attempt to -- for all of us not to go so astray that there will be no 2- -- no 2050. It's obvious, you see, that we speak for this purpose here. Therefore, the death of every one of you has in one way -- be noticed, because you have to be replaced. And in another way, it has also been acknowledged, because it is true that we all die, and we are gone, and there must be room for others. But they are not just others. But they are successors. They are our heirs.

And so, the -- your question -- may I sum it up? To the senses, which man has been given and shares with the animal, there is given this strange metamorphic power. We not only smell, but we scent, and have a flair for politics because it is not that -- a physical living body only dies, but you can flair -- scent that something is rotten in the -- the state of Dane, that something is dying. And I told you in the beginning, you weren't here, Mr. Meyer, but this was my first point and I

like to stress it very heavily, that man is in this strange position that he is born into a changing universe. As a child in the first 13 months of his existence in -- outside the womb of his mother, he is still in the womb of language and this language changes every -- ever so often, all the time, so that a child born in 1962 receives an equipment of speech into his nervous and muscular system which is quite different from what his grandfather received. And -- that's the first great difference from the animal that every one of us is born into a -- into a different equipment, and I told you that the biologists say that man should be carried in his mother's womb 22 months. But instead he's only carried 9 months in his mother's womb and 13 months outside and the protecting society, with its swaddling clothes and its cradle, you see, and the -- its wet nurse, make up for these 13 months and while the body of the mother functions, of course, in the natural world without any historical change, the 13 months in this second womb of time are constantly changing.

And I told you this raises, of course, the obvious question that we, in our lifetime, after -- we have born -- been born into a changing environment, are obliged at the end of our life or before the end of our life to change our legacy. Our children must not inherit the same world into which we came, you see. But we have to bury that part of this world, you see, which deserves to be buried.

And man is an undertaker, if he understands his position in this world, you see, as much as he is -- historical being receiving a changing world. And so -- your question is the central -- brings up the central distinction between man and -- and animal. All our senses can be used for transcending the living environment. They -- we can reach into the past because we have the scent -- not just for the animal next door, you see, next -- our neighbor in space -- but we also can have a flair for what is rotten in the wider environment, which has been taken out and buried. We not only bury heroes, we also bury laws. We bury -- tear down houses, you see. We re-erect houses. That is, the change between -- life and death is our constant commission. We are trustees of this life process, you see, just as a child, as a baby is so wonderfully new. Every child who tells the truth is a genius, because it can receive new elements, and no animal can. And every man is a founder, because it is -- entrusted to him to decide what has died -- what has to be buried, and what shall go on and has to live. He makes the decision, or she makes the decision. Every mother does when she selects the words the child learns, you see. And if you omit all the four-letter words, then the child will learn them somewhere else. It is better you tell them. I mean, there is an over-burial. You can bury too many things. Then -- then all proper -- you cannot bury something that's alive. It will take its revenge and crop up in unforeseen places.

Second, if you look at the eye, there's insight. We see also things of the past, and we have to decide by our insight -- the human eye doesn't see it physically here in this room -- but insight tells us, you see, which wisdom has to be taught

again. And so is this with the other senses. I hear with my outer ear. But already St. Paul said, as you know in Acts, that "They have ears and hear not." The prophet said it, by the way. And "They have eyes and see not." Our eyes again can jump -- jump across the abyss of death. And there are things that have lived before us, you see, that are so monumental that they must not be allowed to die. Take the Constitution of the United States. Take the American flag. You take it for granted, you see, that you are responsible for their afterlife. They must not die. And so this decision bet- -- of life and death -- I'm going to speak on this at the last meeting, I hope, and you -- you know in your -- in your index, in your schedule, it's the -- the title of the last lecture, that speech is a life-and-death struggle.

But at -- at this moment, it's { } I have said, useful for you to consider these words, "insight," "obedience," "flair," and "style" in architecture, for movement, for stylized movement -- there are other words, by the way, too; just have not -- don't have them on my finger -- or the tip of my lips -- where we transfer the physical act of -- of seeing, you see, to this larger confrontation with everything that are in us. "I can remember," you see, and then make this decision, "Is it alive or is it dead?"

So, I've -- I thought it was too difficult to start today with this question of -- this decision between the living and the dy- -- dead, but it's just as well that you brought it up. There's much more to be said, as you can imagine. But the first thing is: men must face death, animals can't. No animal can face death, the death of its -- a part of it is --. It runs away from it. And people today become animals because they do run away from death and leave it to undertakers and paid agents and -- to -- to bury their dead. That's not the way of dealing with death.

Death has to be faced. And of course, it can only be faced by a greater love that overcomes the awe and the atroc- -- atrociousness of death. Dea- -- dead people look badly, I assure you. I mean, if you come to think about them. They do not look it, because the embalmer today shows you a face, you see, of the Archangel Gabriel. And that's -- that's so wonderful. You pay for the angelic face of your beloved. But I haven't to say anything. You just go here to the cemetery and see what they're doing.

I mean, we -- you live in a -- the big lie, you see, that death is not to be contemplated. But it's constantly with us. And if you don't exercise this, your privilege to decide between death and life, you just become perfectly in- -- unimportant and you are in the hands of rabble-rousers and demagogues and -- those are people who shout, and usually shout that -- that Jesus has to be crucified and Barrabas has to be set free. That's exactly the typical decision, you see, of the -- the masses who are not accustomed to decide between life and death. If

you -- if they don't decide, you will always kill the savior and always worship the Neros. It -- can't be { }. Mr. Hitler is a very good example.

{ }, in this meeting today, I thought -- is there -- are more -- any more, further questions?

Here is still one seat. A good seat. There. Come. There are here two seats, yes?

Let me go backward for a moment in order to go forward. Again, that's a very human thing. No animal can take a head start. Because it means to go in the opposite direction, you see, for the direct -- opposite from the direction wh- -- which you really want to take. No animal can make a detour. A circus may teach an animal to go round. An animal, when it see -- knows there is the door, it has to go right to this door, and it -- it is a very, you see, takes a long training because you -- before you can teach a horse or a dog to go around. That's the -- is -- we can. We can act visibly against the intention which we, you see -- in the end, wish to fulfill. Any lady whom you meet on the street, will not tell you by her walk into which door she will turn. You can say it of every man in which -- where he goes. You can never say it of a lady. If you can, she is not a lady.

Let us look back. I have tried to show you that our speech consists of three layers: names, with which the speaker and listener greet each other and make peace between each other. We meet here in the name of truth, or of common interest in the secrets of our togetherness. And so the name of -- well, say, truth and the name of you people who have written in and paid your dues, and my name, you see, bring us together. Now we exchange words. That's our human side. I speak to you and you ask questions. And so we are on a level of words. They are totally different from names, because your and my name sticks to us for a lifetime. The words come and go. They are of every -- of one day. They have a short life. Names are long-lived.

But there is something else to names which I would like to add today. Most people -- most all linguists ignore this. From the very first day of mankind, man has desired a universal language. Not a technical language like Esperanto, but a really, fundamentally one, unified language, an ir- -- irresistible unity, the same unity that we mean when we speak of the fact that God is one and unique.

You see this from the fact that names are international. The name of Christ lived -- can live in any language. Unfortunately also the name of Mr. Hitler. The name of Julius Caesar. The name of Charlemagne. The name for "king" in Hungarian is still to this day Karl, Charlemagne, you see. {K rolyi}. I can't understand why people do not see that the -- the language of mankind already has one-third of worldwide validity.

A friend of mine, a surgeon in the First World War, had to treat a Hindu who had been -- who had been made a prisoner and was -- had to be operated on. And the Hindu trembled. He was afraid of -- what would these -- these wicked Germans would do to him. And my friend saw his fear and so he bent over his bed and said three times distinctly, "Rabindranath Tagore." And the prisoner began to smile because he knew the name of this great Hindu poet. And anybody who could intone this name had to be a friend.

That's a great story, I think, to show you that from the beginning our names overlap. They go through the whole world, negatively or positively, as blessing or as a curse. But all the linguists, the grammarians in their nationalism of the last hundred years have tried to persuade you that even names are only part of your own little national group. That's not true. The names all, you see, go across, so that Miss Anderson and -- and Luther King are even known in Alabama.

That's very serious, because it shows you that man -- it is not true that primitive man, that Adam and Eve did not aspire at the same unity of the human race as at which you aspire. We are forced now today, under the impact of the bomb. The unity of mankind is the yearning of every human being since man was born on this earth. He didn't have the technical means to achieve it. He was separated by incredible obstacles. He had to dread his brother man so he -- the Eskimos went into a region where they just wouldn't meet anybody else. And -- yes, we can prove they were the Quakers of their days. They just didn't want to bear arms. There have been such tribes. In every time -- at every period of history such a movement as the Quaker movement has existed. You mustn't think that's very original. As all other denominations have existed, I mean, the other trends, you see. Even Episcopalians. And in -- in some form, that is, the aim, the -- emphasis has been on all these problems of all the denominations, you see, and every one type you may call is a -- an anticipation of one denomination. Today we have 287 denominations in this country, and a thousand years back you had 287 tribes. I don't see much difference.

Yes, there is a difference. There is the knowledge of all these denominations that they belong to each other. They spread from one root. And that is the essence of the -- our -- Christian era: that now people have enacted this worldwide namedness, you see, and can act upon it. And the other -- the prophetic era, you see, of the era of the old law to which not only the Old Testament belongs, and all the nations of the earth, of course, they waited for the moment in which they could make each -- the other understand that they were all out for the same, that they wished to achieve unity, but in their own -- on their own -- in their own groups { } exactly in the same direction. Only the other groups, you see, did not know, that the -- the others were on the same way. Some even knew. If you read the history of the red Indians, there is a great awareness between the five

nations -- that, you see, that's why they united, these five nations, with great ceremony, that they were destined to become one.

This I wanted to bring back to you because we today in the la- -- in -- in -- in the last 150 years have been, as you know, sold down the river to the naturalists who say that speech is something natural: the -- the animals grunt, and groan, and shout, and cry, and in their estrus they sing even, the birds; so man does just the same. That is untrue. Man's common language begins -- language begins when he names the dead and doesn't forget them and stands by when they die and accepts their parting breath.

In China today, there are s- -- is still a great group of people who lay great store on the presence of the children when the parents die. And when this isn't possible, some substitution has been made. The breath of the dying has to be received by the living, so that they cannot forget that a part of their system, you see, goes on. And the same breath, you see, is transmitted through all the generations.

And where there is one name, like Iroquois, or Apaches, for one tribe, it just means that death is overcome. That's a victory over death, because the name lives on. We have nothing except the name. At -- at first you can, of course, have a -- a tomb. But for a migrating tribe, the tomb is not very important because they leave the place; and so the tomb, you see, cannot constitute the center of their existence. They have to be on the move. That's why language is the very mysterious gift to man because he can conquer death. The living know that they have been named by the -- by the dead and they know that they have to give the s- -- name of their father to the son. That's why the grandfather and the grandsons usually have the same name, you see, in many peo- -- in many nations, because in this way the memory is testified to. It is no superstition in this that they think the son is, as some anthropologists pretend to know, is the grandfather. It's simply the reverence for this sacred gift of the name.

I have always found that in -- at -- at closer inspection that the natives certainly are wiser than the anthropologists. The exaggeration of the anthropologists, I mean, a man like Malinowski, is just unbelievable. It's a scandal. This {distort-} -- I wouldn't think this possible that people poke such fun at -- at -- at great realities.

We have in our -- in our tradition three words that specialize with regard to names, words, and numbers. Since this is unknown, especially also to the theologians, I thought you might be interested to see that hope, love, and faith have very much to do with these three groupings.

We hope when we know something. That is, hope is coordinated with things. Something to be hoped for means that we know the appearance of this and it's worth to think that we would wish to have it again, or we wish to have usually more of it. You have a child and you hope that you will have more children. Or you have seen a child and you say, "I hope to have children." That is, hope is always -- and that's unknown in this country. America is the country of hope, but it is also the thing of bric-a-brac and things and of Sears, Roebuck. And in the catalog of Sears, Roebuck, you can see all the things you hope to possess one day. Well, I'm quite serious. I do not poke fun -- it is necessary to have things. We would be naked if we didn't want them. But it is only one thing to hope for things.

And numbers express -- if I have one child, I can hope for more and if I have one Auto -- car, I can hope for two. In -- practically, numbers express our relation to -- through hope -- with -- to the universe, sufficiently. We hope for more of what we know, or we hope for less of the plagues we are suffering from, you see. Hope always means that you start from the path of knowledge. You have already touched, and seen, and smelled, and heard what this thing can do. You have one transistor, so you get 10 more. That's un- -- since America has specialized on hope and since everybody in the in the rest of the universe will s- -- tell you that the Americans are the most hopeful people, it is quite unknown in this country that faith is of a different description.

Faith has to do with names, because it has to do with the dead. The Italians for the last hundred years had very little hopes. They were industrially backward. They were very poor. But if you came to a -- to a good family in Italy, you felt that these people lived on faith alone. There would be no improvement in their standard of living. The wages would not go up. The career would not be great, you see. Quite the contrary. Two of the children would become celibates -- priests, you see -- and two would become nuns. That's not -- there was no hope. There was resignation. There was renounciation. But there was great faith that this life deserved to be lived, because it was ennobled by a great tradition. And if you were -- Veronica or even Monica, as you are here in Santa Monica. Santa Monica certainly lived not on hope but on faith. In the -- great despair, she fell over her son, St. Augustine. And the -- all the old Church had no hopes. The old empire was -- was going down.

I just read yesterday for the -- the -- the great city of Glanum at the Loire -- at the Rh“ne River near -- near Arles, I saw a picture of it in your -- in -- the -- university, I think yesterday, or in some official place here. And I went to the encyclopedia. I had never heard of Glanum. It just said dryly, "Great Roman city at the Rh“ne River. Destroyed in 480." Well, I assure you, thousands of cities were destroyed in 480. And the people had to live that down. And there was no

hope, you see. And the whole first thousand years of the -- our era have only become the cradle of Christianity because people had to show that the secular ruin did not alter the way of mankind. That is no reason to despair, because our life is not built on hope, but on faith. If it isn't, it is not founded at all. It will be shattered. And most people in this country you talk to, or most ministers, do not know the difference between faith and hope. And that's truly hopeless.

Now faith defies numbers. Because a grain of seed, faith, one little power enables a -- a child, for example, to begin to swim. You push a child into the water, you see, and it had -- it has to let go. It's not act- -- done by hope. By this act of faith, you have told him, "You can swim. You -- I've shown you -- to -- shown you the movement." At this very little moment, you see, which is infinitely small and short-lived, you see, by an act of faith a new act of life can begin, a new scene, a new stage of life can begin.

Faith, I expressed it in the sermon which I gave here a few weeks ago -- not here, but in the East -- that by hope you can produce bigger and better elephants. But by faith, you can know that you have to stop producing elephants. That is, faith say -- can say no, you see. I can assure you that all the great changes in my life have been brought about by an act of faith that I knew something would happen, and I wouldn't have to do -- {were} not allowed to {move}. I had to wait till this thing would occur. I only could get ready. By hope, you see, I would prepare everything. I would know where to go. I haven't come to this country on hope. I had nothing to hope here. I came on faith. That's something quite different. And therefore it didn't matter what happened to me here, you see. I had no ambitions. I o- -- came here because I knew I had to go to America. And my only prayer was, "I want, I'm ready, Dear God, to go to America, but please spare me New York."

So now I'm in Los Angeles.

May I invite you to be quite serious? Faith can never be a quantity. It is quite impossible to numer- -- ma- -- use any numerical thing. Hope can always be thought of as quantitative -- in quantities. In some form or other, you can put the numerals to your hope. You can say, "I hope for two children, up to five, but not more."

About love I have nothing to say. That is the intervening grace, you see, by which we try -- are allowed to tie together faith and hope in -- in the meantime. And to -- to keep the peace between those people with whom we had -- have common hopes and the new group with -- we'll -- we meet in faith. I can give you another contrast between hope and faith, between numerals -- or numerical life -- life in quantity, life that can be numbered, that can be measured by income

groups, by dollars and cents, by weight. Any hope is shared because we have learned to hope with the people with whom we live in our community. The good things of life, nobody of us enjoys them alone. You come from a good family and there was a sofa, so you ho- -- hope always to have a sofa or a couch, or a bed to sleep in. We are very spoiled today. We think it -- it is just ordinary that everybody has a bed of his own. As you know, a hundred years ago that was very great luxury. Very few people had a bed of the- -- their own. But let's -- take it -- see then that hope is always connected with some "we." Our hopes can be understood by others who share our experience of the good things of life.

Faith is -- will always found the next church, the next congregation, the next community. You're all alone. While I was preparing my emigration to Am- -- America, I lost all my friends, the old ones. I had no new ones. That took time. I'm very happy to say that now after 30 years, I wouldn't change. The "we" has come, but it hasn't come by hope, because I didn't know any one of you. I didn't know who even I should meet, you see. And the whole stratification of society in this country is so different from the other that certainly all my friends here are of a different denomination, connotation, profession than they used to be in Germany. This is not an identical -- you see, I -- and no identity. Impossible.

This is quite unknown, because -- people always only think about life, but they don't speak it, or they don't listen to what they are saying. Faith then is before we enter the next group and has the pow- -- power to found groups. By faith, we are allowed to find our friends. By hope, we remember those hopes which we have -- they have -- we have shared with others. So faith is based on our power to stand alone, and hope is -- based on our gratitude and our -- on our loyalty to the -- to those good things which we have enjoyed at home, or in our country, or on a journey. We remem- -- remember our comrades, our friends.

Since -- I had to say this, because people, of course, when you talk of names, words, and numbers, they go to dictionary -- as of the end of Webster, you have a biographical gazetteer, and you think that's names. And then you have numbers, then you look at the arithmetic book. And then you have words for the -- from the dictionary. This is not what I mean. I mean three levels of human speech. We speak in words of things. We speak to people, who have names and with whom we exchange words, and of the things we have numbers, I wanted to say. And we are called by names, by the power that make us wince and make us speak. And we call them -- the Bible calls them "principalities and dominions" and the ancients called them "gods." And the gods under God are all those powers that make you speak either the scientific jargon or the -- the ch- -- you see, the baby talk in the -- in the nursery, and all these various jargons which you can exchange ad {lividum}, but were all held together by the superior -- language of important names. All your nursery rhymes cannot dispense with

the fact that you also have to know who is the president of the United States, and to write to Washington when it is necessary.

So three languages, and languages of -- on three different levels of you- -- of behavior -- one down below us, the things that we can use, peruse, throw away, waste. The people we have to reckon with as our equals we speak to, and the gods from whom we receive orders to be a scientist, or to be politicians, or to be mothers, or to be teachers or whatever the command is. Any profession you have, any state of life has come to you by -- if you did right in life -- by a divine order, by some superior authority. Many people, of course, have their divine authority in their wife, but that doesn't -- is not bad at all. Authority dispenses, you see, with your own will, and you gladly conform to a general will, to a universal will, to something that has to be done. If this country needs doctors, I hope we'll always find people who obey this call and become doctors. And if you need chemists, then more people will study chemistry, as they do today, to my great regret.

In the second lecture, I tried to show you that we are torn and schizoid to the bottom of our being at every moment. Demands of -- on us are made to different parts of our -- of our living body that are contradictory, because the sense of smell introduces the new attraction. We are attracted in a new direction, when we have the s- -- flair, there's life. When the Gold Rush occurred in -- in 1849, as you know, the people went there like mad. And half of them lost their lives. And Mr. Orozco, the Mexican painter, has painted in Dartmouth this terrible picture where the people lie on the ground and -- trying to smell the gold. As you know, gold doesn't smell. And it is a perversion, a gold rush, of course. It's a terrible story, I think, that people lost their lives just for this stupid purpose of letting other people steal their -- their finds. You -- I just have to bring to your attention the -- the Swiss -- what's his name, in Northern California? Wie?

(Sutter.)

Sutter, you see, who lost his life in the process -- or who lost his fortune in the process. He always stands out for me as the only wise man in the whole battle about the gold. You see, he had just settled there and they drove him away. He had made the -- the country fruitful and the goldseekers -- well, at the end, it was all in Boston.

The nose is not given, as I think, for seeking gold, but for what is the future, what is lively, what has life in it. And the smell in us is connected with our deepest systems, the most eternal, with our sperm, with our genitals. And it is that system that is least vocal, and it is that part of us that is usually covered up by everyday speech or it's the everyday -- men or women speak up about these

things, they use very often obscene language because they are afraid of it. It is so mysterious and so secret -- the destiny of man through the eternity of our gene- -- genetic powers that when the everyday man turns to them, he has no language for them. That's the reason for the obscenity, you see. That's why books on sex are not obscene in themselves, but only when they use everyday language for the greatest divine powers of man to be eternal. Sex in itself is, of course, not sex when it is transfigured by song, as The Divine Comedy is on love, but nobody would call it obscene, you see.

But the Ameri- -- American mistake is not to know that sex without song is sin. And sex, naked, as to the physical moment, is -- is -- is revolting. It is endless. When we fall in love, we enter eternity. And this country will only wake up, I think, to its destiny if it drops decisively the term "sex." That's an unnecessary word. It's -- it's my equipment for love, but it is nothing in itself. It's very strange. If you {maybe even} have two kitchen spoons and you will not call the dish which you prepare with the instruments. Very funny idea. I can't understand it.

Now this reaches then into the depths of our unconscious or subconscious -- that's why Mr. Freud could sell you this idea that the subconscious is, you see, the -- the realm of sex. Consciousness is too cheap. Consciousness is of the moment. A man who has only consciousness is a very poor third. I had -- that's another thing do not understand in this country. Consciousness in this country is at a premium. I thank God when I don't have to be conscious. I mean, I don't understand why this is anything better than to be unconscious. Why should -- self-consciousness is a curse. Do you think that while I'm speaking I am conscious? I try to tell you something. I'm perfectly unconscious.

This is another vice, you see, this -- which comes when the five senses you think are lodged in the brain and photograph, as you think, a universe that is lying before you to be seen -- a still life, you see, and you take it all in. I answer to this, and I provo- -- want to provoke you on this, that our senses locate us in a constantly changing universe. While our smell works, you see, we are moving and attracted to the living future, to what is to be created, what is to be produce. Whether it's beauty that attracts us, or the political direction this country has to take -- take the abolitionists, or women's suffrage, or today the Peace Corps -- a -- a man smells that this is the future. And he goes there, although he will perhaps see this future realized 100 years from now, you see. It has -- can last long beyond his own lifetime, this aim that he participated in. No movement could ever have been started by this scent, by this flair, unless people were totally indifferent to their own routine existence, and their own little bit of physical, individual { } {business}. But their sperm, the eternal race in him, the eternal man, that had to be carried into this new form and whether his own body went to pieces over this, that's just as indifferent as the beauty of a young w- -- woman

who sacrifices so that the children may be born. What -- who cares that a ch- -- a girl was -- was beautiful at 25 if there -- at least when she is 50, there are beautiful children? Isn't that -- that's the important thing.

So please, see that smell appeals to our power to move away from all antecedents. Smell attracts us as faith does. Smell is the physical basis of faith. I printed this in 18- -- 1919 when Germany was down and we didn't know where to turn. I said, where God turns to, we must have the scent for. Wo Gott hingeht, daá mssen wir wittern. And I think that's still the only permissible definition of our relation to the -- our creator, in as far as He beckons us from the future. We have no other relation to Him.

Now with hearing, you see, as I said -- told you before -- embeds us in the universe. The waves of song and -- sound, go through us and we are inside of it. So the tremendous power of music, harmony, and hearing -- when I call you -- is that we are inside the world, this strange world which looks cold and strange from the outside. When people talk to us, we suddenly begin to smile; we disarm; we are no longer against the world. Somebody, you see, who is saying our name with a sweet expression and a nice tone is suddenly taking us in. Now, Americans don't want to be taken in. Be taken in, it's a very nice process.

You can -- save any boy whom you meet on the street and who looks desperate and wants to go into a brothel by inviting him for tea. He only wants to be talked to. He's embedded and enshrined and he's completely protected. If more people knew this, they wouldn't talk sex, given Sex Enlightenment, but they would invite people to their tea table and the whole problem would dissolve. Very strange, because you transform a man to another side of his aspect. These passions then come to rest, you see. We can transform ourselves into a -- be transmuted into somebody who wants to hear, and to speak, to sing, and to listen. And he is in -- at peace with the universe, because he finds himself inside of it.

Now with touch, it is different. Anybody who is a member of a group, of a body, who is a representative of a firm, who is a student in UL -- how do you call this university? UCLA -- and -- I have trouble.

And -- any such man is structured. The old Christians said that he is edified. But I can't use this word, "edification," because you take it sentimentally. It meant something very sober, that you were one brick in a building, that you had been built into something. "Edifice," you know the word. And that "to be edified" means to be part of a structured, visible order. Everybody knows where you belong. You, who know where you go, you see, you dif- -- disappear in the morning into the library, or into the classroom, and what have you, or into the

kitchen, and there is your place in the ordered world. And that's the architectural world. And that's why I said architecture is organized, repetitive movement. We have been -- gone there before, now we go there again. And everybody knows his place. But this place is a mobile place. It's a -- a direction. It's a hallway.

That's why every- -- why the modern architects are -- are not liked by me because they build these modern houses without a hall, inside of which you decide into which room you have to go. They do not think of houses as movements, but as places that are dead. And, as they have no room for the mother-inlaw to stay, so they also have no hall. They have abolished this first. You come right into one room. Well, then you are not free to live in your house, you see, as you please, because the hallway is the great point of decision. The doctor gehs- -- can go directly into the bedroom, you see, where the sick -- his sick patient lies. The guest goes into the living room. The deliver- -- you see, deliveries at the kitchen door. These are the secrets of a house -- that the movements are organized and understood. Most people today, however, think of houses as dead entities, you see, where not the movement is decided, but the tin can, you see, where into which you are stuffed. And you get stuck.

This is very simple. I mean, this is -- who -- who -- who argued with me about architecture? Who was it? You did yes? Well I'm all for it. You understand why perhaps, now, that even the architect who -- who analyzes, you see, may have no idea that he is responsible for organized movements, and not for things, dead things. But he wants to -- to -- he has learned if you take the buildings of the Middle Ages, antiquity, the most wonderful thing in -- in -- in the castle in Brhl, near Bonn, is the -- is the staircase. Over this the Archbishop of Cologne and all his -- all his entourage walked, up and down, you see, in the order that represented the whole bishopric of Cologne. Only to show you that a staircase can be a great masterpiece in architecture, because it organizes movement, you see. Now the modern elevator, you see, cannot. You are murdered by a Puerto Rican inside.

Ja. We have abused all these forms and transformed them into the dead things. But they really recapitulate man's history with things and that's what architecture is. That you are moved in the same way in which your forefathers moved. That's why a church has a nave, towards the al- -- and you see, and you go through the nave, and turn toward the altar, and -- from the other side comes the clergy -- that represents Jesus -- Christ and the 12 Apostles, and there they meet, the mission -- the miss- -- you see, the c- -- the people and the clergy. And as soon as this disappears, our churches then begin to look, I don't know, like subway stations.

Movement is -- frozen movement, that's architecture. And of course, experi-

enced movement, tested movement, movement that has, you see, shown to be relevant and functionally sound. You -- one should only build where movement has already been experienced in which form it should develop. That's why our modern, big factories, and our -- especially our modern administrative buildings are so very poor because they have no precedent, you see. They are a thousand rooms, and the only saving grace is that everyone has three telephones. That's against movement, so to speak. They are all on the defensive in these houses, I have the impression, you see. The one thing they -- they love -- that they can lock the door. I really think that modern building is a total misunderstanding, except the Greyhound bus station. That's functional.

Sight dismisses us and -- or the thing we see. There is a division. I told you there are two spaces. What we see, belongs -- you can paint a still life about it. And you are no longer attracted. You are no longer embedded. You are no longer structured. And the eye is given us to distinguish life and dead -- living and dead things. And we fasten our eye, of course, more easily on the things that do not run away. You cannot see a deer in its course very long. It's disappeared. Then you can look at the woods. And seeing -- you don't see the woods -- how is it? You don't see the woods for all the trees.

Seeing, then, is our dismissal. When the thing is over, you can see. Inside, we are blind. Inside, we can hear. Inside, we can touch. And inside, we can be attracted, you see, and smell. But outside, we see. And this is very important because we will see next time especially that man is of course sick today with -- beginning with analysis. Now perhaps you understand how I use the word "analysis." If you want to see first, you will never enter the kingdom of Heaven. The kingdom of Heaven is given only to those who have faith and are attracted in -- by the dark, you see, but by this deep feeling that their most sacred powers of et- -- of lasting perpetuity, overlook all hardships that they don't get a salary now. But the future in 100 years, the Peace Corps will be the condition under which this universe can hold peace.

And compared with this, you know, all the manufacturers of Los Angeles and the university are of no importance, because if the Peace Corps doesn't function, the only contribution I see America makes today to the peace of the world -- if the Peace Corps does not develop, if not more of you enter it, you can be sure that all of your possessions will disappear. And your life will be wiped out, as if it had never been, and your name will be forgotten. And you will be dead. And the death will not provoke anybody to set eyes on you and to bury you with a memorial, and with a -- a wreath -- maintaining of your memory and your name.

This is very serious. All this modern society is going to wipe -- be wiped away. You can be sure of that. We are perfectly superfluous. What do we do? Enjoy

ourselves. We say even, "Enjoy it." If you could only erase this word from your dictionary -- man is not on this earth to enjoy himself. There's nothing enjoyable about him. And you can double the consumption of ice cream, but then you have to get slimmer and slimmer again.

I mean, the affluent society is a curse. That is, when everybody has everything he wants and more. Then he only follows the most superficial sense of all, his non-genital, non-productive, non-hearing, non-loving, non-memor- -- remembering being, and hears no commands, but does as he pleases. Heavens! Nobody can stand this. I mean, I can assure you that such a society always disappears in a very short time. And why -- why should it not disappear? It's perfectly unnecessary. It doesn't keep direction with the destiny of man. And the destiny of man obviously is that -- that there has to be equalization of all the parts of the universe, you see, and no one part can shoot forward and -- and create peace or wealth all by itself and for itself. Well, I only have to remind you of our grain problem to see that it's very -- an actual problem as of today, I mean. What to do with our -- with our grain, you see. At this moment, obviously, we have -- we are just mad.

If this is so, then we are all -- schizophrenia is not the problem, but schizo- -- yo- -- -somatics. Our bodies, the soma, not the phrenis, phrenia, is split. And this disease of schizophrenia is noth- -- nothing but a metaphor for covering up the rediscovery that Mr. Rousseau and Mr. Voltaire went wrong when they thought that our five senses were just photog- -- photographies, you see, producing a unified -- picture of the universe. Again picture, you see, again vista, of the dead universe in front of us, and we could do with this universe as we understood it.

I have tried to tell you last time that to understand means to have the courage to stand under the impact of these four states of our own existence, to confess that we are in love and passionate, to confess that we hear orders and want to obey them, you see, to confess that in order to obey, we have to join a -- the company of the saints, or of the soldiers, or of the professors, of the student -- always joining in with others, always becoming social. No man can hear an order and end up alone. You cannot even become a nun without finding a -- abbess who will hear your -- your vows.

Therefore, man is, by the innumerable commands, the acts of the divine power that calls us into this universe and gives us these strange verbs to understand: "go," "hear," "work," "write poetry," "travel to America," "emigrate to Okinawa," or whatever it is -- without going through all the agonizing stages, and -- because to hear an order means to open up to this transformation. Smell {weakens} us, opens us up, but makes us no longer -- disarms us. Anybody who gives in to smell falls in love, and, as you know, love is -- -making is only possible

for him who not -- who lets down his defenses. The armed individual -- all of us, you see -- most women in this country, as you know, suffer from this -- from this duplicity that they don't dare to disarm, because they can't trust their males to be faithful, and therefore they can't love. And he who, or she who cannot disarm totally, cannot -- cannot realize love. It's a condition of love that we disarm.

And what the doctors do, and the analysts, and -- you see, this -- they are in face of -- face to face with this, and usually don't know what to do because they do not -- they all think s- -- either because they are rationalists, that these four senses do not describe states of aggregate, just as gas, and ice, and -- and water are different states of aggregate, so he who smells or receiv- -- receives smell, and he who hears, and obeys, and he who moves by -- through organized space, and he who sees is -- is as different as water is from ice, you see. He who sees is ice. And -- however, he who smells is -- is -- is steam, is gas. He's in a -- he's dissolute. He's dissolving. He can take on a new form. I expressed it in my Sociology, you see, by formula, a Latin formula. I do not wish to impose it on you, but perhaps it helps. I said the man who is attracted, has the courage to say, "Respondeo etsi mutabor." I respond, also I shall thereby have to change -- be changed, you see. And there only life becomes worthwhile. If you do not want to be changed, you can't marry. And that's why most marriages today, or one-fourth of the marriages end in divorce, because the -- the lady who marries, as I see it in this country, attaches one condition to the marriage: I must remain the same. That's impossible. This you can see is -- do when you only stand in front of the mirror and see yourself there and your {husband}. Seeing is not believing, but seeing is -- be petrified. He who wants to see all his life or everything remains unchanged. That's why the rationalist is the most bother- -- annoying creature. From beginning to end of his life, he's always the same type. I always can -- I can write his speeches beforehand. This is very tiresome. He's a rationalist. So nothing can ever happen to him by which he has a fresh -- a fresh idea or changes his tropics -- or his topics, and the safest thing for modern man, of course, is to have a ghostwriter. Then he hasn't to live through anything.

Well, you can study what it is -- means to live, if you take Mr. Truman, who grew under his presidency every day, because he had the courage to be changed. That's a great man, because he was such a small man who could be changed. But that's a real man. Mr. Eisenhower certainly was not such a man. He had gone to West Point. That may be { }. Ja. It's the one thing they don't learn there, you see. It's -- I'm serious. The -- they have -- don't have to as military men. Don't misunderstand me. A type of man is needed in -- in -- in -- in West Point which is, of course, against such openness, you see, such acceptance of a historical, you see, changing position, an unknown quantity. They want to know. And they have to, and I mean, we need these men. Don't misunderstand me. All this division of labor, however, condemns many of us to fragmentary existences, you see.

One of the senses is -- is preferred. And that's of course -- other people then have to take the place, you see, where this can -- this change can take place.

If you would -- allow me this insight, that states of aggregate are described by our senses, that all these senses cannot develop in the same person, so to speak, as though -- in the abstract. But that while I smell, I cannot see. And while I see, I cannot hear. And while I hear, I cannot move, you see, then you would see that man is a -- really an -- in a -- a -- a tremendous attempt of our creator to tie together times and spaces. Because in our sensory system, there is embedded the power to remember a variety of states through which -- in the -- in the animal kingdom, the animal only goes, you see, in separation. If you think of the larva, and the butterfly, you see how this even ex- -- expresses itself there in a certain change of appe- -- apparition, of the appearance. The animal, you see, goes through four states, and doesn't know of its own former state at all, apparently, or seemingly. We know -- know very little about this, I suppose. But certainly you will admit that the larva in the ground, and the butterfly then later, or the worm, you see -- and the -- the -- the moth -- that all these stages for the animal mean breaks, total breaks.

Our secret is that we, through speech, have a biography. We have an historical existence. And the first biography therefore written has been the Bible, which is the biography of the whole race. And every one of us now attempts to have a parallel -- something of a biography, where his changes are recorded as meaningful, as passing, you see, in fulfillment of our calling through all the necessary stages, although we forget, as we say often ourselves, in the process. Still, at the end, you can see a wonderful harmony and unity between Lincoln, the rail-splitter, and the assassinated president at the end. It's a very painful road, but it's the only road that seems to be worth it. And that's why we celebrate next Sunday Pentecost, because here is an attempt to see in one life the life of the whole human race, you see: Christmas, Easter, Pentecost. That's not just one person, but Adam and Eve in the beginning, and the peace of mankind on earth at the end are united in these three -- three celebrations, you see, as stages in which the child, and the man, and the savior, you see, seem to be totally separated. And yet, you and I know that they are one.

And there is one name over this whole process, you see. And you all, whether you know it or not -- the -- it makes no difference today whether you are in church or outside -- we all have taken a leaf from this example, and believe that every one of us is not a larva, and a worm, and a butterfly, you see, but is a man who has to live out his name from the cradle to the grave in the fulfillment of these -- these four situations, because we all are attracted by the love of the world. We all have to obey orders from our ancestors. We all are heirs. And we all are founders. That is, we all have to bury the dead, you see, to begin our-

selves. And this brings out the -- the strange part of this situation which most people overlook. All these philosophers of the last 700 years -- from Thomas Aquinas or Ab‚lard to Mr. Hegel and Mr. Nietzsche, have only philosophized for males, the male sex. Therefore, they have always stressed the doing, the active part, of every process.

I can only say that when you look into the secret of this growth, of the four senses through which we move, then -- of our being attracted to something new, of our obeying the orders of the game, the orders of society, of our taking up the membership in the structured body, and of our leaving alone the things that are no longer to be moved -- which you can only see from afar -- it makes little difference whether you are a worker or the owner, whether you are doing or whether you are receiving. If I speak here, I need listeners. So I can't see much difference between your allegedly passive role, you see, of listening, and my active role of speaking. Obviously there is a bridge between this role of speaker and listener, you see, and in some secret sense, we are one. You see, it's a polarity between you -- us and -- but you couldn't hear if you wouldn't speak while I am speaking, you see, in your inner man. If you only would grumble, you wouldn't understand what I'm saying. And -- I mean, if you only would constantly geh- -o against it.

So your listening is, of course, a part of this and we have overdone in the last century the distinction between action and passion. If you even know -- know that the word "passion" is a very noble word, you'd think it is just being in heat, being violent. Passion is better than action today. It has to be preached from the hilltops that people must have passion, because they overact anyway. Everybody is overactive, and the women in -- at first, when they conquered men's rights, wanted to be activists. I don't think that's the problem. But the problem for our society is to recognize that the doer and the sufferer to -- by -- both create the new order. And -- and that may be changeable. At one time, the men maybe have to act and the woman to receive, or vice versa. In the house, obviously the woman has always been active and the mother -- the father always on the receiving end. Only in the world outside he has seemed to do the acting. And she received.

But I think it is high time that we say that our language is deficient. As long as you think that any verb, "go," "listen," "obey," "volunteer," -- that's perhaps the most general term, "volunteer," you see -- that this is always an active thing, you see. It can just as well be that y- -- the wife has to say, "Go," because he has to act -- and she has to suffer that he acts. Most great men have been saved by their woman's -- womenfolk's readiness to undergo the act of the man, al- -- although the community exorcised them, you see, exiled them. If she hadn't -- if Mrs. Marx hadn't shared the fate of Marx, there would have been no Marx. And his action,

you see, and her passion are two sides of the same picture.

What I would recommend is that in -- in linguistics, you have been sold down the river because people usually only tell you "J'aime," "Je vais," "Je fais." You have not learned that "Je suis aime‚"is just as important.

Most people who go -- come to the analyst today are people who cannot be loved, who don't allow people to love them. And that's their great ill. They think, "I will love," you see. Unfortunately, to will love is just to use a bomb, you see, for lovemaking. It's impossible. Will and love are totally distinct. But in our society, in our cu- -- so-called culture -- I think one has always to sneeze when one uses this word, "culture." I always catch a cold when I he- -- hear it. There is no such thing as culture. There is obedience or disobedience. And modern man thinks that he can will those states in which active and passive are in balance. Obviously in the word, "love," which I put here as a third { } -- you see, are now speaking to each other, the receiving and the giving must be in balance. If you both want -- say, "I will love," it's out. There is no love. The divorce is necessary, because people mistake their will for this being in love, you see, being embedded in something that floods you and goes over you from both sides. And nobody can discern who's doing and who is receiving. And I think that's perhaps the greatest illness that has been done to a rationalist's theory of language. The Greeks have a special form for expressing this ambiguity, "I know not if I sink or swim," as I quoted last time. That's ho- -- called the "medium." It's a third form between passive and active. And although it -- may seem to you just a grammatical oddity, it has saved the Greeks from -- and has made them into eternal carrier of wisdom and philosophy. Our language is a dying language -- I assure you it is -- because it cannot express, except in a very circuitous way, this being in love, you see. Nobody decided who does what.

If you would know that in relation to your -- to your -- the people you love in relation to your nation, in relation to your profession -- take a doctor who loves medicine. But medicine must love him, too. He's a representative. That's a very mysterious thing, to be a representative of anything, you see, because you must do something to the thing you represent. You must change it. It must be a living process. And on the other side, it must also mold you. After 10 years of being a doctor, people must feel, "This is a doctor." That is, you get a doctor's attitude, and a doctor's face. And yet, if you are a real man, something enters the profession that hasn't been there before. You do something to medicine and medicine does something to you. Or you are just nobody. You are just a number. If you make a name in the profession, like Mr. {Osler} or {Ca- -- Cannon}, you see, then the profession looks different, after you have been there. But you -- nobody would ever be able to decide who has done what. What has medicine done for you? And what have you done for medicine?

They tell the story of Mr. Taber, the first governor of Colorado. He had much money and had an opera house built in Denver. And they le- -- led him in when it has to be opened. And he looked at -- do you know the story? -- he looked at the painting there in front of the hall and it was -- he asked, "Who is this man?"

And -- and they said, "That's William Shakespeare."

And he said, "What has Shakespeare done for Colorado?" And he had his picture removed and had his picture painted.

I meant -- mean to say, those people do the most for us whose name is even forgotten, you see. That is, active and passive are minor matters in language. You must know that when we speak of an act, it is always a superior act of God. The ancients called God "Actus Purisimus." The purest action, and no persons attached. Not defiled by earthly connotations of Mr. Smith doing this and Mr. -- Mrs. Brown doing that. He is the act. The -- the crisis of 1929, the Great Depression, everybody feels it's an act of God. Who has brought it on? You can -- people have tried to -- to name the people who have brought it on. It's impossible. It's meaningless, you see.

There are always acts which we undergo. And then we run through the whole gamut of this, what I have tried to show you, of these four stations. And it's rammed down our throat indeed, that there's something there to be digested. All the verbs of human language are experienced acts where -- of which mankind has learned that they have to be born, that they have to be represented in us by some carrier who volunteers to take it upon himself, whether he has to govern the city, you see, or whether the -- he has to mold the metal. Think of all the professions. They're all imperatives. Somebody has to do it, you see. Or you have -- it has to become your personal hobby. Do it yourself, you see. Because the -- the craftsman dies out, you see. If there's no carpenters -- you all have to do some carpentry.

That is, these imperatives of life are processus, I would call them, and not acts. They are processes. God is the pure process. And He demands participants. And man in a strange way can hear His commissions. And he is first attracted by them, or deterred. He can run away, of course. The Bible is full of stories where the -- you see, where the man -- does run away. And the c- -- city of Los Angeles, I'm sure, is also full of people who do run away. And we all ha- -- are half and half. We obey certain commands and others we brush aside. The world will exist as long as there are volunteers for these processes that have to be undergone. And they are very painful because they transform us. We grow old under them. They take our beauty; they take a toll from us.

But we have the great honor of doing a higher will that isn't ours. And our will is so be- -- be- -- benighted that anybody who is -- tries to live by his own wits, and his own will, goes under, perishes. He has no peace of mind, because our mind is not given us to judge the universe, you see, but to participate in it.

I'm sorry. I have kept you too long. But I propose at the end -- can you still bear with me for five minutes? I'm sorry. I have overstepped my time. I w- -- wish to leave with you only a picture, nothing more. And we'll talk about this next time.

I have tried not to persuade you too early that these -- smell, hearing, touch and sight -- can be put in a -- quite a different order. I call this the "cross of reality." The future, you see, beckons us from the -- from in front. We are embedded by the sound of our -- of what we hear, of what we are told when we learn to speak. We already know that we are "John" and our parents are "Father" and "Mother," and these are all orders given {us}. From now on, you have -- you can ask to be called "John" forever. So you have a claim, a civil right. And that's the inside of life. Then you -- we are structured as members of society, and that's our historical construction, our past, I call it. Structured into membership, that's the past. And then finally, we are discarded and thrown on the dungheap of forgetting, forgetfulness, and then we are out.

So every human being is -- begins as ultravert. He is thrown beyond his former self when he hears a new order. If you say, "I'm going tomorrow to marry this man," you change your status, don't you? That I call "ultraversion," because you go beyond the state of affairs as it has been yesterday. And then you turn -- in order to carry out this -- this new commission, you have to be embedded, you ha- -- you have to incorporate. It has to enter you, your system, your bloodstream. You have to be filled with it, and I call this "introvert." You may say that is -- used for other things. We'll talk about this next time. Then you go and look back on what you have achieved, and you celebrate the wedding anniversary. Anybody who ce- -- ce- -- celebrates an anniversary does this in retrospect. He's a retrovert, you see. He looks back on something he has to -- hold onto. And that's why we all celebrate a birthday today, because it's safest thing to assume that everybody has at least this one thing to look back on, even though nothing else is there.

And the last thing is: we look outward. We are extroverts. We look at this, you see, discard it, and say, "That's over with," you see. "I move to San Diego."

So let's stop here. This I call "the cross of reality." Every human being is at every one moment in all four states, and that's why we are deeply torn. Man is not a harmonious being. But only if these four situations, you see, are connected

with -- with other people, and they bear with -- us, can you ever find peace. Not -- in one of these states can you be all by yourself. And the problem of man is that he is not self-reliant. That's the only thing he certainly is not.