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VOLUME X FALL, 1966 NUMBER 1

THE REBEL

ART PORTFOLIO 31

CONTRIBUTORST NOTES 48

DRAMA
The Fiend by Nancie Allen 4



EDITORIAL 3
ESSAY

Functions of Religious Language by Houston Craighead, Jr. 22

FEATURES
Interview with Dr. Thomas J. J. Altizer 11
Interview with Dr. John C. Bennett 14
Photographic Essay by Henry Townsend ab
FICTION
Wintertime and Not One Posy by Worth Kitson 28
The Gift by Ronald Watson 37

POETRY
Ode to Baie de Touraine by Guy le Mare 9
Rue 21 by Pam Honaker 16
Asha Yeats by Pam Honaker 26
I Became a Leaf 27
CMF Because by Pam Honaker 27
Teod by Guy le Mare 27
Protest #1 by Brenda Hines 30
Protest #2 by Brenda Hines 30
Eel Grass by Pam Honaker 40
Poems by Worth Kitson and Lola Johnson Al

REBEL REVIEW
Reviews by Dr. Henry C. Ferrell, Ronald Watson, and Pat
Wilson 44

COVER
By Cherry Parsons

THE REBEL is published by the Student Government Association
of East Carolina College. It was created by the Publitations Board
of East Carolina College as a literary magazine to be edited by stu-
dents and designed for the publication of student material.

Contributions to THE REBEL should be directed to P. O. Box 2486
E.C.C., Greenville, North Carolina. Editorial and business offices are
located at 300 Old Austin Building. Manuscripts and art work sub-
mitted by mail should be accompanied by a self-addressed envelope
and return postage. The publishers assume no responsibility for the
return of manuscripts or art work.

Copyright applied for, 1966

STAFF

EDITORIAL LAYOUT
RON WATSON, Editor MaArGo TEU, Editor
BETTIE ADAMS, Associate Editor CARYOL WRIGHT, Assistant

PAT WILSON, Assistant Editor
CAROLYN MADDREY, Book Review Editor
PEGGY TAYLOR, Poetry Editor

BILL RUFTY, Fiction Editor





SANDY THOMAS, Exchange Editor

JOANNA MUZINICH, Critic

BUSINESS

HENRY TOWNSEND, Business Manager
DAVID CROTTS, Assistant

ALAN MERRIL, Assistant

GENERAL

KATHY REECE

BETSY CHICKERING, Editor BRENDA HINES

CHERRY PARSON, Assistant PAM MCKITRICK
LisA HATCH PAM HONAKER
DIANA HOOPER BECKY BROWN

LYNN PORTER

ADVISOR
OVID PIERCE MEMBER ASSOCIATED COLLEGIATE PRESS

2 THE REBEL

EDITORIAL....

RESPONSIBILITY FOR ALL

The forthcoming session of the North Carolina
General Assembly will decide the immediate fu-
ture of East Carolina. For nearly a year East
Carolina has been campaigning for independent
university status. Although opposition has been
heavy, particularly from the Piedmont and from
the Consolidated University proponents, support
has been strong from the Coastal Plains section of
the state. And the outcome may also depend upon
such diverse subjects as liquor-by-the-drink and
reapportionment.

East Carolina has been fortunate to have a uni-
fied approach to independent university status.
The students, faculty, administration, and board
of trustees have all been in relative agreement as
to our goals. One wonders, however, if all of the
above are aware of the responsibility involved in
being a university.

The administration seems to be the best prepar-
ed to accept university status. Despite the tradi-
tional cries of oinefficiency,� oultra-conservative,�
and obiased against students,� they are probably
one of the best prepared administrations in the
country for the transition from college to univer-
sity. Their main weakness is the lack of institut-
ing certain academic programs in certain areas.
East Carolina is in definite need of a full seminar
program, a reading week, and a hard-core honors
program. These programs can come only from
the administration. Hence, it is the responsibility
of the administration to institute them if the need
exists.

Our faculty may be a more serious problem.
To some persons a tendency exists to accept less
than college standards. Some students believe that
many faculty members take a legalistic, or too
rigid approach in the humanities. Others feel that

FALL, 1966

entirely too many objective tests, such as true-
false, multiple-choice, and fill-in-the-blank are be-
ing used, but it must be said that this problem is
universal. And still others feel that essay or sub-
jective tests are being graded too easily. Whether
or not any or all of these complaints are justified,
the faculty must continuously evaluate itself and
be aware of the possibility that these complaints
may be true. If academic excellence is a reality
at East Carolina College, it is the faculty that must
maintain and require it from the student.

Easily the least prepared, however, for uni-
versity status is the student. Many students at
East Carolina do nothing more than just barely
get by. We have no interest in academic communi-
ties. We do not take advantage of the cultural and
academic affairs that are present. We seem afraid
to enter into a faculty-student relationship. In
short, we are in an apathetic daze of non-entity"
afraid to see and afraid to be seen. While the
reputation of a school may depend on its faculty,
its worth depends on its students. If we are to
become a real university and not one in name only,
the students must accept the ultimate responsi-
bility.

We seek to become a university, and well we
should. The time will never be better than the
present. Many of the above faults are being elim-
inated while many others will take time to correct.
The process of becoming a university is neither
easy nor fast. But, the Consolidated University
and the Piedmont newspapers notwithstanding,
we are ready. Being ready is only the beginning,
however. If we are to be the great institution
that we seek to be, we must be ever-improving,
ever-changing, and ever-progressing. And that
we must be always.

EDITOR

THE FIEND

First Place Fiction
by

Nancie Allen

Cast: Paige, a college student/ Kelly, PaigeTs
roommate/ Angela, PaigeTs friend/ College Boys:
Van, Frank, Cory, Ted/ LadiesT Club: Eleanor,
Mamie, Grey, Lettice, Dana/ Jock, an artist/
Helena, JockTs wife/ Carwana, PaigeTs aunt/ Jan-
itor.

Time: The present, in the evening.

Place: The lobby of an art museum, shortly
before closing time.

KELLY: (Looking bored) Hey, Paige, how much
longer are we going to have to sit here?

PAIGE: Till Aunt Carwana comes.

ANGELA: Why?

PAIGE: Because she said to wait here in the
parlor until she finishes her trustee meeting.

KELLY: YouTre not going to leave your painting
up for her to see, are you?

ANGELA: She has to leave it up until the exhi-
bitionTs over.

PAIGE: Yes.

KELLY: Gee, Paige. You heard your aunt. She
told you not to exhibit. She told you to enroll in
Physics 101.

PAIGE: (Returns to sofa) I know.

KELLY: ITve got an idea. (Rises, goes toward
picture as soon as the exhibit is over) ITll grab the
painting and fly with it to our room, Paige.

ANGELA: But thereTs no need to, Kelly. It
isnTt signed. Paige, your aunt wouldnTt know it
in a million years. (Moves to other pictures.)

PAIGE: Believe me"sheTd know. Carwana has
a sixth sense.

KELLY: (Returning to her chair) Gravy. Sup-
pose the trustee meeting beats the exhibition to
the finish?

ANGELA: Kelly, youTre a worry wart. ItTll take
her aunt hours to put that speaker ban through.

KELLY: I understand. Win or no hundred-
thousand dollar gift to the college.

PAIGE: No, no. ItTs not that at all. ItTs not
CarwanaTs money. ItTs her. ItTs her force and
persuasiveness that moves people.

ANGELA: But when itTs irresistible force against
immovable objects"

PAIGE: CarwanaTs generous. Why, just last
month she donated a new wing to Lefentante Gen-
eral Hospital.

KELLY: O.K., O.K. (Angela walks to the door
and looks out.)

ANGELA: (Moving to center stage) I donTt
see anybody. Sure is quiet.

KELLY: Hey, letTs go, Paige.

PAIGE: No, ITve got to wait for her. But you
and Angela can leave. I know youTve got things
to do.

(Angela and Kelly exchange glances. Angela
returns to the chair.)

ANGELA: We'll wait. But the exhibition is
bound to be over by now. We havenTt seen any
viewers for an hour. (Begins rummaging in her
purse for a half-eaten apple.)

KELLY: This is like sitting up with a corpse.

PAIGE: Is it that bad?

KELLY: (Apologetic) ITm sorry, Paige, I did-
nTt mean it the way it sounded. ITm keeping my
fingers crossed that it will win. (Angela rises,
walks over to the painting at center, stands star-
ing at it.)

THE REBEL

FALL, 1966

ANGELA: (after a pause)
Kelly?

KELLY: oThe Fiend.T (Bends over to read in-
scription) oThe Fiend.�

ANGELA: But itTs so much more.

KELLY: Why is it called oThe Fiend?�

PAIGE: You know why, Kelly.

KELLY: Well, I know your Aunt Carwana calls
abstract art fiendish. But"

ANGELA: ThereTs a chained spirit, struggling
to be free"

KELLY: WhatTs his fright?

ANGELA: Himself, maybe. (Exchanges glances
with Paige, slowly walking to front stage center)
ItTs all the proud tyrants. ItTs the brightest angel.
And despite the false pride which seems forever
to chain man to the cloak of darkness, there is al-
ways the stirrings toward light"toward the morn-
ing star.

PAIGE: Angela.

ANGELA: Yes, Paige, I see all that in oThe
Fiend.� And what I see is beautiful. (Paige and
Angela exchange glances and both smile.)

What do you see,

ANGELA: (Looking at watch abruptly) I do
have to go. Good-bye, Kelly. (Leaves without
purse)

KELLY: Bye.

ANGELA: (Returning to get purse) Oh, Paige,
ITm proud of you. Good-bye. (Angela leaves. Paige
smiles. )

KELLY: (Rising and going to sit beside Paige
on sofa) Paige, I do want you to win. When the
judgesT decision is made, I hope it will be: oThe
Fiend,� unsigned, winner of the tuition grant.
Why, then youTd be free"free of your aunt and
you could paint your abstracts in spite of her ban.

PAIGE: (Rising to front stage center) Well,
whatever happens, I know I have to create. (Wist-
fully) At night I dream, and in the morning my
hands move over the canvas, putting my dreams
there! You do see, donTt you? (Moves across stage
to back of chair)

KELLY: Have you ever stopped to think that
maybe your aunt wouldnTt be so opposed to your
taking art if you painted scenes from nature"
trees and birds and stuff like that"art that says
something?

PAIGE: I paint asT I feel"I have to, Kelly.
ThereTs so much beyond the canvas.

KELLY: (Warningly) Sh! Guess the exhibition
isnTt over. Here come three guys.

PAIGE: Come over here to sit down. LetTs pre-
tend weTre just viewers.

KELLY: (Nodding, she moves quickly to the
other chair. Four college boys enter. One remains

silent throughout the scene, they are typically
campus types. They go to PaigeTs painting and
stare at it.)

VAN: Hey, Man! This is what I call gone. ItTs
the wildest.

FRANK: ItTs a scarecrow if you ask me.

VAN: No, Man. ItTs my Uncle Lamas. Exactly
his expression when I ask him for more cash.

Cory: Ah, fellows, you just donTt appreciate
art. (The other two boys groan.)

FRANK: Well, pal, I appreciate art that looks
like art. This thing must be a joke.

VAN: A poor joke, Man.

Cory: I see a struggle.

FRANK: Yeah, yeah. (Reads title) It says oThe
Fiend.� (Steps back.) Some fiend, isnTt it, Van?

VAN: Oh man! A fiend! How terribly horrid.
(Putting on an act) ITm so frightened.

FRANK: My gal knows it isnTt safe to be around
a fiend.

Cory: O. K., you clowns.

VAN: Oh! Frank, heTs going to sic the fiend
on us! LetTs fly.

FRANK: Yeah. (Van, Frank, Ted leave)

CoRY: Come on, you goons. A lot of people
may be in this painting, the same as me. I hope
this painting wins.

VAN: Man, old Cory is nuts"nuts! (The boys
leave)

KELLY: Ah, wise guys. (She moves slowly to
stand before oThe Fiend,� looking searchingly at
it.)

PAIGE: (Follows Kelly, observes her concentra-
tion) What now?

KELLY: ITm looking for myself.

PAIGE: Oh?

KELLY: The one called Cory saw himself.

PAIGE: He did, didnTt he?

KELLY: (Returning to face Paige) Paige, how
much does your art really mean to you?

PAIGE: ItTs my life. Oh, if you just knew what
itTs like to create colors and lines and form, to
make them speak for you"

KELLY: Your aunt says youTve got to be a doc-
tor. And sheTs paying the bills.

PAIGE: Art is my life.

KELLY: If it comes to a showdown, what about
tuition ?

PAIGE: Tuition?

KELLY: Would you wash dishes for art, wait on
tables?

PAIGE: Well, there are grants.

KELLY: (Warningly) Here come some women.
More viewers. (Paige motions for Kelly to again
be seated. Four or five women, mostly middle-

THE REBEL

aged, enter chattering.)

ELEANOR: Wonder if weTre the only club"
(Spies girls, calls out to them.) Girls, have any
other clubs attended the exhibition?

KELLY: HavenTt any idea. (The girls withdraw
among the paintings.)

GREY: (Pointing to ~The FiendT) This one,
Lettice! (Thumbing through her notes) Abstract
"abstract. (Finds it) Ah, yes. Abstraction, as
you know, can be defined as the abstract qualities
that exist in every form of art. (Consults notes)
Contemporary abstract painting is devoted to
these values. Objects and form are broken up in
this art form.

MAMIE: Grey knows so much about abstract
art.

ELEANOR: What is it called?

GREY: oThe Fiend.�

LERRICE: ItTs cute.

MAMIE: IsnTt it darling! I just love abstract
art.

ELEANOR: I do too. Look at those colors.

LETTICE: So symbolic of a friend.

GREY: ItTs oThe FiendT, Lettice. Not friend.
(Lettice shrugs and returns to realistic paintings,
takes a look at the title.)

MAMIE: This gets my vote. TCourse, ITm not a
judge.

ELEANOR: Mine, too. ItTs the only abstract I
see. ITm for abstract art!

MAMIE: Oh, I am too. (Mild pause) I want
some coffee. (Dana enters)

DANA: So here you are, girls. ITm late, I know.
But ITve had some thinking to do, and I decided to
take a quiet stroll around the campus.

MAMIE: Eleanor and I are going on for coffee.

GREY: All right.

(Two women leave. Grey continues) Now, donTt
tell me, Dana. YouTre still undecided about your
vote.

DANA: Yes, Grey. I never rush into anything.

GREY: YouTve had plenty of time. ItTs not that
much to it. We are only voting on whether to put
pansies or peonies around Benjethy CartwellTs
statue.

DANA: Every issue is important, and this one
is especially so.

LETTICE: Now, thatTs nice, Dana. ITm always
rushing into everything. I just donTt think too
much.

(Dana looks at the paintings and spies oThe >

Fiend.TT)

DANA: (Aloud) Hey"(There is a note of rec-
ognition in her voice.)

LETTICE: What?

FALL, 1966

(Dana walks closer to the painting and smiles.)

DANA: Now thatTs unusual!

GREY: You mean that abstract thing?

LETTICE: I think itTs cute.

DANA: Revealing.

GREY: It reveals what?

DANA: CanTt you see it?

LETTICE: Well, I donTt see anything.

DANA: I see a prisoner trying to escape.

GREY: I see colors .

LETTICE: Oh, dear"lItTs time to vote. Come
girls). Anyway, I donTt understand your talk"
something escaped indeed.

DANA: Although you two donTt see it, it does
make sense to me. (Three women leave.)

PAIGE: (Looking at her painting, then to Kelly)
ITm looking for something.

KELLY: Yes?

PAIGE: For myself.

KELLY: Oh. (Seeing two viewers entering at
front, Paige goes to back of sofa.)

(Jock, a young man in his late twenties, enters
with Helena, his wife, a woman impeccably groom-
ed and richly dressed. Jock is the conventional
garret-type artist, a pose he cultivates according
to HelenaTs specifications. Jock breaks away from
her and moves quickly to oThe Fiend,� and is ab-
sorbed by it.)

Jock: (After much thought, breathing out ec-
static approval) This is"This is"

HELENA: ItTs monstrous. ItTs the worst thing
ITve ever been subjected to. And youTve dragged
me around to see some pretty bad art.

Jock: Will I never be able to show you, Helena.
Things you need to know are spread right here
on this canvas. ITve got to buy this painting.

HELENA: You'll do nothing of the kind.

JocK: But ITve got to have it.

HELENA: And where would you get the money
to pay for this terror?

JOCK: ITd get it.

HELENA: I wouldnTt give you five cents to buy
the likes of this.

JocK: (Musingly) If I had looked at this often
enough"these chains"Why I might have broken
away from my lesser self.

HELENA: Come on, Jock. (She pulls him with
her.) YouTre under contract to Father, you know.
The azaleas for my solarium, and then"

JocK: (Looking back) But thatTs how I want
to paint"in symbols.

HELENA: Not with my money! If you want
money for this painting, go dig a ditch! (Exits)

Jock: (Sighing, shrugging) Back to the aza-
leas. (Exits)

KELLY: Can you beat that"heTs not even strain-
ing against the leash!

PAIGE: But starvation is very real, Kelly. It
does take money.

KELLY: He could dig ditches, couldnTt he?

(A judge walks in and pins a blue ribbon on
oFlowers�, then exits)

KELLY: You lost, Paige. ITm sorry. oFlowers�
by Harley Devaris.

PAIGE: Did I? Did I lose?

KELLY: You saw the judge.

VQICE: (Outside) Paige! Paige Reed!

PAIGE: ThatTs Aunt Carwana.

KELLY: (Rushing over to picture oThe FiendT,
starts to take it down.) ITll take it up to our room
before she sees it.

PAIGE: (Quickly) No, leave it.

KELLY: But her ban"

PAIGE: Leave it.

KELLY: O. K. (She starts for the door) ITll be
back.

(After KellyTs exit, Aunt Carwana strides in.
She is an impressive woman, well-dressed, the tail-
ored type. She heads at once for the sofa.)

CARWANA: So here you are, Paige. Ohhhh!
ITm tired. (She sits.) Paige, what a taxing day!

PAIGE: You must have read the announcement,
Aunt Carwana. I exhibited.

CARWANA: What? You didnTt!

PAIGE: Yes, I exhibited oThe Fiend.� I lost.
oFlowers� won.

CARWANA: Well, never mind. ITm going to over-
look it. I know what ITll do. ITll take you and your
roommate out to Carte Inn. How does that sound?

PAIGE: ITm sorry, Aunt Carwana, but Kelly and
I will be busy during the dinner hour.

CARWANA: Oh, JTll attend to that. You'll be
glad to know J won. The speaker ban was finally
passed, a victory for the forces of right.

PAIGE: ITm not glad, Aunt Carwana.

CARWANA: I fought so hard for this ban, and
you are against me?

PAIGE: I am not against you, Aunt Carwana.
But I am for free speech.

CARWANA: I never heard you talk like this be-
fore.

PAIGE: I havenTt been saying what I think.
Now I must. Because of oThe Fiend.�

CARWANA: What? (Paige rises, moves over to
the painting.)

PAIGE: (Pleading) Aunt Carwana, look at my
picture. And tell me what you see. (Carwana
sits undecided an instant, then rises and walks
over to the painting.)

PAIGE: Do you see me in it? Or"or yourself?

CARWANA: Heaven forbid!

PAIGE: But you do see thereTs a chained spirit,
struggling to be free?

CARWANA: (Turning back to her chair) How
absurd! I do know that ITm ashamed that it bears
the name of Reed. Now will you give up this folly,
this fiendish art, and follow the sensible plan for
your ife?

PAIGE: No.

CARWANA: (Rising and thinking) Then I will
have to withdraw all support.

PAIGE: I do appreciate the help you have given
me.

CARWANA: (Sternly) ItTs over. ITm through
with you. Do you realize what that means?

PAIGE: Yes.

CARWANA: (Changing to a softer tone) What
will you do? Starve?

PAIGE: ITll wash dishes, wait on tables" (They
look at each other. Neither flinches.)

CARWANA: (After a pause) Where is your
pride? (Pause) What of my pride. I was going
to make you the best doctor Reed Hospital ever
had! Change your mind and come with me now.

PAIGE: No.

CARWANA: (Long Pause) Please! (Paige nods
her refusal. Carwana squares her shoulders.)
Goodbye, Paige.

PAIGE: Goodbye, Aunt Carwana.
walks toward sofa, begins crying.)

(A Janitor comes on stage and sweeps floor,
moving quickly across floor. He notices Paige,
continues to sweep and then stops and curiously
stares as Paige rises.)

PAIGE: Fiend, they say we lost today. But we
won, too, and Tomorrow" (She is suddenly star-
tled as she sees tears in the FiendTs eyes.) Why,
Fiend, you are crying. There are tears in your
eyes, as though theyTre reflecting light. DonTt
weep. YouTre breaking the chains. YouTre emerg-
ing.

(As Paige stands gazing in wonder at her paint-
ing, Kelly quietly re-enters and stands near her
friend.)

KELLY: ITm here Paige. Can I help?

PAIGE: (Without looking at Kelly) Kelly, look.
The dark pride dissolving in tears . . . the eyes
turning toward the light . . . DonTt you see the
tears in those eyes?

KELLY: (Very gently) Yes.

(Kelly takes Kleexex and wipes the tears out
of PaigeTs eyes as all lights fade out except one
dim spot on the janitor, who stands puzzled for a
moment, shrugs shoulders, and then sweeps on off
stage.)

(Carwana

THE REBEL

Ode to Baie de Courane LL











The time has come for dawn at the forlorn
Entombment of civility. White sails

Announce the coming of the junks as they =
Seurry across the glistening bay. Wispy © ae
Clouds start to move in endless procession""==" :;

To the waiting sea. Light reflécts from the ~ ~~
Shrouded mountains and strikes gentle
Ripples as they traverse the war-torn bay.

The dawn brings new life to the hordes of men
That are encamped around the slopes of the
Encircling mountains. Another day
Awakes anew the cries of death, the smell
Of guns, the sense of loss. Only the bay
Remains impervious to the drama.

Oh, bay of such exuding calm, can not

You tell us your secret? Your eyes have-seen
The depths of Man; there surely must :
Exist a way to end this-foolishTstrife. -"/
Tell us what we must do beforeTs too late

To hope for naught but death, The Eternal.

Dusk closes around the bay as sun and light
Retreat beyond the ring of stone and earth

That man has called mountains. The wind bre
Still answer to his tortured question. But
Man sleeps in ignorance, not ever to

Know that the bay and earth endure al
While man is but a brief, small dot
The infinite life spectrum Nature

aT

FALL, 1966 9

THE REBEL

One of the chief topics of discussion among both
clergy and laymen alike is the current theology
which proclaims the death of God. In seminaries,
in churches, and in the colleges throughout the
country, deep discussion and debate rages over the
subject. Is God dead or is He alive? The Rebel
interviewed two of the leading men in each of these
fields: Dr. Thomas J. J. Altizer of Emory Univer-
sity, Atlanta, Georgia, who is a oGod-is-dead�T
theologian, and Dr. John C. Bennett, President,
Union Theological Seminary, New York City, a

S oGod-is-alive� theologian. Their observations and
remarks in this contrasting interview reveal very
clearly two positions of current theology. (The
boldface type indicates a member of the Rebel staff
speaking.)

GOD

The first question we have for you is exactly
what do you mean by the oDeath of God�?

Most fundamentally, I believe that the God who
is manifest and revealed in the Bible and in the
Christian faith as the transcendant Lord and the
sovereign creator has died, and that God is no
longer actual and real. In this faith today, we can

know his death as a full manifestation and incar-
D Jef D Pe nation of the sum of Christ.
wes © Does the Death of God Movement have a future

in Christianity?

Of course, because as I understand it, it is only
the Christian who truly knows the death of God,
and the death of God is a full manifestation of the
Christian faith itself, and that it is only the Chris-
tian who can truly live and rejoice in the death
of God.

Who, or what might be a better question, takes
the place of God in the new theology?

As a whole, as I see it, I would say, what is hap-
pening here decisively is that Christ is becoming
the full and only center of things and that this is
a form that understands Christ as being totally
present now, present in such a way as to appear as
a consequence of the Death of the Transcendant
Lord.

Dr. Altizer, when did God die?

FALL, 1966 11

Well, as I understand it, God died most funda-
mentally, most primarily by becoming incarnate
and by dying on the cross and that the original
death of God on the cross occurred in the individ-
ual Jesus Christ, in the original form of Christ,
and has since then slowly, but very decisively, be-
come natural, manifest, and real in history, in
consciousness, in experience, so that now, that
original death of God is manifest and real to every
man who lives in our history and in the contempo-
rary movement of our history.

Does this mean that God did this voluntarily
or was it a necessary act on His part, or just what
exactly was the motivation behind it?

Of course I couldnTt, and donTt really think any
theologian could give a motivation of God. But I
think that we can say that this act of self-dissolu-
tion and self-negation occurred to actualize the
total form of redemption and of life.

I have heard one word and seen one word con-
stantly in articles referring to the Death of God
theology. The key word is responsibility. As I
understand it, man becomes responsible for many,
many of his actions, he takes the plain and full
responsibility for what he does. If this is true, is
man capable of accepting this responsibility?

That is a very good question: is man capable of
it? But on the other hand, I think that man must
be capable of it. There is no hope unless he can
accept this responsibility. But any form of hu-
man dependence upon an outsider, or transceind-
ant, or distant other in our time is either becom-
ing impossible or repressive or self-negating. I
should say that it is only in so far as man can
assume in some sense a genuine and full and total
responsibility that he can truly be alive and live in
our generation.

Dr. Altizer, do you believe in an after-life ac-
cording to the orthodox Christian view?

No, and by the way, I donTt believe that many
theologians do; that is to say that the Christian
and common idea of personal immortality never
was a true component of Christian faith; it is in
origin and in nature fundamentally pagan and
non-Christian. I believe on the contrary that it is
only in so far as we pass through an actualized
death ourselves thatT we can undergo a union with
Christ. Now this doesnTt mean, however, that
there is no hope for the future. I think that the
hope for the future is in the triumph of the body,
the total body, the total reality of Christ in which
every form of life and energy, we trust and hope,
will appear to be real, even if it is transfigured and
non-individual and non-ego.

12

Dr. Altizer, can the Death of God theology have
a positive effect on Christianity as we know it, or
does the church fundamentally need to change its
organization, structure, and outlook?

Again, I think that the church is already funda-
metnally changing its structure, faith, and outlook.
This process is rather well-advanced, and must,
of course, continue, move ever forward in a more
comprehensive and radical direction. We can see
this in the Vatican II and the changes that are
sweeping the Roman Catholic Church. Also, I
think in many of the frontiers of Protestantism
and in everything we have traditionally known as
the Church, as worship, as witness, and as Chris-
tian life, most pass through a radical change, a
radical reformation.

Dr. Altizer, do you foresee the possibility of
yourself being called a conservative?

Yes. As a matter of fact, I already am called
a conservative by some, and, I can imagine as
time goes on, I will increasingly be so identified
unless I go further to the left than I already have.

In our talk with Dr. John C. Bennett, President
of Union Theological Seminary, he seemed to
think that the Death of God Movement, although
having very positive effects on the church and
Christianity today, is just another passing phase
of theology that has no substantial hope for any
real grounds in the future. How do you view
this?

Well, it is very difficult to predict the future.
I think that I would agree that it is certainly a
passing phase in theology. However, I believe
that all theological expressions are passing phases
in theology. There is no such thing as a form of
theology that can perpetuate itself indefinitely. To
the extent that it does, it is a sickness in theology
or in the phase of it. However, it is my belief that
the Death of God theology is the expression of a
movement that is going to transform theological
thinking. Even though it may be a minor expres-
sion, I think it is a genuine expression, certainly
in terms of theological options at hand which are
very, very few. One of the problems in the theol-
ogy of the last generation is that it has been so
dead. There has been almost nothing happening
of any substance in the theological world for a
whole generation. I mean that all the major theo-
logical work was done in the twentieth century
by men who are either dead or in their seventies.
We have been living in a theological void for the
past generation, and we are now beginning to
move out of it.

Dr. Altizer, are there many theologians or
philosophers who have influenced your theology?

THE REBEL

Oh, a great many. It seems to me that I have
tried to give witness to the major ones in my
works. Do you mean contemporary theologians,
or what do you mean?

Yes, contemporary theologians.

Yes. Well, I have certainly been influenced by
Paul Tillich, although I donTt know whether you
should call him contemporary since he is dead. I
have also been influenced by Rudolf Bultmann and,
for that matter, by Karl Barth, Heidegger, Sartre,
and by a great number of literary critics and
others.

Many theologians I have talked to feel that Bon-
hoeffer very possibly was the one who, you might
say, started this theological direction. Is this
true, and as such, has he had any influence on
you, or has it just been a passing influence?

Well, I think it is true that he does belong at
the fountainhead of this movement. It just so
happens that I, myself, was not decisively affected
by him simply because I had, in effect, reached my
position before I had read the late papers of Bon-
hoeffer. But, nonetheless, I certainly would place
him at the forefront of this movement, meaning
more particularly, his late papers and not his
earlier theological work.

Dr. Altizer, usually when we hear of the Death
of God theology, it is in relation to you and Wil-
liam Hamilton. Is this a growing movement now
in this country and are more theologians joining
with you in this approach to theology?

I think that it definitely is a growing movement
and that more theologians are publicly associating
themselves with the movement. I think that theo-
logians have been doing this kind of work for
themselves and in many cases, or in some cases,
for many years. There are a number of theolo-
gians that one can now say are publicly identified
with the Death of God movement. However, one
of the problems today is that we donTt have much
communication. There is no such thing as a
national theological society in this country. There
is no way by which we can meet under normal cir-
cumstances. Communications are not good. We
are trying to correct this to some extent. How-
ever, in terms of this Death of God Movement,
there is something for the public that is a recent
event, and I think that it is going to take a little
while before we can have any objective knowledge
of how broad a movement it is in American theol-
ogy. But I do think that there are a significant
number of theologians who, by one means or an-
other, are practicing the Death of God theology,
the radical theology, or are thinking in these terms
and working in these terms.

FALL, 1966

Dr. Altizer, does the phrase ototality of man�
have any significance in the new theology?

Well, it certainly could have, depending on what
one means, of course. I would interpret it in some
sense as meaning a particular totality of man re-
leased in this era, in our time and that man has
opened himself to total existence of the flesh and
the here and now of immediate existence. There
is a new kind of total humanity. There have been
other kinds before, of course, but I mean the
classic paradise of a totality of humanity ; the mys-
tical one when man exists totally in and as a pre-
mordial, external being. Now I think that we are
seeing the opposite of that. We are seeing a new
paradise of a totality of humanity which is exist-
ing here and now time and flesh and in the im-
mediary of GodTs great existence.

You have mentioned that you have been influ-
enced in the field of literature quite a bit. Who
are some of the figures in literature who have in-
fluenced you and why?

You mean writers primarily?

Yes sir.

Well, a great many. One is William Blake, but
I have been decisively affected, and I think most
theologians have, by Dostoevsky. Among mod-
ern writers I would include Proust (Hrothgar),
Joyce, and even to some extent by Eliot and Yeats.
Also, I have been very much affected by literary
critics. I suppose the most recent literary critic
who has decisively influenced me is Northrop
Frye.

One last question, Dr. Altizer. Henry, you have
an analogy. Would you mind mentioning that
analogy and checking its validity?

The analogy was that given the situation where
two parents have a child and, for some reason,
this child is threatened and the parents choose to
give their lives voluntarily for this child. This
puts the child in the position where the only in-
fluence the parents have over him is memory of
his teachings, what they have taught him in the
past. They have no direct, present influence,
realistically speaking. Would you say that this is
analogous to what the Death of God theology is
talking about?

In part, but only in part. I would also want to
say that, if you are willing to stretch it biologically,
if we are to stick to the analogy, in some sense
through the death, the predetermined death of the
parents, their life is present in the child in a new
form. It is not in just the teachings or even the
love which is a model for the child, but in a very
real sense, their life and energy are now present
and real inside, within, at the center of the child.

13

Seavert

Doctor Bennett, although this question has
been asked many, many times, usually on the
other side of the fence, what does the Death of
God Movement mean to you?

Well, I think that it means that a great many
people are disillusioned about Christian faith as a
reality as they have understood it, that the sym-
bols about God, the images of God, are no longer
convincing, and also that there is a very great
sense of the absence of God in the real world, a
tragic world in which there is so much evil, that
it is hard to point to the actual activity of God in
this world. Now one of the characteristics of the
Death of God movement, the most important, is
that it is a movement within the church, within the
Christian circle, quite honestly so. These people
believe that there can be a different statement of
what Christianity means, in the sense of a God
who transcends the world. And they do this by
emphasizing, very much, Jesus Christ. This means
that they seek to be a Christian group or Christian
individuals, and to a very large extent Christ
seems to take the place of God.

Well, the word oGod� is, of course, tossed about
rather freely and quite often. Attempting to de-
fine the undefinable, could you give a limited con-
cept of God?

Well, I think the concept of God that represents
the main tradition is that God is the creator, He
is independent of the world, the world depends up-
on him, and God is present as an active redeemer
as well as a creative force in the world. God, from
the Christian standpoint, is never just humanity
seen in a different light, but God transcends hu-
manity, judges humanity and also seeks to trans-
form humanity. Now it seems to me that what
the Death of God people do is to locate God, or
locate what is to them the supreme object of the
faith and obedience in Christ as a man in the first
century. I think this is so very largely so in the
case of Hamilton. With Altizer I think it is rather
different. There is some sense of the living Christ

14

and the Holy Spirit becoming a reality in the world
which is the equivalent or does duty to a consider-
able extent to what some people use the word
oGod� to describe or to designate.

Dr. Bennett, do you believe that the death of
God can have constructive results on the modern
Christian Church?

Well, I think so. I think anything that shocks
people so that they look at their thinking, look at
the things they have taken for granted, and find
new ways of expressing what they mean is to the
good. Why, there will undoubtedly be a lot of
people who will be hurt in the sense that their
faith will be shaken by it within the church and
they may give up any relationship to the Christian
faith. Actually, the Death of God theologians,
because of their very great emphasis on Jesus, are
not likely to leave the Christian faith. But many
people influenced by them only get the negative
side of this and they wonTt get the positive Chris-
tian side at all. There will be some loss at that
point but I think that by and large the churches
are better for being shaken up by this kind of
movement from time to time.

Is there any future for the Death of God Move-
ment? Will it last any longer than a couple of
years?

I think it is very unstable and likely to fall apart
myself. After all, everything changes anyway.
No theological movement stays put very long. I
have outlived several myself that were deemed to
have been very solid. And this is itself quite un-
stable, particularly because of the combination of
the denial of the reality of God the Father, and
the great stress upon Jesus without God the Fa-
ther. It seems to me the whole context of JesusT
life is denied.

Dr. Bennett, you have mentioned the effect of
the Death of God Movement upon the Christian
faith. What effect do you think there will be on
people who are not in the Christian faith?

I have no idea. Many of them will say oI told
you so, long ago.� And you have that reaction.
I think others will say, ~ooHere there is something
new going on in the church, letTs look at it.�

Do you think it will stimulate thinking?

Oh, yes. I think it will. It will depend on whom
they read. I think that if they are led into Bon-
hoeffer, for example, they would necessarily be led
into something that would open up all kinds of new
horizons to them.

Dr. Bennett, it seems to me that one of the
keystones of the Death of God Movement is its
belief that (1) Man is completely free"has com-

THE REBEL

plete freedom of action"and (2) that he has com-
plete responsibilities for his actions in the world.
Do you agree with this and how does this com-
pare with the more traditional forms of theology?

Well, I donTt agree with it, nor do I agree that
traditional forms of theology tend to oppress man
or leave man overwhelmed by divine power and
divine initiative. It seems to me that the carefully
stated traditional forms of theology have usually,
in all cases, have usually made a very important
place for human freedom, for the capacity for this
weak, finite, creature to resist the creator. This is
something which is taken into account in theology.
There are some extreme forms of Calvinism, to
be sure, that donTt really allow for this except
with some degree of inconsistency perhaps. On
the other hand, I think that to say that it is possi-
ble for any finite person whose life is within the
social web and who is conditioned by his own past
as we all are conditioned by our pasts, any such
person is absolutely free. I think the number of
alternatives may be enlarged; the freer man has
more alternatives to choose between, but they will
be limited. And the moment you take count of
manTs social responsibilities, then alternatives be-
come very much limited, limited because of the
past. Anyone who is talking about absolute free-
dom is talking about himself as an individual in
a vacuum.

One of the key words to me in the Death of God
Movement is the word responsibility. I would like
to ask you to take the other side of the fence for
a moment. One of the things that really bothers
me about the theology is the fact that in the con-
cept as it is developed now, there is no after-life.
To put it on finite terms, there is no reward, there
is no punishment. It seems to me that this in a
sense takes away a lot of the incentive of man.
Why should he accept such responsibility? It
would seem to me that some people I know of could
be completely evil in the traditional sense of the
word and be completely free with no bothering
about what they are doing, no fear, and to them
there is much more incentive to be evil than to
accept responsibility for their acts.

Here are you saying that people do accept re-
sponsibilities because of fear of future punish-
ment? Of course, this is basic.

Along these general lines, yes.

Well, I would think that it may well be that a
certain amount of social discipline has been main-
tained by that, and the absence of that will remove
the discipline to a certain extent. And this may
be a loss. On the other hand, on the terms of per-
sonal character, people who are responsible will

FALL, 1966

choose a better rather than a worse course. Be-
cause of the fear of future punishment, some are
doing the right things for the wrong reason. Now
in order to keep some kind of a tolerable situation
in the world it may be that a certain amount of
this is all right. But it is not a way in which
Christian character is developed. And I am won-
dering myself if this is not now present among
many citizens no matter with what their conscious
theology is concerned. There have been periods
when the fear of Hell was a very vivid experi-
ence. This was something too limited; it undoubt-
edly would bring this kind of discipline. But
today, is that very common? That vivid fear of
hell as though it were something we could imagine
as a great threat? Is that operated with the Death
of God theology or with fundamentalists? I donTt
know.

I guess what I am saying is that I believe that
man is basically selfish, not necessarily in the nor-
mal connotation of the word. But that all of his
drives, wants, his actions are basically motivated
by a selfish outlook. And if you take away any
incentive, to act justifiably to his fellowman, it
seems like this could increase to a tragic degree.

What is your concept of the after-life?

Well, I donTt have any concept of the after-life
that I could describe. I think the Christian teach-
ings about the after-life, or about the resurrection,
immortality, are ways in which it affirmed that
God is not defeated by death, by our death, and
that somehow there is meaning in our life in spite
of death. The faith, a positive faith in the face
of death is, I think, what Christianity must always
stand up for, and this comes more from faith in
God than from faith in survival.

One last question. Is there room, particular-
ly on the staff of the main conservative seminaries
for the so-called left-wing or radical theologians"
do they have a place in the seminary?

It all depends on what you mean by oconserva-
tive.� I think the answer is oYes.� I donTt think
that you would go out and find different Death of
God theologians to occupy your major chairs of
theology, but I think it is good to have such a per-
son on the faculty. What they did at Colgate-
Rochester where Professor Hamilton, who is Pro-
fessor of Theology and taught the major course
in theology, was to keep him on the faculty, and
he now teaches the Philisophy of Religion, the Re-
ligion of Literature, and probably the Hamiltonian
Theology. No, I believe that in many groups of
theological seminaries, the more conservative that
they are, the more they need somebody to shake
them up.

15

First Place Poetry

16

Rue 2]

Iam so longing...

Iam so long inlonging .. .

I am\so long in longing to belong . .,.
You follow? Must I explain again...
All right, Sport,

ITm leaving, this minute,

Keys in throbbing fist,

Crumpled HarperTs in shoulder bag,
Damp tissue in waste can

With all the rest of my dowdy,
Watered-down dreams.

And if anyone is the wiser"

I think ITm the wiser, Sport.

Not wiser than you;

I didnTt mean that:

You lie theré listening to the 7:55 news
Whilé.I go out to face

The glass-eye morality of the world,
The world steeped so far in the memory
Of lost words and empty poems

That it canTt remember

Its own little red pulsating body;
The.world too good to leave:

The green park strewn with

Do Not Walk On The Grass Signs

So easily-made into sailboats .. .
Can2t-you see, Sport, there,has to be red!
Violent; searing, plunging red
Makes.thé world go round

And the world is my oyster, Sport,
Lshall not want"

Oh, isnTt thata scream,

I shall die ITshall positively

¥ou shattered a lot more than my glass eye, Sport.

Mr. Vacanteyes, Mr. Softmouth.
But ITve had all the red I want

And ITm leaving

Just as soon as you unlock the door.
Unlock the door.

The door was locked?

PAM HONAKER

THE REBEL

The proverbial beauty which is found in the
eye of the beholder finds its most noticeable form
in beautiful women; probably no other single ob-
ject has given more satisfaction to man or been
so greatly expounded in art and literature than
has feminine beauty. With this idea in mind,
The Rebel presents a photographic essay on fem-
inine beauty . . . collegiate style, since in its col-
legiate aspects the appealing qualities of woman-
hood are no less the subject of ponderance, artistic
expression, and a great many admiring glances.
The following pictures, some candid, some posed,
attempt to display such beauty in its variety, in
its scope, and in its appeal.

FALL, 1966

ABOVE LEFT: Brenda Mizell displays a dis-
quieting effect as she waits for a friend at the
Roaring Twenties in Greenville. UPPER RIGHT:
Sweet, often fearful, always demure, Brenda rep-
resents the classic example of womanhood. LOW-
ER RIGHT: Anticipation and a touch of joy glow
in BrendaTs eyes as she sights something that
pleases her.

17

RIGHT: Connie and her
friend Joanna seem to be plan-
ning how they can best use
their feminine wiles on their
unsuspecting escorts.

18

LEFT: A night of wine and music are in the
offing as Connie House waits by the organ at the
Candlewick Inn for her lucky date. ABOVE:
Candlelight sets the mood for an enchanting eve-

ning...

and an enchanting look.

THE REBEL

i a} ty a

~

7. ta
al ai ra rt

ABOVE: Their planning done, Joanna and
Connie return to their dates, stopping for a last
minute survey of the situation. RIGHT: Joanna,
a woman of beauty, charm, and grace. Joanna, a
woman of depth and appeal. Joanna, a woman to
boost the morale of all men. And above all, Joanna,
a woman of true spohistication.

LEFT: An open hearth, a
fireplace, and who needs a fire
with the warmth of ConnieTs
smile to kindle the flame in
any heart. But nights of beau-
ty and enchantment must end,
and a slight look of nostalgia
crosses her face as an evening
of evenings comes to a close.

.

FALL, 1966 19

Although work on THE REBEL is often hectic
and hard, life for the staff also has its moments
of joy, as Margo Teu, copy editor, illustrates.
ABOVE: oWho, me?� asks Margo delightedly
when the phone rings. ABOVE RIGHT: Indeed,
Margo seems a bit out of focus as that important
someone asks for a dinner date. RIGHT: Margo
ponders for a moment the evening ahead as she
slowly replaces the telephone receiver.

20



THE REBEL

| ABOVE: Anne seems to contemplate some
course of action as she stops for a moment by one
of the many campus trees.

ABOVE: Beauty in its pur-
est form radiates from Anne
Young as she reclines on a
deserted outdoor table.

RIGHT: Anne pauses to ad-
mire the beauty of nature but
she herself has a beauty which
man cannot hope to equal.

FALL, 1966 21

contemporary

Cy
-O
sO
&
©
x,
4.
insight C
(eo)
)
hy,
Sho :
Mh,
god
xo :
ee images

Ss
Sn,
Gps
Co,
theologian
»
3 we
+ or
a N
i)
22

The
Functions

Of

Religious
Language

FIRST PLACE ESSAY
by

HOUSTON CRAIGHEAD, JR.

The purpose of religious language as the writer
conceives it is two-fold. The first purpose is really
not to say anything at all. That is, it is not to
describe to us any matter of fact. It tells a person
nothing about the world of science. It tells him
nothing about any ometaphysical beings.� It
doesnTt say or tell him anything whatever. Its
function is to show him something. In Wittgen-
steinTs phrase, the o~mysticalTT cannot be said, it
can only be shown. Religious language is, in this
sense, attempting to oshow� something. It is
attempting to produce within the listener an oin-
sight,� a oseeing into something.� It is not giv-
ing the listener any information. It is somewhat
analogous to contemporary art in this sense. That
is, just as contemporary art is not attempting to
paint accurate pictures of houses, trees, and
horses, religious language is not attempting to
give a description of the world of fact. Contempo-
rary art breaks up its subject matter and spreads
it about the canvas. A human figure may be brok-
en into many pieces, with a hand here, a leg here,
a face there, etc. This is not a picture of an actual

THE REBEL

man as he looks to the scientific observer. This is
an attempt to portray a feeling about man. It is
an attempt to create within the observer an o~in-
sight� as to just how the artist himself may feel
and as to how the artist feels about contemporary
man. Religious language is attempting something
similar to this. It is trying to produce within the
listener an oinsight� into how the speaker feels
about the world. It is trying to get the listener to
experience within his own being the same feeling.

The second function of religious language is
ointerpretative� in nature. That is, it provides a
person with a particular way to interpret or look
at his life. It suggests categories within which
it calls him to frame his approach to existence. It
takes the humming, buzzing complex of experience
and imposes upon it a certain interpretation. It
claims that if he will look at all of his experiences
in terms of these particular categories, then his
experiences will take on meaning and significance.

This paper will now attempt to explicate in
greater fullness what it means by these two func-
tions of religious language.

First of all one might say a word of justification
on behalf of the theologianTs use of language. If
the theologian is unusually vague and overly sym-
bolic, mythological, and even paradoxical and
poetic in his use of language, one ought not to be
surprised. For he has stated beforehand that
that toward which he is pointing is a mystery. In
attempting to bring the listener to a situation in
which he will have an oinsight,� the theologian is
dealing with something unlike any other type of
experience. Indeed, it is the belief of the theo-
logian that what is oprehended� (to use White-
headTs term) by the listener in such an insight is
God Himself, mysterious, ineffable, and wholly
other. As Hepburn has said: oWhatever our final
judgment, the theologian certainly deserves the
utmost logical tolerance in trying to make his
case.�

If the theologian is speaking of something su-
pernatural, how could he possibly say anything
literal about it with natural language? And clear-
ly, the only language he has is natural language.

In attempting to show something with theolog-
ical language, one will find himself using different
types of language in many different ways. He
may even assert direct contradictories. Ferre
makes a point by saying that even in his everyday
experience with the natural world, one sometimes
asserts contradictories in attempting to describe
the phenomena which confronts him. On a par-
ticuarly humid day one may say, oItTs raining and
itTs not raining.� ~Perhaps the English language

FALL, 1966

is not yet equipped to indicate the more-than-
drizzling but less-than-sprinkling condition of the
atmosphere.� So one may, at times, speak of God.
One cannot pin down exactly what he means,
what he points toward. One may want to say
that God loves us but that he does not love us.
He means that God loves us in a strange way
which is not like human love but is something like
it. One immediately asserts the contradictory in
order to point toward the ineffable which he is
attempting to get the listener to osee.�

The Bible does this. In scripture one finds the
combination of gross anthropomorphism and re-
pudiation of anthropomorphism. He finds images
and rejection of imagery. Contemporary theology
has the task of presenting its myths in a way that
these myths are meaningful when not taken in a
literal sense. One must hold the tension. He must
affirm but immediately negate nearly every point.

Ian Crombie, in his article oThe Possibility of
Religious Assertions,�T points out that in oneTs at-
tempt to show something, he uses language to ofix
the reference range� of his theological discourse.
He specifies the general limits of what we are talk-
ing about. This is done by the elimination of all
improper objects of reference (like finite things
or empirical events). He also suggests areas to
which theological language is akin, areas such as
ethics, the philosophy of history, etc. By so doing,
one points beyond his ordinary world. He negates
those omatter of factT ways of being and continues
to negate them, thus fixing the reference range of
his language as being outside these realms. Out-
side these realms he cannot say anything (that is,
give factual statements) but can point toward
something.

Ian Ramsey, in his book Religious Language,
gives several illustrations which are somewhat
analogous to what this paper is about. The most
impressive example is the one in which Ramsey
describes the situation of daily riding on the train
with a particular man and after a while coming
to know him fairly well in terms of his needs, his
actions, his responses, etc. But one day he says
offering his hand: oLook here"ITm Charles Mil-
ler.� ~At that moment there is a disclosure, an
individual becomes a persorf, the ice does not con-
tinue to melt, it breaks. He has discovered not
just one more fact to be added to those he has
been collecting day by day. There has been some
significant ~encounters,T which is not just a moving
of palm on palm, no mere correlation of mouth
noises, not just another nodding in some kind of
mutual harmony.�

A very interesting comparison can be made be-

23

tween what he is trying to say here and what Witt-
genstein said in his Tractatus. McPherson even
compares WittgensteinTs notion in that book to
Rudolf OttoTs Ideas of the Holy. In the Tractatus
the only questions about the world that can be
raised and answered are those about how the world
is. These sorts of questions fall within the do-
main of the sciences. However, the theologian is
asking a different kind of question. As Wittgen-
stein says: oNot how the world is, is the mystical,
but that it is.� (And strangely enough, Wittgen-
stein sounds a great deal like Heidegger at this
point.) Wittgenstein goes on to say that whereof
one cannot speak, one must be silent. However,
this writer would disagree with him here and say
that whereof one cannot say anything literal
thereof, one must not try to say anything literal.
But that does not mean that one cannot use words
to opoint toward� the omystical.� He may not
say anything but he has the possibility of showing
something. That is, oneTs language may be non-
sense, but it is extremely important non-sense.

There must, certainly, be some kind of criteria
for one to use in determining just what symbols
he shall use in attempting to opoint towardT�T the
omystical.� One criterion which he might pro-
pose is that the symbols should come out of his
own time. That is he would be erring if he
attempted to point with a symbol which had no
relation whatsoever to the contemporary man with
whom he is speaking. Some examples of this may
be seen in certain schools of Christian theology.
Many theologians continue to use, for instance,
the symbol of the slain lamb and its blood in con-
nection with some kind of interpretation of the
crucifixion of the Christ. This symbol bore deep
meaning for the early Jews who were well ac-
quainted with the full existential meaning of the
slaying of a lamb in sacrifice to the God whom
they feared. Contemporary man has little, if any,
comprehension whatsoever of this. One is at a
loss as to how we could possibly use the symbol of
the ~Lamb of God shedding his blood for our sins�
in any kind of meaningful way at all in our time.
This is not to say that there is no possibility for
such a symbol to call forth an oinsight,� but the
likelihood of its doing so is very small.

Perhaps a much better symbol in connection
with this particular event would be to speak of it
in terms of a Word spoken into oneTs existence
from the omystical�? which lies both within and
beyond oneTs existence. Granted that this symbol
says nothing literal whatsoever. Neither does the
one of the lamb. But one has more chance of
grasping an inclination of what is being shown

24

when he speaks in terms of a Word because he
lives in a world of great communication in which
one speaks to another in all types of conversation,
whether it be face to face or by long-distance
telephone. However, in the midst of all his fren-
zied talking, he seems to communicate very little
that is deeply meaningful. To say to one of the
20th century, who knows something of the inner
feeling of aloneness and darkness, that there has
been a Word spoken to him into his darkness,
which proclaims to him that there is the possibility
for him to live in this world is much more signifi-
cant than to say to him that the Lamb of God shed
his blood for his sins.

Another criterion which one might propose is
that the symbols used should be coherent with one
another. That is, to attempt to use symbols which
admit of no correlation whatever between one an-
other is a practice that will get one into great dif-
ficulty. For instance, it seems to be a mistake if
one attempts to unite the symbols of the philosophy
of history of the Eastern religions and those of the
Western religions. The Western religions (Chris-
tianity and Judaism) conceive of history as a
straight line, purposive, with a beginning and an
end. The Eastern religions conceive of history as
a cycle with no beginning and no end, much less
any purpose. To attempt to use both these sym-
bols in pointing toward the omystical� in history
would confuse more than illuminate the listener.

Of course, a final criterion might be whether or
not the symbol actually does its job. That is, does
it work? Are persons listening to discourse car-
ried on in terms of a particular set of symbols
really coming to ~o~see� what it is the symbols are
pointing toward?

This paper comes now to the second use of re-
ligious language: the interpretative.

Religious language omakes sense out of life.�
That is, in light of the oinsight�? which the reli-
gious persons claims to have been part of, and,
what is more, claims to, in some sense, continue
being a part of, life now takes on a new olight,�
a new perspective. Crombie points out that one
may learn much from the writings of Kafka and
Huxley, not in a literal way, but in a way which
makes us see life differently. o. . . what we learn
from Kafka or Huxley is not that the real world
is like the world they create; rather, having trav-
elled in imagination to a very different world,
when we come back to the real world we see it a
little differently and the difference seems to be
gain. The unlifelike element in the fictional world
is a device which makes us see things which are
present but overlooked, in ordinary experience.�

THE REBEL

ee " oe

Religious language gives a person ocategories�
or a ostance� or oposture� from which to live his
life. Frederick Ferre, speaking of the great reli-
gious symbols, says: ~They reflect a pattern or
organization of these depth experiences and if
responded to affirmatively can mould oneTs total
response to his world: implicitly embodying a
scale of values, an emphasis of outlook, a domi-
nance of drive which provides a distinctive
~stanceT or ~postureT toward the normal flow as
well as the great crises of life. Such great symbols
may be called ~organising images.T �

This is the side of religious language which one
can interpret literally. That is, a person may use
religious language in this way and actually show
to another the object of which he is speaking in
his existence. One will always want to add that
othis is not all I mean� but, within his existence
he can point to something actual, literal. Take the
statement oGod is holy,� for instance. First,
within one literal existence, what does he point to
with the term oG-o-dTT? God is, supposedly, that
which is always present, never changing, eternally
real, forever dependable. What is there within
oneTs existence which is this? Within some per-
sonTs existence everything which he touches is
transitory, passing on, changing. Whether it be
persons, things, societies, or what have you, they
are all changing and passing on. OneTs life itself
is passing away and he will someday die. Within
all this, what is there that is always present?
Nothing, except that everything is continually
passing on and is transitory. In other words,
oGod� is the linguistic symbol for the fact that
life is, more than anything else, in constant flux,
change, transitoriness, passing-away-ness. God
is this fact! What does one mean when he says
that God is holy? For something to be holy means
that one stands in awe and humbleness before it.
There is an element of fear that the full realiza-
tion that existence is completely transitory and in
no way stable creates within one a sense of awe,
fear and angst. One has the sense of being able
to cling to nothing whatever. The only thing he
has left to cling to is the fact that this is the way
things are. Thus, interpreted into his existence
literally, this is what the statement oGod is holy�
means. Some would want to say that the state-
ment means more, but the omore� can only be
shown, not said. :

Or take the statement oGod loves.� Interpreted
literally into existence one might say that when
faced with the deepest crises of life, when stand-
ing in what Karl Jaspers calls the oborder situa-
tions� of existence, when one has realized that

FALL, 1966

oGod� (as defined above) has utterly crushed him
and will always continue to do so (the Bible pro-
vides an excellent parable in the Book of Job),
when he sees that there is no hope left at all, the
Christian claims to have felt within his own being
a strange power which tells him that nevertheless
there is the possibility to live. To say that oGod
loves,� thus interpreted into existence, means that
when completely crushed by the force of existence,
one has yet found that there is the possibility for
him to live with gladness, with meaning, and with
hope. That is not all. Some mean more by the
statement ~God loves� but what that ~~moreTT is
cannot be said, only shown. The New Testament
states this mythologically by saying that Jesus,
when crushed by the Force of his Existence in
terms of a horrifying crucifixion, still found that,
even though crucifixion was the most real thing in
his existence, there was still the resurrection
through faith in God. In fact, Jesus called this
God oFather.� However, in so doing, Jesus was
not saying anything at all. He was conveying no
information. He was attempting to show some-
thing, namely a particular way in which one might
approach his existence"i.e., with the stance that
the crushing force of oneTs existence is actually
analogous to oneTs loving father. But to realize
the full impact of this, one must know the meaning
of an oinsight.� This oinsight� can only be shown,
not said.

These religious statements can become trans-
lated not only into a way in which to view oneTs
existence but also into a way of action. How
should one act toward his neighbor ?"God is love.
What shall one do with his enemy ?"~o~God was in
Christ reconciling the world... .TT As Ferre says:
oHere is meaning, volumes of the deepest mean-
ing, waiting to be translated into the fabric of
specific act and concrete life-pattern. It is because
we are here dealing with the most important sort
of meaning which any language can carry that
talk about God is incomparably vital, despite its
non-literal significance.�

Thus, one has seen the two uses of religious
language which this paper proposes. The first one
is to oshow� one something, to point him toward
the omystical,� call him to an oinsight.� The sec-
ond function, which is only really meaningful
after one has been part of the full meaning of the
first function, is to interpret the everyday goings-
on of his life. One uses his myths about miracu-
lous births, resurrections, creations, and so on, in
order to bring about an oinsight.� Then one
interprets these myths into concrete realities
which confront him in his actual existence.

25

POET'S
CORNER

Asha Yeats

I can remember that girl.

I can remember the day she died:

A long hot day in the Georgian summer,

And one that few people noticed

Save those of us who knew its significance.

A grave day, with petulant clouds suspended
In a low-slung, dusty-looking sky,

Green-hued in the west, and softly glowing

As before a storm. And there was a storm,
But not one that most of the people knew about.
I know about it, but I was closer to Asha Yeats
Than most people.

She was my mother.

She had a slack long body with thin strong arms

That could sweep you from the ground into the air

And whirl you around until you laughed and
laughed.

We had fun together, Asha and I.

She was young and vibrant and bold

(I myself was nine years old)

With thin-boned hands, and graceful and fine

The year I was nine.

And a wide mouth that laughed often.

The girl with the yearbook smile, Asha Yeats.

My mother.

We did the housework together, Asha and I,

Whistling and winking like sooty-faced chars.

But I remember the day she put down her dustcloth

And untied her tired hair

To help a little colored girl who lay

With her feet in the gutter,

Bitten by a mad dog.

Asha Yeats on her knees in the gutter

(While the neighbors watched from their win-
dows)

26

Picked up the little nigger child and
Took her to the county hospital.
ThatTs not done, said the neighbors.
In the deep South, thatTs not done.

And then things happened to us.

Dead things appeared in the front yard:

Mice, birds with torn wings, a rabid kitten,

And then one morning, a little curly-haired dog

With a torn throat.

Asha Yeats covered my eyes with her firm hands

And closed the blinds.

And we never told.

There were bad smells and a broken window,

And we never told. And a fire in the toolshed

That Asha put out with a blanket

Because the hose was missing and the spigot clog-
ged.

But we never told.

And Asha Yeats grew lonely and old.

Her pale eyes deeply set in her quaint head

Blinked in open defiance like a sullen-faced char

Until blinking was a drudge and breathing a chore

And she took sick and didnTt work anymore.

She dragged herself to my bedroom

And there she died, her weak cries
Splintering my brain and staying there,
Crumpled grotesquely on the white sheet,
My hands on her eyes,

My handkerchief over her mouth.

I was there, but she died alone,

As she did everything.

And here is where she lies, alone

Nestled in the roots of a pine tree

With so much to be proud of.

Pam Honaker

THE REBEL

J Became a Leaf

I became a leaf.

I sprang from the fingertip of a tree.

I greened and grew.

I covered a bird, nourished an insect.

I dripped of rain.

I slept on the wind.

I became vibrant with red, warm with golden.

I became tired.

I aged brown, grew weak, let go.

I dripped down and laid beside a moss, beneath a
rabbit.

I became moist and fed the earth.

Ceod

I see and feel the warmth and touch
Of eyes that pierce my depth until
I can no longer face the source

Of their disquieting power.

My mind rebels against the thought
Of alien control and though

Such alien control is all

Too inevitable, I must

Remember that obedience,

When blind, only leads me

Down to insensibility.

Were I to pause, however, and
Relax in the absorbing gaze

Of those circles of deep power,
Realizing that they seek not
Control, I would see their beauty.

GUY LE MARE

FALL, 1966

CMF Because

Two fingers following the curve of the chair-arm

Were her only proof that he was there

As the walls of the room surrounding them

Came and went with the shades of twilight.

The words were right for some purpose,

But not theirs, falling as they did on distracted
ears

Like a dream neither could remember,

Until he became more cross with himself than her

And tenderly took leave.

From the window she watched him

Cross the street, unwilling to grope for words

Worthy of being called across the distance"

This before she saw the coat, folded sleeves to-
gether

On the winey new-covered chair.

oYour coat is still here!�

She cried, her outsretched hand expressing all

That she could not, she

The no longer cherished.

PAM HONAKER

27

Second Place Fiction

Wintertime

And Not One Posy

by

Worth Kitson

It wasnTt fair to be so cold and still not snowing.
If itTs going to just be cold, well okay ... but
when itTs that cold, and it looks like itTs going to
snow, and the weatherman and your father and
even the old janitor at school all say it will, and
then it doesnTt"thatTs a pretty sneaky trick for
the sky to pull.

Miriam hated"really hated"her black wool
skirt. That skirt, with its knife-edged pleats
swinging so jauntily in the wind, had no right to
act so smart when she, who had been nice enough
to wear it out once in a while so it could see some-
thing besides the inside of a closet, was feeling
plain rotten.

A yellow paper slid out of her notebook and flut-
tered to rest on top of a puddle which could have
been lovely slush if the day hadnTt decided not to
snow. The paper floated in a lazy circle for a
minute, so Miriam stopped walking long enough
to step on it. It sank and she got her shoe wet.
The new black suedes, there they went...

oSomeday theyTll stop putting corny messages
about citizenship and scholarship and rot in our
report cards,� she said aloud. ~Then I'll stop
dropping them in mud puddles.� She turned
angrily at the corner and walked on. ~~Rats!�

As Miriam stopped for a light, Mrs. Keil drove
by, then pulled over to the tired gray curb. ~Want

28

a ride, Mimi honey?� she called in her purry PTA
president voice.

Miriam smiled sweetly and shook her head. o~No,
itTs such a great day I think ITll walk,� she called
back and waved gaily as she crossed the street.
oThank you, though.�

oDonTt honey me, sweety,� Miriam said venom-
ously as she walked on down the sidewalk. oAnd
if my name was Mimi, ITd ask you to call me Mimi.
My name is Miriam. ITd rather have everybody
call me Harry than have you call me Mimi. Call
me that again, sister, and youTll never see my
mother at another one of your meetings.�

A little boy on a red tricycle turned in his seat
and stared curiously after Miriam as she walked
by him, oBuy Christmas seals or your teeth will
rot for sure!TT Then she walked regally on. The
child sniffed reflectively and squashed a worm
carefully with the front wheel of his trike, leaving
an anonymous brown and green smudge on the
pavement. ~Poor Posie,� he said quietly to the
spot, then sighed a tired little sigh and rode slowly
on down the block.

Miriam had started to cry. It was bad enough
to be crying at all while you were walking down
some street, without your nose getting all red like
a three-year-oldTs. She couldnTt decide whether
to pull out her lace handkerchief from Brussels or

THE REBEL

use the pale green Kleenex she had found in the
home-ec room that day, so she let the tears stay
cold on her cheeks.

oSo I got a D in math. Everybody gets a D
sometimes. Just because my brother was so hot-
shot in math that doesnTt mean /Tm supposed!
Abraham Lincoln probably got a D in something
one time. And did he get into trouble for it?� she
demanded of the stop sign on the corner. It stood
in the cold wind looking impassively out at Mir-
iam from its blank red face. oNever mind,� she
said gently and turned down her street.

When she reached her front door, Miriam took
the Kleenex out of her pocketbook and wiped her
face. She rang the doorbell, listening to the faint
chime somewhere deep within the house. A min-
ute later a flood of warm yellow light came to the
door as Estelle opened it.

The small black woman sighed impatiently.
oMimi, whyTd you make me come all the way out

FALL, 1966

the kitchen to let you in your own house when the
door ainTt even locked?�

Miriam pushed past her and cried, oDONTT
SAY AINTT! And never call me Mimi again!�
She ran up the stairs: her Latin book fell to the
carpet with a dull thud and lay incongruously on
the deep green until Estelle retrieved it a minute
later and started slowly upstairs.

In her room Miriam unzipped the hated black
skirt and flung it behind the door where it sank
into a strange sort of pile of pleats. She jerked
her window open and snapped off the light. The
silver-blue evening blew in across her bed in soft
gusts: she lay in the cold and shivered, feeling
{stelle standing at the top of the stairs outside
her room. She wiped her face on the bedspread,
a pale unknown color in the odd, cold light of the
room, and listened silently to EstelleTs knock.

The door opened wide. Estelle put the Latin
book gently on MiriamTs desk and walked slowly
to the open window. She looked at the girl on the
bed, and then back out the window; taking a bottle
of spray cologne from the dresser, she sprayed the
curtains billowing in the icy wind. She looked at
the dainty gold bottle for a long time, then set it
carefully back where it had been. She turned once
more to the open window and said, oItTs snowing,
baby Miriam ... itTs snowing the very first golden
snow I ever did see.� Then Estelle walked from
the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Miriam got up slowly and moved to the window.
The film of sweet-smelling curtains blew across
her face as she gazed out into the silver night and
said softly, oPlease call me Mimi,� and she loved
Estelle, the silent snow, and her strange unsetted
word with all her heart.

29

SECOND

Protest No. 7

The quiet world within calls gently

And I,

Slipping from silence to sunlight

Lean against a burnished tree.

And I,

Turning from knells to tambourines

Sing with a copper leaf.

Half the world is sunlight

Losing the rest to shadows

And I,

Weaving their whispered whimsies
Am aware.

Brenda

Hines

PLACE

POETRY

Protest No. 2

I wear you softly"

With gentle folds on my dark hair;
Naturally"some color you

But I have looked up and seen a tinted trail
Left by laughing stars;
Limply"some hold you

But I have seen a floating cloud

In the early morningTs warmth;
Loosely"some press you with routine
But I know a river can flow

Freely and swell out of its banks;
Meekly"some taunt you

But I have seen a silent wisp of joy
Blowing lightly in the wind

And I recall the dreamer

Who taught me to wear you softly.

THE REBEL

Art Portfolio

First Place Art (Woodcut) By JULIA COBLE

Boy Named Michael

FALL, 1966

Breakfast in Taiwan Second Place Art (Oil) By DoT HARMON

32 THE REBEL

o

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OS ee Sa - a eae aT, "
eS yee a Oe eg * se ~ah ae a Hee en
bis ¢ Oe er a eS Ne
2 ee iionar * EPRI PE Soe ate
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"&

THE REBEL

THE
GIFT

Ronald Watson

The road was as timeless as Spain herself. In
the dim, distant days before men saw fit to record
their thought and deeds, it had served as high-
way for the fair-skinned natives of the region,
curling along beside the sea, rising and falling with
every nod of the hills that rolled down from the
mountain. Legions of soldiers, caravans of gypsies,
throngs of poor fishermen, and beggars had trav-
eled there. In the spring it wound through gaunt-
lets of heather, and farther south, groves of
oranges; but in winter, as now, the road was buri-
ed beneath shadowy drifts of snow and was blend-
ed with the land as it flowed down to the sea. It
was little used now; there was a new highway for
motorists driving between Barcelona and Valen-
cia. Now the road was left for pedestrian wander-
ers who made their tedious way from the Prat de
LTo bregat, through Castelldefels, to Stiges, and
back again.

He was an old man, living in a time when men
of his kind died young in behalf of glorious
dreams, and he carried himself with the broken
resignation of having missed his one opportunity
for salvation, for greatness, for eternity. There
had been a time, perhaps, when his eyes shone
with the light of what he must do; but they were
cast over now, sad, pensive, regretful that they
had not seen that which they were meant to see.
They were buried, forgotten in a face which was
drawn with hunger, forested by gray stubble. The
old man carried his head low, chin held tight

FALL, 1966

against his breast, for the relentlessly torturous,
snow-swept afternoon screamed about him and bit
at every patch of unprotected flesh. His lips were
blue, his face crimson with the cold, and bits of
moisture had frozen on his brows and in his beard.
The ragged gray overcoat, which had served the
old man for many winters, was pulled tight about
his body, and his hands were plunged deep in the
warmth of its pockets. It was hard for him to
see, for the snow fell in windy blankets and blurred
the harsh, bleak grayness of the day; and so he
stumbled on, stopping at intervals, with his back
to the wind, to take the four small potatoes from
his pockets and turn them slowly in his hands as
though committing to memory their contours.

Clouds dwelt like smoky shrouds just above
the earth, blotting the mountains from view, and
the sea was covered with a fine, dull film of mist,
and the black water glistened with an invisible
light. The high wind, swirling, carried the falling
snow and then laid it in pockets of the ground,
piling it higher about the naked trees and shrubs,
covering everything with a frozen whiteness that
was the color of bones. Somewhere the sun was
shining, but here there was no warmth; only the
coldness of hunger and fear of death.

The desolation of the day spoke in eloquent
monotones of the tragedy that was being played
out in the very land through which the old man
plodded. There was a war. A horrible, hateful,
personal war, carried on with a furious, deliberate
languor that was more terrible than the iron and
dirt and blood. Men killed and were killed blindly,
indiscriminately, never knowing why, aware only
that they all suffered a great injustice and must
account for it. Brother turned on brother, father
on son, and all across the country, men lay dead
with tears in their eyes, their lives over before
lifeTs meaning had come clear. Nearly a million
men. And, more painful still than that was the
suffering of the families, the hungry families of
old men who found it necessary to travel by foot
over many miles, through the unbearable winter,
in search of food.

oSoon, viejo,� the old man mumbled to himself.
oSoon you will be home.�

Home. What was it?A drafty cellar, without
light or heat, hidden in the dark, upset stomach
of Barrio Chino, the Old Town, a dwelling place
that had been used by families such as his for
seven hundred years. The old man thought of
the calle which ran outside the windows of the
cellar; a wide gutter, transport for the filth of
Barcelona, its cobblestones slimy with the residue
of rainfall and rotted garbage, its dismal walls

37

oozing and sweating dank moisture. Narrow
though the calle itself might have been, a child
might, with a minimum of effort, extend his arms
and flatten his palm against the truculent bricks,
the buildings which enclosed it, none more than
sixty feet in height; they fairly brushed one an-
other at their rooftops, thus excluding the light
of day and holding the alley in a perpetual state
of somnambulistic darkness. And this was where
his children played"in the same alley, playing the
same games, perhaps, as had the children who suf-
fered through kinder winters in the time of El] Cid.
And yet, despite this gloom, there was life, a sus-
pended kind of life, without hope, with no future
save the relief of death, nothing more than an
intake of sooty breath and the physical processes
that sustain existence. He knew they would be
waiting for him to return with the food that would
mean another minute or another day of numb,
empty existence. His wife had given way to the
strain and the years and the war, and now she sat
alone in a grimy corner, staring out at the rest
of their little world with unseeing eyes, never
speaking, never hearing, never caring to live or
die. The children, four of them, were huddled
together about the fire, keeping it alive, kindling
it with whatever could be found, waiting for a
spring that had never come, not counting the
hours or the days or the weeks or the years, just
waiting. oWhat fine men and women they might
be, if only I were able to free them.�

The old man felt the tears freezing on his
cheeks and his hands sought refuge with the po-
tatoes in his overcoat pockets, squeezing them as
if to extract their special magic. Such simple
things as small potatoes. Elsewhere in the world
they were fed to swine and discarded in surplus.
They were a universe, a tiny wrinkled universe
through which revolved the planets of the old
manTs existence. Yet, they were still potatoes. But
the old man did not see this; he could not com-
prehend that it was only food that he was carrying.
He plodded on as he dreamed his dream.

oSomewhere beyond the mountains, some day
when there is no war, there will be a cottage, a
neat white cottage, floating on an ocean of lux-
urious grass that ripples in the breeze from spring
to spring, grass that never dies, grass that is al-
ways green. My wife will sit by the door of the
cottage and watch the children as they run across
the meadows and play among the trees, and the
sun will shed its warmth over everything.� Such
dreams came to him frequently: when he sat be-
side his wife in the cellar, holding her hands to his
to warm them; walking the streets of the City in

38

search of firewood; traveling alone through the icy
barrenness of a coastal winter. But they were only
dreams. There was nothing real now but the emp-
tiness in his heart and in his stomach, nothing
real but the four potatoes that he carried in his
pockets.

They had not come easily to him. They had
meant long hours of walking through the merciless
snow, stumbling in drifts along the road, stopping
without shelter to rest, standing with the crowd at
the docks at Stiges, watching the horizon for the
ship from Grottes du Drach, on the far side of
Mallorca.

oWhat fine men those sailors were, to risk
their lives to bring food to the hungry men and
women on the mainland. How many there had
been waiting!

oLiterally hundreds: tired and cold and hun-
gry, thinking of a family at home; and surely there
had been those with no family at all.

oPerhaps,� thought the old man, oit is a thing
to be thankful for, having a family. Or perhaps it
is a thing to regret. We stood there throughout
the day, restless, impatiently, hopefully. It
seemed as though the ship would not come. But
at last it came, and when it docked everyone fell
silent, intent, knowing that of all those waiting,
there must be those who would go away empty-
handed; each determined not to be among the un-
fortunates. Then came a great pushing and swell-
ing toward the sacks which were opened on the
boards of the wharf. A portion of the whart gave
way beneath the weight, and some of the people
plunged into the icy water. Loud frantic voices
cursed anonymously, arms flailed in the air, feet
kicked at whatever stood in their way. The crowd
had fallen upon the potatoes like demons, a great
surging wave of humanity that was inhumanity,
enveloping, devouring ...� The old man had
found an alien strength to struggle, but still he
was an old man and he had grown weary, his
face bleeding, limbs aching, and he had gone away
from the crowd to sit by himself, and he had cried
for his failure. There had been four small potatoes,
lying beside a piling, ignored by the throng, and
the old man had fallen upon them and carried
them away as quickly as he could, fearful that
someone might notice and take the prize from
him. He was bruised, and his body ached from
his effort, but now, as he neared the City, he felt
little pain.

oSoon, children. Soon you will eat.�

As the old man came around a bend in the
road, cut off by a high drift of snow, he saw
them: four of them, standing outside the shack,

THE REBEL

smoking cigarettes and talking.

oThese are the Italians,� thought the old man.
Dressed in the drab green of the Italian army, they
were members of a regiment of mercenaries, paid
murderers, descendants of the condottieri of Bor-
gia and the Medicis. They had come in a boat from
Mallorca where they had joined their comrades at
Valencia, and together they had cut a swathe up
the coast, burning and pillaging, driving civilians
from their homes, killing all that resisted their
way. They were paid rebels, hired to oppose the
will of the people, and it was a hard thing for the
old man to see them standing on Spanish soil,
where they had no right to be.

oPossibly they do not understand what they are
doing,� thought the old man. oMaybe I should
not hate them. They are men like me. Perhaps
they need pity instead of hatred.�

His eyes were passive as he approached. The
shack, from which a spiral of gray smoke circled
upward out of a tin chimney and blended with
the haze, stood at the bridge which led across the
Llobregat, the river that ran down from the North
and sliced the road just before it forked into
Barcelona. oWhat right,� thought the old man,
drawing near to them; owhat right have they to
come with their guns and stand on land of Span-
iards?� He was depressed at the sight of them,
but his expression did not change.

There was a great urge within him to speak out
against the foreigners, to scream his protest in
their faces, to defy them and defy their guns, but
something checked that urge. Perhaps it was the
thought of his family, cold and hungry, waiting
for him, depending on him, that cautioned him
against anything foolish; perhaps it was that, tell-
ing him to take care and not to fail them, no
matter what he felt. Always it had been so; al-
ways there had been some hesitancy within him,
some reluctance to strike out, and always he had
told himself that it was wise to remain silent. He
was becoming unsure of that.

The Italian who must have been in charge
stepped into the road and blocked the old manTs
way. oStop where you are, old man.� He was a
giant, made more imposing by the bulk of his gar-
ments, and there was an austere fire in his eyes.
In his hand he held an automatic pistol as though
it were a toy, and he pointed it at the old manTs
belly. The other three guards dropped their cig-
arettes in the snow and circled around.

oWhere are you from, old man?�

oBarcelona.� His eyes were closed. oToday I
come from Stiges.�T

The huge Italian scratched the back of his neck

FALL, 1966

with the barrel of the pistol. ~Your business?�

oT am a traveler. Nothing more.�

oYou would not be bearing food or weapons,
would you?�

oIt is forbidden.� The old man now knew that
he would be searched, and he clutched the pota-
toes in his pockets with increased intensity, draw-
ing from them what strength he could. The pity
in his heart began to turn to hatred as the Italian
came forward. Through the tips of his fingers
he felt a voice speak to him: oFight, old man.
Do not let them take from you what you have
earned. Think of the children. Fight.�

oSo it is. Take your hands from your pockets
that you may be searched.�

oGod, Italiano"four small potatoes for a fam-
ily of five that waits, starving, in a cellar in the
City.� The old man fell to his knees in the snow
and extended his hands before him, grasping
there the potatoes, potatoes so small that two of
them did not take up the space of his hands.

oIt is forbidden, old man!� A heavy foot fell
and kicked two of the potatoes into the snow.

oHow easy it would be, Italiano, to say you
found me with nothing. How easy to let me pass,
and forget.�

oForbidden. Do not ask. You are a conquered
people.�

oConquered! Never! Never by you Italiano!
The swine that grovel in the mire have more right
to the land than you!T�T The old man tried to
stand, clutching the soldierTs coat for support, but
the pistol fell on his head. Sprawling in the snow,
the whiteness of it maderizing with his blood, he
saw the haze grow grayer still and felt the heavi-
ness close about him. The inhumanity lost its
dimension and became a smell, a physical sensa-
tion, and the old man spoke to a tormentor he
could not see. oHow little decency there must
be with you. Have you no concern for the chil-
dren of the world, who know nothing of this war
but its horror? Have you no respect for their
right to grow and make their peace among them-
selves? What of the children, the cold and hungry
children who wait forever...�

The snow fell and swirled soundlessly above
the earth, and the long.day became dark. The
soldiers walked away, back to the shack, and they
smoked again and did not look back to where the
old man lay in the snow, still clutching one of the
potatoes. His hands and his face were turning
blue with the cold, and heavy lids closed over
eyes that had never seen till now; eyes that looked
upon endless fields of green beneath a warm, full
sky of cotton clouds and blue... .

39

40

Eel Grass

There it is, the sea just as I remember it,

Sounding the leaden echo of my younger self,

A sea-elf with eyes as big and colorless as anemones,

Brown hair that spread and floated of its own accord
in the brown-green water,

Brown spider-crab legs that carried me down the beach
to find conch shells which housed the sea.

I remember the sea seen through younger eyes than mine now.

I remember the arrogant odor of putrid sea-life,
of blanched eel grass and heated sand.

I remember tales full of the fears of childhood,
told by an old colored woman rotting by the sea,
rotting under the rich, life-giving sun.

I left when youth manacled itself to youth
and I was borne, screaming, away.
I left in bitterness which dreaded recall,
yet here I am again, to shriek in delight
as the sea tries to carry off bits and pieces
of my salt-washed toes.
What is there about unfulfillment that commands a return
to childhood and childish haunts"
gentle, melancholy childhood?
I know! One last run down the conch-strewn beach ;
A breathless plunge into the chill-streaked water ;
And the prickly caress of a horseTs tail.

But I left. And now the ocean is as far removed from me
as youth from age. Even the memories are mist-
enshrouded phantoms that desert me for their
Mother Sea.

And in the mist I see a child who jealously eyed
the horizon and asked,

Mommy, whatTs over there?
England.
Why canTt I see it?
YouTre not big enough.
Can you see it?
Oh, yes.
Then lift me up,
YouTre"too"hig. . .
Defeat is something a child learns quickly.

Now the wind skitters along the sand wielding an odd pen"

a tumbleweed"which leaves the incomprehensible scrawl

of a soulless scrivener.
I canTt understand its foreign strain, where
Once, I would have understood.

THE REBEL

FALL, 1966

Now all I hear is the roar of six brown leaves
falling on a grave. Whose grave?
The old croneTs whose black, wrinkled face
with its peculiar twitches and discolored pits
held me, damp and quivering, in a spell
while she incanted witch-tales and stories
of sea horrors?
Whose filmy, redstreaked eyes followed my every move,
in her hut or in my own bed?
Whose harsh cackle chased and caught me in the privacy
of my own nightmares?
Yes, and so she gets not primroses, not even eel grass,
but six noisy brown leaves,
Echoed by the bellow of a sea that charges and falls
like an animal under rein.
The poor sea, in a bit too small and saddle too heavy
that makes it pitch and thrash, hurtful and hard,
bitter and then exhausted.
If only my hair fell to my waist instead of my shoulders,
If only to the sand instead of my waist, and
I would leave strange tracks on the sand,
an animal from the sea who lost her way
going from the Strait of Messina to NeptuneTs castle;
Daughter of Scylla, whose hair burns the meek sand
on which it trails.

And even that is unfulfilled.

Once, I didnTt know it couldnTt be, for childhood is
as real as sunburn, as lucid as jellyfish tentacles
when their meek owner is out of water

(I used to drape them on driftwood twigs for scrutiny
before flinging them on the sand to roast) ;

While adulthood is stark and unlovely, a vicious sea-
parasite that eats away at childhood until nothing
remains but a barnacle-encrusted bone fragment"
adulthood itself,

Yet to a child as intriguing as the half-buried wreck
of a scow,

Or more like a half-buried starfish that, when you run
to pick it up, you see what appeared to be
buried is broken off anyway.

That seven-eighths of the iceberg you hear about
isnTt really there at all.

It has never been this cold here before.
I am being sent away.
I will leave again, with my memories"
I have filled them in as best I could"
the sand in my clothes, the salt in my hair,
And"to press in a dictionary which will breathe
a vague sea-odor"a few blades of limp eel grass.

Pam

Honaker

41

POEMS

"misgiving sits
upon my thoughts

as a
silent
k
(such as the
angry young
k
in knock

which would be

much more
knocking
if the

k

were but pronounced)

and
who
knows
why
but

i

:

From far above

From up there

my head
up
where the air moves green

down
to deep below my feet where
roots are growing, silent and unseen:

I love you all those places,

42

the empty spaces full

of this love & ee

And me full too

of knowledge of air

and green roots

of wonder of you"
Me, in between,
A small thing and simple,
But of a sudden seen
With a hundred different faces for the smiling of it.

Little gold-eyed child named Charlie:
Fingers tiny enough to pat a bug"

Heart so huge and full of music that he does.

THE REBEL

watching moon
see it yet
encircled by soft-fluff
much like dandelion-stuff
inside my sleep
colours here are new
with just being born
oO ] a and sounds are shy to
touch the ground
modulated echos
(in the pale light
of keeping you)
are syncronized to
your sleepTs breath

johnson

\\ itTs been a drop-and-still-night
since iTve been waiting
for your call
first a tray of ice cubes
polycromed cold

and then a glass
of dark liquid
now holding a red and tiled floor

kiss me between
a space no
wider than
a slip of
paper between
the barks of a tree
listen
can you hear
day come to fetch us

a checked blanket back

and a wall itTs light enough
to the south of me now

keep my thoughts I can find my way
surrounded and my back to my room

moves ambushed
days are separate

from night

by means of

the sun" winds-day
brightness wednesday

and a dark that is i repeat your name
so black

and hold you
as a thread"
water, pale, thread to ground

i can only think of you

in a race for time

to invade a second long enough
for

one silver breath winds-day

FALL, 1966 43

Crisis

Radical Theology and The Death of God. By Thomas J. J.
Altizer and William Hamilton. New York: The Bobbs-
Merrill Company, Inc. 1966. 202 pp. $1.85.

The most explosive crisis that Christianity is
facing today is a radical theology known as the
oDeath of God� movement. o. . . God has died in
our time, in our history, in our existence,T declares
Thomas J. J. Altizer, and the Church has reacted
as though it were a man confronted by an alien
monster for the first time. Actually, the oDeath
of God� movement may be said to have started
with NietzscheTs proclamation that God was dead.
But theologians chose to regard the words of Nietz-
sche as the babblings of an insane and sick man.
Therefore, when the news media started publiciz-
ing the movement in late 1965, the Church was
caught totally off guard.

The two men most responsible for the move-
ment, Thomas J. J. Altizer and William Hamilton,
started their work in the early 1960Ts. Their book,

44

in Christianity

Radical Theology and The Death of God, is a col-
lection of essays that have been written by each
since 1963. It must be said from the outset that
this book is not intended for the casual reader.
Each essay abounds in references to philosophers
and other theologians, each essay is in technical
language, and each essay is aimed at a limited au-
dience. But despite these shortcomings (short-
comings only when viewed by the lay, or non-
theological reader) Altizer and Hamilton have
written a book that should open the eyes of all men
concerned about their destiny and the future of
Christianity. Their book is also one which should
remove many of the misinterpretations and mis-
understandings about the Death-of-God theology.
For instance, many people believe that the radical
theologians are denying the existence not only of
God, but also of Jesus Christ. This fallacy is ex-
ploded by Altizer and Hamilton when they say
oAlthough the death of God may not have been

THE REBEL

historically actualized or realized until the nine-
teenth century, the radical theologian can not dis-
associate this event from Jesus and his original
proclamation.� The radical theologians believe
strongly in Christ; indeed, He is the foundation
for their theology.

To dismiss Radical Theology and the Death of
God as sensationalism or as the babblings of
extreme left-wing theologians would not only be
unfair, but also idiotic. Altizer and Hamilton have
presented a book that bears deep thinking and
analysis, one which requires an open mind and a
sincere, thorough evaluation of individual beliefs.
No individual with any reasoning ability can af-
ford to shut the door on the thoughts, the insights,
and the provocations that are presented in this
book. And if it does nothing else, it will have
served a great purpose by causing the traditional,
conservative Church to re-evaluate its position in
both theology and in the world.

"STAFF

A Case For Conservatives

The Triumph of Conservatism: A Reinterpretation of Amer-
ican History, 1900-1916. By Gabriel Kolko. New York:
The Free Press of Glencoe, 1963, $7.50, 344 pp. Notes and
index.

Bernard Kolko fashions a provocative study of
the motive elements that shaped the Progressive
Period of American history. Claiming a startling
reinterpretation of the era between 1900 and 1916,
the author furnishes evidence which he holds
strikes down the otraditional view� of the age.
oBusiness leaders and not the reformers� provided
the primary solutions oto the emerging problems of
an industrial society.� To accomplish this result,
business groups dominated the political process
sufficiently to guarantee that othe basic social and
economic relations essential to a capitalistic so-
ciety� were maintained. The eventual product
was opolitical capitalism� and the underlying
Spirit of the epoch was conservative. As these
years were the water shed of the twentieth cen-
tury, these conservative interests determined the
Shape and attitude of governmental institution
that would guarantee the triumph of conservatism.

Kolko harms his case in attempting to unravel
the gordian knot of historical causation, with one
twift stroke of an all-embracing theory. By criti-
Cizing the results of the Progressive business reg-
ulating laws as being conservative, he falls victim
to the same error as did contemporary critics in

FALL, 1966

ascribing commanding power and influence to big
business. Kolko paints a dark picture of the pro-
gression impulse by emphasizing the oconspiracy
theory� of history. He sketches a small group of
dedicated men, pulling wires and pushing buttons,
who were able through their immense economic
power to influence the whole society and its gov-
ernment. He neglects to treat the persuasive role
of farmers, labor and middle classes in the legis-
lative accomplishments of the period.

His claim to originality of interpretation lacks
a firm foundation in the historology of the period.
Arthur S. Link, George Murry, Robert Wiebe,
John W. Blum and others have already presented
indications that the business interest helped to
define the new regularity laws. At the same time,
these earlier authors have been inclined to offer
other causes than strictly economic factors that
contributed to the events of the period. Kolko
performs a positive service in emphasizing that
conservative leaders were capable of answering
the needs of an industrial state, even if partially.
He also indicates that these interests did join
hands with true reformers to accomplish their
separate ends. As in the tracing of the passage
of the Federal Reserve Act, the activities of such
fundamental conservatives as Carter Glass are
delineated. This emphasis is needed as recent
studies have increasingly tried to shape political
leaders of the era into the progressive mould,
whether they fit or not.

Kolko underlines, if not for the first time, that
the big business community when given the oppor-
tunity to practice lassiez faire and free competi-
tion opted instead for controlled and regulated
markets to reduce the profit absorbing battles
between competitors. Although he overstates his
case he makes a worthwhile contribution by af-
firming in the Progressive era what some suspect
of contemporary events: Business doesnTt always
practice the preachments it gives.

The work offers evidence of major research and
contains an example of a historian well in control
of his material. KolkoTs style, if not as fetch-
ing as that of Goldman, certainly contributes
pleasurably to the bookTs success. The publisher
has gone to no great expense in either the binding
or by placing the footnotes at the end of the text.
The book is particularly recommended to those
who would search for historical evidence that re-
futes the contention that present governmental
agencies are regulating bureaus and are the result
of infiltration by the agents of international Com-
munism.

Dr. HENRY C. FERRELL

45

46

The Return

of Jennings

Randolph Hearst

Strike from Space, Schefly and Ward, Alton, Ill., Pere Mar-
quette Press. 1965. 216 p.p. $.75.

There existed in this country a time when sen-
sationalism in writing was considered othe thing.�
Regardless of the consequences to individuals, cor-
porations, or even the country, the object of sen-
sationalism was to get readers for newspapers,
periodicals, and books. It mattered not how you
enticed readers just so long as you did entice them.
One must say, in all fairness, that this time in our
history justified much of the sensational journal-
ism that was present. Many people were shocked
into action to alleviate many of the abuses of
society that journalism had uncovered. But in
many instances, the harm resulting exceeded the
positive accomplishments. This was the age of
Jennings Randolph Hearst.

The reading public gradually became tired and
disgusted by journalistic sensationalism. The
United States became a more sophisticated nation,
its reading tastes became refined, and the age of
Hearst disappeared. Unfortunately, after reading
Strike from Space one may easily feel that the age
of Hearst has not departed, but has been lying in
ambush waiting for the right moment to reappear.
And Communism, the obogey-man� escape for all
ills, has provided that moment.

Strike from Space was written by political sci-
entist Phyllis Schlafly and Rear Admiral Chester
Ward, USN (Ret.) and deals with international
affairs directly related to the United States and
the world Communist movement. Its analysis is
extremely conservative, its style is sensational,
and its conclusions are unsupported. It relies on
emotionalism and the manipulation of facts. Its
point of view is steeped in the belief that the Com-
munists, through the liberals, will get us if we
donTt get them first. In short, it presents an argu-
ment that, while very plausible in many places,
turns one against what the book is arguing for.

This is not to say that Strike from Space does
not present some excellent analysis and observa-
tions. Why was Krushchev ousted? Why has he

THE REBEL

been seen moving freely around the Kremlin? The
State Department answers are entirely too pat at
this point. But Schlafly and Ward ruin their
analysis here (they feel that Krushchev inadvert-
ently revealed parts of a gigantic Russian plan for
world domination and then voluntarily stepped
down as an example of party discipline) by resort-
ing to the use of fear. They attempt to make one
so afraid of the consequences that will ensue if one
doesnTt adhere to their course of action that he
will immediately demand the removal of his Sena-
tor and the impeachment of the President. They
categorically deny the possibility of any other in-
terpretation of the facts. They donTt seem to
realize that the world of international power poli-
tics presents many oanswers� to a question, none
of them the oonly� answer.

Despite the interesting, and sometimes shrewd,
analyses, the impact of the problem that concerns
all Americans and despite a clear, concise use of
words, Strike from Space, because of its sensa-
tionalism and appeal to emotionalism, should do
the position of the authors more harm than good
among clear-thinking persons.

RONALD WATSON

Act Responsibly In Love

Situation Ethics, The New Morality by Joseph Fletcher.
Philadelphia: The Westminster ress. 1966. 168 pp. $1.95.

The New Morality, author Joseph Fletcher ac-
knowledges, is not really new; situations ethics is
simply a new name to describe an old practice of
letting the circumstances determine the response.
In modern times the words osituation ethics� often
have the connotations of free or relaxed moral
standards, but this is not the approach that the
author takes.

Dr. Fletcher, a professor of Social Ethics at
Episcopal Theology School, Cambridge, Massa-
chusetts, sees the situational approach as the only
logical response an intelligent person can make.
But he is careful to point out that his oNew Mor-
ality� is definitely a system or series of laws that
can be written down and amplified in every suit-
able case. Situation ethics is not a system that
works every time; rather it is a method which
helps the responsible person make decisions.

The basis for these decisions is love. Love is
everything to the situationalist. Realizing the
many different meanings often given to the word
love, Fletcher uses the term agape, the Greek name
for the higher term of love which is unselfish and

FALL, 1966

concerned for others. Using scriptural back
ground and also statements by leading theologians,
Fletcher writes in six of his chapters about various
aspects of love and ethics, oLove Only is Always
Good,� oLove is the Only Norm,� oLove and Jus-
tice Are the Same,� oLove is Not Liking,� oLove
Justifies Its Means,� and oLove Decides There and
Then.�

The two extreme approaches to morality are
the legalistics, in which laws are followed to the
letter, and the antinomian, in which no laws are
followed. Seeing both of these extremes as unde-
sirable, Fletcher proposes that the situational ap-
proach is the only sensible one. He seems to forget
that very few people are strictly legalistic or anti-
nomian, and that there is a lot of middle ground
between the two, especially toward the legalistic
side. He would call those who try to follow moral
laws they believe in (i.e. usually church laws)
illogical because they often act in a predetermined
manner. Laws and conscience to Fletcher are only
relative; he seems to think that everyone is like
himself.

But everyone is not like Fletcher. Situation
ethics may be all right for those who have the in-
telligence and experience and responsibility to
make decisions in love (This is Christian ethics,
non-Christians following situation ethics would,
hopefully, act in love also. Dr. Fletcher never
draws a clear picture of the non-Christian situa-
tionalist). Many people, though, need to have
clear-cut laws to follow and would not welcome
the thought of living under their own moral codes.
Self-responsibility (and possibly little strict re-
ligious training?) is the prime requirement to any-
one living under situation ethics.

Another objection to FletcherTs stand on the
New Morality could be owho is right in deciding
what is loving?� What is agape to one person may
be the opposite to another. Situation ethics would
work for a particular individual, but were it ever
adopted as a kind of omoral� system, problems
would arise in determining what actually would
be the more loving way.

Situation Ethics: The New Morality, if not
changing a personTs moral code, will at least ac-
complish one major purpose: readers of the book
will examine their own reasons for their actions.
All the interesting examples and excellent docu-
mentation make a good case for situation ethics.
Leaders who continue to follow the legalistic side
of morality are challenged to know their reasons
for following this course. Whatever else he does,
Fletcher will at least cause his readers to think.

PAT WILSON

47

48

CONTRIBUTORST NOTES

This is Mr. Houston Craighead, Jr.Ts first year
of teaching at E.C.C. and his first appearance in
the Rebel. He is from San Antonio, Texas, and
was educated at San Antonio Junior College, the
University of Texas, and Baylor University, where
he received his B.A. and M.A.

Pamela Joyce Honaker won the first prize of
the RebelTs poetry contest. She is a freshman
English major from Portsmouth, Virginia.

Brenda Carroll Hines, another freshman Eng-
lish major from Smithfield, N. C. won the second
place in the poetry division.

A junior English major from Williamston, N.
C., Nancie Allen, won first place in the fiction divi-
sion with her excellent play.

Pat Wilson, a book review contributor, is a soph-
omore English and Political Science major from
Durham, N. C.

Guy le Mare, a Gardner, Montana, English ma-
jor is a junior. He is better known as oSmoky
the BearTT.

Dr. Ferrell is one of the more outstanding mem-
bers of the History Department. This is his first
contribution to the Rebel.

Hank Townsend, a Political Science major from
Arlington, Virginia, is the staff photographer and
a senior.

Ronald Watson, the Esteemed Editor, is a Polit-
ical Science and English major from Greenville.
He is a senior.

Worth Kitson is an ECC extension student from
Kinston.

Julia Coble, first prize winner in the art division,
is a junior art major from Fayetteville.

Graham Rouse of Havelock, who photographed
the inside front cover, is now a senior psychology
major at ECC. Rouse is a transfer student from
N. C. State School of Design.

All of the above, with the exception of the editor,
are first contributors to the Rebel. The staff sin-
cerely hopes that they, and others, will continue to
contribute such outstanding work to the magazine.

THE REBEL

THE EAST CAROLINIAN

since 1925
othe student's voice�T
winner of the
Columbia Scholastic Press Association

Medalist Certificate

the Student Newspaper published twice-weekly
at East Carolina College

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Richard Daves