The Gadfly, Vol. XXXIV, Issue 14

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The Gadfly

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!"#$%!"#$%& The student newspaper of St. John’s College 60 College Avenue Annapolis, Maryland 21401 sjca.gadfly@gmail.com www.issuu.com/sjcgadfly www.facebook.com/sjcagadfly Founded in 1980, the Gadfly is the student newsmagazine distributed to over 600 students, faculty, and staff of the Annapolis campus.

Opinions expressed within are the sole responsibility of the author(s).

The Gadfly reserves the right to accept, reject, and edit submissions in any way necessary to publish a professional, informative, and thought-provoking newsmagazine.

The Gadfly meets every Sunday at 7 PM in the first lower level of the Barr-Buchanan Center.

Articles should be submitted by Friday at 11:59 PM to sjca.gadfly@ gmail.com.

Staff Nathan Goldman • Editor-in-Chief Ian Tuttle • Editor-in-Chief Hayden Pendergrass • Layout Editor Reza Djalal • Photographer Sasha Welm • Cartoonist Jonathan Barone • Staff Will Brown • Staff Andrew Kriehn • Staff Robert Malka • Staff Sarah Meggison • Staff Kevin Morris • Staff Charles Zug • Staff Contributors Hunter Cox Ernest Heinmuller Jerry Januszewski Danny Kraft Painter Bob Samuel Weinberg Steve Weinstein

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ear Polity,

Christmas was a little bit of a letdown in the Casa de Cox this year, so in order to make up for it, I have decided to publish a list of things that I want(ed). I know you all love me very much, so don’t feel bad if I get two of the same thing.

I love multiples. And if you don’t have the time to get me anything, just send cash. Tens and twenties are fine. Please use my campus mail to give me my gifts.

Post-Christmas list: • Spartan Jersey • Rajon Rondo Jersey (XXXL) • Thermos • A lion coffee-table book • Signed picture of Terence E. Washington, preferably with him looking hipster and smoking a cigarette.

• Package of assorted nips • The opportunity to give the “Bodies in Motion” preMarch Madness lecture • Druid captain arm band • 12 Thai donuts • 4 Croquet balls • 3 Pretzel logs • 2 Cold beers And a coozie in my hand.

Sincerely, Hunter Cox, A’13, Druid captain for life.

!"#$%&'()*+%,) ! Painter Bob !"#$%%&"'(#)&("$*("+),*$-"%./ 01%2"."#%3)&"13%$"%4"(.5$* $%"#(("$*("5.,)2,"#$%5+".5)#( +-"6%78"$%"/2%7"+-"+($$3(9#"7%5$* $*("#/-",5(7"&.5/".2&"%+)2%0# +-"+)2&"#1.5/(&"'5),*$"7)$*)2 $%"7.$:*"$*("3),*$2)2,":5%##"$*("#/7*(5(")$"#$50:/"."'3%7"+%#$"4.)5 '0$"%*"!"#$%%&"+-"6),)3";5+ .#"15%0&"01%2"+-"*(.& .2%$*(5"'%3$"&(#:(2&(&"4.#$

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The Gadfly

03

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!"#$%&%#'#()* Mr. Louis Petrich

How did you come to be a tutor at St. John’s?

I learned about the College when I was a graduate student in Chicago in the 1980’s, and I wanted to become a tutor so that I could continue learning without boundaries. So I applied to both campuses, but neither of them appointed me. That was for the best, for shortly thereafter I found a new career in a world elsewhere that lasted with pleasure for over a decade.

At that time the communist regimes in Eastern Europe were falling, one after another, and teachers from the West in the social sciences and humanities were urgently requested by the new democratic governments. I remember attending a conference of the Modern Language Association in late December of 1989 in Washington, D.C. Most of the nation’s graduate students of literature and modern language attend this conference to be interviewed for scarce faculty positions, and our nation’s literary scholars descend upon it to present papers to one another and to conduct the interviews. At that time their papers were devoted mostly to theories unintelligible to me and to tedious discourses of oppression. In the evenings I followed televised reports of the Romanian revolution, which had turned violent and led to the execution of the Ceausescus by firing squad on Christmas day. That was thrilling and intelligible. I concluded then and there that I would rather be teaching literature in Romania than participating at an MLA Conference anywhere in America.

So I went abroad, first to Romania, then to Czechoslovakia (which split into two countries while I was there—I taught in both), and finally to Kyrgyzstan in Central Asia. I taught American studies and western civilization to students who were free of Marxist-Leninist ideology for the first time. I would have been pleased to continue that career, but the world changed again on September 11, 2001. I remember drinking beer that evening in a German pub in Bishkek, capitol of Kyrgyzstan, with an Iranian exile (party of the Shah) to discuss a trip I was planning to Iran. On the taxi ride home I was able to make out from the Russian news on the radio and the gesticulations of the excited cab driver that something terrible had just happened in New York and Washington, where it was morning. When I got home my wife was sitting in the hall crying. I watched those images on TV of the twin towers collapsing, over and over again—unbelievable—and I knew that I would not be going to Iran and that the world which had been

to me free and open was going to close. So I applied again for a position at St. John’s, where I still knew I belonged, and from half-way around the world I came for an interview in January of 2002. In April I received an appointment, and here I am.

The books and our conversations about them keep me here.

What classes are you teaching this year?

I am teaching freshman seminar (for only the second time), sophomore math, and junior language.

What was the biggest adventure you’ve ever had?

Oh boy, that’s hard to say. My guardian angel has been kept pretty busy. I recently spent a year teaching mathematics and biology in northern Iraq (in the Kurdish city of Sulaimani), and just trying to find my way through the labyrinthine bazaar felt adventurous. I loved the sights, smells, and sounds of the bazaar—getting lost in them—not knowing what I might find.

How boring Safeway and Giant seem by comparison. My son found spent cartridges from AK-47’s and helmets with bullet holes in the hills around the city. War felt close there. The Kurds, you should know, are more like the Spartans than the Athenians, keener to fight from the mountain caves than to philosophize in the classroom. I won my combative students over when I resorted to banging my head against the blackboard.

Teaching in Eastern Europe and Central Asia was also an ongoing adventure, especially that first year in Romania, after the revolution. I used to walk the two miles to the university dragging a stick behind me to keep off the wild dogs. The Chairman of my department, whose support of the old Stalinist regime had gained him his position and privileges—now that that regime was gone, tried to engage me to his daughter.

The Romanian people were desperate to get fully out from under the rock of tyranny, which had crippled the country, and some thought I had the right passport to deliver them. It was a good thing I had been briefed upon my arrival by the Cultural Affairs Officer of our Embassy, who had time to impart to this single American male only one piece of emphatic advice: “Stay away from the Romanian women. They are all _____.”

So I played the part of the Gentleman Caller to the Romanian Lauras to whom I taught American drama, raising their hopes for the future and then leaving as free as ever, until a few years

Continued On

Pg. 04

The Gadfly

04 Continued From

Pg. 03

later I married a fellow American while serving in the Peace Corps, and “when two go together”—well, you know, you tend to keep your head on straight. (Perhaps when we’re quite off the record, I’ll tell you what happened on my first trip to Istanbul, when all I had to guide me was a map as I went looking around for a good belly dancing show.) My steady adventures these days are supplied by the program of this College and the waters of the Caribbean, both of which I like to dive into all I can. Learning to breathe calmly when you are in over your head is a very good thing to know.

What is the single most important piece of advice you would like to give to freshmen (or upper classmen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The Gadfly

05

!"#$%&#'(&)"%&*+#$,'%(&-,.% Jerry Januszewski

I

Counselor

t’s easy to think of the call to “the examined life” as a mascu- of living the examined life. line endeavor. I’ve seen the quote tattooed on a man’s arm, There is an unavoidable ambivalence connected to the path heard it in locker room speeches, and felt its tug on my own of self-discovery. We’re drawn to the unexplored within and soul. A famous line from Hamlet is similarly evocative: “This also frightened by it. Accepting the call to an examined life is above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the heroic, because it is a call to go beyond fear to freedom. Refusnight the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.” These ing the call means remaining, in some sense, a slave. Eva Brann heroic sentiments can make even a hardened man shed a tear, goes further, noting in her Gadfly article (Vol. 34, Issue 6) that as he recognizes a worthy First Principle. But feeling sympa- the unexamined life is not merely not worth living, but it is althy toward the examined life is one thing; actually living it is ready dead: “the unsearched-out life is unlivable...you’re a grey another. shade, in Hades before your time.”

Years ago I worked for a rehab program at the county jail.

Considering our attraction to the examined life, and the Inmates frequently tested me for my street cred (of which I dreadful consequences of refusing the call, why do we feel any had none). Some of the cops working there hassled me as well. resistance to seeking and embracing our true and free selves?

Word got out I had studied philosophy, and this added to the One explanation concerns the experience of human shame, perception I was bookish, with no street smarts. This work sit- common to all. Feelings of shame are a torment to the soul. If uation exposed to me some of my hidden shame: doubts I had self-examination threatens to reveal agonizing shame, then reabout whether I was man enough to deal with real life tough sistance to this process begins to make sense. Felt shame is an guys. So I searched for ways to prove my manly mettle to the enemy to personal freedom, because it squashes the impulse others, even as I doubted I had any. When I was invited to for the examined life. train alongside the cops in some of their special maneuvers, I Dr. Ernest Kurtz, in his concise and brilliant book, Shame was eager to do it. & Guilt, states that both guilt and shame involve feeling “bad” Now here was something in my wheelabout something. They differ in that we house, I thought: running and jumping and We’re drawn to the unex- feel a pang of guilt over something we generally being athletic. I’m going to show do, while we feel the ache of shame over plored within and also frightthose cops a thing or two! We were taken something we are. Shame is the perened by it. Accepting the call ception of an ugly flaw within our own to a huge structure with no windows that to an examined life is heroic, being, an inherent defect that makes us simulated the dark interior of a building on because it is a call to go be- uniquely worse than other people. We fire. Inside was a crazy labyrinth through which each of us was expected to crawl, yond fear to freedom. Refus- may feel embarrassed because somefeeling our way through the pitch-dark ing the call means remaining, one sees our misdeeds (guilt), but we with our hands. I was keenly aware of all feel humiliated when someone sees our in some sense, a slave. the cops watching when I took my turn. shame.

It didn’t go well. With a big oxygen tank So we go to great lengths to hide our on my back, I could barely move through the claustrophobic shame from others and from ourselves. Often we develop an crawl-space. The twists and turns were designed to disorient, ideal self, a comforting version of ourselves we imagine withand within 60 seconds I wasn’t exactly sure which way was out the shame, which we also present to the world. This is an up. There were dead-ends, which meant I had to inch my way understandable strategy for suppressing feelings of shame, but out backwards. This I did, but sometimes into another dead- a deeply flawed one for pursuing the examined life. end. My hands searched for an acceptable opening in any diDespite feeling enormous resistance, I attempted the dark rection. My throat felt choked. They had warned me: control maze again, and this time I controlled my breathing better. your breathing, or else fear will get the best of you.

After 15 minutes of steady progress, I reached the end and Fear did get the best of me, and I banged on the wall: the emerged into the sunshine. Again I ripped my mask off, this signal for rescue needed. Hidden doors opened, and in a few time in triumph, but there wasn’t a single cop there to witness seconds I felt a hand on my collar pulling me out. Outside the my victory, except for the trainer supervising my effort. They’d building, I ripped off the oxygen mask and gulped fresh air. I all gone in for lunch. was drenched in sweat, my hands shaking. The cops thought I’m grateful now that none of the cops were there to see me this was hilarious. I felt humiliated; my shame in full view to complete the maze successfully, because that forced me wresthose I sought to impress. I wanted to disappear. But, after tle with my internal shame, not my superficial embarrassment. gathering my emotions, I forced myself to try again.

The examined life demanded I honestly face how I felt about Going back again into that dark, stifling hot building was one myself, apart from any observer. Facing this shame was much of the hardest things I ever did. harder, and much more fruitful, than merely proving someBut my resistance to do it was not because of the ordeal of thing to others. completing the maze, difficult though that was. I was more This was a pivotal turning point for me for examining my terrified to place myself in a position where my personal shame true self and finding some freedom in the examined life—a call was exposed, and this has everything to do with the difficulty that is neither masculine nor feminine, but human. !

“

The Gadfly

06

!"#$%&'()*+$,'+"' I Am Sam !"#$%"#$&#%'($%)*&%+",,-.-/-)-&,%0"#%*-$1 $&(%2&'(-(3%-(%+"&)#4 Danny Kraft

I

A’13

n the January issue of Poetry Ilya Kaminsky discusses the “wreckage” of language. When a poet twists the syntax of his mother tongue, Kaminsky says, he can create a “strange lyricism” wherein solitude, tension, and the poet’s natural privacy all express themselves in a way that alarms us into awareness. “What is the purpose of poetry?” the Polish poet Zbigniew Herbert was once asked. He answered: “to wake up.”

To illustrate this point Kaminsky includes his translation of the first lines of Genesis. But this translation is really a strange transformation; he reverses the word order in each line, and finds a strange foreign poem hiding in “a text we know by heart.” “And there was light let there be God,” reads the beginning of the third verse in its new inverted form.

When I read this I decided to experiment with similar transformations of other Biblical texts. Here is my rough rendering of Psalm 42, our beloved “Sicut Cervus.” It seems to me both completely foreign and perfectly at home in the world of the psalms. But does it wake you up at all, or any more than the psalm in conventional translation would? I’m curious to hear what you think. Please email me at daniel.kraft@sjca. edu with any reflections.

God for you longs my soul as toward water brooks like the deer god of face and I will see I will come when living god to god my soul thirsts your god where all day in saying night and day bread my tears were to me celebrate so many and thanks in a voice of joy god to the house I slowly moved in the multitude I went for my soul on me I spill I remember these his face salvations I will praise yet for god have hope in me and lowered down my soul why are you downcast from Mount Mizar and Hermon Jordan from the land I remember you therefore downcast my soul in me my god passed over me and your waves all your billows your spouts to the voice called deep to deep my life to god a prayer with me his song and in the night his lovingkindness the lord will command by day enemy in oppression I walk mourning you have forgotten me why my rock to god I say your god where every day to me in saying my foes in my bones in murder and my god my face salvations I will praise yet for god have hope in me and lowered down my soul why are you downcast

! Don B. McBride, A’15

H

ave you ever seen the movie I Am Sam starring Sean Penn? If not, hell to you.

Only kidding. But seriously, go watch the movie!

For those that have—kudos. In any case, though, that movie, besides being a tear-jerker, raises some serious ethical considerations.

The movie’s plot goes something like this: the main character is named Sam Dawson; he works at Starbucks and is obsessed with the Beatles; he falls in love with a homeless woman and has a daughter. In the hospital, they vow to work together and to give it their all. But, when she recovers from the pregnancy, just as they’re about to start a life together, she steps on a Greyhound and leaves him forever. He is heartbroken and speechless as she departs; and, after glancing down at his newborn, Lucy Diamond Dawson, still wrapped in hospital linens, he is overtaken with fear at the rocky and uncertain path ahead. With no money and no home, with his hopes dim and his lover gone, and with the mental capacity and emotional maturity of a seven-year-old boy, Sam is face to face with a seemingly unsurmountable struggle.

For the first seven years, he has relatively— relative considering the circumstances—few problems. But when Lucy turns seven, at which point she would surpass his intelligence, his circumstances are discovered. A social worker deems Sam unfit for custody, and Lucy is pulled from his care and adopted by a new family. The movie follows his struggle to get her back.

I found myself jumping back and forth. At one point I was for Sam raising her—I mean, he did do it for seven years; isn’t that proof enough that he’s capable? But then, when I thought about Lucy’s teenage years, that uncomfortable time when things get REAL awkward, I was doubting whether Sam could provide the emotional support for a developing girl. Anyhow, luckily, because it proved great for acquiring information, I am not the first person to be baffled with this ethical question. And thus we begin: Do you think a mentally-disabled person should be allowed to raise, or even to have children?

I’d like to hear your thoughts, send ‘em to my e-mail: don.b.mcbride@gmail.com. Next week I’m hoping to form an analysis of both arguments stemming from your ideas. If you don’t want to be quoted, say so in your message. See ya next week!

The Gadfly

07

Think about this for a Second

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T

A’75

he death of my favorite tutor fills me with nostalgia— not only for a soft-spoken, gentle man but for the passing of an era. For me, David Stephenson was emblematic of a time when St. John’s had the feel of a finishing school for the Empire of Prep, the natural sequel to Groton, Philips Exeter, and Andover. Not that the school was ever a snobby, haute-WASP redoubt; but the bow ties, the croquet, the boat house gave off an überAbercrombie & Fitch feel.

Some tutors liked to make a show of grasping the Big Idea.

They’d cup their hands and reach into the air, as if searching...searching for the hidden meaning embedded in the text.

David never had to make a show of his insights, whether it was Kant’s nearly impenetrable Critique of Pure Judgement (one hell of a preceptorial for a junior); Faraday’s studies of electromagnetism; or the subject closest to his heart, opera.

He often had a vague, quizzical, dreamy look about him, as though he were looking with admiration at something only he could see. All I know is that his intelligence on every book and subject in the Program provided some of my most rewarding classes, and I was fortunate enough to have studied with him in several.

After my freshman year, I rented his gloriously ramshackle house in the center of town with some other students, back when all the doctors and lawyers lived on the outskirts of town, and tutors could still afford to buy a townhouse in Historic Annapolis. Anyone who remembers David will remember those nightly walks around

Jonathan Barone

A

s we return from break and settle back into our daily routines, I’d like you to ask yourself: Where am I? It shouldn’t be a difficult question to answer; you’re at St. John’s. You participate in seminars, you spark discussions inside and outside of class on topics that interest you, and many of you participate in activities outside of the curriculum. In short, you’re a member of the St. John’s community.

As members of a community, we stake a certain pride in St. John’s, or else we wouldn’t be here. When we first arrive, it’s the Program in which we take the most pride. As time goes on, that pride starts to expand to include friends and the close relationships this community fosters. We take pride in Freshman Chorus and our intramural teams. We take pride in the fact that anybody can talk to just about anybody else about the Program. And right near the top of the list, we take pride in beating Navy every year in croquet.

And yet, despite this pride that I know we have, we’re going to lose croquet for the next three years unless you step the hell up. The croquet team currently has six seniors, and will likely have more come April.

Currently, one junior and one sophomore practice regularly. That leaves us with not much for the next few years.

Listen up, because this is a major problem. Right now, we have a bunch of seniors who are more than happy to teach how to play the game. But next year that resource will have disappeared. And not only are they taking their skills and knowledge of the game, but they’re taking their knowledge of the little things as well: budget management, contact info, connections with the staff. Unless these things are passed on, reviving the team is going to be extremely difficult. And that’s not even mentioning that many of you will have to learn the game on your own, which is going to be much, much harder than learning it from someone with experience.

I don’t know if you don’t come out because you think others will, if you’re intimidated, or if you just aren’t interested. But now’s the time to change that. For the past two years, the croquet team has been doing everything short of knocking on doors to get people to come out and learn. The door is wide open, and now’s the time to take advantage of it. Get a group of your friends and come and learn a great, entertaining, and fun game before that opportunity is lost and the task before this community becomes much, much more difficult. Listen: take advantage of it now, before it’s too late. Because I know for damn sure that I don’t want to find out croquet is cancelled next year because the community didn’t give enough of a collected shit to do anything about it when it had the chance. !

photo by Anyi Guo

town with a particular dog, Billy. My housemates, all “stars” (at least in their own minds), neglected Billy or were downright mean. I’ll never forget when one of them even kicked him. Maybe I bonded with that rescued dog because I felt sorry for him; but maybe it’s because I felt a little bit like a mutt myself—a yokel who still spoke with a thick hillbilly accent and had graduated from an impoverished school district where the principal’s own education was limited to a Christian Bible college.

In my last two years at St. John’s, we used to take long, ambling walks, David, Billy and myself. The conversation ambled, too, peripatetic in the best sense of the word. After graduation, when I moved to New York, I saw David frequently during his sabbatical, when he generously supported his wife’s longdelayed ambition of pursuing an opera career. The couple had rented an apartment in the West 70s, not far from me. We’d meet at the old O’Neal’s Balloon and spend afternoons talking about Verdi and baseball and life—all the big stuff. Eventually his pilgrimages to the Met became less frequent, and, as inevitably happens, we lost touch. But I’ll never forget the lesson that David— and St. John’s—gave me: Even a mutt, with proper training, can stand proudly next to the bestbred show dog.

I once interviewed a prospective student. Afterward, my mom asked me, “Well, does she fit in?” I asked her what she meant. She told me, “There’s a kind of misfit who seems to fit in only at St. John’s.” I think that goes for the faculty, too. !

A’13

The Gadfly

08

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Liberal Education in Winter Samuel Weinberg

A

A’14

s some of you may recall, one of the be taken aback at the inclusion of the pofirst SCI. forums of this year was a larizing Leo Strauss. It would be virtually discussion of Stringfellow Barr’s “Notes impossible for one to go through any time on Dialogue.” At the time, we viewed this at St. John’s without hearing Strauss’ essay both as an apt introduction to some name, often said pejoratively. What of St. John’s’ pedagogical principles to would not be impossible would be to hear the green freshmen, and as something to his name, immediately register the conallow for some much-needed reflection descension, and move on, without invesfor the upperclassmen. In that discussion tigating what this man actually thought.

I was excited by both the turnout and Consequently, it seems necessary to read enthusiasm that people brought about this document, as it provides a slightly their experiences at the College; both different conception of liberal education, those acquired over years and the bloom- one which has influenced both faculty ing experiences of the freshmen. I came and students, past and present. (N.B. Leo away with the impression that there was Strauss was the first, and only, “Scott Bua pervasive enthusiasm for discussing chanan Scholar in Residence” at the Colour peculiar activity by way of a docu- lege in the 1970s.) ment written by one The final two of the founders of readings will more By investigating these docuthe College. It was immediately quesments and questioning the then that I realized tion our curricuway we do things, we can that something like lum. Santa Fe tutor hopefully achieve a better this, but more perGrant Franks asks, sense of our purpose as a manent, should be why is our program Polity and foster a better established. divorced from hisAs luck would tory? Former dean appreciation for how the have it, it was highGeorge Doskow Program came to be in its time for a change asks, why does our current state. in one of the SCI program lack so seasonal seminars. many women au“Women in Winter” got the axe: this thors? What are we missing as a consewas not a misogynistic decision (both quence? co-chairs are women), but we thought There will be hopefully be a thread to that a change was for the best. Thus, my these conversations as they build upon nascent idea was brought to life, and the another. It is worth noting that none of newest SCI series was born, which, for these documents are intrinsically “great” lack of a more clever title, will be called like most of the things we are asked to “Liberal Education in Winter.” The series read, and they have no pretense of being will feature Scott Buchanan’s “The Last so. But the aim of this series is to have a Don-Rag,” the 1937 Statement of the Pro- clearer understanding of our program gram along with a 1953 self-study, Jacob and its history, and to expose the Polity to Klein’s “The Idea of Liberal Education,” the rich history of the College by way of Leo Strauss’ “What is Liberal Educa- these documents. tion?,” George Doskow’s “Women and St. John’s is great, but it is far from perthe Great Books,” and Grant Franks’ “Ev- fect. By investigating these documents erything Aristotle Has Said Was Wrong.” and questioning the way we do things, we The first three readings of this series can hopefully achieve a better sense of are foundational; all are by authors who our purpose as a Polity and foster a better had a central hand in the principles of appreciation for how the Program came the College at the inception of the New to be in its current state.

Program or shortly thereafter. The latter I hope to see many in attendance, as three readings are more controversial in this promises to be an extremely exciting nature. Immediately, I’m sure many will experiment. !

“