SPAN: June 1961 by SPAN magazine

T HIS

ISSUE IN

An eminent anthropologist discusses the rise of man as a value-creating creature and the way in which man's dreams have transformed and modified the lllorld.

With the aid of giant ba1100ns being launched at. Hyderabad, Indian and American scientists are jointly studying the atmosphere at the 'earth's equdtor. See page forty-four. Rafer Johnsol1, Olympic decathlon champion, has volunteered for the Peace Corps created by President Kennedy. See page nineteen.

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THE HUES OF HEAVEN Photographs

by William

MAN'S REAL L1BE TY~ Causey

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SARI IN AMERICA-

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by Nathan

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l ISSUES IN AMERICAN

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by Charlotte

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OF SATISH. GUJRAL-/ti,:; ~,),

TENNESSEE WILLIAMS

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DAUGHTER

NEW JET AIRLINER

THE ASPIRING CREATURE

OF A PRESIDENT·

THE SKY'S NO LIMIT-I by C. S. Gopal'

In case of change of address, please forward both old and new addresses to: Distribution Manager, USIS India, Bahawalpur House, New Delhi-I. Allow six weeks for change to become effective. Paid subscriptions from outside India cannot be accepted.

PUBLISHER

Dr. W. Kenneth

Bunce,

Counselor far Public Affdirs, The American Embassy, New Delhi. EDITOR

Edward E. Post,

United States Information Service. ART

DIRECTOR

Indoo P. Mukerji,

United States Information Service. PRINTED

Middleton,

at G. Claridge & Ca. Ltd. (Caxton Works), Frere Road, Bombay.

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PRESENTS' HIS POV· i

THE LINE BETWEEN THE STATE AND by Charles Frankel G c ().t.~]\ I, l ,(

by Loren Eiseley

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RESEARCH -,',

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by (fenneSseet Wi!!.iams

Annual Subscription: Four Rupees. Subscriptions should be addressed to : PATRIKA SYNDICATE, PVT. LTD. 1211 Lindsay Street, Calcutta-I6.

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EDUCATION

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by Richard Bartholomew

Articles appearing in SPAN may be reprinted without special permission and with credit to SPAN, unless copyright or other reservation is indicated

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Brooks

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R FER JOHNSON· New Delhi artist Satish Gujral is exhibiting a successful one-man show in New York. On the front cover he is shown seated beneath a self-portrait in his Delhi home. See page twenty. Photograph by J.D. Beri.

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our jet-and-rocket age, when machines have reached an unprecedented state of efficiency and speed, it is perhaps necessary to remember that man remains the master of the machine. This was never demonstrated more effectively or more dramatically than in the recent epochmaking space flight of the first American astronaut, Commander Alan B. Shepard. Shot to an altitude of 115 miles in space and travelling at the speed of 5,100 miles an hour, Shepard was fully in control of the spacecraft from the moment it was blasted away from the rocket to the time he landed 302 miles out in the Atlantic Ocean, exactly as planned. During the 16.5 minute flight he operated a number of switches, dials, buttons and fuses on the control panel. The total number of these control devices is over 125 and, as part of his training, Shepard had learned to identify each of them by touch with his eyes closed. In Shepard's own words, after the rocket burnt out, "my craft separated from the rocket shell. At this point I weighed nothing. The craft automatically turned a half-somersault, assuming what we call the orbital attitude. I was now facing backwards to the direction of flight. Until this time everything in the flight was automatic. This was when I took over control of the spacecrart. By moving the control stick I put the craft through various rolling and turning manoeuvres, one after the other. These are started and stopped by several low-thrust hydrogen peroxide jets on the outer surface. After the manoeuvrability test, T looked through the periscope. The view took my breath away. It was extraordinarily beautiful. But T could spare only a moment for sight-seeing." A unique feature of the sub-orbital flight-the first in America's Project Mercury-was that it was watched

on television by millions of persons, training and preparation. It was the result of steady, step-by-step planning including President Kennedy. Tension was high at Cape CaI1averal and in which the human safety factor was paramount. throughout the United States as The rocket Redstone is the product the rocket was fired and slowly lifted off the launching pad on a ball of years of painstaking research and development. 'Following the pioneer of flame, After a little over two minutes the rocket burned out, the work of'Dr. Robert H. Goddard, who built the first rocket motor using escape tower was jettisoned and the liquid propellants, the first Redstone spacecraft was blasted away from the rbcket. launching was made in August 1953, Every movement or the astronaut and since then over fifty of these and every word spoken by him was rockets have been launched with a noted by observers in the ground high rate of success. control centre. A movie camera Thousands of technicians and mounted inside the cabin continudozens of private companies have ously filmed Shepard's reactions and collaborated to make a success of tape recorders recorded all sounds this project under the direction of the in the cabin. As he ran through National Aeronautics and Space Administration-a U.S. civilian agency assigned exercises, his gestures were. transmitted from electrodes attached responsible for space research and to his body to ground observers who exploration for peaceful purposes. were particularly interested in his A dozen or more flights, which performance ability in the weightless preceded that of the first American environment or space. The radio spaceman, provided vital informagave the pilot a voice link with the tion and made the present success control centre and, in the event of possible. Aboard two of these flights failure of the voice-link system, there were the Rhesus monkeys Sam and was provision for him to use his Miss Sam, and both returned safely. telegraph-type code key to send A ballistic flight, with a production messages to earth. However, the spacecraft boosted by a Redstone. system worked perfectly and, even carried the grinning chimpanzee Ham after the spacecraft splashed into on a 420-mile ride. the sea,' Shepard was able to maintain These preliminary flights and radio communication with recovery extensive tests do not detract from units hurrying to pull him from the the importance and uniqueness or ocean. . Shepard's achievement, but were The astronaut later described his . necessary trials to ensure the safe descent in graphic terms: "With dereturn of the first American astronaut. creasing altitude, the air grew denser In the words of the citation accomand denser, frictional resistance rapidly panying the award of the NASA built up, and within a half minute we Distinguished Service Medal to him, reached a peak of more than 11 G. Shepard's flight is "an outstanding At this point I weighed nearly a contribution to the advancement of ton. My voice came out in grunts, human knowledge of space technobut understandable, as my muscles logy." The medal was presented by strained against the force. At last, President Kennedy, who expressed his countrymen's great pride in Shepard our small stabilization parachute opened at 21,000 feet. A little more than a and the great satisfaction his accommile farther down a valve opened, plishment had given them. bringing in fresh air. At 10,000 feet This notable advance is expected to be the forerunner of still more the beautiful orange and white main spectacular successes in space travel. parachute unfolded out of its "cocoon" At the news conference held in and blossomed overhead. Just about Washington with the pilot, NASA 15 minutes after leaving my friends Director James E. Webb referred to at Cape Canaveral with a swoosh of the larger and more complex rockets flame, we came down in the sea 302 which will be used in future flights. miles from the still-hot launching The first stage of the Saturn rocket, pad." to be tested this year, will develop Shepard, who is 37 and a jet pilot, a thrust twenty times that of Redis one of seven astronauts chosen to stone; the Nova rocket, a thrust be pioneers in Project Mercury, and one hundred times as great as this historic flight was made possible Redstone .â&#x20AC;˘ only by a long period of rigorous

Research Photographer for the Mount Wilson and Palomar Observatories

Nearly five thousand years ago this star exploded. Due to its distance from Earth, the explosion was not observed by man until four thousand years later. Eastern astronomers on the morning of July 4, 1054, saw a star suddenly flare into such extraordinary brightness that it was visible in full daylight-its brightness a hundred million times greater than before. After several months the star slowly faded from sight. Where that star flared, modern telescopes now observe this vast cloud of gas, a nebula which is still expanding at the rate of seventy million miles a day. The 2oo-inch Hale telescope at Palomar Observatory, with which the photograph at left was made, is the largest in the world. It is being used in the making of a new photographic map of the universe, including stars that are two thousand million billion miles from Earth.

SN _ of,~ THE GREAT GALAXY

IN ~1IJROMEDA

Located at a distance of nearly two million light years from Earth, this great congeries of stars is composed of billions of suns, lying far beyond the limits of our own Milky Way. The outer portions of the galaxy appear blue because the dominant stars in that region are relatively young, extremely hot stars. In the reddish central region the stars are older and cooler. All of the stars visible in the galaxy are at least a thousand times brighter than our own sun. Sprinkled uniformly over the picture are the foreground suns of our own galaxy, past which the telescope must look to see this neighbouring galaxy in Andromeda.

6~+-?;;bS THE RING NEBULA

IN LYRA

The blue star at the centre of the constellation Lyra is the source of powerful ultraviolet light which causes the enveloping shell of gases to radiate by fluorescence in their characteristic colours.

THE GREAT NEBULA

OF ORION

The naked eye sees this great cloud of glowing gas as the middle star in the sword of the constellation Orion. These wispy curtains of gas are fifteen hundred light years from Earth and shine from the energy of very hot, blue stars in the centre of the nebula. In the densest parts, these clouds are still more al~d~an the best vacuum attainable on Earth.

HE brilliant hues of the heavens are something the human eye has never seen and will never see from Earth. Eyen with the aid of the most powerful telescopes, the human eye is not sensitive enough to detect colours in images of low light intensity. When these giant telescopes, which are actually great cameras, gather and focus light from the stars onto extremely sensitive colour film, man can now, at last, witness the brilliance and splendour of the cosmos. The recent development of very fast colour film, coupled with the high optical speeds of the 200-inch Hale and the 48-inch Schnidt telescopes at Palomar Observatory of the California Institute of Technology, has made this possible. To make the photographs which appear on these pages of SPAN, William Miller, research photographer for the Mount Wilson and Palomar Observatories, exposed the new fast colour film under the Palomar telescopes for four hours. After exposure the negatives were subjected to extremely rigid controls to ensure colour accuracy. These pictures were the result of more than two years of work by Mr. Miller.

Ejected froll/ all exploding star more than fifty thousand years ago, the colours radiated by these filaments of gas result from their swift rush through space. Although their initial velocity was nearly five thousand miles per second, the clouds of gas have now slowed to a speed of about seventy-five miles per second as a result of constant collision with atoms of gas. Because of the steady decline in speed, this nebula will cease to glow in another twenty-five thousand years. The light captured by telescope to make this picture left the nebula in Cygnus about two thousand five hundred years ago.

Astronomical bodies shine by one or more of four processes. Our moon, the planets of our solar system and sometimes clouds of dust in space, shine by reflecting light. Their colour is largely determined by the source of their illumination. Our sun and other stars shine their own energy. Their colours are respective temperatures. Red stars White ones are very hot. Blue stars

by the radiation of determined by their are relatively cool. are intensely hot.

Nebulae, which are bodies of gas, absorb invisible ultraviolet light from stars that are sufficiently near and hot, then re-radiate the energy by fluorescence, in the manner of neon lights. The colours of nebulae depend on the nature of gases present and the extent to which they are excited by ultraviolet light. Nebulae also shine as a result of collisions between atoms or between atoms and high-energy particles such as electrons. Examples of all four types of irradiation are found in the pictures reproduced here. Astronomers have for years used filters with black and white film to record separately each star's colour. They have been able only to imagine the total splendour of the universe around us. Now Mr. Miller's photographs present us for the first time the spectacle of the awesome beauty of the heavens .â&#x20AC;˘

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MAN'S REAL LIBERTY... INDIAN-BORN teacher and philosopher Dr. John G. Arapura, who recently began a two-year teaching assignment in the United States, holds the belief that the in.tellectual and spiritual destinies of mankind are inseparable. Sitting in his office at the Hartford Seminary Foundation at Hartford, Connecticut, the visiting professor told me th<1.t"man must be interpreted in terms of religion." Reared in a deeply religious home in the State of Kerala, Dr. Arapura early became a serious student of religion and philosophy: "Any secular pursuits were out of the question for me." In his study of both Christianity and Vedantism he became imbued "with a fervour to discover what lies behind both great religions." Dr. Arapura holds degrees from Serampore University, New York's Union. Theological Seminary, and Columbia University. He is now on leave of absence from his professorship at Serampore University and plans to return to Serampore at the close of his present assignment at this New England centre of religious studies. The Serampore professor, who came to Hartford at the invitation of thc'Seminary's president, Dr. James N. Gettemy, saw this as an opportunity to pursue his belief in the need for "combining the ultimate spirituality of the East and West." As a teacher he seeks "to remove the structures of ignorance that prevent people from consciously pursuing their true spiritual goals." For his first semester at Hartford, Dr. Arapura's teaching schedule calls for six lectures a week. Assigned to the India Department, he conducts seminars in which he and a small group of graduate students talk togetheroften long past the regular class period.

The present student body at the 127-year-ol~ institution represents thirty-four religious denominations and fourteen countries besides the United States. Hartford counts among its alumni men and women of many nationalities now living in sixty-two countries. "Intellect is as import<'..ntas emotion or imagination," ill the opinion of Dr. Arapura. "Spirituality comprehends all our faculties." He contends that Karl Marx was "profoundly wrong" in interpreting man in terms of economics. Such teaching vainly assumes that man and nature and destiny can be explained without reference to religion. "Man must be interpreted in terms of religion," he said. Speaking with the calm assurance of a man with deep convictions, Dr. Arapura says his philosophy encompasses the teachings of a number of great men. Foremost among these philosophers and teachers are Mahatma Gandhi, John R. Mott, C. F. Andrews, Kagawa of Japan, Sri Vivekananda and Sadhu Sundar Singh. He summed up his philosophy in a pp.raphrase of the Upanishads: The visions that we see, that we strire for; What we strive for, that we achieve; What we achieve, that we become.

Man in his many "mad pursuits" is actu2.lly "simply seeking the Great Union," said Dr. Ararura. "The purpose of conscious religious intelligence is to destroy ignorance and liberate human minds for pursuit of knowledge of the common spiritual reservoir. "Man's real liberty is to be found only in an unrestricted quest for spirituality.".

Visiting Indian lecturer, Dr. John G. Arapura, centre, chats with students Ol'er coffee ill the snack bar 0/ Hartford Seminar.

b â&#x20AC;˘

In his semillar 011 Illdian Cultllre, left, Dr. Arapllra, at the head of the table, discusses with his stlldems Thephilosophy of the Upanishads. Checking his mail box on the campus, the visiting lecturer receives a letter from his wife who remained in India. A student looking on shares Dr. Arapura's pleasure.

â&#x20AC;˘

the quest for spirituality IS

teaches

an Indian philosopher in an AmericaFl centre of religious studies

SOllgsfrolll India TOTlteaccompaniment of TIlesiTar are a source of mutual pleasure to Dr. Arapllra and Professor Malcolm Pitt, below. Dr. Pitt, an American, spent fifTeen years teaching in Jabalpur. BOThscholars now teach in Hartfortl Seminary's Department of SouTh Asian Studies. At left, Dr. Arapura walks from class to his dormitory with one of his gradllaTe students.

Strategically cut to make fashion capital of a fabric hand-woven in India is this dress by Tina Leser.

GENERATION ago American women who travelled to India returned to astonish friends by wearing a gown made from sari cloth but now the accomplishment is much easier. Designing teams several seasons ago travelled to India under the auspices of the United States State Department for purposes of aiding in the economy of that nation. They brought back marketable ideas for American adaptations of these old world treasures. Individual designers, always seeking new fabric markets, have gone to see for themselves what is available.

Sari

â&#x20AC;˘

In America

In America, this garment is exploring new frontiers and adding a distinctly novel flavour to the prevailing fashion practices. By cutting the Indian traditional fabric motifs to fashion advantage and desirable patterns, American women find sari sophisticated and exciting. The various ways in which sari material is being used in American fashions include home and dinner dresses, wild silk coats, culotte dinner suits, waist length jackets for cocktail and dinner wear, and even handkerchiefs. Silk dinner saris in many colours-including fire gold, Indian turquoise, Hindu violet, and white with gold embroidery, dresses of rough textured Indian printed cottons, patio dresses of rougher textures, and home decoration patterns are some of the usages of Indian fabrics in current vogue in the United States. In addition to individual designers, American fashion centres, including the design schools, are experimenting with the exploitation of these exotic fabrics and are studying their marketability. Such couturieres as Tina Leser and Lauralou Bates are engaged in processing profitable American adaptations of these Indian materials. In the process, the dictionary definition of sari may undergo a change. But its internationalization is surely of equal interest to India and America .â&#x20AC;˘

A firegold Indian sari has been cut and stitched into an American dinner sari by designer Lauralou Bates.

â&#x20AC;˘

Issues In

PUBLIC debate about education-its goals, techniques, and content-has been going on in the United States for well over a hundred years. But with the advent of the Age of Space, this public discussion has become more animated, focussing on the problem of what schools should do in a world increasingly centred around science and technology. To help clarify the central issues in America's education world today I interviewed Francis Keppel, who, as dean of the Graduate School of Education at Harvard University, is one of the country's most influential educators. Here are my questions and his answers. QUESTION: Do you think that the new emphasis on science and technology is going to change, or should . change, the curriculum of American schools? ANSWER: There have already been changes, and there probably will be more in the years to come. Of course mathematics and the sciences have been taught for many years in the elementary and secondary schools: The problem is how to increase the emphasis on those subjects. As I see it, the problem takes two forms. The first is that of revising the approach to the subjects themselves, as in a completely new physics programme being worked out with the leadership of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, which emphasizes modern physics, that is, nuclear structure, at the expense of the older type of physics which you and I learned. It is not just a question of putting in more science, it's a question of redefining the sciences themselves as they are taught to young people. This is also true in mathematics, the teaching of which has had to be recast in order to reflect the progress brought about in mathematical thinking in the last forty or fifty years by mathematicians all over the world. The second part of the problem might be described as that of technical-rather than scientific-education; that is, the training of young people for applied science. Many Americans would disagree with my guess, but I think that in the coming twenty years more and more technical training will be given by industry and government agencies, and less by the schools. Some people worry lest we get carried away by the importance of technology, and forget the traditional and basic purpose of education which is to create a whole man, not a mere technician. Do you think there has to be a conflict there? Of course ther~ is a potential conflict, if you just think in terms of the amount of time given in a school day to either one or the other area. However, mathematics or science can be taught in a way that comes fairly close to the traditional thinking about humanistic subjects. If you teach a boy how to take apart and put together an automobile, you are pretty far from the humanistic conception of literature or art. But if you're teaching him mathematics or physics, you are teaching him the wonders of the world, you're teaching him things that stretch his imagination and help him see how small man is in relation to the immensity of the galaxies-in space and time. In short, it depends more on the spirit in which a subject is taught, I think, than on the particular subject. In any case, what is taught in the United States is deeply influenced by the feelings of the parents in the community,

American Education and I hope there will always be a great many people who would be shocked by the idea of turning the whole of American education into a curriculum of science, physics, mathematics, and their applications. I don't think this is ever going to happen. Another problem, a very practical one: How are we going to provide for the rapidly mounting student population? How are we going to get adequate buildings and teaching staffs? To answer this question at all makes it 'necessary for me to take a long look at American history. The American people settled this continent by moving West slowly over a period of a century or so. They moved in relatively small clusters of people, settled miles away from anywhere. Now, of course, railroads, cars, airplanes, and so forth, connect these communities. But our habits about educational financing were set years ago, when the local town was responsible for its schools, and raising its own taxes in order to put up school buildings or hire teachers. It has been a very slow process to shift from reliance on local taxes, usually taxes on real estate, to reliance on the State, such as New York or Illinois, and on the federal taxing system. In the last fifteen years the American population has grown very rapidly, making it necessary to build a lot of school buildings, and though we have built thousands and thousands of new schools; we have not quite kept up with the increased birth rate. The fact that we have come very close to it, however, shows how strongly the American people feel about providing good school facilities for their children, even though it may mean a good deal of sacrifice. Even so, there's a limit to the ability of local taxes to meet school needs; the next step is the use of federal government taxes, particularly to build school buildings. Several bills to this effect have been considered by the U.S. Congress in the last four or five years, and I think it's very likely that in the near future quite substantial appropriations will be made by the federal government in order to build schools. Since education is traditionally a local matter, some people are worried about the possibility that if the federal government becomes a major financier of education, it will try to interfere in matters of curriculum, teaching staff, and the like. Do you think that fear-is well-grounded? Some people are always worried about something. but let's look at the matter on a little broader base. This nation has been accustomed, since the Constitution was adopted, to what we call checks and balances. The executive branch of government is watched over and checked by the legislative branch and both are watched over and checked by the judiciary, ultimately the Supreme Court. In addition to that, we have a system of checks and balances between the States and the federal government itself. These existing ways of assuring checks on arbitrary federal power-through the legislative branch of the government, through the judiciary, and through the state governments-have worked well for 170 years, and I see no reason why this protection will not continue to exist and secure the area of education from arbitrary federal

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June 1961

decisions. Furthermore, most of the bills for federal aid to education considered by Congress have included the provision that nothing in these bills shall give the federal government power to decide the curriculum of the schools. For instance, an act passed by Congress in the summer of 1958, authorizing the expenditure of something like a billion dollars in the next five years for student financial assistance, stated explicitly that no official of the federal government shall have any power over what is taught in anyone school. What about getting enough qualified teachers? Private business, especially in the fields of science and engineering, has lured away some of the most talented people, who could have been among the best teachers. What can be done to attract more of the best college graduates into teaching?

Industry often pays higher salaries and attracts many of the best qualified people, but again let's look at the whole picture. You have about 1,300,000 p~ople working in connection with the schools. About three-quarters of them are women, and I think it is a fair statement that

the salaries for women teachers compete pretty well with salaries in other professions or in other kinds of p0sitions that women ordinarily enter. The problem is different for the man-and not so much regarding beginning salaries, which are often reasonably competitive, but the salary level he would reach when his family responsibilities bec@mequite heavy, when he is thirty or past thirty. What are we doing about this? In general, the salaries of teachers have risen in the last fifteen years, and are catching up with competition. Furthermore, schools are reducing the clerical and non-professional tasks of teach~rs, and many communities are developing coordinated programmes to encourage young people to go into teaching. One needed measure which I think is corning is the reorganization of the salary and personnel structure in the public schools, to allow giving the man who makes a career of teaching a distinctly higher salary and position of responsibility than is now generally possible. On the whole, the picture is not as dark as some paint it. We have a large number of first-rate people in teaching. Teaching is a cause as well as a way to earn a living, and a very substantial number of those 1,300,000 people are teaching because they love it, because it is important, and you couldn't get t!lem out of there if you offered them twice the salary. But this doesn't solve the problem of recruitment in the next generation. Some twenty American universities are now engaged in an organized effort to interest more college gra<luates in teaching. 14

Span

June 1961

The American student, starting in high school and even more so in college, has a great freedom to choose his subjects, apart from a certain number of required subjects. 130 you see any need for changing our system and perhaps move towards the European type of school with afixed curriculum?

The American system, I would say, gives a good deal more flexibility. For example, if a pupil starts on a programme of primarily vocational training towards a particular technical school, and then decides when he is fourteen or fifteen that what he really wants to do is to get a liberal arts education, he still has a chance to shift over-later than is usually permitted in most of the Western European educational patterns. Now if you compare the results of the American and European academic programmes by the end of the respective schooling periods, the European student is likely to be ahead. This is because those studying in a certain area have been selected from the age of twelve, and their whole attention has been concentrated. Nobody has joined their group later and, therefore, learning can move ahead faster. In the American scheme, with additions of new students and a flexible programme, the chances arc not as good that an individual will be as far advanced, let us say in mathematics or in languages, as his age equivalent might be in Europe. The price that the United States is paying for its educational flexibility, if you want to look at it that way, is loss of time. The question is: which is more valuable? On balance, the American people appear willing to exchange time for flexibility here, and I myself agree: we are not in that much of a hurry. The doctors seem to be keeping us alive a lot longer, and if that's the case we might just as well spend a little while longer to get an education if that means greater freedom of choice. In colleges, I see a tendency to control the subjects studied by the student rather more than was the case twenty-five years ago, and I am sympathetic to this tendency. There is a limit to the extent to which you let eighteen to twenty-one-year olds study anything they want to study. While in college, they should first undertake some studies in the great branches of learningscience, literature, languages, history, and the social sciences-and later concentrate in one of these fields. That seems to me a pattern that is now quite widespread and likely to be even more so. But along with that, isn't it also the case that the more accomplished students as they advance are permitted under guidance to range beyond and away from the standard curriculum?

Correct. There is a strong movement towards giving a lot of freedom to the unusually gifted students who seem to show a strong drive and need not be reminded of the need of working. This is really borrowed fmm the British, I suppose-the tutorial pattern at Oxford and Cambridge, where a student is left on his own with the advice of a tutor who suggests readings or laboratory work and the like. For the student who knows he wants to go into a certain field and who is obviously a mature person, the growing trend in American colleges is to put him on his own in the last two years of his college career. I'd like to go on to a subject which probably has been more widely discussed than any other in regard to American education because it has such wide social and cultural ramifications. This pertains to the Supreme Court ruling in 1954 that racial segregation of public schools is unconstitutional and that, therefore, the States would have to, at a proper pace, remove such segregation from their public schools. How far have we come, and what can we expect in the next decade?

You may remember that the actual opinion written by the members of the Supreme Court in their unanimous (Con/Âˇinued on page 18)

decision referred to studies of the problems of the relation of races in the United States, such as a book by Gunnar Myrdal, a Swedish scholar, which had considerable influence on American thinking. Myrdal's central point was that the problem of racial relations in the United States was a dilemma in the heart of the white man. He was referring to the conflict between, on the one hand, the white man's prejudices in some parts of the country and, on the other hand, his profound belief in the equality of man. These two conflicting feelings clashed within many white men in the American South, and that of course is where the problem has centred. It should be remembered that the remaining two-thirds of the nation white and Negro students have been attending the same schools for many years. What has happened in the seven years since the Supreme Court decision? Most States of the South, such as Kentucky, Tennessee, North Carolina, Texas, Maryland, Arkansas, West Virginia, have taken action towards desegregation of their schools. They have done this carefully and in some cases slowly, but on the whole quite successfully. The big city of Baltimore, where Negroes make up a quarter of the population, wiped out race distinctions in all its schools within months after the Supreme Court decision. In Louisville, Kentucky's largest city, integration was completed in September, 1956, with hardly a ripple. In St. Louis, integration of students and teachers was gradual but so successful that there was no serious difficulty even when a Negro was made supervisor of instruction for the whole city system. Farther south, integration has proceeded more slowly, and several Deep South States still maintain segregation at the primary and secondary levels, although some progress has been made at the college level. In fact, more than a hundred state-supported Southern institutions of higher learning, rigidly segregated for years, have opened their doors to Negro students. I think a key to future developments in this field can be found in the decision of the State of Virginia to let each community decide whether to integrate its schools or not. Court rulings based on the Supreme Court decision of 1954 have made this, in many communities, a choice between integrated schools and no public schools at all. Confronted with this alternative, people usually find they are not ready to give up their system of public schooling, and thus another step is taken on the road to integration. I'd like to raise another question much debated these days, since in a way it underlies all other problems: What is the goal of education in the United States? Professional competence? Well-rounded, general education? Informed, good citizenship? Rigorous scholarship? There is really no one answer to this question. It depends very much on the kind of life the people in a given community want to Jive, and since there are 45,000 separate school districts you get variations from place to place. You also get variations within the same community, over the years, just as you and I probably have changed our attitudes towards education since we were in school, and will continue to change as our children grow up. But though only a very wise man, who fully understands the central direction of American thought and life, could give you a satisfactory answer, I would like to suggest some clues as to the general direction of U.S. education. In recent years, the American people have generally asked for more emphasis on academic subjectsnot only science and mathematics but also foreign languages, literature, and the like. This I find very desirable, because in their period of rapid growth, between 1900 18

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June 1961

and 1940, American schools had not devoted enough of their energies to academic subjects. On t~e other hand, I think it's very unlikely that schools wIll abandon some of the functions which have been much criticized-such as teaching young people how to drive. Deep within the American tradition as I read it, is a feeling that schools are not only a pl;ce to learn intellectual subjects. Schools are part of a network of agencies trying to solve social problems, and since they are t~e only institutions that can reach every child, schools wIll almost surely be required to take an active part not only in teaching children how to drive but in a whole host of other community causes. One could put it this way: The American school is interested in social and community causes as well as individual needs. These social causes are represented by a great many non-governmental American groups, and these private associations will inevitably turn to American education as one way of accomplishing their goals. Thus the aims of American education are in part a product of the combination of these pressures from outside forces, and they vary from time to time as American life changes. I would say that, fifty years from now, someone trying to answer these same questions will be in just as difficult a position as you and I are today.e

bl- /7 b7 PHOTOGRAPHS BY CHARLOTTE BROOKS

HE teacher's task is to help the student become what he ought to be and could be. This precept drawn from Goethe, is pinned up over Professor Richard lessor's desk at the University of Colorado. It is a constant reaffirmation for him that teaching is more than just imparting information to notetaking students. Thirty-six-year-old lessor feels that the teacher must also train the student's mind, stimulate his curiosity, and help him fulfil his total potentialities as a human being.

The Teacher's

Task Professor lessor emphasizes a point . in introductory psychology course.

An equally important, and more adventurous, part of the teacher's job, lessor believes, is original research which produces the new ideas necessary for social progress. Another reward is academie freedom which, as the Colorado professor puts it, includes "the freedom just to go to the library with a stack of books and stare off into space." Teaching and research sometimes add up to a seventyfive-hour week, but not to the exclusion of a rich social life. All in all, this professor of psychology finds his work endlessly stimulating; "You're always alive.".

bl-177lJ

With a colleague, lessor climbs a nearby mountain. ,I -

""'=

ONE

of the first young Americans to join the Peace Corps established by President Kennedy was Rafer Johnson, 1960 Olympic decathlon champion and world decathlon record holder. Johnson volunteered his services to help plan the physical training programmes for Peace Corpsmen preparing for overseas assignments. This is not the champion's first participation in international relations at the people-to-people level. In 1958, while still a student at the University of California, Los Angeles, the Olympic star made an 89-day tour of many countries under the President's programme to strengthen cultural ties between the United States and other nations. Rafer Johnson first attracted national interest when, despite an injured knee, he finished second in the 1956 Olympic decathlon-the gruelling ten-event competition comprising the 400-metre race, broad jump, shot put, high jump, 100-metre race, discus throw, llO-metre hurdle race, pole vault, javelin throw and the 1,500-metre race. That year he finished second to Milton Campbell of the United States. In 1958, competing for the United States in a track meet against the Soviet Union in Moscow, he won the decathlon by outpointing his Russian opponent Kuznetsov. In the U.S. Olympic trials held in July 1960, Johnson scored a world record-breaking 8,683, topping by 326 points the previous record established by Kuznetsov in 1959. In Rome at the 1960 Olympics, Rafer Johnson won his gold medal in the decathlon, followed in second by C. K. Yang of Formosa, a fellow-student at UCLA.

RAFER JOHNSON

The decathlon champion was presented the 1958 Sportsman of the Year trophy by Sidney L. James, left, on behalf of SPORTS ILLUSTRA TED, a leading American sports magazine. In 1960 Johnson was awarded the United States Amateur At!lletic Union's trophy as the year's outstanding amateur athlete.

As a student at UCLA, the decathlon champion maintained a high scholastic average, majoring in political science and physical education. In his senior year, he was elected president of the university's student body. After receiving the degree of Bachelor of Arts in 1959, Johnson remained at UCLA to complete a year of postgraduate studies. Returning recently from a trip abroad, Johnson said, "I have discovered that people everywhere seek to know each other better." He has long expressed a desire to work in the field of foreign relations, so that his association with the Peace Corps is a logical pursuit of that ambition. President Kennedy has described the Peace Corps as "a pool of trained men and women sent overseas by the U.S. Government or through private institutions and organizations, to help foreign countries meet their urgent needs of skilled manpower." Skills in teaching, agricul-

The six-feet-three-inches tall Olympic clwmpion practises hurling the discus, a decathlon event.

â&#x20AC;˘â&#x20AC;˘

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ture and health will be emphasized, because emerging countries have indicated these are the most needed. The re,eently-appointed director of the Corps, R. Sargent Shriver, a Chicago businessman and brother-inlaw of President Kennedy, has described training centres envisaged for the orientation of the first Peace Corpsmen as having nationals of host countries living, working and studying with the volunteers. Corpsmen will be sent only to countries which request them, where their compensation and living standard will be the same as their local counterparts in the same jobs. Mr. Shriver recently visited India and discussed the Peace Corps programme with Prime Minister Nehru. In assessing the potential of the Peace Corps, Rafer Johnson expressed the opinion that "when our people go to live and work in the towns and villages and schools of the developing nations, adding their hands and skills to the job of development, I believe they are going to make a real contribution to hope and to peace.".

I try toÂˇ give meaning to what may cause men suffering ... "

EELING must come first, and feeling is form in an artist." The morning Satish Gujral told me this it was blowing cold. A scooter engine had heaved me six miles through a Delhi January. Gujral was taking a jet that

In January, Satish Gujral and his wife Kiran departed India on a six-month tour that will take them around the world before their return to New Delhi next month. In the course of his tour, among whose sponsors are the Asia Foundation of San Francisco and the Canadian COll/lci!, Gujral'has had numerous private showings of his paintings in the Middle East, in Europe, in Canada and in the United States. The main exhibition of the tour is a public exhibit which opened in mid-May in New York City's Associated Contemporary Artists Gallery. Gujral's New York show, from which are selected the paintings reproduced on pages twenty-one through twentyeight of this issue of SPAN, has attracted considerable attention and has evoked favourable comment from art critics and the general public. Mr. Bartholomew's interview of the artist, which is recounted in the accompanying article, was undertaken for SPAN just prior to the departure of Sat ish and Kiran Gujral on their tour.

evening to Europe from whence he would fly to America. He came out to greet me, wrapped and bearded, much like a shaggy bear. "I was waiting," he said. "Come." We entered his small sitting room at Constitution House, New Delhi, and sat down amid low furniture and batik draperies designed by the Gujrals. I became more aware of the audible world as I always do when I am with Gujral. One never feels one possesses an advantage because the artist is deaf. I always feel I must be equal to his acuter senses. For example, there are Gujral's jokes. The painter has a tremendous repertoire of things that make men laugh. Inside him is a stock of the comic which one does not find in his paintings. I missed Gujral's paintings on this January morning. The walls were blank. I missed those dramatis person((! of his art, apocalyptic figures caught in the vortex of some silent ritual, supporting or supported by some mute mystery. These men and women are stark or sinister or

sublime. They cross out of darkness into lighted night corridors. They bend down or kneel or reach up to or traverse a dream to get at the resources of the human spirit. I missed the familiar red and reaching Gujral horizon-that typical hypothetical Gujral horizon, the divisional line between hope and despair so characteristic to his paintings. I missed his paintings, but they were all there-in crates ready for flight. And the painter was there, almost a character out of his own paintings. His accent is heavy, his gestures emphatic. Aside from the words that pass between us, I have always felt that each interview I have had with Gujral is also a pantomime. When the painter speaks I feel that he is translating all that he has to say into gesticulations, facial expressions and then into words that are heavy because they have passed through the currents of silence inside him. . I mentioned the element of continuity in his works, how though some of the motifs have changed his approach to expression remains the same.

"I think that is true," Gujral said. "I feel that one thing is always the same in artists and that is the attitude. The details of the attitude may change but the basic attitude is the man. In an artist, if the attitude changes either the conception or the artist is false. Influences only change details. But when the total attitude changes then the artist is weak." R. B.: I notice that the feeling and the form in your recent work is in a series. The same figure is set almost against the same background-a building. The mood is one of expectancy. G: My paintings are confessions. A man passing through life is making autobiographical confessions. Previously the man ignored the source, ignored the inner continuity that makes man suffer. Ignoring it I did not think of the source. I did not think of the inner life. Ijust revolted against man. Slowly I discovered man's fate, saw those sufferings that are eternal. The buildings are there to show how things go on forever. Man jumps from this suffering to that but has the same wall toface.

R. B.: You have passed from the dramatic to quiet, from the single separated image to the symbolic spectacle. In short, from pain to mystery. G: I try to give meaning to what may cause suffering. Naturally that makes drama by itself. Suffering becomes a kind of adventure. That is the mystery. The wall is inevitable, human living. Greatness in man is the discovery of his own limitations. An art employed with imagination finds everything limited. It is to suffer for greatness.

R. B.: Do you foresee what your paintings will be like in the next stage? Is there an ideal form of expression which you would like to reach, sooner or later? G: Basically speaking I seldom think of what may come. I have no ideals in this sense. Every time my creative activity is a basic expression. The very evolution of discovery brings certain changes in the expression. Naturally the adventure of experience will continue. If one must have an aim, mine is to seek the very cause of pain. I am trying to discover it.

Se-J'- ~I~b

R. B.: You will see this, 1 suppose, only through human forms? or do you feel that in your search you might some day land yourself in metaphysical or abstract forms of expression? G: Take my word. I am not against abstraction. I am against nothing. It is folly to think of abstraction as a form of expression. Form does not matter until it is used as forms of expression. Abstract art has come to a stage when it has nothing to do with feeling. We tend to look upon it as something that expresses harmony of line and colour. But in the real sense of abstraction-which I believe in-I intend to search out more poetic, more creative forms of expression. Naturally, I am striving for abstract forms as every artist ought to be.

Satish Gujral is an old humanist in a new world. Whereas his peers have sought the sanctum and the sanction of inner reality, of the unconscious image, Gujral believes that what is most germane will surface and flower. He believes tl~at impulse is action. His philosophy is almost Buddhistic in approach: "1 try to give meaning to what may cause men suffering." This is very near to what T. S. Eliot says, "You know and do not know that action is suffering and suffering action .... "

Photographs

of Gujral's

Paintings

by 1. D. BERI for SPAN

In these recent works which he is taking to Europe and America the older symbols are no longer in use: the barbs, the chains, the skulls, the serpents, the broken masonry, the ruined columns, the extinct volcanoes, and the entire apparatus of conventional symbolism which have, for those who believe in subtler connotations, a socialistic import. Gujral's new symbols are everyday realities, commonplace things charged with mystery: a bridge, the horizon supporting a revelation, water heavy like that of the dark tarn of Auber, buildings with dark walls, corridors strangely lit where you feel watchers lurking, barricades beside which men wrestle as on the frontier of freedom, lampposts that are bent like great claws as though these giant hands will become incandescent any moment. And there are people approaching or in flight. Each spectacle in the canvases of Satish Gujral is a chapter of mystery. There is one strong source of light, often hidden. Tension is devised by colour, sombre but luminiscent. The pattern zigzags and emphasizes the stagger of the drama tis personae and the maze he is in. The energy of the work emanates from the project of the protagonist. Each painting of this recent period takes you straight to the theme of the drama, like the opening of Hamlet or Macbeth. And this painter from the Punjab who was moved to creative eloquence by the trauma of partition in 1947 is now no longer an avowed social reformer. He is a poet and these paintings 2.re his plastic metaphors. When we approach Gujra1 in this light, take him at his word, the recent paintings are eloquent confessions. The colours are cold, angry colours. The pictures are terrifying moments of silence-you sense that immediately. Sh::>.dows tell their tale.

?s 'df

Kiran Gujral :;ell~ taken in the ~~'j;ls' designed and executed by in the foreground

~artist. In this portrait, Delhi home, she wears a sari her in batik. The lamp-stand was carved by Satish Gujral. Photograph by T. D. BERI

And this is the final identification. The Victor is a man who has left behind his clothes in a house and is in flight from it. ("I turn out the clothes and come out," Gujral told me.) What has he conquered? What is the symbolism? Perhaps Gujral doesn't give two figs for style, or two fig leaves either. Anyone can make his own mystery, and meaning, after seeing these images. They are as fecund as abstract imagery with the advantages of recognizable emotion. What is that perpetual twilight in the paintings of Gujral? Has the light failed? Or is it the theme of "the dark is light enough?" "Feeling must come first, and feeling is form in an artist." If the feeling failed or the construction sagged, these works of Gujral would be grotesque. But Gujral's feeling-and his attitude towards life-is consistent. His fonns too are consistent. Symbols of loneliness crowd upon this painter. They people his vision. His palette is alive. And the principle of selection, which is the principle of emphasis, is personal.

The shadow of God, it seems, points to and follows our first parents in the painting entitled Adam and Eve. (Is that a variation of the poet's line: "And the shadow of thy perfect bliss is the sunshine of ours?") In Escape three figures flee across the bridge. The pilgrim kneels before a row of halters. Or are they lampposts? The strangeness of the personal yet intrinsic encounter is portrayed in The Other Man is God. The two protagonists st<:.ndon a strand, before the final crossing.

Stocky, bearded, discerning, Gujral keeps one of the most individual galleries of modern Indian art. He also keeps faith with himself, for the gallery of which he is the keeper contains his own art. But there are two gC'Jleriesreally, or two wings of the same gallery. There is the art of the man who in his thirties is one of the foremost painters in India. Then there is the mind of the artist whose manhood has been a struggle to establish himself as a normal and gifted individual, despite the singular handicap of a total loss of hearing. The confessions are disclosures of what is in that other gallery. In that other gallery Gujral is also the keeper of the world's silence. In the first Gujral is the keeper of his own and man's conscience. For conscience is the knowledge of silence.â&#x20AC;˘

PRESENTS HIS POV In this article American playwright Tennensse Williams answers his critics who maintain that his plays are unpleasant, harrowing and shocking. He contends that no significant area of human experience, and behaviour reaction to it, should be held inaccessible to dramatic art, provided it is presented with honest intention and taste .

. b-,1:5

HE last time I was in Hollywood a famous lady columnist with a way-out taste in millinery but a way-in taste in film fare got me on the phone one morning and lit into me like a mother tigress defending her litter. "I want to know why you are always plunging into sewers !" she demanded. I happened to like the lady and, as an avid reader of motion picture magazines, I had derived many hours of pleasure from her sometimes withering diatribes against stars whose private behaviour had offended her sense of propriety. So, I did not shout back at her but tried to mollify her with a reasonable dissertation on my artistic pay as opposed to hers (and I will pause for one moment to say that pay is a handy contraction of the term "point of view," which is used in the shooting script of film scenarios). I tried to persuade the lady, in the gentlest possible manner, that from my pay it was not into sewers but into the main stream of life that I had always descended for my material and characters. I did not succeed in altering her pay, but I did seem to calm her fury. The pay of a certain female critic is essentially the same as the Hollywood columnist and even the pay of my mother, who says to me so often, "Son, when there is so much unpleasantness in the world, why is it necessary to put it on the stage?" Mother's question was more sorrowful in tone than wrathful, but somehow that didn't make it any easier to answer, especially since even a middle-aged son still

has a terrible sense of guilt in the presence of Mom. I'm not sure that I even tried to answer it, but one time, to my surprise, I heard her answer it for herself. A visitor was saying, "Mrs. Williams, why does your son waste his talents on such morbid subjects?" Mother spoke as quickly as if she'd always known the answer. "My son," she said, "writes about life"and she said it with conviction. I am sorry to be speaking for and about my own work, since I was not the solitary culprit summoned to justice. My fellow defendants are Lillian Hellman, the late Albert Camus, Jean Genet, and others, I would assume, such as Bertolt Brecht, Samuel Beckett, Jean Anouilh, Eugene Ionesco, Friedrich Duerrenmatt and Edward Albee. It's a distinguished list and I am proud to be on it, and hopeful that my plea for the defense will not compromise them too much. I am hoping also that. some among them will find an interval in their subversive creative activity to speak for themselves. People are humble and frightened and guilty at heart, all of us, no matter how desperately we may try to appear otherwise. We have very little conviction of our essential dignity nor even of our essential decency, and consequently we are more interested in characters on the stage who share our hidden shames and fears, and we wan,t the plays about us to say: "I understand you. You and I are brothers, the deal is rugged but let's face and fight it together." (c)

1960 The New York Times CompallY. The New York Times Magazine.

I think there has been not a very sick but a very healthy extension of the frontiers of theme and subject matter acceptable to dramatic art, to the stage, the screen and even television. The point of view I am speaking for is just this: that no significant area of human experience, and behaviour reaction to it, should be held inaccessible, provided it is presented with honest intention and taste, to the screen, play and television writers of our desperate time. And I would add that to campaign against this advance in dramatic freedom is to campaign for something that is perilously close to a degree of cultural fascism, out of which came the Nazi book-burning and the "coHection" of all the arts in the Soviet Union of Stalin. And, if you remember the statistics I noted earlier in this piece, you may agree with my POV that such a thing as this sort of cultural rigging is a greater peril than

Let us begin with statistics. Immediately after reading the female critic's piece, which would give the impression that virtually all Broadway houses in 1960 had been preempted by works of violence, decadence and stomachturning morbidity, I consulted the advertisements of theatre attractionsÂˇ then running on Broadway, and J counted 15 attractions in the musical and revue category. Of the remaining nine attractions on Broadway, J found that only one or two might conceivably be subversive from the POV of the lady critic-that brilliantly witty import, Jean Giraudoux's Duel of Angels, and the prize-winning play by Lillian Hellman, Toys in the Attic. The seven other legitimate attractions, although they do recognize with eloquence and dramatic skill that many circumstances in human existence are not as agreeable as all might wish for, could hardly be called sick plays, or even decadent, and all of them, from the humanistic POV, are distinctly affirmative. And so, on the basis of statistics, it appears to me that the critic is sounding a false alarm, or, at the least, an alarm which is somewhat exaggerated. Although the lady writes with a temperance which is unique among those sharing her POV, she is unmistakably out for blood, and the point I am making is that, quantitatively speaking, there isn't much blood to be out for, at least anywhere near Times Square; not enough to serve as a transfusion for an infant with a moderate thumb cut. Now let's get down to my POV and that of my codefendants before a very formidable and ever more vocal tribunal. I dare to suggest, from my POV, that the theatre has made in our time its greatest artistic advance through the unlocking and lighting up and ventilation of the closets, attics and basements of human behaviour and experience.

the so-called moral decadence of such works as Caligula, The Threepenny Opera, The Visit, Toys in the Attic, The Zoo Story, Krapp's Last Tape, Camino Real and The Connection, most of which are pretty safely off Broadway. The rallying cry of those who want our creative heads on the chopping block is "let's have plays affirming the essential dignity of mankind." It's a good platform. The only trouble with it, from my POV, is that we are not agreed about exactly what that high-sounding slogan really means in the way of truth about dignity and mankind. It is not the essential dignity but the essential ambiguity of man that I think needs to be stated.

Of course I am tempted to talk about my own characters-Blanche DuBois, Serafina Delle Rose, and even the sick Princess Kosmonopolis-at this point, but let me have a bit of dignity and talk instead about Brecht's Mother Courage, the greatest of modern plays in my opinion. Mother Courage was a jackal. She battened on the longest war in history, following the armies, in an ever increasingly beaten-up wagon, with her shoddy merchandise for which she extracted the highest price she could get. At one point she even denied that her son was her son, and let him be executed without an outcry except the awful outcry in her heart. Why? Because of her need to go on with her wagon and her demented daughter and her simple will to endure. I have specified a work that I think affirms the only kind of essential human dignity and decency, in modern terms, that I can honestly swear by. The above-mentioned critic only mentions My Fair Lady, and the others sharing her point of view are curiously reluctant to provide us with a list of plays, classic or modern, especially modern, that conform to their moral specifications. If you were Prince Hamlet and observed the suicidal anguish of Ophelia, would you or would you not rise above all personal concerns, at least for a while, to embrace her kindly? Would yon or would you not thrust a dagger through a curtain to kill a man behind it simply because you suspected, but surely weren't certain, that he might be your mother's lover and your father's killer? From my POV I find Prince Hamlet cruel. How does he strike you from yours? The magnitude of Hamlet does not exist in the matter but in the manner. Dramatic lyricism of the highest, most lasting order, and the passion to reveal the undignified and the often indecent truths about mankind are what make Hamlet so great a drama.

This is my POV, exemplified by one classic and one play. The POV of some critics betrays a basic misapprehension of the creative natnre and function. There are two kinds of creative work: organic and non-organic. It is possible to reform, to change the nature of a non-organic (synthetic) work in the arts, meaning that work which is produced through something other than a necessity, as built-into the worker as his heartbeat and respiration. But you could flay the skin off a writer whose work is organic and you still would not get out of him a sincere or workable recantation of his faith in what he is doing, however abominable that work may be, or strike you as being. The nervous system of any age or nation is its creative workers, its artists. And if that nervous system is profoundly disturbed by its environment, the work it produces will inescapably reflect the disturbance, sometimes obliquely and sometimes with violent directness, depending upon the nature and control of the artist. Deny the art of our time its only spring, which is the true expression of its passionately personal problems and their purification through work, and you will be left with a soil of such aridity that not even a cactus plant could flower upon it. To sum it up for the defense: We have done no worse a deed than the X-ray machine or the needle that makes the blood test. And, though these are clinical devices, I think we have tried our best to indicate which are the healthy blood cells and which is the normal tissue in the world of our time, through exposing clearly the dark spots and the viruses on the plates and in the blood cultures. . Certainly, there should be a healthy co-existence of My Fair Lady and My Lady of Unwilling Sickness. But if one tries to push out the other, which is the fair one, really?â&#x20AC;˘

Ca.t on a c:JIot 9in

d?oof

by CHARLES FRANKEL Professor

of Philosophy, Columbia University

ELECTIONS, the rugged competition of political parties, the processes of compromise within a pluralistic social order, the working of judicial review, the principle of federalism, and the maintenance of a non-political administrative service are among the mechanisms American society employs to preserve government by consent. No one of them, however, and not all of them together are enough to ,guatantee free government. An essential condition for securing these ideals is the vigorous and independent activity of private citizens possessing sources of power and wealth that lie outside the government sector. A competitive political process is not self-sustaining. It requires a society organized on the principle that the state is only one form of human association and that it exists side by side with a host of other associations that are to some extent autonomous. A democratic state is limited by its constitution in what it can do, and it is also limited in fact by the existence of significant centres of decision-making authority outside itself. The American pattern of private enterprise and voluntary associations is not the only mold for a free society. But such a society must contain groups that can make decisions and take action without asking repeated permission of the state or depending on its largesse. The existence of such autonomous and powerful groups in a society gives substance to classic democratic slogans such as "government that rests on will, not force" and "government by consent." To act with one's friends, one's co-believers, or one's associates and to know that the state will not interfere

so long as one remains within the law--this is the heart of what men have fought for under the name of freedom. It is wrong to imagine, of course, that there is a violent antithesis between "freedom" and the restraints imposed by laws of the state. The restraining of individual behaviour in certain respects is the necessary condition for individual freedom in other respects. The thief is not free to take property that does not belong to him; his lack of freedom in this respect is what gives the right to property its meaning. In states where anti-discrimination laws in housing have been enacted, a landlord is not free to pick and choose his tenants only from the racial and religious groups he finds congenial; his lack offreedom in this respect spells freedom for members of minority groups to live where they desire. It is a society's business to choose which freedoms it particularly values. The one thing it cannot do is to choose freedom in the abstract. Few social controversies are more stultifying than those which revolve around the issue of freedom but do not specify which freedoms are desired and which are endangered. But if restraints are conditions of freedom. they are not the same thing as freedom. As the old ex-slave is reported to have said, he liked freedom because "there's a kind of looseness about it." In a democratic society the area of legal coercion and state control cannot be allencompassing. There must also be room, and considerable room, for individuals to do as they please and to face the consequences of their actions. The restraints that a democratic society imposes on its members, therefore,

are presumed to have as one of their principal purposes the preservation or the extension of areas of free, personal choice. In practice, this means that the law must permit citizens freedom of association. It also means that they must enjoy social and economic circumstances which actually provide them with more than one avenue to the realization of their desires and more than one channel for making their careers. If they are frustrated in one area they must have the chance to turn around and try somewhere else. For if they find themselves confronted by the same monolithic structure of power wherever they turn, they do not have freedom in a substantial sense no matter what the official rhetoric of their society may proclaim. The monolithic structure at which some systems aim highlights the quite different characteristics of American society on which American freedoms hinge. At the same time, however, this monolithic ideal calls attention to a constant danger that exists in any society and against which it is the business of a democratic society to be alert. Particularly in times of emergency, but even at other times, there is a besetting temptation in political life. It is the temptation to push reasons of state into the private areas of society and to turn non-political voluntary associations into instrumentalities of an encircling political power. The extra legal persecution of conscientious objectors, the refusal of private enterprises to give employment to individuals only because these individuals subscribe to' radical doctrines-these are examples of practices that erase the line between the state and the rest of society. Such praeticeshave not been the rule in the United States, and they sink into insignificance when compared with the scope, severity, and centrally organized character of similar practices in "closed" societieS'. There rarity, nevertheless, does not make them more compatible with democratic ideals. They represent lapses from the principle that the state shall not be a ubiquitous and constant presence in all the affairs of men; and to a thorough believer inJ:democracy even minor defections from this principle will. be noted and fought. The issue, indeed, is not simply a matter of personal liberties. It is a matter of intellectual atmosphere. The politicizing of all important issues-the insistence on appraising literature, scientific ideas, art, philosophy, or international athletic competition always in terms of their political implications, real or alleged-does more than make cultural life a bore, which is bad enough. It implicitly converts activities that free men have always regarded as ends in themselves into instruments of the state. THE PRIVATE AND PUBLIC SECTORS These questions bring us to a fundamental isspe. It is a mark of a free ,society, we have said, that it.draws ,a line between the areas that are subject to state 'Control or legal coercion and thos~jn1\Vhich the private jadgement of individuals of'v61untary groups will prevail. At any given moment, however, there is usually an entire zone where the public and private sectors fade into one another. The recognition that certain private associations serve crucial social interests that must receive public support is reflected, for example, in provisions of the American income tax laws which make contributions to private educational and charitable institutions in part tax deductible. Again, associations within the professionsfor example, bar associations-have long enjoyed a

delegated authority from the state and are recognized as the quasi-official representatives and protectors of particularly important sectors of the public interest. To take still another example, in recent years a new form of partnership between government and private enterprise has been worked out in the field of atomic energy. On all sides during the last generation new hybrids have emergedindependent public corporations, private corporations that are created to do only government work, research centres staffed by private groups and financed by public funds. Few of these activities fit into simple and conventional categories separating the "private" and the "public." The lines that mark off the private from the public steadily shift and move, and so does the shadow zone between them. Must employers protect their employees against the hazards of their jobs? This was once a matter of individual discretion; it is now a legal obligation. Is the owner of a restaurant that is not a private club free to pick and choose his customers? The laws of some states now answer this question in the negative; in other states the issue is still being fought. As the social and physical environment changes, the reasons that once existed for drawing the line between the private and the public at a certain place are subject to reassessment. Thirty years ago a basketball coach looking for tall players would have accepted a six-foot candidate. Today he would classify him as short. The relation between the private and the public is similar. The fact that a sharp line is hard to draw does not mean, of course, that there is no difference between the "private" and the "public." We can usually tell the difference between a merely portly man and a fat man even if we have difficulty drawing an exact line. Similarly, in the politics of a free society, there are relatively few questions aboat' what is private and what is public until we come to the border areas where the battles are being fought. In contrast, there are no recognized border areas in a totalitarian society: the distinction between the private and the public has in principle been erased. A democratic society, accordingly, is recurrently confronted by the problem of where to draw the line between the private and the public, and it cannot be definitely settled for all time. Nor should we be beguiled in dealing with it by either of two unexamincd assumptions. The first is that all social control must be governmental control. There are other alternatives such as, community opinion or voluntary agreements among private citizens and groups. Indeed, even in countries in which governmental control has proceeded very far, it is probably less influential in the hour-to-hour behaviour of men than the controls of .tradition, moral beliefs, personal relations, habit, informal understandings, and the established code of manners and etiquette. In determining whether social controls are necessary, therefore, it is also necessary to determine what sort of control-governmental or non-governmental--is desirable. The second assumption to be avoided is that each instance of governmental or other restraint reduces the total area of freedom. The compatibility of freedom with varying amounts of governmental regulation is not an issue that can be settled by dogmatic pronouncements on either side. It is plain, of course, that any instance of restraint, if considered in and by itself, is a limitation of freedom. To take a hypothetical example, if the drivers of private passenger automobiles were prohibited from span

June 1961 33

bringing their cars into the central part of New York City they would lose their freedom in precisely this respect. But such a law might create conditions that gave the former drivers of automobiles more freedom to go where they wish quickly, comfortably, and cheaply. And it might also enhance the freedom of pedestrians and advance the cause of a great many other interests that are now smothered by an adherence to the principle that the private automobile has supreme rights. Whether this would turn out to be the case is not, of course, to the point. The example merely illustrates the principle that governmental restraint is not automatically to be equated with a net loss of freedom. Much useless debate would be avoided if this principle were recognized. Only by examining the specific consequences of a particular action can it be determined whether freedom will or will not be diminished. This is not to deny, however, that liberty is seriously threatened if any single agency in the community monopolizes all economic resources. One of the clear imperatives of democratic policy is the preservation of an economic system that diffuses power and contains autonomous centres of authority within it. There is a consequence that follows from this principle that cannot be too greatly emphasized. Itis a principle of democracy that the government will not be the only rule-making body in the community, and that associations that are independent of it will have the right and the power to make socially significant decisions. This implies, however, that these associations are themselves governments in the most meaningful sense of the tern]. They make rules and exercise. .genuine and effective authority over those who work for them or belong to them, and they establish arrangements that affect the general

character of the community at large. The phenomenon of widespread private government, nourished and supported, indeed, by the deliberate action of the state, is an intrinsic feature of a free society. Accordingly, the same sort of question that can be asked of other governments can also be asked of these private governments. The democratic ideals by which the state is properly judged may also be applied to the ways in which the lives of men are governed in the private sector. If the individual is smothered, if power is excessive, democratic principles are violated as surely as they are violated by similar conditions in the public sector. The proper balance between private government and public government is always a precarious one. It is a matter of reciprocal checks and restraints and of balancing forces that are equally necessary to democratic freedom. A democratic way of life includes more than the relation of the individual citizen to his city, state, or national government. It includes the kind of experience he has in his everyday activities and the expectations on which he and his fellows act in their private dealings with one another. The great goal of democracy is a change in the intimate quality of human experience. Democracy seeks a world in which men meet in the mutual respect that equals give to one another. It seeks a kind of life for the individual in which he will know that all men are limited and checked in the powers they can exercise but that every man is counted as important for the potential excellence that is in him. Such an ideal of life refers to much more than politics. It is for the sake of this ideal that the democratic process should be cherished and its performance constantly re-examined .â&#x20AC;˘

Hoover Dam on the Colorado River, the highest dam in the Westem Hemisphere, is an example of cooperation between the state and !he private sector. Built by the U.S. Government, the generating equipment is operated jointly by the City of Los Angeles govemmenf and a private power company. The Federal GOl'ernment is being repaid through the purchase of energy from the dam. ..-

Two heads have proved to be better thall olle ill testing the effects on hearing of slight movements of this girl's body as she listens to sOllnds.

a big research chamber, where silence is so complete that it can be broken by the beat of a heart, a group of United States scientists is seeking to improve communication by telephone, radio and television. To achieve these goals the research group, composed of physicists, psychologists, phoneticians, physiologists and engineers, is probing the mysteries of man's perception of sound. Improved communications depend upon better tmderstanding and control of vibrations in the air that can be heard. Better understanding and control, in turn, depend upon answers to many difficult questions. How does a human being hear? How is sound transformed by the body into nervous impulses and finally into knowledge stored in the brain? How does the ear determine the source of a sound, identify specific voices, or hear only one of many conversations in a crowded noisy room? These questions are not new, but the methods and equipment used to explore the human aspect of sound

11le model, below, which has somewhat the appearance of icebergs, is what ,. sound would look like (f it were solid rather Thun vibrations ill the air,

Â§()und

l2esear-c::h transmission are extremely modern. The acoustical chamber in which research is conducted under controlled conditions is a completely sound-proof, air-conditioned structure specially designed and built by Bell Telephone Laboratories in Murray Hill, New Jersey. It is the largest known "free-space room" ever constructed and probably is one of the quietest places on earth. The Dead Room, as the scientists call it, is 35 feet long and 28 feet wide and high. Its walls, ceiling and floor are constructed of fivefoot-thick wedges of fibreglass arranged in a saw-tooth design. Research is conducted in an area 20 feet above the floor atop a high-strength mesh screen of steel cables extending the width and length of the chamber. In this research area, scientists use delicate ele~i;~~ and acoustical instruments and precisely placed loudspeakers to manipulate sound. To measure the results of artificial alterations in the source, frequency and intensity of vibrations in the air, a human being is used in tests to report what he hears. Sounds can be made to come to him from behind, above or beneath or can appear to originate in the middle of his head. An important research device is a dummy head with delicate microphones for ears. The dummy can be: placed atop a person's head and arranged to measure the effect on hearing of slight shifts in the position of the person's body. Many types of tests have been conducted, from which scientists have gained new insight into the processes of human hearing. The research will continue indefinitely in the hope that eventually communications systems can be designed to fully use the remarkable abilities of humans to perceive sound and to convert it into usable information .â&#x20AC;˘

I obvious from these photographs that Caroline Kennedy prefers her brother to her other dolls. President teases her by calling the baby "Jack," Caroline insists: "My baby'~ name isn't Jack. It's John." T IS

When the

These photographs of the children of President and Mrs. Kennedy were made at the home of their paternal grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph P. Kennedy, in Palm Beach, Florida. Caroline Kennedy is three years old and her brother, John Jr., was born last November 26th, two and a half weeks after his father was elected President of the United States. One of Caroline's favourite games is Kiss the Wind, which simply adds up to running in the open air. She also spends much time reading with her parents, painting pictures, riding horseback and walking. On at least two occasions she has stolen the spotlight from her illustrious father when she burst in on a press conference and when she appeared impromptu in 'the midst of an official White House social function .â&#x20AC;˘

Daushter of a President

New Jet Airliner will approach sonic speed W HEN the new Convair 990 jet airliner goes into airline service later this year, it will bc the fastest commercial airliner operating on thc world's airways. The Convair 990, and its intercontinental version, the Convair 990 Coronado, will cruise in level flight at 640 miles an hour-close to the speed of sound. Its design was initiated after the present family of jet airliners were in operation. The new jet giant is being manufactured in San Diego, California. It will make its first appearances on American, Swiss, Scandinavian and Brazilian airlines. The 990's great speed results from its thin supersonic wing and from its four advanced jet engines, each of which develops 16,100 pounds of thrust. The engines are enclosed in an entirely new kind of pod. The wing is the thinnest in any transport plane but possesses extraordinary strength. The sweepback at the leading edgc is thirty-nine degrces, greatcr than that of any othcr jet airliners. Four streamlined specd capsulcs on the uppcr surface of the wing arc pointed at each end. They are twenty-four feet long and two feet in diametcr. Other new designs incorporated into this family of jet airliners are a fully-powered rudder, an anti-skid system of braking, newly designed thrust reversers, and larger flaps and leading edge slats to bring about shorter landing and takeoff distances. On its first test flight on January 24, the 990 lifted off the runway after traversing only 3,500 fect. The 990 passenger cabin features wide aisles, especially designed and contoured seats, and new advances in air conditioning which provide even temperatures even when one cabin is crowded and another section is relatively empty. The Convair 990 has a maximum takeoff weight of 239,200 pounds, or almost 120 tons. The airplane is 139 feet, 5 inches long, 39 fect, 6 inches high, with a windspan of 120 feet. Its wing area is 2,250 square feet. Its fuel capacity is 15,119 gallons. The Coronado, the 990 intercontinental version, has the same dimcnsions but slightly increased weights and fuel capacity .â&#x20AC;˘

A native Nebraskan, later a teacher at the University of Kansas and at Oberlin, in Ohio, Loren Eiseky is now chairman of the l)epartment of Anthropology at the University of PClIIlsyll'ania alld curator of Early Man in the University MuseulIl. Following publication of his book, The Immense Journey (Random House, 1957), Doctor Eiseley was hailed for the imagination and lyricism with which he el'oked the images of man in nature and the nature of man.

the aspiring creature IN

the age of technology which now surrounds us ~nd which boasts of its triumphs over nature, one thing IS ever more apparent to the anthropologist-the student of man. We have not really conquered nature because we have not conquered ourselves. It is modern man, Homo sapiel}s, "the wise" as he styles himself, who is now the secret mghtmare of man. It is his own long shadow that falls across his restless nights and that follows soundlessly after the pacing feet of statesmen. Not long ago I chanced to walk through the Hall of Man in one of the country's large museums. Persons of &r~atlearning had been instrumental in erecting those exhibIts, and I hoped to find there some clue as to human destiny, some key that might unlock in a few succinct sentences the nature of man. The exhibit ended in a question mark before an atomic machine and a graph showing the almost incredible energy that now lay open to the hand of man. Needless to say, I agreed with the question mark which ended the history of humanity within that hall. But as I turned and went in the other direction, step by step, aeon by aeon, back into the past, I came to a scarcely human thing crouched over a little fire of stic~s and peering up at me under shaggy brows. The captiOn read: "Man begins his technological climb up the energy ladder. He discovers fire." I walked a short way bac~ward and forward. I read the captions. I looked agalll at the creatures huddled over a fire of sticksat the woman clutching a child to her breast. Again I searched the hall. This was the sum total of all that ~cience. had here seen fit to emphasize graphically as Important to the human story. The hunters' tools were there, the economic revolution effected by agriculture

"Yasably pres~Il;ted. Summar!zed before my eyes, populatIons grew, citles and empIres rose and fell, and still man's energy accumulated. One saw another thing. One saw the armoured legions grow and grow until at last continent confronted continent and the powers of death to a world lay in the hands of the descendants of that maned woman and her consort by theÂˇfire of sticks. J hesitated again before those forgotten engines of the past, for it seemed to me that there was lacking here some clue, some vital essence of the creature man, and that I was looking upon stone and polished sword and catapult from some place just a little remote and distorted. "This is the history of man," the caption ran through my head, and at that moment, finally, I knew I was looking at the past through the eyes of a modern twentieth-century American, or for that matter, a Russian. There was no basic difference. In that whole exhibit were ranged the energies of wheat and fire and oil, but of what man had dreamed in his relations with other men, there was little trace. Yet it is only on paper, or, in human heads, we might say in paraphrase of Shaw, that man has sought successfully to transcend himself, his appetites and his desires. In that great room was scarcely a hint of the most remarkable story of all, the rise of a value-creating animal and the way in which his intangible dreams had been modified and transformed to bring him to the world he faces today.

by loren, eiseley

The educated public has come to accept the verdict of science that man, along with the plant and animal world about us, is the product of endless evolutionary divergence and change. In accepting this verdict of science, however, men have frequently failed to inquire in what way human evolution may differ from that of other animals, or by what extra dangers and responsibilities the human brain may be haunted. Some time ago I had a letter from a professional friend of mine commenting upon the education his daughter was receiving at a polite finishing school. "She has been taught," he wrote to me a little sadly, "that there are two kinds of people, the tough- and the tenderminded. Her professor, whose science I will not name, informed her that the tough-minded would survive." This archaic remark shook me. I knew it was not the product of the great selfless masters of the field, but . it betrayed an attitude which demanded an answer. In that answer is contained the whole uniqueness of man. Man has not really survived by toughness in a major sense-even the great evolutionists Darwin and Wallace had had trouble with that aspect of man-instead, he has survived through tenderness. Man in his arrogance may boast that the battle is to the strong, that pity and affection are signs of weakness. Nevertheless, in spite of the widespread popularity of such ideas, the truth is that if man at heart were not a tender creature toward his kind, a loving creature in a peculiarly special way, he would long since have left his bones to the wild dogs that roved the African grasslands where he first essayed the great adventure of becoming human.

The professor who growled to his class of future mothers about being tough-minded spent a childhood which is among the most helpless and prolonged of any living creature. If our parents had actually practised certain of the philosophies that now flourish among us, or if our remote ancestors had achieved that degree of sophistication which would have enabled them to discount their social responsibilities for the day's pleasure, weyou and I and all of us-would never have enjoyed the experience of living. Man, in the achievement of a unique gift-a thinking brain capable of weighing stars or atoms-cannot grow that brain in the nine months before birth. It is, moreover, a peculiarly plastic brain, intended to receive impressions from the social world around it. Instinct, unlike the case in the world of animals, is here reduced to a minimum. This brain must grow and learn, be able to profit by experience. In man much of that growth and learning comes after birth. The result is that the human infant enters the world in a peculiarly helpless and undeveloped condition. His childhood is lengthy because his developing brain must receive a large store of information and ways of behaviour from the social group into which it is born. It must acquire the complicated tool of speech. The demands of learning thus placed upon the human offspring are greater than in any other animal. They have made necessary the existence of a continued family, rather than the casual sex life of many of the lower animals. Although the family differs in many of its minor features in distinct societies, it is always and everywhere marked by its tender and continuing care of the human offspring through the lengthened period of childhood. The social regulations of all human groups promote the welfare of the young. Man's first normal experience of life involves maternal and paternal care and affection. It continues over the years of childhood. Thus the creature who strives at times to deny the love within himself, to reject the responsibilities to which he owes his own existence, who grows vocal about "tough-mindedness" and "the struggle for existence," is striving to reject his own human heritage. For without the mysteriously increased growth rate of the brain and the correlated willingness of fallible, loving adults to spend years in nursing the helpless offspring they have produced, man would long since have vanished from the earth.

SN -

-rf14-'s-

We take the simple facts of human life too much for granted. To the student of human evolution this remarkable and unique adjustment of our peculiar infancy to a lengthened family relationship between adults is one of the more mysterious episodes in the history of life. It is so strange, in fact, that only in one group of creatures-that giving rise to man-has it been successfully developed in the three billion years or so that life has existed on the planet. Family life is a fact that underlies everything else about man-his capacity for absorbing culture, his ability to learn-everything, in short, that enables us to call him human. He is born of love and he exists by reason of a love more continuous than in any other form of life. Yet this, in all irony, is the creature who professes to pierce the shams of life and to live by tough-mindedness! Let us see how this nascent and once-aspiring creature now lives in great danger of re-entering the specialized trap that his ancestors escaped from ages ago when they evolved a brain capable of abstract thought. "Man is the dwarf of himself," Emerson once wrote, and never, perhaps, has he been more that dwarf than in this age where he appears to wield so much power. The only sign of health remaining to him is the fact that he is still capable of creeping out of the interior of his thickening crust of technological accomplishment to gaze around him with a sense of dissatisfaction and unease. He has every reason to feel this way. For man has never lived before in so great an age of exterior accomplishment, so tremendous a projection of himself into his machines, nor yet so disheartening a period in all that stands for the nobler aspects of the human dream. His spiritual yearnings to transcend his own evil qualities are dimming as he is constantly reminded of his animal past. His desire to flyaway to Mars, still warring, still haunted by his own black shadow, is the adolescent escape mechanism of a creature who would prefer to infect the outer planets with his problems than to master them at home. "Wars will be fought in space," prophesied a high military authority recently. "Teach children the hard things first." "Ah, but what hard things?" the teacher asks, because youth is shaped in the teaching and becomes what he is taught. Without spiritual insight and generosity, without the ability to rise beyond power and mechanical extensions. man will encounter in place of the nature which gave him birth only that vast, expanding genie rising from his own brain-himself. Nothing more terrible threatens to confront him in his final hour. It is increasingly plain that if we read the past as a justification for a kind of moral complacency, an animal limit which justifies military remarks such as "man will always fight," we have not read it well. Until man came, it is true, the evolution of life had been an evolution of parts. It had been hook and clutching bur and fang, struggling upward in an agelong effort. Life had been shaped by the blind forces of the inanimate world. All it had that was different was the will to crawl, the will to find the crevice, the niche, the foothold on this mountain of inanimate matter, and to hold its place against the forces which ever seek to di~perse and destroy the substance of life. In all that prehuman world there had been no animal capable of looking back or forward. No living creature had wept above another's grave. There had been nothing to comprehend the whole. For three billion years that rule remained unbroken. At the end of that time there occurred a small soundless concussion. In a sense it was the most terrible explosion in the world, because it forecast and contained all

as a

value-creating â&#x20AC;˘

have modified

animal

the world

the rest. The coruscating heat of atomic fission, the red depths of the hydrogen bomb-all were potentially contained in a little packet of gray matter that, somewhere between about a million and 600,000 years ago, quite suddenly appears to have begun to multiply itself in the thick-walled cranium of a ground-dwelling ape. The event itself took place in silence, the silence of cells multiplying at an enormous pace under a small bone roof, the silence of some great fungus coming up at night in a forest glade. The eruption had about it the utter unpredictability of nature when she chooses to bypass her accepted laws and to hurtle headlong into some new and unguessed experiment. Even the solar system has now felt the impact of that tiny, soundless explosion. The fact that it was the product of evolutionary forces does not lessen its remarkable quality. For three billion years, until an ageless watcher might have turned away in weariness, nothing had moved but the slime and its creations. Towards the end of that time a small, unprepossessing animal sat on his haunches by a rock pile on a waste of open ground. He clutched a stick and chewed the end of it meditatively. He was setting the fuse of the great explosion. In his head was the first twinkle of that tenuous rainbow bridge which stretches between earth and the city of the gods. At that moment the ancestor of man had become the moulder of things, rather than their victim, but he had, at the same time, suffered a major loss of instinctive adjustments to life. Man has become, in other words, a value-creating animal. He sets his own goals and more and more exerts his own will upon recalcitrant matter and the natural forces of the universe. In this activity he has passed from the specialized evolution of the parts of the body to a projection of such "part" evolution upon his machines and implements. In this respect man is a unique being. Having achieved high intellectual ability, he may remain comparatively unchanged in structure while all around him other animals are still subjected to the old laws of specialized selection. His brain evolves parts and replaces them, but only upon man's mechanical inventions: his tools. This fact gives man a kind of freedom which none of the crawlers-up-the-mountain ever had. He is, as the philosopher Henri Bergson once remarked, a reservoir of indetermination; his power of choice for good or evil is enormous. The mind's power of choice has opened to man " a tremendous freedom, but it is a freedom whose -,. moral implications only a few great spiritual leaders have fully grasped. Increasingly, at the very height of the human achievement, there loom two obstacles which, threaten to cast man back into the world of parts, tools and processes, in a way he has scarcely imagined. In fact there are times when it appears man is so occupied with the world he is now creating that he has already lost a sense for what may be missing in his society. He is deeply influenced by his knowledge of the past and the animal limitations which it seems to place upon his earlier spiritual

aspirations. Equally, he confuses "progress" with his mechanical extensions which represent his triumph over the caprices of biological selection. Man, in a new way, shows formidable signs of taking the road of the dinosaurs, though by quite another track. "Man," John Burroughs once remarked, "is like the trainer of wild beasts who, at his peril, for one instant relaxes his mastery over them. Gravity, electricity, fire, flood, hurricane, will crush or consume him if his hands are unsteady or his wits tardy." It is true that man has been badly knocked about by raw nature, but that nature has never organized her powers for the deliberate purpose of destroying man. He has even benefitted and had his wits sharpened by her vagaries. Man has survived the long inexorable marchings of the glacial ice that pressed him back upon the Mediterranean and threatened his annihilation in Europe. He has left his bones under the boiling mud of volcanic upheavals. He has known drought and famine-the careless buffets of the storm that blows unceasingly through nature. He has seen cities go down, cities full of adept artisans and clever technicians, cities fallen to the sands when an old enemy cut off the water supply. Who was that enemy? It was man. He is the other face of that nature man has feared. Now, in an age when man lays his hands upon the lightning, and heat in millions of degrees shudders in his confining mechanisms, an old shadow, a monstrous growing shadow, falls across the doorway of all the world's laboratories. It is merely man, merely the creature by the fire of sticks, merely the museum wielder of the sling and spear, but now grown large enough to shadow the sun. This creature thinks with all the malignant concentration that man has so far escaped in nature, and it thinks towards just one purpose-the creation of the ultimate weapon. Ultimate, ultimate, and still more ultimate, as if there were a growing secret zero in its mind. Nevertheless, as I have said, no creature in the world demands more love than man; no creature is less adapted to survive without it. Man is a paradox. Individually most men hate and fear war in spite of much of the talk of professional militarists about instinct. Men have to be drummed to war, propagandized to war, assured their cause is righteous. Even dictators have to render lip service to humanitarian principles. None of this sounds particularly as though an "instinct" for war existed. There are, instead, things from the old dark midnight of the past that suffice as well for evil purposes. Fear of the stranger, when the stranger was two eyes in the dark beyond the fire at a cave mouth; aggressive hungers that were stoked to a high pitch by nature in the million years of man's wandering across the wastes of an open world. Man is not completed-that is the secret of his paradoxical behaviour. He is not made. He is, perhaps, about to be. Once long ago in the Middle Ages he was called Homo duplex-a thing half of dust and half of spirit. The term well expresses his predicament. Today we know a great deal about human evolution, but as scientists we have failed, I sometimes think, to convey successfully to the public the marvel of the human transformation. We have shown man the anthropoidal skulls of his ancestors. We have convinced him that the human brain is an instrument of ancient origin which has not sprung full blown into being, but rather partakes of both the old and the new; that it includes the imperfections which are written into the substance of all

moving and growing life. The vestigial organs that are concealed here and there in our bodies and which tell tales of the long past-of trees and waters in our lost ancestral world-,have their corollary in the mind of man. His flashes of unreasoning temper, his frustrations, his occasional irrationalities are, some of them, echoes out of an older, more primitive machine. Yet signs of affection and mutual co-operation, love of beauty, dreams of a future life, can be traced into forms of man physically more primitive than ourselves. Now, however, it is the present which concerns us-the present that creates tomorrow. Who contends for it-the rocket century with its vast zero looming over the future? The now is our responsibility, not that of the hoarse-voiced animal that came from the wood in a dream and made our today. Nor can we call to those pleasant, wide-browed people whom we strive to conjure up as inhabiting the comfortable future of our novels and dreams. They are lost in the unfathomable, formless future which we are engaged in shaping. Do we want them deeply? Do we want them enough, in the heavy-handed violence of this day, to live toward them at all cost, to struggle once more against the destructive forces of nature? To stand up and face, as every man must face, that ancient lurking shadow of himself? Is the price of acquiring brains, brains to look before and after in the universe, only to mean subservience to man after escaping subservience to nature that has lasted for a million years? A society has an image of itself, its way of life. This image is a wavering, composite picture reflected from millions of minds. If the image is largely compounded of the events of the present; if traClition is weak, the past forgotten, that image can alter by subtle degrees. Man was a social animal'long before he was man. But when he created huge societies and elaborated the world of culture that surrounds him today, he was acting, in some degree, consciously. Man, unlike the animal, is aware of the nature of his society. His conscious image of it is tremendously important in shaping what it will become. It is this that helps to build the human future, and why the future must be fought for day by day in the lives of innumerable and humble men, Man is in a pyramiding technological society whose values are largely directed outward upon things. The important fact in a material age is that we do notabandon or forget that man has always sought to transcend himself spiritually, and that this is part of his strange heritage. It is a heritage which must be preserved, for in a society without deep historical memory, the future ceases to exist and the present becomes a meaningless cacophony. A future worth contemplating will not be achieved solely by flights to the far side of the moon. It will not be found in space. It will be achieved, if it is achieved at all, only in our individual hearts. This is the choice that has been presented man, as a free agent, as one who can look before and after in the cosmos. And if indeed men do achieve that victory, they will know, with the greater insight they will then possess, that it is not a human victory, but nature's new and final triumph in the human heart-perhaps that nature which is also God. "The rationality of man," a great theologian once wrote, "is the little telltale rift in Nature which shows there is something beyond or behind her." It remains for man, in his moral freedom, to prove that statement true .â&#x20AC;˘

The boy at right above is not trapped in one of the big plastic balloons. He stands between an Indian balloon and an American balloon which are being inflated simultaneously. Dr. C. E. Junge, below, tests a nuclei counter just before the instrument box is sealed.

The Sky's No Limit Giant plastic balloons soar from Hyderabad in joint India-U.S. research

Text and Photographs by C. S. GOPAL

EDDAGUDA is a village thirty-five miles south-east of Hyderabad. It was recently the scene of special excitement when a giant orange and white parachute bearing a red box landed gently from the sky at one end of the village. No one could say where it came from. No one could say what was inside the red box. One man said, "It might be a bomb." What was printed on the box-in Telugu and other languages-dispelled any fears. The village schoolmaster deciphered it: Do not be afraid. These are harmless scientific instruments.

Inform immediately

the address given below.

But before the villagers could decide to send a runner, two Americans and an Indian arrived in a truck, thanked the villagers for taking care of the box, loaded it onto the truck and drove away. This experience has not been limited to Peddaguda. Of late, many other villages in Andhra Pradesh-some as far as one hundred miles from Hyderabad-have witnessed similar scenes. It is all part of joint IndoAmerican balloon operations conducted from Hyderabad for atmospheric studies. These high-altitude balloon probes are not new to India. The Tata Institute of Fundamental Research has been conducting atmospheric balloon tests for the past several years. But, this year's search is for greater knowledge of the gaseous envelope surrounding the earth, its vapour content at various altitudes, the concentration of dust particles in the atmosphere, and the patterns of winds moving from the equator. The research project is jointly sponsored by the Indian Institute of Fundamental Research and the nuclear studies branch of the United States Air Force Cambridge Research Laboratories. Associated in the studies are: Dr. C. E. Junge, chief of the nuclear studies branch of the Cambridge laboratories; Professor M. G. K. Menon of the Tata Institute of Fundamental Research; Professor K. R. Ramnath of the Physical Research Laboratory,

At dawn one of the transparent balloons, below, which expands to a diameter of one hundred feet as it ascends, is partially inflated and ready to be launched. Its payload is mounted on the truck at left below. Released, at right, the plastic sphere soars rapidly to a height of from seventy-five thousand to one hundred thirty thousand feet before its payload is electronically cut off from the ground and floats back to earth by parachute.

The flight crew, left, sits in the tracking plane, studying road maps while they wait for the take-off signal. Members of the joint team, centre, watch the flight, which is being tracked by an operator seated in the antenna booth behind them. The flight is also tracked, right, through a theodolite mounted on the roof of a building of Osmania University.

Ahmedabad; Dr. P. R. Krishna Rao, Director General of Observatories; and other eminent scientists. The capital of Andhra State was chosen for the operation after Charles Chagnon, Chief Project Engineer, had toured the country last year. The United States had previously done several tests at mid-latitudes (45 to 50 degrees), but was looking for a suitable spot from which to make an assessment of conditions over the equatorial belt. Dr. C. E. Junge, co-ordinator of the current programme, has explained that "the circulation over the equator belt plays an important part in the world-wide atmospheric circulation. But there are very few land masses under the tropical belt suitable for these experiments. We had to eliminate South America and Africa as forests and lack of roads would have rendered recovery of payloads difficult, if not impossible. We found Hyderabad ideal. It is only 17 degrees north and has flat lands and approach roads." So a hundred and sixty tons of American equipment, including helium cylinders: battery-operated miniature cameras and other highly sensitive instruments, many

Villagers help to guide the recover team to the site where the payload with its sealed instrument box has dropped.

of them designed by Dr. Junge and his associates, were brought to Hyderabad early this year. A balloon flight requires long, careful preparation. To the technicians the day begins long before dawn. The instruments get a final check, the films for the cameras, filter papers and other delicate meters are fitted and loaded into the red box at the last minute to minimize contamination on the ground. Once the box is sealed, balloon technicians take over. It is their job to launch the balloon, float it at desired heights, electronically release the parachute attached to the balloon and track down the parachute and its payload after it lands. A truck with helium cylinders, the balloon releasing trailer, the payload truck, move into position on the Begampet airstrip. T e nearly 200-foot-Iong balloon is laid on the ground, the parachute and the payload attached to it. The helium cylinders go into action and the giant plastic sack takes life. At dawn a glistening, transparent sphere is straining at its leash. At a given signal from Charles Chagnon, the project chief, the balloon is released. There is a tense moment as the glistening sphere slowly lifts the payload, weighing anywhere from two hundred to two thousand pounds, and the whole thing seems to hang in the air. An electronic device releases the ballast and the balloon shoots up rapidly till it is a silvery speck in the sky. Now the tracking teams, both Indian and American, start on a vigil which only ends when the recovered payload reaches the Niesen operations hut. The Indian team keeps track of the balloon through a theodolite mounted on the roof of the airport's meteorological office. The Americans keep constant watch on the central control panel, in the operations hut nearby, where messages relayed from the transmitter mounted iri the payload are read. A single-engined tracker plane and a police truck, both equipped with two-way radios, stand by for signals. After the balloon has floated for the preset duration, at a height of between 70,000 and 120,000 feet, the tracker plane takes off and electronically releases the payload which is attached to a parachute. The plane keeps a constant watch on the descending parachute and guides the ) truck to the spot where the payload has landed. The red box is brought back to the operations centre and the technicians dismantle the instruments. The evaluation of data will require several months of study and will be made available to scientists of all nations .â&#x20AC;˘