Forget The Damned Motor Car

Adventure Is Humdrum And Routine Unless One Assimilates It, Unless One Relates It To A Central Core Which Grows Within And Gives It Contour And Significance. Raw Experience Is Empty, Just As Empty As The Forecastle Of A Whaler As In A Chamber Of A Counting House; For It Is Not What One Does, But In A Manifold Sense, What One Realizes That Keeps Existence From Being Vain And Trivial.

We Must Give As Much Weight To The Arousal Of The Emotions And To The Expression Of Moral And Esthetic Values As We Now Give To Science, To Invention, To Practical Organization. One Without The Other Is Impotent.

We Have Created An Industrial Order Geared To Automatism, Where Feeble-mindedness, Native Or Acquired, Is Necessary For Docile Productivity In The Factory; And Where A Pervasive Neurosis Is The Final Gift Of The Meaningless Life That Issues Forth At The Other End.

When Art Seems To Be Empty Of Meaning, As No Doubt Some Of The Abstract Painting Of Our Own Day Actually Does Seem, What The Painting Says, Indeed What The Artist Is Shrieking At The Top Of His Voice, Is That Life Has Become Empty Of All Rational Content And Coherence, And That, In Times Like These, Is Far From A Meaningless Statement.

War Is The Supreme Drama Of A Completely Mechanized Society.