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the poor and deprived!) more sympathetic with the welfare institutions and workers, whose problems are evidently insurmountable. Eunice Kennedy harassed but friendly; gave me a quick galloping tour about the Kennedy Center, like the White Queen pulling Alice around, hair flying. At this time, in fact this very night, Ted Kennedy’s son was hospitalized and his leg amputated; so the “promise” of our group meeting the Senator could not be fulfilled. How strange the experience was…. Politicians might be fascinating; politics never. Or is it the other way around? One conservative economist from MIT […] gave a bullying passionate speech in favor of government controls rather like those Hitler might have liked. The poor? But one must have television sets; one must have material goods. The poor can only be given what’s left over, [he] said.
     
    November 13, 1974. Teaching all day—first-year class at eleven—student-writers and others in for conferences in the afternoon—brief visit from a professor of religious studies (who, attending a conference recently in Washington, D.C., was astounded at the references made to my work by American professors of religion and theology!—as I am also astounded)—my writing seminar from four to six—nighttime suddenly upon us. The satisfactions of teaching once one is beyond being judged—in this era of unemployment, especially—once one can express oneself openly, honestly—but does anyone do so??? Long-distance call from the producer of William Buckley’s show—inviting me to Florida for one of their shows, this weekend—rather short notice?—unfortunately unable to accept. Have not been on television for years, for many years—no interest in it—though perhaps my disinterest is no virtue.
     
    There is a certain kind of woman—a certain kind of man also?—who attempts to create virtue out of a disinterest in the energies of vice. I am guilty of no vices, but certainly guilty of having explored no vices. As for sinning, my characters can do that for me—! They plunge in, they suffer, occasionally they learn, occasionally they survive. Their methods of salvation are largely their own choice, despite my obvious “omnipotence.” The reader of a novel cannot guess the extent to which the novelist is also a reader…a reader first, and then a recorder. The art-work labors to createitself; one must only not interfere. The first rule of medicine: Do no harm. But if one must harm, then do so with grace…!
     
    The spirit moves where it will. Boredom is not possible, but the absence of “spirit” is. Difficult to speak of such things, especially to people who are embarrassed at the very terms— spirit , soul , psyche . Mind they will allow (imagining one is speaking daintily of “brain”), but the other terms are confusing. And yet—there are people near me, students more than others, stricken by the approach of “spiritual” contents far more than I: the difference between us being that I am not frightened of such contents, but in fact thrive on them, while they are intimidated, alarmed, baffled. Of course I too have been frightened in the past…and will probably be frightened again…there is the danger of complacency, of forgetting the immediate, overwhelming nature of the psychic contents. “Dreams,” people say, thereby attempting to dismiss these visions; but the word “dreams” is not appropriate when one suffers a sudden visitation from the unconscious…. But the Spirit moves where it will. Biblical wisdom, commonsense psychology. One cannot force oneself to write: and I haven’t written a poem or a story for weeks. Nor do I miss this kind of writing. All my energies go into the novel, and there are none left over. Is this conscious choice? No. One could speak of it as a choice—emphasizing the fact that the novel is “more interesting” at this point in my life—but that is ego-rationalizing, not convincing. The Spirit moveth where it