Bryce

The Second Semester

Chapter 7 - Marc and the Marquis

            The first full week of classes of the spring semester was one full of interest for Bryce Winslow.  In addition to all the excitement surrounding the activities of the GLBT Club, culminating in Bryce’s election as Secretary on Tuesday evening, there were his classes.  Unlike some of his peers, Bryce was interested in his classes - well, most of them, anyway.  He did not understand students who seemed to resent having to study at a university.  After all, no one was forcing them to be there, and if they did not want to be students, they could do something else.  Of course, he knew that many of those in that category were only on campus because they thought it was the way to a lucrative job, and had no real interest in the subjects they were studying.  They lived for the parties, and for the promise of affluence after graduation.  Bryce suspected they would end up like some of his father’s business associates, jaded, inebriated, wandering through life from one adulterous affair to another, and thinking they were men of the world, when in fact they were simply adolescents who never grew up.

            Each morning Bryce began his day with a workout at the gym lasting at least an hour, sometimes longer.  Almost every morning, he encountered Curtis Manning there.  The two had become good friends last semester, largely based on their contacts there in the gym.  Curtis was two years older than Bryce, a civil engineering major, his Pledge Master last semester, and straight, so there seemed to be very little they had in common.  It was the workouts, and the talk they exchanged during them, which drew them together, and resulted in mutual trust and friendship.  A common interest was the basis for a real friendship.  During that first full week Bryce also noticed the guy he had first seen on Thursday, Hunter Matthews.  Twice that week, he attempted to strike up a conversation, unsuccessfully.  The student was not hostile or rude, he was just not interested.  The first attempt was on Tuesday morning.

            “Hey.  I’m Bryce Winslow,” Bryce said, extending his hand.  “I see you here every morning.”

            Hunter looked at Bryce’s extended hand as though he did not know what it was for, then very briefly shook it.  “Hi,” he responded, but said nothing more.

            “Um, you in some kind of workout program or something?” Bryce tried again.

            “Nope,” Hunter again responded monosyllabically.

            That was sufficiently discouraging for that day.  Bryce met his fellow freshman and last semester pledge, Beau Lyle, at the fraternity house, and asked about Hunter.

            “Who?” Beau queried.

            “Hunter Matthews.  I thought I saw you talking to him at the gym last week,” Bryce responded.

            “Oh.  Oh, I know who you mean.  No, I don’t know him.  We just happened to meet there at the gym, and I offered to spot him.  All he wanted to talk about was math, can you believe it?  I mean, how can anyone want to talk in formulas and symbols?  Dullest person I ever met.”  And that was all Beau knew.

            Bryce had to agree.  Math was not one of his strong points either.  Beau was in a Business curriculum, so presumably he was competent enough to master basic accounting and statistics, but that certainly did not mean he loved the subject any more than Bryce.  Even in his own field of history, Bryce had to admit that when the social scientist type of historian got going on statistics about population or economic trends, his eyes tended to glaze over.  He much preferred the hard reality of real people doing and saying things to the abstractions of mathematics.

            His second effort to break with ice with Hunter came on Friday, when he thought the guy was struggling with his bench presses.

            “Need someone to spot?” Bryce asked.

            “Yeah, thanks,” Hunter responded.

            But that was almost all he got for the next five minutes.  Bryce spoke about his major, and about Sigma Alpha Tau, and even about the ruckus on Monday, but got nothing but grunts from Hunter.  When Hunter completed his routine, he said “Thanks” and walked off.  At that point, Bryce decided he was not worth the effort.  No common interest.

            More interesting was his French Literature class.  On Monday, Marc Rimbault slipped in at the last minute, and hurried out again before Bryce had a chance to speak to him.  From that, Bryce assumed Marc was homophobic or possibly racist, which was a shame, as they seemed to get on pretty well at the party on Friday.  In that same Monday class, Professor Anjot gave them background on their first author of the semester, the Marquis de Sade.  Donatien Alphonse François de Sade was born on 2 June 1740 at the Condé palace in Paris, where his mother was a lady-in-waiting to the Princess de Condé, a cadet branch of the ruling Bourbon dynasty.  Like many young aristocrats, he embarked on a military career, becoming a colonel by the end of the Seven Years War in 1763, when he was only in his early twenties.  Not long after, his penchant for inflicting pain became obvious when even the prostitutes he hired complained of their treatment at his hands, and he was imprisoned off and on for many years.  He was in the Bastille, that infamous prison in Paris, when the French Revolution began in 1789.  With the outbreak of the Revolution, and the false assumption that all the prisoners were there for political reasons, he was released from prison, as he had been sent there without trial at the behest of his mother.  Joining the most extreme elements of the time, Sade was elected to the National Convention, and wrote a number of political pamphlets, advocating some of the most radical ideas of the day, but in 1793 Maximilien Robespierre, the leader of the Jacobins during the Reign of Terror, accused him of being a moderate!  He was imprisoned again, then released.  Finally, under Napoleon Bonaparte, Sade was imprisoned in 1801, and remained so until his death on 2 December 1814.  His son, Donatien Claude Armand de Sade, had all his known unpublished manuscripts burned and tried to suppress those which had earlier been published, but enough survived to allow for an assessment of the Marquis’s ideas.

            Professor Anjot said he chose La philosophie dans le boudoir of 1795 because it was less salacious than his other major works, the novels Justine: ou les infortune de la vertu of 1787, or Juliette: ou les prospérités du vice, a sequel to Justine, first published in 1797.  It was the revised version of Juliette of 1801 which caused Napoleon to have the author imprisoned.  In Juliette the activities of the major characters leads to several murders, which are justified as the pursuit of pleasure, the only worthy goal in an atheistic and amoral world.

            On Wednesday, the class began the discussion of the assigned reading.  In La philosophie dans le boudoir there is much in common with the themes described by Professor Anjot in the two other works, but at least there is no gory murder.  This work is in the form of a play, and the author did put on many theatrical productions using fellow inmates as actors while incarcerated, especially during his last imprisonment.  Fifteen year old Eugénie is the major character, who is instructed in every kind of dissipation by the so-called philosopher Dolmancé and the owner of the house where the action takes place, Madame de Saint-Ange.  It did not escape anyone’s attention that saint ange means ‘holy angel,’ but this woman was the opposite of that.  She is merely another of the incessant attacks of the Marquis on all religion, and especially on the Catholic Church.  All of the main characters are bisexual, which means that young Eugénie is also instructed in lesbian activities.  Madame de Saint-Ange also engages in sex with her brother.  The ‘philosophy’ in the play is an extreme form of self-indulgence, or hedonism, based on the premise that there is no god, and all morality is merely subjective opinion.  Therefore, the only rational goal in life is to obtain as much pleasure as possible, with as few restraints as possible.  Nothing else, including human life, matters.  Morality, compassion, religion are all equally irrational.  In the final act, it turns out that Eugénie is being instructed in pleasure at the behest of her father.  When her mother turns up to rescue her, the mother is beaten and raped with her daughter’s cooperation.  Then, a servant afflicted with syphilis has sex with her, and her vagina is sewn closed so the corrupted seed cannot escape.  She is then send home, while Eugénie remains with her new ‘philosophical’ friends.  This was presented as a defense of democracy during the confused times of the Revolution.

            The discussion in class was lively, with almost everyone professing to be horrified and disgusted by the actions described in the play.  After some time, Bryce was asked by Professor Anjot to give his opinion.

            “Oh, I quite agree with those who are disgusted with the ideas presented by the Marquis de Sade in the guise of philosophy.  But I cannot help but think that those ideas are not all that different from what we are fed on a daily basis by the ordinary public entertainments in the movies and television, as well as in the lyrics of some popular singers.”

            That brought great dissent from most of the other students.  The sentiment seemed to be that Bryce was just being argumentative, as he had been last semester, trying to upset people for the sake of it.

            He defended himself.  “Just take a minute to think about it.  Stripped of the lurid sexual excesses and the cruelty, what is the basic philosophy, if you can call it that, of the Marquis?  This world is all there is, so enjoy it.  Self-fulfillment, or self-satisfaction is all that matters.  What’s the message in the popular song “Is that all there is,” if not the same thing, ‘keep on dancing.’  There should be no restraints on the pursuit of pleasure.  Morality is totally subjective.  The Marquis is simply a superficial sybaritic secularist, and there are thousands of them dominating public discourse in this country.”

            There were howls of outrage, but the class period came to an end.  As he passed the desk where Dr. Anjot remained, the professor quietly said, “I think our discussion on Friday will be quite interesting.  Thank you.”  Bryce smiled.

            In the corridor, Bryce found Marc awaiting him, unlike the previous time when the new student had avoided any contact.  Taking advantage of the opportunity, Bryce greeted him.

            “Hi, Marc.”

            “Hi.  Uh, did you mean what you said in class?  About the ideas of Sade being not much different than a lot of what we have today?” Marc asked.

            “Yeah, I did.  Contrary to what some of the other kids seem to think, I really do not say things just to stir up trouble,” Bryce responded.

            “But, he’s so ...  I don’t know, so ....”

            “I know what you mean, Marc.  Sade is an extreme.  He says things in the most extreme way possible.  And, besides, I really think he was insane.  But if you strip away the garish wrappings and look at the underlying ideas, they seem awfully familiar to me,” Bryce insisted.

            “And you obviously disagree,” Marc concluded.

            “Yes, I do.  But, Marc, I have to get to my next class.  Sorry.  If you want to talk, I’m free from eleven to one.”

            “I have a class at eleven.  Where can I meet you at noon?” Marc asked.

            “Damon and I will be having lunch in the food court, on the lower level of the union,” Bryce informed him, watching closely to see Marc’s reaction to the mention of Damon.

            “Damon’s the guy who came looking for you at the party, right?” Marc asked.

            “Right.  Damon’s my boyfriend,” Bryce laid it on the line.

            Marc looked troubled, but said only, “I thought so.”

            Bryce had to run so as not to be late for his English class.

            As Damon also had a class from eleven to twelve, Bryce spent the hour in the library trying to nail down an appropriate topic for his English paper on some aspect of Samuel Johnson and his circle.  At noon, though, he met Damon, who had just come from his Math class, in the food court, and acquired something for their lunch.  As they sat, Marc Rimbault appeared.  Bryce had already informed Damon that he might show up, so both guys were watching to see what his reactions would be this time.

            Marc had his lunch on a tray.  He approached.  “Hi.  Mind if I join you?”

            “No, Marc, we’re expecting you,” Bryce replied.

            He sat.  Bryce introduced him to Damon.  “I know you met briefly Friday evening, but I never actually introduced you.  Sorry about that.  Damon Watson is a Political Science major, and a freshman, like me.”

            “You’re a freshman?” Marc asked.  “I thought I was doing well, being in that French class, and in Dr. Dickinson’s class this afternoon, as a sophomore.”

            “He’s some kind of genius,” Damon contributed.

            “No, not really,” Bryce protested.  “I just had some AP classes at a good high school.  Oh, and I’m a History major.  I don’t believe we got around to that on Friday.”

            “No, I guess not.  Funny, cause that’s often the first thing you find out about someone.  And I’m also a History major, planning to go into law.  Is that your goal, Bryce?”

            “No, I want to become a teacher at the university level, but Damon has ambitions along those lines,” Bryce replied.  “But that’s not really what you wanted to talk about, is it?”

            “No.  I admit I was bothered by our readings for today’s French class, but I did not make the connection with modern society the way you did.  I’m still not really convinced.  Does it have to follow from the dominant outlook of today that all the excesses the Marquis de Sade advocates are permitted?”

            “Depends on what you mean by ‘permitted,’ Marc,” Bryce responded.  “Obviously, a good deal of what he describes is illegal, most obviously killing someone for the pleasure of it.”

            “This dude you guys are reading about wants to kill people?” Damon asked.

            “Actually, in the work we were assigned, no one is killed,” Bryce explained, “but in the introductory material on Monday, Dr. Anjot told us that in another of his works, Juliette, an argument is made justifying killing for the pleasure of it.  It gives the characters a rush, a high, to feel the power they have over human life.”

            “That’s sick,” Damon declared.

            “Oh, I quite agree,” Bryce said.  “And I also think a lot of the other things Sade advocates are sick, and that this so-called literature or philosophy is basically pornography.  But the point is, the underlying philosophy which Sade uses to justify his extreme ideas is not all that much different than what we are fed on a daily basis by the popular media.”

            “I still think you’re off base there, Bryce,” Marc stated.

            “Well, just to start with the most obvious, look at all the incitement to kill policemen in popular music and videos,” Bryce defended his position.  “Grand Theft Auto videos frequently involve killing the police.  Then, there’s the punk rock group MDC, which may or may not stand for Millions of Dead Cops, but who definitely produced a song called “Let’s Kill All the Cops,” that appeared on YouTube just last June, and I think there are some rap or hip hop songs with the same message.  But Damon would know more about that than me.”

            “Don’t start blaming me for everything produced by black artists,” Damon objected.  “But I do recall a rapper who had a tune called “Kill Me a Cop.”  I think he got in trouble about that.  Then there was the old hip hop piece from 1999, “How to Kill a Cop,” he conceded.

            “And there is a carry-over effect,” Bryce insisted.  “Consider the guy in Philadelphia in 2008 who posted a message on YouTube advocating killing police.  He was arrested.  Consider too the right wing Hutaree Christian Militia up in Michigan who planned to kill police.  I sure don’t want to give the impression this is just a black phenomenon, no matter how much I dislike rap and hip hop.  Nor is it just a left wing thing, like the Maoists overseas.”

            “But these are not killing just for the pleasure of it,” Marc protested.

            “Maybe not, but it’s not far off.  It’s a power rush.  And it shows a complete disregard of human life in order to obtain some political or social goal.  Besides, if the police are targeted like this, what does that say about the attitudes of these people to anyone else they happen to dislike?” Bryce argued.

            “I don’t see that a philosophy based on self-fulfillment as you called it necessarily leads to these extreme consequences,” Marc insisted.

            “I didn’t say it necessarily led to those consequences,” Bryce replied.  “All I’m saying is that there is no logical reason why that outlook can’t lead to those consequences.  Where’s the brake?  Where’s the force which says ‘thus far and no farther’ to the individual following this outlook?”

            “There are lots of people who agree that self-fulfillment, or pleasure if you prefer, is a valid goal in life, maybe even the only rationally valid goal, but they aren’t out there killing people,” Marc insisted.

            “And I’m very glad they aren’t.  You’re right.  But then, most people do not sit down and think through the positions they adopt.  They just go along with whatever is acceptable or popular.  That can lead to undesirable consequences, as you, a historian, should know,” Bryce insisted.

            “I’m no philosopher, but I can tell time,” Damon interrupted.  “We have a date with Dr. Harris in Audubon Hall.”

            “Damon’s right, Marc.  We’ll have to continue this some other time,” Bryce agreed.

            “Okay.  You haven’t convinced me, but I want to talk about this some more.  It’s kind of connected to some things I’ve been working through personally,” Marc said.

            “One last thing.  Why did you react the way you did Friday night when Damon turned up, and called me ‘boyfriend’?” Bryce asked.

            “That’ll have to wait until later, too,” Marc firmly stated.

            Although Bryce and Marc were both in the History class that afternoon, they were unable to continue their discussion at that time, and Bryce did not encounter the Cajun on Thursday.  Friday began with a workout as usual but the academic day began with French 312, Survey of French Literature taught by Dr. Pascal Anjot.  Marc was waiting for him when Bryce appeared.

            “Sorry to miss you yesterday.  Had some stuff with my sister,” he explained.

            “No problem.  After all, we’re not going to solve the great problems of the universe, but I do enjoy the exchange of ideas.  Some of the kids in class seem to think I just like arguing.  It’s the just that I object to.  I do enjoy arguing, but I don’t say things just to make a splash,” Bryce defended himself.

            “Well, you stirred up those hornets on Wednesday.  And I think I made it plain that, while I enjoy the exchange, I don’t accept your conclusion that a philosophy based on a pain/pleasure principle is necessarily irresponsible,” Marc insisted.

            “Doesn’t have to be.  Just usually is,” Bryce commented as they took their seats.

            After summarizing the points made during the previous class, Dr. Anjot opened the floor to continued discussion.  “Well, I just think this play is disgusting,” a female student commented.

            “Oh, I can do a lot better than that,” Bryce happily jumped in. “It is some of the most putrid vomit ever spewed forth from the jaws of hell.”  Over the next few minutes, Bryce enjoyed exercising his vocabulary, agreeing with the assessment of his fellows on the play itself, but constantly returning to the prevalence of its underlying philosophy in today’s world.  He divested himself of some interesting comments, such as “sybaritic sophistry posing as philosophy, worthy of Hugh Heffner,” and “cerebral activity lite.”  He attacked Sade’s “pretended defense of liberty which is an actual advocacy of unbridled license.”  The Marquis’s fixation with sex was labeled a “moronic idea” in which sex was “advanced as the solution to every problem from acne to psychosis.’  Insisting that the ideas were pervasive in today’s society, Bryce characterized the current heirs of the sexual revolution as a “hideous reaction to saccharine Victorian pseudo-altruism,” but still found the outlook which promoted self-fulfillment as the goal of all existence “self-pampering raised to the level of idolatry.”  Finally, Bryce was having a great time flashing ideas and barbs back and forth, summarizing his assessment of the Marquis de Sade as “possessed of an infantile egotism not developed beyond the stage which sees itself as the center of the universe, a stage left behind by healthy minds at the age of four or five.”

            Marc was clearly enjoying himself as well, just edging Bryce on from time to time with a comment calculated to send him off again.  Bryce kind of knew what Marc was doing, but was enjoying himself too much to object.  Then Marc stuck in something intended to zing Bryce, “I find it interesting that both Voltaire and Sade, and some modern skeptics like Will Durant, were students of the Jesuits.”

            Bryce bit, being so engaged in the discussion he did not see how this was leading away from the topic of the class and onto ground dangerous to him personally. “The greatest strength of the Jesuits is also their greatest weakness.  They attempt to understand the Faith in entirely rational terms.  But ultimately reason presents us with several options, several alternative explanations of reality, each equally rational.  To complete the process requires what Kierkegaard called a leap of faith.  Those like Voltaire and Sade who are unprepared to make that leap are condemned to something less than a fully human existence, a life with an adumbrated spirituality, as limiting as the absence of any other sense, such as sight or hearing.”

            “Oh, so you’re saying those who don’t accept this faith-based view of reality you advocate are going to be secretly engaged in killing and raping people,” Marc goaded him.

            “I didn’t say that, but where’s the brake?  Where’s the stop sign for people who recognize no authority outside themselves?” Bryce asked.

            At that, the class turned on Bryce, accusing him of being a “Jesus freak” and not being really engaged in appreciating the diversity of ideas found in the writers and cultures of the past.  Only then did Bryce understand that he had been effectively torpedoed by Marc, because from now on anything he said in class would be dismissed, tarred with the brush of “Jesus freak,” which he did not believe he was.  To his mind, a “Jesus freak” was a fundamentalist who rejected any appeal to reason, whereas he believed that his position, while not, perhaps, the only rational one, was as rational as any other.  All last semester, he had struggled to understand, and had achieved some progress in that endeavor.  What was Marc trying to do to him?

            As they left the classroom, Bryce waited to ask Marc precisely that question.  “What was that all about at the end, there?  The Jesuit stuff?”

            “I just figured everyone ought to know up front what they’re getting,” Marc replied.

            “Meaning what?”

            “I’ve got you pegged, Winslow.  I’ve discovered that you’re Catholic.”

            Bryce laughed.  “That’s like saying you’ve discovered that the sun rises in the east.  Everyone who knows me, knows that.  It’s an essential part of who I am.”

            “Then you’re part of a dying breed,” Marc stated sharply.

            “Rather, part of an enduring breed,” Bryce replied, “kind of like your Evangeline.”

            Bryce departed for his English class, as Marc glared after him.