The Green Revolution by Ralph McInerny

Barr, Robert Hutchins—a bold band of brothers who were convinced that American higher education had become a wasteland, the elective system their particular bugbear. On what basis was a student to select courses from the smorgasbord presented to him? Was any and every combination of courses the point of education? If a college did not know what the student might become, and how, what right did it have to exist? Even decades later, these revolutionary ideas, largely ignored, could increase the beat of one’s pulse. The critique leveled seemed to fit Roger’s own experience, although, he told himself, he had managed to use well the nondirective character of higher education. Princeton, however full of certitudes and opinionated professors, left him pretty much to himself. This might have provided a counterexample to the description of the pleaders for a return to the liberal arts and a planned curriculum, but this was not a thought that bothered Roger.
    In his seminar, they were now reading Mortimer Adler’s onetime best seller How to Read a Book, and Otto Bird sat beside Roger, full of anecdotes of what it had been like to work with Adler.
    â€œDon’t the requirements for a major provide direction enough?” Bartholomew Hanlon asked.
    â€œWhat is your major?” Otto asked.
    â€œI have a double major in philosophy and theology.”
    â€œWhat is the aim of the philosophy requirements?”
    And so the discussion was under way. Otto had always taught using the tutorial method, and Roger let his senior colleague guide the discussion. What was demanded of a philosophy major? Bartholomew stressed the required courses in the history of philosophy.
    â€œMeant to acquaint you with the great names in your discipline.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDescartes, Leibniz, Pascal.”
    â€œAnd many others.”
    â€œAbout whom you read secondhand accounts or listen to a professor tell you about their writings. How many of those books were you required to read?”
    â€œIt was a survey course.”
    â€œAh.”
    Otto made the point gently. Why not just read those great works of philosophy?
    â€œThat would take a long time.”
    â€œYes,” Otto said sweetly. “A lifetime.”
    Otto himself had spent his long lifetime doing what he indirectly recommended. Even if one concentrated on the great books, one scarcely began to plumb them during four years on campus. No matter. The process begun, it must continue.
    *   *   *
    Afterward, Otto invited Roger to lunch at the University Club, and they set off in Roger’s golf cart. Otto was greeted with delighted warmth by Debbie, who took his arm and led him to “his” table. “Bob Leader and I used to have lunch here once a week,” Otto explained.
    â€œThe artist?”
    â€œDid you know him?”
    â€œUnfortunately, no.”
    Debbie took their beverage order and then joined them, pulling her chair close to Otto’s and casting on him a bewitching smile. Clearly, he was one of her favorites. Otto insisted that she should know his guest.
    â€œI haven’t seen you here before.”
    â€œThe door isn’t wide enough.”
    â€œYou got in today.”
    â€œOtto held it open for me.”
    Debbie didn’t know what to make of Roger; of course, that was an old story. He didn’t know what to make of her either, but he liked the way she catered to Otto.
    Otto’s executive martini arrived—he had ordered “a bucket of booze”—and Roger lifted his coffee in response to Otto’s raised glass.
    â€œYou never drink?”
    â€œAlcohol? No.”
    â€œAny reason?”
    â€œI just don’t like it.”
    Otto accepted that, but he told Roger of the late Canon Gabriel’s maxim. Never trust a man who doesn’t drink.
    â€œWell, you can trust him not to drink.”
    Otto acknowledged this with a smile. Their food came, and over it Otto