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Thus Spake the Editor

The arts. An unending source of debate at Christendom. Their worth; their failings; their pitfalls; their uses. To be honest, I don't care much for most of the debate because I believe that most of it is a whole lot of rot; a whole lot of talk, rather too much fear, and all to very little noticeable end. I'd much rather write a poem or a story than debate whether or not art can do anything great to change the world. It can, and has, and will, and that is that. I appeal to history and experience to back me up in this. And Christendom (our Christendom, and the Christendom at large), most of all, has an untapped potential to change the world in unthinkable ways through art's various mediums; though, of course, most of Christendom stubbornly refuses, for whatever reason, to actualize this potential.

That's where we come in.

Take, for instance, the recent return of the piano to the foyer of the Commons. I find this very apropos of what I mean. Apparently, it turns out-who would have known?-that everyone and their mother can play the piano, and not only just play, but play quite well. What talent! I assure you, this is not the way it is in the rest of the world; the concentration of musically savvy youth on this campus is remarkable. And yet, we've had, what is it, one night dedicated to music so far this year? Or take, for instance, the recent St. Genesius Skit Night which I was blessed to be able to take an active hand in. Quite to mine and Julian Alqhuist's astonishment and pleasure the stage of the Commons was quite suddenly populated with a whole slew of undercover thespians, students who'd never shown a toe at the try-outs for Hamlet or The Crucible, but who, evidently, find the stage to be a rather comfortable second home. Never mind you the never ending and eternally humble jack-in-the-box visual artists that I continue to stumble onto on a daily basis. Forgive me my intrusion, but in my humble opinion we ought to have had at least one exhibition by this point in the year, don't you think?

Is it just me-and I'm not entirely convinced that it is-or has anyone else thought about the potential for a cultural revolution stemming from this one, small, and entirely unostentatious catholic college? Does anyone else ever get excited about it? Because whenever I let myself daydream about it for a few moments I get all tingly and fuzzy inside.

The literary talent on this campus is enormous. I've seen glimmers of it (this issue is evidence enough of that) and I know that all it needs is a little guidance, and a lot of practice (as all talents do). Chestertons, Bellocs, Tolstoys, Brontes, and O'Connors are walking the corridors and paths of Christendom college each and every day; their heads are chalk full of brilliant ideas and their interiors are finely attuned to the psychological and spiritual workings of Man. You might be one of them. So what's the problem? Or, better yet, what's the solution? Here's mine: Community. No great artist has done it without one. A lot of modern writers (and by ripple effect, us) love to say that they write 'for themselves', and pat themselves on the back for such artistic purity. What crock. A brilliant novel does no one any good at the bottom of a closet. It is when artists of the finest caliber congregate together, exchange opinions, ideas, and manuscripts, that magic happens. Think of that glorious group from the past century, The Inklings. It is for this reason the Christendom Literary Club will soon be making its debut on the campus; the beauteous Holly Krause will be at its helm and I will offer my hand in support. If it won't whip your literary muscles into shape, nothing will. Be there or incur our wrath. Cheerio.

JOHN JALSEVAC