Through my study of Aesthetic Realism I’ve seen that we have two different ways of trying to be powerful. In his book Self and World, Eli Siegel writes: “Aesthetic Realism sees the largest purpose of every human being as the liking of the world on an honest basis.” This purpose, I learned, represents our true power—to know and see meaning in the world and people.
But we have another notion of power which, though we may not realize it, is ruinous to our lives. It is contempt, described by Mr. Siegel as the “disposition in every person to think he will be for himself by making less of the outside world.”
Like many men, I thought I would be powerful if I made a lot of money, knew important people, and had a career that others envied. I thought that would equal success and clout—things I was determined to have.
In college I majored in acting and had a true care for it, trying to get within the feelings of a character. But I also had another purpose. Once I saw a casting notice posted in the drama department for a summer stock job, singing and dancing. I wanted that job; but the next second I thought of my chief rival in the department. Seeing no one nearby, I ripped the notice off the board and hurried away so he would never know about the audition. I thought I had pulled a fast one, but I felt sneaky and ashamed. It was this way of going for power that had me often feel so unsure of myself.
And power is what Edna St. Vincent’s play Aria da Capo is all about.
Two Kinds of Power Early
Growing up in suburban Miami there were times when I was “liking…the world on an honest basis.” For example, I loved being at the end of our block at dusk, looking out over the expanse of Biscayne Bay. As the sun was beginning to set, the boats in the distance headed home, and the water lapped against the bay wall in a steady rhythm, I didn’t know it but I was affected by reality’s opposites—rest and motion, near and far—and I was excited and composed.
But also as a child I saw that my mother and father could sometimes seem bitter with each other, and rather than try to understand what they felt I was political. I exploited my parents’ disagreements to get things for myself.
Once, when my father was very worried about money, I convinced my mother I needed a particular item of clothing that was expensive. I knew our buying it would make him angry, but I didn’t give a damn as long as I got my way. My going for this kind of power would have continued and ruined my life, if I had not had the good fortune to study Aesthetic Realism and hear the criticism that enabled me to change.
Power in Aria da Capo
In the historic issue of The Right of Aesthetic Realism to Be Known titled “What Caused the Wars,” Eli Siegel writes:
It is necessary to see that while the contempt which is in every one of us may make ordinary life more painful than it should be, this contempt is also the main cause of wars. It was contempt that made for the trenches of France in 1915…
In her critical, intense one-act play in verse titled Aria da Capo, Edna St. Vincent Millay presented something new about the relation of what goes on between two people in “ordinary life” to what makes for the horror of war. Written after World War I and first performed in 1919 at the Provincetown Playhouse on MacDougal Street, this anti-war play is so relevant today. It is about power—the suspicion, greed and plotting between two people that, on a larger scale, has made for international tragedy.
The title Aria da Capo is a musical term for a composition in three parts, the last of which is an exact repeat of the first. That is what happens in the play—it ends, dramatically, as it began.
Eli Siegel lectured magnificently on the subject of history. In one lecture, describing the atmosphere prior to World War I, he spoke of the complacency of people. There was a smug feeling that so much progress had been made by man, the world was now “civilized” and the evil of war was a thing of the past. Then, people were stunned by the unexpectedness, horror and massiveness of the war. “People think the shock is over,” Eli Siegel said, “but the world has not recovered yet.”
Edna St. Vincent Millay gets that feeling of complacency in the opening scene of Aria da Capo. The curtain rises and we see the stage “set for a Harliquinade, a merry black and white interior” and a table “set with a banquet.” At the table are a woman and man, Columbine and Pierrot—classical characters from the commedia dell’arte, who here are like any spoiled couple. The scene begins:
Columbine: Pierrot, a macaroon! I cannot live
Without a macaroon!Pierrot: My only love,
You are so intense…Is it Tuesday, Columbine?-
I’ll kiss you if it’s Tuesday.C: It is Wednesday,
If you must know…Is this my artichoke,
Or yours?P: Ah, Columbine,-as if it mattered!
Wednesday….Will it be Tuesday, then, tomorrow,
By any chance?C: Tomorrow will be – Pierrot,
That isn’t funny!P: I thought it rather nice.
Well, let us drink some wine and lose our heads
And love each other…C: Pierrot, do you know, I think you drink too much.
P: Yes, I dare say I do….Or else too little.
It’s hard to tell. You see, I am always wanting
A little more than what I have – or else
A little less. There’s something wrong…
Pierrot does not know what day it is and with its seeming innocence we can ask, is this contempt, is there power in trivializing the facts of the world? Also, this scene has what I learned men and women can go for—a power feeling “You and I have each other, we don’t need the outside world.”
In an Aesthetic Realism class, Ellen Reiss spoke to me about being “exclusive” with a woman, and feeling that our hours together were “holy.” Meanwhile, Pierrot says, “There’s something wrong,” which is quite true. And in his lines, “I am always wanting / A little more than what I have – or else / A little less.”—I believe Edna St. Vincent Millay is showing the honest discontent we feel when our purpose is to lessen things; we can never feel satisfied.
Throughout the scene Pierrot tries to be powerful by making fun of Columbine. He says Columbine could be an actress; she says she cannot act, and then he really gives it to her:
P: Can’t act!…La, listen to the woman!
What’s that to do with the price of furs?-You’re blonde,
Are you not?-You have no education, have you?-…
You under-rate yourself, my dear!
I am very grateful to Aesthetic Realism and Ellen Reiss for what I’m learning about the true power a man wants to feel in how he sees a woman. Like Pierrot, I have been tyrannical with a woman I cared for—and then felt so ashamed. In an Aesthetic Realism class, Ms. Reiss showed me this was about a notion of power which stopped me from being able to love someone: “You liked [acting] superior to a woman,” she said. And she asked, “Do you think that helped your intelligence?” It definitely didn’t.
I am proud now to feel an utterly different kind of power in love and my thoughts about people—the power of trying to have good will, which Mr. Siegel has described as “the desire to have something else stronger and more beautiful, for this desire makes oneself stronger and more beautiful.” It means very much to me to be able to think deeply about the woman I love, my wife, Meryl Nietsch-Cooperman, and what will strengthen her. I am grateful for Meryl’s kindness and her criticism of me, which I need to be a better person.
In Aria da Capo, in the midst of this discussion of macaroons and such, a very dramatic thing occurs—into the scene enters Cothurnus, a character from classical Greek tragedy. He is the stage manager and says Pierrot and Columbine must leave so the next scene can be played. They exit and two shepherds, Corydon and Thyrsis, enter. But Corydon, looking about, says to Cothurnus:
Corydon: …this is the setting for a farce…We cannot
Act a tragedy with comic properties!
And in Cothurnus’ reply—”Try it and see. I think you’ll find you can”—Miss Millay is saying that what can seem light and everyday is not so far from tragedy. “The contempt which is in… ordinary life,” as Eli Siegel said “is also the main cause of wars.”
Corydon and Thyrsis are good friends. They recline peacefully against crepe-paper “rocks,” observing their flock.
The Beginning Fight: Who Will Have Contempt First?
In “What Caused the Wars,” Eli Siegel explains:
In the unconscious, dear unknown friends, it is the other person who will have accomplished contempt for you unless you have first contempt for him.
This is what Aria da Capo illustrates. Corydon suggests that he and Thyrsis make up a song about a lamb, and then Edna St. Vincent Millay introduces a theatrical device that will be throughout. Thyrsis forgets his next line. Cothurnus, as stage manager, holds the prompt book and prods him on:
Thyrsis: I have forgotten my line.
Cothurnus: (Prompting.) “I know a game worth two of that.”
Thyrsis: Oh, yes….I know a game worth two of that:
Let’s gather rocks, and build a wall between us;
And say that over there belongs to me,
And over here to you!Corydon: Why – very well.
And say you may not come upon my side
Unless I say you may!Thyrsis: Nor you on mine!
And if you should, ‘twould be the worse for you!Corydon: Come, let us separate
…and lay a plot whereby
We may out do each other.
An imaginary wall is made and they sit, each on his side of it, but soon Thyrsis says:
Thyrsis: …in spite of the fact
I started it myself, I do not like this so very much.
…I’d much prefer Making the little song you spoke of
About the lamb…Corydon: I have forgotten the line.
Cothurnus: [prompting] “How do I know this isn’t a trick.”
Corydon: Oh, yes….How do I know this isn’t a trick
To get upon my land?
The subtext here could be “How do I know you’re not trying to have contempt for me? Maybe I better have contempt for you first.” What happens from this point on in the play is described by Eli Siegel when he writes in The Right Of #165 about “the fear of contempt for ourselves making for an accelerated desire to have contempt for someone else”:
Corydon: Oh, Thyrsis, just a minute!-all of the water
Is on your side the wall, and the sheep are thirsty.
I hadn’t thought of that.Thyrsis: Oh, hadn’t you?
Corydon: Why, what do you mean?
Thyrsis: What do I mean? – I mean
That I can play a game as well as you can.
And if the pool is on my side, it’s on
My side, that’s all.Corydon: You mean you’d let the sheep go thirsty?
Thyrsis: …if you try
To lead them over here, you’ll wish you hadn’t!
The two men grow increasingly suspicious and angry. But then they feel awful.Thyrsis says:
Thyrsis: It is an ugly game. I hate it….How did it start?Corydon: I do not know…I think
I am afraid of you!-you are a stranger! I never set eyes on you before!
So this seemingly innocent game has become a deadly contest, and only Aesthetic Realism explains how this happens—in a play or in life. That brutal thing in the self that can make us see another person as an inimical stranger, someone to be defeated, vanquished, is contempt. It makes a person vicious, and it is crucial that people study Aesthetic Realism—the only education which understands, can grapple with and change that hope for contempt to an honest desire to know and be kind.
A Young Man Learns about the Power of Good Will
Tommy Goldman, a second-grader having Aesthetic Realism consultations, wanted to speak about his fights with other boys. When he said about a wrestling match with a classmate: “I nailed him.” We asked:
Consultants: How did you feel doing that? Was this really a victory for you?
Tommy Goldman: No.
His friend, Joe Watkins often wanted to fight with Tommy; and Tommy told us with a mingling of swagger and shame, “I boxed him in the face and his lip started bleeding.” We asked:
Consultants: Why do you suppose Joe is such an angry person?
Tommy Goldman: I don’t know.
Consultants: Would it be good to know?
Tommy Goldman: Yes.
We were teaching him what Aesthetic Realism shows is the greatest power a person can have: good will—to try and see what another feels from within. We asked about Joe:
Consultants: Do you think he feels other people have gotten the breaks in life and he hasn’t?
Tommy Goldman: Yeah.
Consultants: Do you think it’s possible that his parents, like yours, are worried about money and that could upset him?
He thought it could. And we asked:
Tommy Goldman: What would happen if you said, “Joe, gee you know, you like to fight…and you seem kind of angry. How come? I’m interested in knowing why?” …Could you ask that?
Tommy said “yes,” and was very much affected to think about his friend in this new way. Through his study of Aesthetic Realism Tommy Goldman is changing. He wrote to us:
Thank you for teaching me how to like the world more….I’m grateful to hear criticism from you about my contempt. I’m learning to be more fair to my friends and other people.
Power: Good Will or Owning Things?
In Aria da Capo Corydon finds a bowl of colored confetti—and says they are jewels:
Corydon: Red stones – and purple stones-
And stones stuck full of gold!
…They all belong to me…
Wouldn’t I be a fool to spend my time
Watching a flock of sheep go up a hill,
When I have these to play with…[I could] buy a city…
I like those lines “Red stones – and purple stones – And stones stuck full of gold” very much. Edna St. Vincent Millay gives form to tight, narrow greed—you almost feel someone licking his chops. Yet the words, the colors sound rich and wide—red stones, purple stones and gold. The “o”s give a sense of width and wonder. So even as Corydon clutches you feel something expansive.
Like Corydon, I used to think I would be powerful if I could buy whatever I pleased. But often when I got home with a new present I had bought myself, I was agitated. In an Aesthetic Realism class, Ellen Reiss asked me:
Ellen Reiss: Suppose you had a lot of money, and at the same time, you felt you weren’t kind. Would that be a disadvantage?
Bennett Cooperman: Yes.
When I said I could be preoccupied with thoughts of buying things, she explained “These things are all substitutes.” And describing what they are substitutes for, she asked: “Will a person ever feel he cares for himself if he doesn’t have good will?” The answer, I’ve seen, is no!
In Aria da Capo Corydon says he’ll give Thyrsis a bowl of jewels, if Thyrsis will give him a bowl of water. They agree, but each secretly plots: Corydon makes necklaces of the jewels as Thyrsis chops up a poisonous root and puts it in the bowl of water. They approach at the wall, and in a dramatic tableau, Thyrsis puts the bowl to Corydon’s mouth, as Corydon puts the necklaces around Thyrsis’s neck. He pulls them tight:
Thyrsis: You’re strangling me! Oh, Corydon!
It’s only a game!
Corydon: …only a game is it?-Yet I believe
You’ve poisoned me in earnest!
They die, one lying very close to the other.
Then, I believe, is Edna St. Vincent Millay’s most scathing indictment of people. Cothurnus puts their bodies under the table on which, at the beginning of the play, Pierrot and Columbine had been dining. Pierrot and Columbine return, and on seeing the dead bodies, Pierrot calls to Cothurnus:
Pierrot: Come drag these bodies out of here! We can’t
Sit down and eat with two dead bodies lying
Under the table!…The audience wouldn’t stand for it!
And in a very meaningful reply Cothurnus says:
Cothurnus: What makes you think so?-Pull down the tablecloth…And play the farce. The audience will forget.
Here, Edna St. Vincent Millay is saying people don’t want to see evil, they’ll cover it up and try to get on with their comfortable lives. Yet she, as playwright is showing that evil straight, and it makes for drama the power of which is described by something Eli Siegel once said, “The ability to see in ourselves evil…is a kind of strength.” Aria da Capo ends as Pierrot and Columbine nonchalantly begin again their chatter:
Columbine: Pierrot, a macaroon! I cannot live
Without a macaroon!
Pierrot: My only love,
You are so intense…Curtain begins to close slowly.
I am going to quote lines of a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay because they are the antithesis to the tragedy of Aria da Capo. The poem isRenascence, and in The Right Of Mr. Siegel said of it, and of the power of Edna St. Vincent Millay:
…it is right to present the self as clearly large. In this century, no one has done this better than Edna St. Vincent Millay in…her poem Renascence…For a self to be large is that self’s being able to become another self, to have other feeling…
Renascence begins:
A man was starving in Capri;
He moved his eyes and looked at me;
I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,
And knew his hunger as my own.… No hurt I did not feel, no death
That was not mine; mine each last breath
And later Miss Millay writes:About the trees my arms I wound;
Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;… O God, I cried, no dark disguise
Can e’er hereafter hide from me
Thy radiant identity!
I love Aesthetic Realism because it is the greatest opposition to man’s contempt, and encourager of what Edna St. Vincent Millay is describing, our true power—to feel what others feel, to have good will, and to like the things of this world. I love what I am so lucky to be learning—as a man, actor, consultant, husband, friend. Aesthetic Realism is the powerful and kind education that all people and nations need.