When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon the table. — T.S. Eliot

In every field of human enterprise, it is obvious that most of the achievements—most of the great steps forward have come from individuals—whether they be artistic, psychotic geniuses, saints, revolutionaries, etc. We do not need the evidence of intelligence testing to know conversely that the vast mass of mankind are not highly intelligent, or highly moral, or highly gifted artistically, or highly qualified—to carry out any of the nobler human activities—of course, to jump from that to the conclusion that mankind can be split into two clearly defined groups—a ‘few’ that is excellent & a ‘many’ that is despicable—is idiotic. 

The hierarchies are infinite—the dividing line between the few & the many must run through each individual—not between individuals. None of us are wholly perfect & none wholly imperfect. On the other hand—history—not least in the 21st century in the ‘Anno Domini’ era—shows that society has persistently seen life in terms of a struggle between the few & the many—between ‘us’ & ‘them.’ 

I tried to establish the virtual ‘innocence’ of the many (I couldn't). Degenerates, opportunistic looters, Marxist extremists, racists committed the evil, but this evil is largely—perhaps wholly—the result of a bad education, a mean environment, being orphaned—all factors over which I had no control.

T.S. Eliot's early poem represents an important contribution to this modernization—absurdity coupled with romanticism. When reading the arresting opening line, one immediately encounters a poetic voice that comfortably juxtaposes the most disparate elements—a romantic evening with an anesthetized patient—time to meet & to murder others—comings & goings—to disturb the universe

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