Dear Cyndy,

If the tone of my most recent letter seemed
to you softer that what you are accustomed to read
from me, the explanation may be that the spirit
of poetry was hovering over it, the quotation from
Sampson Agonistes which is so telling:

His uncontroulable intent.
His servants he with new acquist
Of true experience from this great event
With peace and consolation hath dismist,
And calm of mind all passion spent.
 
Your ambivalence about visits from family, it seems to me,
is a particular experience of a universal perplexity, 
an uncertainty with which to one degree or other, all of
us are afflicted, with which each of us copes in his or her
own way, and which one expresses in his own manner. It isn't
absolutely necessary to collapse the stadium roof as Sampson
did, but that calamity also reflected the bankruptcy of
interpersonal relationships between Sampson and Delilah and
between Sampson and the philistine plumbers who held him captive.
And God's function, for Milton as for us lesser mortals,
is to clean up the debris of our destructiveness and set
the stage for the act to follow.

In the process of drafting my Memorandum for my lawsuit,
I became obsessed with the cogency of my reasoning to an
extent that for weeks I was unable to articulate a plausible
argument in opposition. Such onesidedness strikes me not only
as dangerous, but in a world where every thesis has its antithesis,
untruthful as well. Finally, a few mornings ago, it dawned on
me that by virtue of a section of the code which I had overlooked,
a hostile and vindictive judge could fine me five hundred dollars
a day, for each day that he or she determined me to have engaged
in the unlawful practice of plumbing. That, it seems to me, is
not likely to happen, but it is a contingency which I should keep
in mind, and for which I should prepare my mind. It was only
a few hours while day was breaking that I was afraid. Then my
fear dissipated. I remembered the line from the Soldier's Chorus
in Schiller's Wallenstein:
"Wer dem Tod ins Angesicht schauen kann, der Soldat allein ist
der freie Mann." (Only the soldier who can look into the face
of death is a free man.) At least, if the judge decides its ok 
for Mr. Ciarmataro to rip out my plumbing, I can console myself
with the thought that it might have been worse.

Most of the hand-written comments on the attached essay are by
the instructor, whose name I have forgotten. I didn't like him
because, immature as I was, I felt his criticisms of my style, -
complaints which I now find quite valid, - were reproaches for
my personality.

The superscript in German: "Das Original kriegen wir nicht wieder.
Bitte Zurueck Schicken.  Ich gebrauche dies um meine Fehler zu
kontrollieren."  (We don't get back the original. Please send back.
I need this to control my errors.) - is in my handwriting. Obviously, -
and fortunately, my father did not follow my instructions.

I have a patient scheduled in about ten minutes. I'll stop now,
and perhaps continue later.  Give my best to Ned, and stay well.

Jochen