understanding. Like miners in pursuit of subterranean gold,nwe have turned Llooming landscapes of the spirit into slagnheaps as poisonous as they are ugly. In our relentless searchnfor knowledge, nothing is spared, nothing is sacred, not evennthat inner man or woman we think of, from our earliestnyears, as our real self. Beginning with Freud’s first crudenattempts, our dreams and unconscious urges have beenndissected, classified, and exposed to public comment. Mostnrecently a new self-awareness cult has arisen around thendream, which can now, it seems, be artificially stimulatednand exploited for profit and career advancement. There isnnothing in our human experience that is to be left unviolated.nReaders of Shakespeare will remember that Caliban’sncrime was his attempt to rape the magician’s daughter, anpure and naive virgin.nIt is in this context that the giants of modern poetry mustnbe read and understood, as soldiers and rebels in a war fornman himself—his soul and mind of course, but also for hisnimagination and even his body. In such a war strange andnunpredictable alliances are made, and we sometimes findnourselves fighting shoulder to shoulder with men we havendenounced as our worst enemies. How many sermons havenbeen preached against Friedrich Nietzsche, one of the fewnmen who understood the calamity that modern man wasnbringing upon himself. How much ink has been spilled byntraditional critics lamenting the vulgarity of Baudelaire, thenobscurity of Mallarme, the free verse of T.S. Eliot. Indeed,nthe two American intellectuals closest to Eliot, IrvingnBabbitt and Paul Elmer More, were both distressed by hisnpoetry, although it was Babbitt who resorted frequently tonthe phrase “moral imagination” as a means of explainingnthe serious role played by literature.nIt is only in the best poetry of our century—the work ofnYeats and Rilke, Eliot and Valery, and of Octavio Paz — thatnthe human imagination reasserts its full strength in rebellionnagainst all the political and technological forces that wouldnturn us into mere animated computers. It is particularlynfitting that a poet should receive a prize named in a poet’snhonor, and even more so, since Mr. Paz is among the fewnliving poets strong enough to wear Eliot’s mantel.nAs a social thinker and essayist, Octavio Paz has evolvednfrom a self-proclaimed rebel to a still-rebellious opponent ofnthe political revolution that threatens to turn the world intonone vast concentration camp. But for all the virtues of hisnpolitical essays — especially his brilliant observations on thisnflawed Utopia called America—his real contribution has notnbeen as journalist or philosophical essayist, but as one ofnthose rare explorers of the imagination.nIn his poetry, Mr. Paz has continued the work of thensurrealists. Like all movements with manifestos and theories,nsurrealism was destined to destroy itself—how can younprescribe rules for the unconscious mind? But at their best,nsurrealist poets like Andre Breton offered a challenge to allnthe little philosophies and pseudosciences which attempt tondescribe man from the outside in. Real life, the life of poetrynand love, is hidden at the center of our existence, imperviousnto probes and analysts, and it is this real life that OctavionPaz has been exploring in a poetry that has transformed thenSpanish language and—for his many readers — has helpednto give man back to himself.nIt is the real man, the man of imagination and moralnchoice that is under siege these days. In place of the living,nbreathing human beings making choices, taking risks, andnaccepting consequences, the technological view of man hasngiven us so many machines that can be programmed andntinkered with: economic man, sociological man, psychologicalnman, and political man; man the oppressor and man thenoppressed; man the capitalist, man the socialist; and abovenall the modern man and the antiquated man. Estrangednfrom history and each other, we hear a term like “moralnimagination” and it strikes our ear like an antique or foreignnphrase, now that both morality and the imagination arenreduced to psychological phenomena.nA number of philosophers have attempted to recovernsomething of the older sense of moral virtue and humannresponsibility, but none has worked so tirelessly as JosefnPieper. It is hard to estimate the impact of Dr. Pieper’snwork. I well remember one of my Greek professors, back innthe late 1960’s, lending me what he called “an absolutelynextraordinary book.” That book was, of course, JosefnPieper’s Leisure the Basis of Culture. It was my wife whonlent — or rather gave, since I have never returned it—nPieper’s splendid little book on scholastic philosophy. What,nI asked my wife, can a man say about scholasticism in sonbrief a treatment. The answer turned out to be, “more thannmost intellectual histories that encompass thousands ofnpages.”nThere is no living philosopher who writes of such seriousntopics — virtue, hope, the difficulty of belief, culturalndecadence—with Pieper’s combination of scholarship andnhumility. Resisting the temptation to be merely original andnrefusing to fall into pedantry, he has returned philosophy tonthat serious but lively conversation in which Socrates and hisnfriends engaged so many years ago.nThe object of true moral philosophy has always been mannas he is, with all his frailties and timidities, and not thenPromethean or Utopian man of political dreamers. Thengreat moralists of the past—Aristotle, Cicero, St. Thomas,nand Samuel Johnson — all had this in common, a willingnessnto face the facts about the human race withoutndespairing, and it is to that company that Josef Piepernbelongs.nUndeterred by the propagandists of the Third Reich, henwrote his first book to show the impossibility of couragenwithout justice; and equally undeterred by other propagandists,nwho tell us we have nothing to fear but fear itself,nPieper has patiently explained that fear is not only part ofnthe human constitution, it is also a gift that leads us closer tona sense of reality and, ultimately, to God. “Ethical good,”nhe writes, “is none other than the development andnperfection of the natural tendencies of our nature: it isnman’s natural fear of the diminution and annihilation of hisnbeing; its perfection lies in the fear of the Lord.”nFear is as much a part of our nature as love and courage,nbut the diminution we have most to fear in our time is notnmere death, but the mortification of our very being, thenhardening of our hearts, the erosion of our imagination, theninstitutionalization of what our spiritual ancestors called sin.nIn very different companies and with very different weapons,nthe two men celebrated by the 1987 Ingersoll Prizesnhave helped to lead the counterattack against all the forcesnof dehumanization.nnnAPRIL 19881 9n