But he had done nothing wrong. He would do nothing wrong. He had been warned, he knew now what had been upsetting him, and henceforth he could and would be on guard. Because he was aware at last of the nature of his relationship with the marine and the dangerous direction it had taken, he felt that Cliff was powerless to affect him further in such a disturbing way. For the first time, Cliff Hauman almost seemed unimportant, except as the means by which he had come to understand. John Grandin had always believed he knew himself through and through; when he found that he did not, he knew himself at last. Shocking though the revelation had been, Cliff had meant experience, a knowledge of his unconscious, an extension or illumination of his nature. Very well; though he refused to give in to it, he would try to accept—for what else does life hold for us, he asked himself, if not experience? Hard as it may be to take, everything that happens to us should be knowledge, should be useful for the future, should be good.

John Grandin thought of himself as modern and civilized. To some extent he understood the neuroses of his fellow men. Perhaps they could not help themselves. But being uninhibited—the giving in to wayward impulse—is anarchy and chaos. Civilization means control; where would he be if he should let happen what was impossible and abhorrent even to think of? To hell with being “modern,” “civilized,” or “sophisticated.” Actually there was no such thing, beyond a self-­induced or superimposed state of mind, unsound and superficial. The “twentieth century mind” was a euphemism which such persons as the glittering Arne Eklund used as a veneer for willful behavior, an excuse for self-­indulgence. Even modern man was born a primitive and would always be a primitive so long as he had a feeling heart in his breast.

In view of what had happened, Grandin was a fine one to be placed in the position of adviser to youth. He felt the irony keenly. Professors in personal conference with the young were supposed to serve as examples of behavior, to represent an exemplary manhood: indeed, that is why he had received such an appointment. True, neither the faculty nor the students need know of what had happened, and would not. But what about himself? University prestige notwithstanding, he would feel himself a hypocrite through and through; and as such, he would be unable to meet the students with a free and honest mind. His conscience and his guilt—in short, his new knowledge of himself—would stand in the way of the rapport essential between him and the students. He had no doubt that he could get away with it; what upset him was his own state of mind. For him to set himself up to advise youth in any capacity seemed an outrageous dishonesty.