Adieu, Jake, and a Hearty Amen

In 1965, Jake Zeitlin , who died last Sunday, closed an address to a group of librarians by quoting, with great admiration, a line from J. Frank Dobie: “I would not be satisfied with an autobiography that did not bear witness to my passionate belief in freedom of thought.” Zeitlin’s contributions to the literary and cultural life of Los Angeles were made in many areas, but no account of those contributions would be complete that did not bear witness to this perhaps most passionate of his beliefs.

My thoughts on the freedom to read are not all pure black and white. The subject has caused me much anguish and soul-searching. George Meredith’s lines from one of his sonnets in Modern Love are most apt: “O what a dusty answer gets the soul when hot for certainties in this our life.” . . . In my experience, the most uncomfortable company is a man who knows what is absolutely right and a woman who knows what is absolutely wrong. . . .

Calvin burned Servetus for his theological ideas, the 17th-Century Royalists of London were beheaded for publishing their tracts against the Roundhead parliament, and Charles II had his censors who were equally ruthless against those who dared to question the divine right of kings. Copernicus, Foscarini, Bruno, and Galileo felt the heavy hand of the church upon them. Mendelian inheritance was a proscribed belief in Russia 20 years ago. It is still a little dangerous to walk down the street with a copy of Marx’s Das Kapital under your arm. Darwinism is far from a safe subject for a biology teacher to discuss in Texas, Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi, or even the great California educational system. . . .

My role as a bookseller is not the least among those who must defend the right to read. The bookseller is usually the first object of legal action in censorship cases. I feel that we must do battle on the ground where the battle is posed, whether we like it or not. My personal tastes are secondary. When I filed as a plaintiff to clarify my right to sell Tropic of Cancer, I did not do so because I think it is a great or brilliant book, nor because I have any great regard for Henry Miller. Our city attorney is alleged to have reported before a public meeting that I said Tropic of Cancer is an obscene book. I did not say that; I said it is a dull book. . . .

I am a member of a generation that finds itself embarrassed at the careless use of four-letter words. There are some books which revolt me. Violence, brutality, insensitivity to pain and the dignity of other human beings are painful to me.

Anything which tends to demean and deprave the highest and most ecstatic experience that a human being can have, and I mean the erotic experience, is an affront to me. Yet I cannot convince myself that there is anyone so wise, so universally comprehensive in his judgment, that he can be trusted with the power to tell others: “You shall not express yourself thus, you shall not describe your own experiences; or depict the fantasies which your mind has created; or laugh at what others have set up as respectable; or question old beliefs; or contradict the dogmas of the church, of our society, our economic system and our political orthodoxy.”

I have yet to meet an advocate of censorship who does not feel that it is entirely safe for him to read any book, see any picture, or listen to any speaker. He is convinced that it is for the protection of others that censorship is necessary.

Our courts have discussed and ruled on the question of whether or not a book shall have a redeeming justification in terms of art. What is art and what is not art is the oldest and longest-winded of all debates, and the argument has never been settled. Paul Valery’s definition is the best I know: “Art is whatever arouses your sense of despair . . . and gives you succor.” To my taste, most pop art is garbage740322671incomprehensible, and most of the new sculpture fit only for a waxworks or a sideshow of freaks. In terms of the question of censorship, my own judgment does not matter.

I am reminded of something that happened in my bookshop on West 6th Street sometime in 1929. I was exhibiting a group of photographs by Edward Weston. Some of them had been placed in my show window. A little old lady came in and said, “I am going to get the police to arrest you for showing obscene pictures.” I said, “Madam, would you mind showing me what you think is obscene?” I thought she would point out one of his anatomical photographs. Instead, she pointed to a picture of two eggs and a cross-section of an artichoke. “Madam,” I said, “Permit me to compliment you on your active imagination.” . . .

These views are not the views of all my colleagues in the book trade, and I do not claim to speak for them. Some of them will defend one area of ideas--some another. And there are those who, for the sake of their comfort and their continued economic security, will not take a stand upon any ground against censorship. On the whole, however, the publishers and booksellers of this country stand shoulder to shoulder with the librarians.

It takes great courage for a librarian to stand up against the blue noses, the pecksniffs, and the John Birchers in his community. He puts his job, his livelihood, and often his future, on the line. Were it not for the stand that the organized library profession has taken in this field, I am sure that resistance to censorship would be much less successful. . . .

In conclusion, I should like to quote from one of the most lovable men I ever knew. He was a good man who had many doubts about what was right. In spite of these doubts he stood staunchly against bigotry and the littleness of men’s minds. He gave the Southwest a solid position in the world of letters by his own writings and by the example he set. I am talking about J. Frank Dobie. He said: “Censorship is never to let people know but always to keep them in ignorance: never to bring light but always darkness. A censor is always a tool--as Churchill called Mussolini, a ‘utensil.’ Not one censor in history is respected by enlightened men of any nation.” And, “I have come to value liberated minds as the supreme good of life on earth. The subject is very complex and proliferates into many areas of living. I would not be satisifed with an autobiography that did not bear witness to my passionate belief in freedom of thought.”

This is the testimony of a very wise man given out of the ripeness of his many years of creative living. I offer it to you as a philosphy to which I hope you will join me in a hearty “Amen.”