Marc Estrin

REALITY AND MYTH

One of the most amazing episodes of Arnold’s Harvard days was the AWOL Marine Paul Olimpieri’s taking sanctuary in the Harvard Chapel, and galvanizing much of the community into support. The social-psychological consequences of his apostasy were profound. Here is a narration which again slowed down the progress of Arnold’s trajectory, and so was cut. Because apostasy of heros is still with us, I include it here.

SANCTUARY

“Hey, where’re you headed?”

Ethan Pillsbury had been galloping down the Hollis steps as Arnold was trudging up. Ethan galloping down steps was a sight to behold, and a potential disaster. It's cruel to say, but it is likely the Pillsbury Doughboy was suggested by Ethan’s silhouette. One can imagine his ever more-horrified father, guilt-ridden over his feelings, trying to turn his son’s figure into a loveable, positive, public image -- capable of increasing profits. 

“Marine in Andover Chapel. AWOL,” he gasped. “People chaining themselves...” He made the last step and crashed out the door.

It was Sunday afternoon, September 22, three weeks after Arnold’s arrival. There was not much to do: his next week’s work was already prepared. This sounded interesting -- amusing, if nothing else. Perhaps he would take a jog over. He got to his room, changed into sweats, put on his jogging shoes, and consulted his campus map. Divinity School. Northeast, young man. Down the stairs, out the north entrance, past Memorial Hall and Mallinckrodt, past the furiously puffing Ethan, around the Natural History museums and the Glass Flowers. That must be it. Looks churchy.

“...who, because of his conscientious objection to war and militarism is absent without leave from the United States Marines.” Channels 5 and 7 whirred away, and a Boston College radio mike was positioned to hear the rattling of the chain and the clicking of the lock. Seven people were fastened together in the chancel. A rabbi -- or someone in Jewish robes -- moved to the lectern and called the service today a renewal of faith, obedience, witness and rejection. Tonight was Rosh Hashanah, he announced, the first day of the new year, the first day of ten Days of Awe, in which mankind is given the opportunity to repent of its sins before meeting God’s judgement on Yom Kippur. He read a prayer from the high holiday liturgy. Arnold didn’t understand Hebrew. The congregation sang

Once to every man and nation

Comes the moment to decide,

In the strife of truth with falsehood,

For the good or evil side.

Arnold still didn’t know which one was the Marine. Ethan came in breathless and sweaty, and stood beside Arnold at the back wall. A white-haired man stepped to the lectern and said “There comes a time when a man must simply say, ‘Here I stand. I can do no other. God help me.’” The Diet of Worms. “Who is that?” Arnold asked his housemate. “I dunno.” “There comes a time when one has to oppose evil, even if he cannot prevent it, when one has to choose to be a victim, rather than an accomplice. The Divinity School is presently being transformed by this service into a sanctuary for Paul Olimpieri...” (By the speaker’s gesture, Arnold now knew who he was) “...and this chapel is now, by Paul’s grace, consecrated as holy because a community of conscience is gathered heree.” A newsman crossed the chancel and held his light meter a few inches from Paul’s face. “I ask you all to join with me in this extraordinary act of consecration.”

“That’s Harvey Cox over there on the right,” Ethan whispered.

“Who’s Harvey Cox?” 

Ethan answered Arnold with a dismissive gesture.

Paul Olimpieri read a short statement of his early enthusiasm for the Marines and his subsequent disillusionment and horror at what was happening in Vietnam. 

“The purpose of my claiming sanctuary is to tell other military personnel and civilians what is really going on in the Marine Corps and in the war. I am not a coward. I was awarded two purple hearts, but I still believe the military and the war are bad. Since I can no longer live a life according to my own beliefs in the military, I am demanding a discharge from the United States Marine Corps.”

During questioning, a reporter asked Mrs. Olimpieri why she wasn’t locked into the chain. A middle-aged man interrupted to say that the chains were only symbolic, but Mrs. Olimpieri said simply, “I guess there wasn’t enough chain.”

The service concluded with bread being passed, and the hymn “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God”. Harvey Cox, whoever he was, said the parting words of encouragement. One final question was shouted out by a reporter from the Globe: “Isn’t there a danger of physical confrontation here?” The main speaker said that they did not expect one, and that perhaps any arresting officer would turn in his badge rather than do his assigned duty. This was their hope. “Our hope is a spiritual one,” another elder added, and there was laughter in the audience. But Paul and his wife didn’t laugh. “A community in peace, we stand with Paul.” The group took up the chant, and many went to the chancel to stand with Paul, and have their picture taken.

Arnold was impressed. Arnold was moved. At 9:30 AM, Tuesday, the 24th the Dean of Harvard Divinity realeased the following statement to the Harvard Community.

Paul Olimpieri, to whom a group of students of the Harvard Divinity School had given symbolic sanctuary in the Chapel of Andover Hall, was removed from the Chapel this morning shortly after 6 AM by local and Armed Forces Police. The University had not requested Paul Olimpieri’s removal. The Harvard University Police were notified immediately before their arrival at Andover Hall, and notified Dean Stendahl, who was presented with the Federal Warrant and asked the Harvard University Police to open the doors to Andover Hall. The Harvard University Police took no part in the removal of Paul Olimpieri. 

The students who were with Paul Olimpieri carried out their intentions to act in a totally non-violent and dignified manner.

Late Tuesday afternoon, Paul Olimpieri, shaved, in military dress and accompanied by his wife, made the following statement to the press:

After careful consideration of my actions in the last few days, I consider them to be a mistake. I fear I was used by various groups, to publicize their political goals, whatever they may be. 

I do not want any further association with these groups. I’d like to stress that. I’m just beginning to realize that things can be done through the proper channels. I found this out the hard way, and I hope that other servicemen will learn from my mistake.

Arnold read about it in the Wednesday Crimson. The Divinity School Concourse had this to say in comment:

Since Sunday we have been participating, through ritual, in an an ancient myth : the sacrifice of an individual which brings salvation to the community. There was ritual in the chains, the chants, the cameras, the statements, the police. The chains symbolized our solidarity with Paul Olimpieri, the victim. 

Through chants and statements and prayers we tried to express our solidarity. The ritual actors appeared on cue: the military police call the campus police; the campus police call the Dean; they enter; the chains are cut; the chorus chants; speeches are made; the victim is led away; the drama is done. 

But after the sacrifice, Mrs. Olimpieri came back upstairs and began to vacuum the rug in the chapel. A very human act--not ritual, yet real; a reminder that the sacrifice, though symbolic for us, was very real for Paul Olimpieri and his wife.

Now we are all cut off. Paul Olimpieri has repudiated his "community". Reality has turned on myth. Why? 

Christianity once transformed an ancient myth.. The first Christians knew that there could be no community salvation without, first, community suffering. Salvation is only won if we participate genuinely in the sufferings of the victim. 

Was Paul Olimpieri only a tool, as he claims, the victim of a group's desire to justify itself? Or was he the man who enabled us to suffer? Which myth have we ritualized?

Perhaps a lowly freshman from the Yard cannot understand such theological musings, but what the hell was going on? Was Paul Olimpieri a plant? Did they torture him to recant? Was he just a psycho? Was this soap opera his only way out of a real trap? Was he really being used? Maybe he felt his situation lost in the wider focus of the Harvard divines. Was it right for him to be a martyr for causes not his own? Would it be better for Harvard to stand aside from real world events and simply cultivate its own complex garden without involving others? These were the questions which Arnold had been left with through the winter, and now into the spring. For some students, however, the answers were clear.