ticism, coeval with human refinement, never goes out of style. Perversion and repression, however horrible, never defeat it fully. It is the light of ultimacy shining in the darkness, which never overcomes it. No Chinese brutality or Japanese materialism has snuffed it out, as has no Nazism or Stalinism or American trashiness. It is ourselves coming to ourselves enough to recognize that we are prodigals, wastrels, living among the pigs on husks, and so finally crying bitterly and turning for home. With that turning we head back into the mystery of our own humanity, where it seems we have been made to dwell, and we find that the mere stop of our exitus and the bare first steps of our reditus begin our healing.