Spain’s Literary and Political Contributions: An Afterward

   

In these final comments, I especially appreciate that Paul Schwennessen set the agenda with his well-informed and articulate initial essay. I’m also gratified that I now seem to be spelling his name correctly most of the time. I’m also thankful for the very meaningful contribution made by Gabriela Calderon de Burgos who added a great deal to the discussion. I went into higher education because I wanted to keep learning and I have learned a great deal in this project.

Since Professor Schwennessen aptly began the forum with literature as a way of understanding politics, I’ll end in the same way. One of my favorite short stories in Miguel de Cervantes’ Exemplary Stories is the Colloquio de Los Perros. When I translated the title to a colleague over dinner in Valladolid, Spain, she grimaced—understandably, because the translated title, “The Dialogue of the Dogs,” sounds quite rude compared with Cervantes’ euphonious original title. For one magical night, two canines, Scipio and Berganza, hanging out at the Hospital of the Resurrection in Valladolid, gain the gift of speech. They speak mostly of humans, but in doing so, offer indirect observations on man’s strengthes—but more of his weaknesses.

They begin by noting that humans have the gift of reason, while dogs are considered irrational. But the traits that dogs do possess suggest that man’s reason too often lets him down or is not exercised as it should be because dogs, by contrast, have a long list of virtues that humans do not necessarily lack, but are only exhibited erratically, whereas dogs are consistent in these qualities.

Berganza says, “I have many a time heard tell of our great endowments, insomuch that some, it appears, have been disposed to think that we possess a natural instinct, so vivid and acute in many things that it gives signs and tokens little short of demonstrating that we have a certain sort of understanding capable of reason.” Scipio adds, “What I have heard highly extolled is our strong memory, our gratitude, and great fidelity; so that it is usual to depict us as symbols of friendship.” There are even accounts of dogs “so loyal throwing themselves on the graves of their masters” and “refusing to eat until they die.”

The dogs, moreover, engage in a bit of philosophy, and Berganza notes, with Aristotelian shades, that philosophy is the purpose of leisure. They then proceed to share their respective stories, both of which have to do with their life with people. Without apparently intending to, in all the stories, the dogs experience an array of human foibles and seem, at times, wiser than their masters. Scipio observes, “Be wary with your tongue, for from that member flow the greatest ills of human life.” Berganza later suggests that it is humility that has been the key to his success—or survival.

So, as is the case in other notable works of literature, we often learn more about humans from animals or hobbits or elves than we do by other means. The readings in this forum have ranged from the sublime to the profane. The sublime, the wisdom of the School of Salamanca, has given us principles that give way to the profane. In order for the human race to better itself, and more consistently apply the principles we learn from the Spaniards, we might improve upon the tragedies of this last century, as well as the misfortune of the first quarter of this century by, at times, letting literature be our guide. We might further follow the example of Berganza and Scipio: namely to take opportunities for reflection and meaningful conversation, and it is for that reason that opportunities such as these are so valuable.