Yale, this second half of the twentieth century, is a corpse; which is to say, it resembles the real Yale in no more than accidental qualities, and even deserves the name "Yale" only analogically.

The destruction of the College in New Haven dedicated to the preparation of Christian men for ministry is in no way mitigated by the survival of its name. Nonetheless, that Yale is no more, and that what is called Yale merely inhabits the same buildings and takes the same symbols and trappings, has, to the extent that it has been recognized, been more celebrated than mourned. This itself is further tragedy.

But blindness to tragedy is to be expected from a population that has no sense for the reality of institution. Mourning requires recognition of tragedy, and recognition of tragedy requires apprehension of the real. Even Nietzsche, in his own peculiar way himself in touch with reality, saw that the force of tragedy was its horrible arresting insight into the essence of things. Those that lack such insight, or who, through unbelief in essences, deny that such insight is possible, cannot be expected to recognize even such a tremendous tragedy as the loss of a human monument to God.

That was, to be sure, the essence of Yale, an institution consecrated to divine service. It was because such an essence was signified by the name "Yale" that the utterance of the name alone could inspire a sort of awe. And it is little wonder that the power of the name fades with the aspirations which were its source.

The properly acculturated historian of ideas will explain the "evolution" of Yale by pointing out--quite believably--that the institution simply had to change when people stopped believing the old ideas, and started believing new ones. But such an interpretation implies that Yale is as much a real and unified institution under the new ideas as under the old. This it most manifestly is not; it seems that one of the disregarded and yet to be replaced old ideas included the very belief in the possibility of real and unified institutions. Institution requires purpose, discipline, and a source of authority. These things are not recognized by the new institution, which is as a result not any sort of institution at all, and cannot begin to educate its "students" out of their ignorance of institution.

It seems this very ignorance at least explains why, for instance, the majority of women and men in the College today are so basically unfit for the institution of marriage. Fitness for marriage requires at the least a recognition of its significance, a recognition which must be supported by belief in the reality of moral institutions. But here, unchecked and untrained by the guidance of substantive institutions, moral weakness and ignorance are abundant to the point of celebration. Students attempt to dignify sexual degradation by organizing in its name; others, their moral convictions beaten out of them, stand by permissively. Is it any wonder that so many of the students courageous enough to recognize that something is wrong seek refuge in the relative strength of that most basic of children's institutions, the fraternity?

In the midst of this devastated landscape, the individual can only begin again and try to be a student. But for what could the student muster a student's enthusiasm? For God? Apparently we are supposed to believe that we have been persuaded of His death. For country? For our State it is difficult to pretend enthusiasm, and those few who manage border on the excess of fascism. For Yale? She is destroyed, her spirit separated from her body. Those who remember her life are left to wonder whether her spirit could survive the separation, and, if so immortal, whether the body will admit to resurrection.

"Corpus Yalensis" originally appeared in the Yale Free Press, (April, 1994); it was reprinted in National Review (April 3, 1995) and in the Yale jourrnal Light and Truth (Spring 1996). Reprinted here with permission.