The title of this year's Charles Eliot Norton lecture series is "The Springs of Pathos." And the man who will be talking about the role of "feelings" in drama is, ironically, one who has helped condition Western audiences to a type of theater which aims not to excite sentiment, but to expose realities of human existence in a removed, "unfeeling" way.

Eric Bentley, at the University for the year while on leave from Columbia, where he is Brander Matthews Professor of Dramatic Literature, is a forty-four year old Englishman whose name is intertwined with that of Bertolt Brecht. Through his translations, and explanations of the complex Brechtian theories of epic drama, he has been chiefly responsible for the German playwright's recent surge of popularity. An anthologizer, translator, producer, and director, Bentley today looms as one of the most respected and acute commentators on the theatrical scene.

As one might expect, he is gratified by the new interest in Brecht. Bentley had foreseen the re-examination of epic theater techniques in 1955, and is extremely pleased when on campus after campus he is questioned incessantly on Brecht's theatrical contributions. "People might think that a playwright is not popular until he is successful on Broadway," he observes, "but the student, interest, after all, reflects a real popularity. And when you think about it, Ibsen never was successful on Broadway; nor Strindberg; nor many truly great authors."

The "new interest" is manifested at the University in the forthcoming production of Brecht's Caucasian Chalk Circle at Loeb. Bentley, who is himself taking an active interest in the production, is enthusiastic over the theater's "possibilities." He considers the play "the final statement of Brecht's development," in that it is "the most poetic in a non-cynical way; the most mellow; and, in a way not associated with Brecht, the most delicate. In other words, it is Brecht saying the same things, but with less savagery."

To Bentley and a number of others, one of the most significant aspects of Brecht's emergence is the coolness with which he has been received in the Soviet Union. To the best of Bentley's knowledge, the only Soviet production of this outspoken socialist's work, an unsuccessful Threepenny Opcra, was put on in the early 1930's. Recently, the Berliner Ensemble (the East German group founded by Brecht and now headed by his wife), toured the U.S.S.R. encountering an audience and press that was polite but never enthusiastic.

Bentley explains this apparent paradox by nothing that Brecht's work is essentially by, of, and for the bourgeoisie. That he was above all a rebel of the middle class, who turned his brilliant bitterness on the culture generated by that class. "Brecht assumed capitalism within the theater," Bentley points out. "He assumed that it permeated the walls, the seats, and everyone in the audience. But people in the Soviet Union cannot be aware of the values and standards of capitalist culture. So to a large extent Brecht is meaningless to them."

The working relationship between the playwright and the adaptor followed immediately on the heels of their first encounter in 1941. Few people in America had heard of, let alone wanted to translate, Bertolt Brecht. Bentley, then an instructor at U.C.L.A., was introduced to him in Hollywood as a man who could translate German. Brecht read some of his tentative translations and then produced some original material. "Line by line, I would translate and he would tell me what was wrong with my translation," Bentley now recalls with a smile that insinuates the nature of the criticism. "It wasn't that bad," he adds, breaking into a laugh, "in everyday life Brecht could even be called retiring. He never tried to play the role of a great man."

The failure of America to produce dramatists of the stature of Brecht, Giradoux, Pirandello, and Anouilh is one which Bentley explains in terms of the role theater plays in American society. "In this country, the theater is for amusement, which puts the author at a great disadvantage. Significant theater is written to be taken seriously." This is a motif to which he returns frequently. "Men like Hemingway and Faulkner write novels, because they know that novels will be taken seriously. But the play in this country that is both serious and popular is a real rarity."

A tall, thin man with closely cropped hair, Bentley had originally intended to be a concert pianist. The prospect of the professional musician's grim life changed his mind at the last minute, and he went from Oxford to Yale, where he received a doctorate in Comparative Literature. Among his many books and anthologies, The Playwright as Thinker (1946) and In Search of a Theater (1947), are the most well known. He has attracted a wide audience of grateful readers with his series of anthologies, From the Modern Repertoire, The Modern Theater, and The Classic Theater. Bentley as an anthologizer tends to be unique in that he does not simply "collect" plays that are sure to find readers, but seeks to "present" plays which will indicate the development of the theater. The Modern Theater, for example, can be considered as an examination of varying forms and styles of realism, showing the extent to which sentiment is giving way to exposure on the modern stage.

Bentley's presence at the University this year should add as much vitality to local theater as the beautiful paraphernalia afforded by the Loeb center. His standards are high and his purpose serious. When he says "America has no theater that stands for anything," he is doing more than criticizing; he is challenging.