There are many approaches to the problem of juvenile delinquency and its causation, but in a rough and ready fashion it is possible to divide these approaches into two main groups. On the one hand are those who see delinquency as stemming from personality disturbances or emotional conflicts, and on the other are those who view delinquency as coming from relatively normal personalities which have been exposed to an ‘abnormal’ environment such as a deviant sub-culture in which the individual learns to be a non-conformist as others learn to be conformists.

If one is to judge from recent writings in criminology, the conflict between these two approaches is still quite intense. This is unfortunate, for apart from vested interests and professional pride there is no real reason why the two approaches should not be regarded as complementary. That I have taken sub-cultures as my theme in this article does not mean that I consider this approach to be more fundamental or more fruitful than others, still less does it mean that I consider it to be the only one. It does mean, however, that I think that it is necessary to stress the wider social factors, the part played by society as a whole, in the delinquency equation and to draw attention to the fallacies of attributing all delinquent responses to inadequate socialization and of viewing deviant behaviour as typically coming from biological impulses breaking through the restraints imposed by culture.

The University of Fribourg is a characteristically Swiss institution. It is not merely that it is situated in the capital of a proudly independent canton where two traditions in Switzerland, represented by the French and German languages, meet. The very notion of a University where nearly half of both students and professional staff are foreigners is true to the national tradition of world service. Although the world service consisted for many centuries in supplying mercenaries for the armies of Europe, it is now best represented by the Red Cross and the various organizations concerned with world co-operation. To understand the spirit of the University and appreciate its worth one must understand something of its setting.

Clarity is one of the most striking features of the country: perhaps it is the clarity of the air which produces clarity in other respects. The cleanliness of the trains and the hygiene of the hospitals are well-known. One might ascribe this merely to a passion for neatness, an impatience with lack of order. But I think this would be unjust, in spite of some features which suggest this interpretation. The steely fingers of bureaucracy extend over the land, cutting across even the treasured individualism of the cantons, to an extent which even the obedient Englishman would find difficult to stomach.

That most expensive of all museum requisitions—Rembrandt’s ‘Aristotle Contemplating the Bust of Homer’—is in its way an authentic symbol of American culture, and that not merely because of the cash it cost. The picture, with its grave evocation of one generation contemplating another, of one genius paying homage to a predecessor, sums up the seriousness of American interest in the arts—a seriousness, however, which is constantly in need of reassurance. It is not enough to respond to the beauty of a painting or of a symphony: they have their public place, their established share by this in the American image, and they should be made to appear so.

Nowhere in the world are there such temples set up to the glory of the arts, and new and exciting projects, such as the Lincoln Centre in New York, will give fresh and overwhelming evidence of how much Americans care for their heritage, which is no longer simply the possession of old masters or the establishment of superb orchestras and opera. Art is to be used, and the lending services attached to every gallery as well as the huge popular response to concerts, not only in Philadelphia and New York, but in Cleveland, Minneapolis and many places besides, are proof of a genuine and generous interest.

From the early Church back to Jesus! If one were to sum up in one phrase the scope and purpose of modern New Testament study, this one, of Joachim Jeremias, could hardly be improved upon. One starts with the primitive Christian community; for by the time the earliest of the New Testament writings was composed, numerous groups had emerged of those who believed the gospel and were already striving to live their new faith. The New Testament enshrines the traditions by which they lived. It was written in response to their needs, among them and for them. In that important sense the New Testament is their book, the ‘prayer-book of the primitive Church’. These early Christian communities, springing up first at Jerusalem, then at Antioch, and then throughout the Roman empire, were striving to respond to a single historical event. What Jesus was, what he did and what he taught, these first Christians had received from ‘eye-witnesses and ministers of the word ‘(Lk. i, 2). And we receive it from them. Under the Holy Ghost we depend upon them utterly for our knowledge of our Saviour. It can be said then that the reality with which the New Testament faces and challenges our world is a body of believers swiftly growing and spreading throughout the empire of Claudius, Nero, Vespasian and Titus, each single member of which has his gaze steadfastly fixed upon a human figure at a point slightly further back in history, a point not directly visible to us. The community as a whole is responding with all its life-force to what it sees of ‘the Man on the other side of Easter Sunday morning’.