Académique Documents
Professionnel Documents
Culture Documents
CONSERVATIVE
TURN
MICHAEL KIMMAGE
H A R VA R D U N I V E R S I T Y P R E S S
Cambridge, Massachusetts
London, England
2009
Copyright © 2009 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College
Kimmage, Michael.
The conservative turn : Lionel Trilling, Whittaker Chambers, and the lessons of
anti-communism / Michael Kimmage.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-674-03258-3
1. Trilling, Lionel, 1905–1975—Political and social views. 2. Chambers, Whittaker—Political and
social views. 3. Right and left (Political science) 4. Communism—United States—History.
5. United States—Intellectual life—20th century. I. Title.
PS3539.R56Z83 2009
818'.5209—dc22 2008029729
Petersburg, 1913. A lyrical digression: the last reminiscence of Tsarskoe
Selo. The wind mumbles, perhaps a recollection, perhaps a prophesy:
Acknowledgments xi
Introduction 1
1 Sons of the Bourgeoisie: Portrait of Lionel
Trilling and Whittaker Chambers as Young Men 15
2 Red Years in the Red Decade: Pursuing Soviet
Alternatives 46
3 Kronstadt: The Break 78
4 First Steps in an Anti-Stalinist World 109
5 Toward an Anti-Communism of the Left and an
Anti-Communism of the Right 140
6 Fictional Anti-Communism: Lionel Trilling’s
The Middle of the Journey 173
7 Witness: The Trial of Whittaker Chambers 203
8 Conservatism and the Anti-Communist Self 236
9 The Establishment of an Anti-Communist
Intelligentsia 268
Epilogue 303
Notes 315
Index 411
INTRODUCTION
1
I N T R O D U C T I O N
the second was the postwar rise of the Republican Party, and the third was
the ascendancy of Richard Nixon within the Republican Party. An icon of
New Deal ambition, Alger Hiss had worked in various federal agencies,
coming into government with recommendations from Harvard Law
School, as if recruited to personify Roosevelt’s brain trust. Hiss knew
Franklin Roosevelt personally and although his conviction for perjury and
implied treason did not destroy the New Deal, they did challenge the
moral authority of New Dealers. If Hiss was a communist, who else from
his world—from within the government, from within the Roosevelt
administration—might be a comrade? The Democrats had held the White
House since 1932; they would lose it in 1952. Senator Joseph McCarthy, for
whom every Democrat and not a few Republicans were potential Alger
Hisses, exploited the advantage the Hiss case handed to the Republican
Party. A far cannier politician than McCarthy was Richard Nixon, without
whom there would have been no Hiss case at all. A junior representative
from California, Nixon was a member of HUAC in 1948. He never wa-
vered in his belief that Hiss was guilty and that Chambers was a hero. At
the outset, and possibly with the help of a tip-off, Nixon’s persistence kept
the Hiss case alive.1 Nixon’s efforts were abundantly rewarded when he be-
came vice president in 1952, the credentialed anti-communist on the
Eisenhower ticket and a prophylactic against McCarthyism. Nixon would
serve two terms as vice president, proceeding to win presidential elections
in 1968 and 1972.
The Hiss case inaugurated a new division between Left and Right in the
United States, changes that were registered and at times anticipated in in-
tellectual life. The 1950s witnessed the emergence of conservative intellec-
tuals who were politically minded. The aesthete conservatives of the
1920s—T. S. Eliot, for example—might have been monarchists or fascists,
but they all stood (proudly) on the fringes of American politics. A conserva-
tive intellectual of the 1930s and 1940s, Albert Jay Nock acknowledged the
lonely status of conservatives in his 1943 autobiography Memoirs of a Su-
perfluous Man, more the protagonist of a nineteenth-century Russian novel
than a hero in the American vein. In the 1930s intellectual dynamism and
self-confidence had belonged largely to the Left. The Great Depression,
coupled with the growing power of fascism in Europe, had left American
conservatives confused and unpopular. The conservative intellectuals of
the 1950s were ideologically astute in a way that earlier conservatives were
not. Several of these new conservatives had mastered the intricacies of
2
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3
I N T R O D U C T I O N
In the years between the 1930s and 1950s, anti-communism was not the
sole impetus for change in America’s political and intellectual life. Nor
was it the only cause of the conservative turn. The New Deal and World
War II restored American capitalism, if not to its laissez-faire glory days
then at least to a renewed sense of confidence in itself; the postwar eco-
nomic boom heightened this sense of confidence. The growth of Ameri-
can military power, culminating in the Cold War, followed from old
trends dating back to the nineteenth century when the United States
amassed extraordinary territory and wealth. Furthermore, Right and Left,
as argued about by intellectuals, were not synonymous with the fate of the
Republican and Democratic parties. These parties might at times benefit
from the help of intellectuals, but they were also beholden to forces other
than ideological debate and controversy, and they were transformed by
principles other than those devised by intellectuals. The hard calculus of
electoral college votes matters more in American politics than does any
idea or theory of politics. The postwar political climate did not emanate
from the pages of intellectual magazines such as Partisan Review, Com-
mentary, or National Review. Likewise, the opportunism of politicians
such as Nixon and McCarthy threw into question the political impor-
tance of anti-communist intellectuals. Intellectuals’ ideas were valuable
but rarely in the way they were intended to be. Often, anti-communism
was politically useful without any relation to ideas at all. Intellectuals did
not single-handedly determine political change, and anti-communism
was valid for reasons other than its intellectual substance. As far as the
conservative turn of the postwar period is concerned, the writing of intel-
lectuals is only one piece of a large and complicated puzzle.
Nevertheless, midcentury intellectual history illuminates a peculiar po-
litical circumstance. The cardinal experience of American intellectuals
in the 1930s was their encounter with Soviet communism, and a central
problem facing the American polity in the 1950s, from its culture to its
foreign policy, was that of domestic and foreign communism. This pecu-
liar circumstance can be conveyed in a single vivid example. In the 1930s,
as Irving Howe, Irving Kristol, and Daniel Bell were coming of age, they
furiously debated questions of communism—parsing the words of Marx,
Lenin, Trotsky, and Stalin—in alcove one in the cafeteria of the City Col-
lege of New York. They were honing the ideas and arguments of the anti-
Stalinist Left by analyzing the trajectory that led from Marx to Stalin and
investing their collegiate high spirits in one of the most important intel-
4
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5
I N T R O D U C T I O N
born on Long Island in 1901 into a declining middle-class family that was
formerly Protestant and effectively atheist. Trilling’s family was Jewish.
He was born in New York City in 1905 but his parents had immigrated to
the United States from Poland. Both men were communists for a time
and, after considerable turmoil, they became anti-communists. Trilling
would take the lessons of anti-communism to the Left or, to use his word
of choice, to liberalism. Chambers would do the same on the Right. Side
by side, their careers reinforced the congruence between the intellectual
preoccupations of the 1930s and the political configurations of the 1950s.
A rough parallelism in experience connected Trilling and Chambers.
They got their intellectual start at the same literary magazine, The Morn-
ingside, which was published by Columbia undergraduates. Of the two,
Chambers was the first to become a communist, joining the Communist
Party around 1923 and eventually entering its underground. Chambers
was as deeply involved as he could be: he was a spy for the Soviet Union.
Trilling and most other Morningside contributors followed suit—with
their sympathy for communism, not by becoming spies—in the early
1930s, although Trilling never joined the Party. By the mid-1930s Trilling
had broken ranks before he could ever become an enthusiast of the Pop-
ular Front. In 1937–1938, Chambers moved precipitously from the radical
Left to the Right, ending up as an outspoken conservative editor at Time
magazine; his decision to abandon communism has been called (hyper-
bolically) “one of the most significant events of the twentieth century.”6
Trilling’s magazine of choice in the late 1930s was not Time but Partisan
Review, the scourge of pro-Soviet communists and very much an initiative
from the Left. By 1940, both Trilling and Chambers were anti-communist
intellectuals of note, translating anti-communism into the vocabulary of
American culture. They took it upon themselves to preach the anti-
communist gospel in the 1940s, and in this decade they devoted most
of their energy to the practice of anti-communism. They strove to con-
vince their readers that the Soviet Union and communism were a men-
ace, a threat to Western civilization as well as to the American republic.
After breaking with communism, Chambers dedicated himself to the
modernization of the Right. Conservatives might admit that the West was
“this sick society,” as Chambers described it in Witness, his autobiogra-
phy, but before they could heal a sickly West they would have to accom-
modate themselves to it.7 The stakes were too high for failure. If the
United States were to fail the Soviet Union would surely succeed, and
6
I N T R O D U C T I O N
this was what Chambers wished to prevent at all costs. Chambers focused
on anti-communism with a pragmatic eye and a willingness to compro-
mise his own more extreme convictions. Although he did not gladly enter
the maelstrom of the Hiss case, the event greatly helped his cause. Cham-
bers’s friendship with Nixon, which followed from the Hiss case, lent him
the ear of a vice president as of 1952 and of a senator before that. Cham-
bers argued against William F. Buckley Jr., a young admirer of his and
founder of the conservative magazine National Review, who considered
Eisenhower too centrist to be a conservative statesman. A powerful, if pes-
simistic, theorist of American conservatism, Chambers promoted the
modernization of the Right via the Republican Party, claiming that mass
politics, rather than subtle ideas, was crucial to political action. If the
Right could fend off the Soviet Union and the philo-communist Left in
America, then it could address itself to the evils of a godless modernity. In
the meantime, anti-communism would have to do.
The anti-Stalinist Trilling presided over the moderation of the intel-
lectual Left. Author of an essay collection titled The Opposing Self,
Trilling’s thoughts often went in circles. He questioned himself repeat-
edly, making use of his self-doubt in essays that exposed the dangers of
facile self-confidence and rigid political posturing. If Trilling doubted
his own position after rejecting Soviet communism, he did not doubt
the pernicious influence of Stalinism, a complex of radical attitudes to-
ward art, culture, and politics that he attributed to the intellectuals of
the 1930s. One need not adore Stalin to be complicit with Stalinism,
Trilling believed, for Stalinism had become an organic part of Ameri-
can culture in the 1930s. From the 1930s onward, Trilling was one of
the subtlest critics of Stalinism, but his subtlety did not temper his zeal:
in his short stories and one published novel he depicted Stalinism in
the harshest possible light. In his essays of the 1940s, several of which
were gathered into his 1950 book The Liberal Imagination, Trilling
contrasted an urbane liberal imagination to the vulgar radicalism of
the 1930s, advocating the replacement of a philo-communist ethos with
one that combined conservatism and liberalism. With Trilling, anti-
communist liberalism acquired intellectual depth and a kind of bour-
geois respectability about which Trilling had his own characteristic
doubts. He was not one to join a movement, not even one of his own
making. In his combination of liberalism and conservatism Trilling
was sui generis.
7
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8
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9
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10
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11
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to be.13 Yet the neoconservative movement, with its many Jewish voices,
did not eschew the legacy of Chambers the Protestant. Religion was often
promoted by the first neoconservative generation as it has been by the
second—by William Kristol, the son of Irving Kristol and Gertrude Him-
melfarb, by David Brooks, and by many others. Religion is good in its own
right, and it is the ideal antidote to radicalism, a shield against the Left and
its seductive secular utopianism. The Jewish neoconservatives and the
Christian Chambers could agree on this point.14 As for political strategy,
Chambers’s advice throughout the 1950s was for conservatives to work
through the Republican Party. On the merits of this advice, a neoconserv-
ative such as Podhoretz and an older conservative such as Chambers’s
friend William F. Buckley Jr. could join hands, as they eventually did, fel-
low admirers of Chambers’s student, Ronald Reagan. Chambers recom-
mended using practical means to achieve ideological ends.15 In the 1970s
and 1980s many neoconservatives refused to align themselves with a splin-
ter party, one more in harmony with their ideas than the imperfect Re-
publican and Democratic parties. Under Ronald Reagan, the Republican
Party was a populist force and a vehicle for anti-communist conservatism
to which neoconservative intellectuals could and did contribute.16
The path from Trilling, a lifelong Democrat, to Reagan is anything but
straight. Once a student at Columbia, David Horowitz has likened him-
self to Chambers, and he has also paid tribute to Trilling by calling him
“one of the most perceptive liberal thinkers.”17 Trilling had scrutinized
the psychology of the Left in ambitious essays and reviews; he was impor-
tant to neoconservatives for his cool intellectual style, his sophistication,
his awareness of cultural nuance, his vast erudition. Trilling ushered con-
servative ideas into his essays and books with the aim of expanding the lib-
eral imagination and widening the parameters of American intellectual
culture, opening the door to conservative ideas without ever walking
through to the other side. He wrote appreciatively about the (reactionary)
politics of T. S. Eliot, about the moral vision of the Victorians, about the
merit of hierarchy, and of stable ethical values. He championed the sin-
cerity of eighteenth-century culture by contrasting it to the destructive
modern search for authenticity. Trilling’s critique of liberalism—intended
as an internal liberal affair—could be used for other purposes. Indeed, the
literary scholar Ruth Wisse understands Trilling’s 1947 novel The Middle
of the Journey as “a blueprint for the cultural reversal that became known
as neoconservatism.” Wisse argues that the neoconservative implications
12
I N T R O D U C T I O N
are latent in Trilling’s writing—latent but crucial. They needed only the
right set of architects to build upon the blueprint. In a similar vein, Cor-
nel West has called Trilling the godfather of neoconservatism.18
One architect working off the Trilling blueprint was historian Gertrude
Himmelfarb, who was a friend of Trilling’s together with her husband, Irv-
ing Kristol; both Kristol and Himmelfarb were central figures in the neo-
conservative movement. Himmelfarb’s 1994 essay collection On Looking
into the Abyss is so close to Trilling in style and subject as to be almost a di-
alogue with him. “Rereading Trilling’s essay [“On the Teaching of Modern
Literature”],” Himmelfarb writes at the beginning of On Looking into the
Abyss, “I was struck by how pertinent it is to the present state of the aca-
demic culture; indeed, it is more pertinent now than it was in his own day.”
Himmelfarb continues: “Trilling was troubled by the ease with which the
great books were emasculated (a word one hardly dares use today), the way
passionate affirmations were reduced to rote formulas and subversive ideas
were banal and respectable. But his students were at least reading those
books and confronting those ideals. One cannot say that now with any con-
fidence.”19 The light cast by Trilling’s example makes even his dilemmas
enviable. As a historian of Victorian Britain, Himmelfarb has continued
the comparison between nineteenth-century Britain and modern America
that Trilling explored throughout his career as simultaneously a scholar of
English literature and an American intellectual. Himmelfarb respects
Trilling for his moral imagination, which was touched with something con-
servative; she has titled one of her books The Moral Imagination: From Ed-
mund Burke to Lionel Trilling. Lionel Trilling’s wife, Diana, was emphatic
about her husband’s liberalism, but her defense of his liberalism is couched
in curiously retrospective language: “I am of the firmest belief,” she wrote
in her memoir, “that he [Lionel] would never have become a neoconserva-
tive . . . his own stand was in the traditional liberalism of the nineteenth
century and, complicate though he does, he remained a traditional liberal
until his death.”20
The neoconservatives came out of an anti-communist intelligentsia,
which Trilling and Chambers had helped to create in the 1940s and 1950s.
Its cultural side was in New York and in western Europe and its political
side in Washington, D.C. It was united by a single assumption: not just
that communism was a moral disaster but that communism was a living
threat to America and to Western civilization. American power was the last
resort against this threat, and the anti-communist intelligentsia—whether
13
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14
1
SONS OF THE BOURGEOISIE
Herodotus—Sophocles—Plato—Aristotle—Demosthenes—
Cicero—Vergil
Horace—Tacitus—St. Augustine—St. Thomas Aquinas
Cervantes—Shakespeare—Dante—Milton—Voltaire—Goethe
—names on the façade of columbia university’s
butler libr ary, completed in 1934
adical times called for radical measures or at least for radical ges-
R tures. Whittaker Chambers first achieved notoriety as a college un-
dergraduate when he wrote an atheist play “A Play for Puppets,” which
he published in Columbia College’s literary journal, The Morningside.
His adviser, the celebrated literary scholar Mark Van Doren, described the
play as “brilliant.” A journalist at the New York Tribune observed that the
play had “a distinctly Wildean flavor.” Others were less impressed. Profes-
sor John Erskine, doyen of humanities at Columbia and creator of its
“great books” program, found Chambers’s play immoral. Erskine deni-
grated “A Play for Puppets” as “cheap,” and he engineered Chambers’s res-
ignation as editor of The Morningside in October 1922. In one of several
15
S O N S O F T H E B O U R G E O I S I E
16
S O N S O F T H E B O U R G E O I S I E
17
S O N S O F T H E B O U R G E O I S I E
18
S O N S O F T H E B O U R G E O I S I E
in his household; Trilling did not grow up on the Lower East Side of
Manhattan; he did not have Yiddish-speaking parents. Through his par-
ents, he had a purchase on English-language culture that was highly un-
usual for a child of immigrants. He did not Anglicize a foreign-sounding
last name as so many of his Jewish contemporaries did, although the
Trillings’ Anglophilia was by no means the only constituent of Lionel’s
cultural inheritance. His parents were pious Jews, and they were patriotic
Americans. Trilling’s father came from a family that was, as Lionel re-
called in 1972, “intellectually distinguished in Bialystock, Poland, which
was also the birthplace of my mother’s father, a city in which there was a
flourishing Jewish culture.” An affection for England and its literature did
not translate into a repudiation of Judaism: “The family religion was or-
thodox and was taken very seriously, with quite strict observance, but in
a spirit of conscious enlightenment.”10 The bridge between the Trillings’
Orthodoxy and their allegiance to America was their piety. Trilling re-
membered his parents’ joy that their son was born on the fourth of July:
“my parents’ piety towards their adopted country had been rewarded.”
The piety was not political in any specific way but it was civic minded:
“both parents had a strong explicit feeling for traditional civility and were
remarkably accurate in knowing what constituted it in America.” In an
unfinished memoir Trilling wrote of “the circumstance that my boyhood
was suffused by the sense of its being specifically American.”11 The
Anglophilia, the Judaism, and the American patriotism reinforced each
other, and all three were harmonized by a fervent commitment to “the
idea of ‘culture,’ of a life shaped to several kinds of amenity.”12
Trilling and Chambers grew up among conservative influences.
Chambers’s parents were Republicans, and Trilling would later define
the ideals of his parents as conservative, ascribing to them the conserva-
tive tendency in his own character. “The conservative tendency is, I feel
sure, to be traced to my family and not least to what I think can be called
its piety in the good sense of the word,” Trilling wrote to a graduate stu-
dent in 1972. Piety, the bridge to America, was also Trilling’s link to Ju-
daism: “this [piety] was rooted, I think it can be said, in religion, even
when it manifested itself in specifically social ideals.” Once again, Ju-
daism contributed to civility: “the emphasis my parents put on manners
was, it has long seemed to me, in accord with the orthodox Jewish insis-
tence on ritually precise behavior.” Finally, “religion reinforced my curi-
ously vivid consciousness of the past and the authority it had in my
19
S O N S O F T H E B O U R G E O I S I E
imagination.” The Judaism that Trilling outlined in this letter was rather
ethereal; it was not a matter of law or dogma or belief. As such, Judaism
could easily be assimilated into a secular culture. If he chose, Trilling
could dispense with the ritually precise behavior and keep the manners
that followed from it, as he traveled further and further into America.
With a culture shaped to various kinds of amenity, upheld by an “ancient
ethos of bourgeois self-esteem,” Trilling was prepared for Columbia as an
institution.13 At the same time, he was prematurely alienated from the
cultural and political radicalism percolating at Columbia, which shaped
his generation of intellectuals. At college the conservative tendency
would be modified by a liberal tendency. However they modified each
other, Trilling’s various pieties would help keep him within the world of
his bourgeois, Anglophilic parents. His career as a professor of English lit-
erature would realize the ideals of their world.14
The ancient ethos of bourgeois self-esteem was not the spirit that ani-
mated the Chambers family. Later in life, Chambers saw his family as
representative, as participants in a historical trajectory that was making a
mockery of bourgeois self-esteem. He titled the second section of his au-
tobiography, Witness, “The Story of a Middle Class Family.” This bland
title was a polemic against the inadequacy, hopelessness even, of the sub-
urban middle-class family. By the early twentieth century, Chambers’s
polemic went, the bourgeois ethos had become one of self-loathing. This
was a conviction that Chambers developed in his adolescence and never
discarded. It shaped his communist sympathies, convincing him that the
proletariat was destined to replace an exhausted, decadent bourgeoisie.
The horror of bourgeois life also informed his conservatism, especially
the religious and pastoral qualities of his ultimate conservatism, to which
he opposed the secular and urban ethos of the bourgeoisie.15 For Cham-
bers these political positions derived their force from the example of his
actual family, “rock-rib Republicans from way back.” His parents were
also “the intellectuals of that period; that is, were aware of the new ideas
and read the latest books.”16 Their culture was their undoing: “our house
was a peeling outpost of what both my father and mother would have
summed up as ‘culture.’ ” Perhaps it was their intellectuality, perhaps
their culture that singled out the Chambers from the other families in
Lynbrook, Long Island, for they were known locally as “the French fam-
ily.”17 This family of rock-ribbed Republicans was also profoundly alien-
ated from the country around them. As Chambers described his younger
20
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21
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friends,’ said the Bishop pleasantly, ‘I know why you are smiling. You
think that it is pretty presumptuous of a poor priest to use the same con-
veyance that was used by Jesus Christ.’ Thus I first learned the meaning of
the word bourgeois, so that, unlike most Americans, I was quite familiar
with it when I came across it later in the writings of Marx and Lenin.” An
outsider in the eyes of others, Chambers willingly became an outsider to
the bourgeois ethos. He resolved never “to live a life in which money,
comfort, appearances and pleasure mean success.”20
If Chambers’s animus against the bourgeoisie was rooted in his family, it
had another source in his homosexual leanings. Chambers may not have
had any homosexual experiences until the 1930s, but he expressed his de-
sires in homoerotic poetry, which he published in the 1920s.21 Chambers
knew first-hand the threat that homosexuality posed to the family. His fa-
ther had lived for a time with a male lover, and Whittaker’s childhood was
punctuated by his father’s absences. In a 1924 letter, Chambers described
his sensuality as “gaining on me and [it] may be fated to overthrow what-
ever high fantasy of hope and beauty I may uprear. Curtailment does no
good; desire battens on unsatisfaction; and in the end I surrender myself to
what is destined before the event to waste me and make me unhappy.”22
Homosexual tendencies could only have contributed to Chambers’s im-
age of himself as on the margins of the respectable bourgeois world.23
However, if his sensuality struck him as destructive, it was not to be cur-
tailed for the sake of preserving the declining middle-class family. He was
not going to defend a lost cause. The legacy, then, of his troubled family
was almost entirely negative, a series of shortcomings and failures that
amounted to a painful vacancy. Les Misérables may have helped him un-
derstand this vacancy as a modern phenomenon with a modern vocabu-
lary. Chambers would have to look elsewhere if he hoped to fill it.
Throughout their lives, literature was the strongest link between
Chambers and Trilling; they were to be literary intellectuals, moving
back and forth between the world of politics and the world of literature.
Les Misérables was a favorite novel of Trilling’s father, described by Diana
Trilling, Lionel’s wife, in her memoirs as “his secular Talmud.”24 Trilling’s
parents taught him to revere literature and art. In Diana Trilling’s de-
scription, art served as a substitute for religion, or an extension of it, in the
Trilling household. Significantly, Trilling’s mother wanted her son to
become a professor, not a rabbi, the operative image derived from the
English mythos. In the words of Diana Trilling, Lionel’s mother “had
22
S O N S O F T H E B O U R G E O I S I E
early decided that Lionel was to have an Oxford Ph.D.; he said he could
not have been more than four or five when she first announced this to
him.”25 Lionel might thus extend the pieties of his family into the mod-
ern world, which was indeed the world of bourgeois success. For Cham-
bers, Les Misérables was no secular bible, and it offered no avenue for
the preservation of religious piety in the modern world. It was a mirror
of this shattered world, a record of bourgeois smugness. A devoted
reader of literature from his childhood onward, Chambers was not in-
clined to experience salvation in art. Trilling may not have looked for
salvation, but in art he had a spiritual resource that Chambers would
find only in politics and religion. So much was clear before they arrived
at college.
These dissimilar sons of the bourgeoisie made their way to Columbia,
where each of them received two discreet educations. One was in the
classic works of Western civilization, as determined by the Columbia
great books curriculum. The other was at The Morningside, among a co-
terie of passionately intellectual undergraduates who were affiliated with
the magazine. The university curriculum, combined with the unofficial
curriculum of The Morningside circle, familiarized Trilling and Cham-
bers with both sides of “the great earthquake crevice between Paul Elmer
More and H. L. Mencken.”26 With these words, Edmund Wilson charac-
terized the dichotomy between the genteel humanists of the academy,
like Paul Elmer More or John Erskine, and Mencken, the red-blooded
satirist of 1920s journalism, between a humanism that looked back to
nineteenth-century certainties and a modern sensibility colored by skep-
ticism, mordant irony, and urbane sophistication. It was not simply
Mencken’s gift for satire and sarcasm that distinguished him from the ac-
ademic humanists. It was his involvement with Friedrich Nietzsche and
with Nietzsche’s radical assault on the Enlightenment.27 If Columbia’s
curriculum encouraged Chambers and Trilling to identify with the rec-
ognized masterworks of Western civilization, with Western civilization as
achievement, members of The Morningside circle tended to assume that
this same civilization was synonymous with crisis. From their cherished
modern writers—Dostoevsky, Nietzsche, André Gide, James Joyce, and
T. S. Eliot—The Morningside circle assimilated “our immediate moder-
nity of explicit despair,” in Trilling’s evocative phrase.28 Trilling and Cham-
bers considered despair the mark of their generation and of their moment
in history.
23
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24
S O N S O F T H E B O U R G E O I S I E
course—the idea that great works of art and thought are a decisive part in
shaping the life of the polity.”31 One might use art and thought to trans-
form the polity—they had that power—and because of this power there
was no need to wallow in despair, to wring one’s hands because the vulgar
masses were neglecting the life of the mind.32 Chambers, too, had clearly
assimilated its spirit. Throughout his career he would treat art and thought
as agents that shape the polity. This notion frames Chambers’s autobiogra-
phy, Witness, and Trilling’s collection of essays, The Liberal Imagination,
the two most famous books of these general honors alumni.
Trilling’s liberal imagination was intimately connected to Columbia.
Indeed, “the liberal-democratic tendency was the mark that Columbia
put upon me,” Trilling later explained. He defined this mark as “a sort of
Bertrand Russell view of life,” going on to say that “a considerable part of
my expectation of life was shaped by Wells and Shaw.” It was a signature
assumption of Trilling’s that writers of fiction supply political labels with
their cultural content. The liberal-democratic tendency was a tradition at
a university where “part of the . . . legend was the reactionary moves that
had been made by the President and the Trustees against certain faculty
during war, and all intelligent students were conscious of this.” However,
the historians “[Charles] Beard and [James Harvey] Robinson were al-
ready in the past; they were martyr figures in the legend,” lost to the past-
partly because they were so robustly political and not at all literary. With
the students who had arrived on campus after World War I, things were
quite different: “I can recall virtually no explicit political concern, only a
feeling that conservatism was stupid—not intelligent—and the sense that
the world was changing, that modernity was upon us. Whittaker Cham-
bers was radical—I.W.W.—but this was thought of as merely an interest-
ing idiosyncrasy.”33 The feeling that conservatism was stupid did not
banish a certain dread of the new: modernity was “upon us.”
For Trilling, Columbia’s liberal-democratic tendency was more of an
attitude than a considered philosophical position, not that its mark was in
any way superficial. Trilling, the archetypal intellectual, recalled that “as
an undergraduate I made no claim to intellect.” Trilling saw himself as
“literary, that is to say intuitive, perceptive, sensitive, etc.” Trilling’s life-
long skepticism regarding orthodoxies and absolutisms might be linked to
the liberal-democratic tradition Columbia impressed upon him and, in
turn, to the pragmatism of John Dewey, but his literary mindset was al-
most unphilosophical. Trilling’s reluctance to align himself with intellect
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