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PARTISAN REVIEW
In the dim hinterlands of the mind of that particular kind of liberal
I have sometimes been concerned to attack, there dwell a number of
monsters in the reality of which this liberal does not believe, though
they exist in his own mind and excite his own emotions. Two of these
monsters are religion and literature. The liberal who regards religion
as no more than the befuddled dream of theologians and anchorites and
literature as no more than the harmless play of the pleasure-principle
is dealing himself a prodigious injury. For
if
it be said that religion and
literature may be very fine and beautiful but that they have no relation
to politics or reason, a deeply schismed and Janus-like vision of things
is being advocated. Mr. Barrett's J anus-like vision invokes, though it
does not guarantee, an indispensable philosophic clarity and political
intransigence. And in so far, one cherishes his vision. But no one should
mistake Mr. Barrett's bifocal ideology for a complete view of life and
letters. It is well to try to reason clearly, but it is not well to cleave
oneself asunder in the attempt. The fate of liberalism, so far as any
of us can control it, will depend on the flexibility and resourcefulness
and self-criticism of the mind which is based on, but not imprisoned
within, the special doctrines of liberalism, Enlightenment doctrines.
The historians know that when human culture reduces itself to the
image of its instrumentality, it prepares itself for suicide. One of the
functions of literature is to preserve culture from its own reductions–
reductions of cogency, power, majesty, and humor-and one of the
functions of literary criticism is to help literature do this.
H it be replied that the Enlightenment is not an instrumentality but
the fountain of ultimate truth, I can only say that it looks to me a good
deal less ravishing than that. The Enlightenment is not ultimate; it must
be defined partly by reference not merely to the Renaissance but also
to the other periods of Western culture. The Enlightenment is not equiv–
alent to the nineteenth century, as Mr. Barrett seems to say. That is to
neglect the fact that some of the best thought of the nineteenth century
was devoted to a respectful reassessment of the Enlightenment. The
most useful ideas live in history by a sinuous adaptation, by capitulation
and attack, as well as by intransigence.
Perhaps these general remarks may benefit by more particular
ones. The five critics seem to agree that I myopically swim in a vague
and non-historical medium-or "jelly," as Mr. Barrett says-confusing
life with literature and denying history because, for example, I think
it possibly advisable to speak of lago in relation to liberalism. Mr.
Barrett correctly states that lago is a character in a play written before
liberalism, as we know it, was ever heard of. All I wish to hold out
