The Liberal Tradition in America, by Louis Hartz, appeared in 1955. Since then it has taken a place among those few recent essays interpreting the course of American political thought that deserve our serious consideration. One thinks of works by Hofstadter, Boorstin, and Rossiter as comparable examples of the genre. In examining Professor Hartz's book, or any of its counterparts, I cannot believe that it would be useful or proper to assume the solemn office of a high tribunal, weighing the merits of a candidate for immortality. Classics declare themselves in their own good time. To treat an interesting contemporary discussion as an established masterpiece would be to sink the book under a punitive burden.

As a European historian who has learned to believe that everything worthwhile was discovered by the Germans until it was rediscovered earlier by the Russians, I am somewhat annoyed at having to admit that Mr. Hartz has written something eminently satisfying to my kinfolk and me. He stimulates in us a measure of condescending sympathy with American historians, who must deal with this crazy American people, none of whom apparently knows who he really is—he really is his own grandpa—and each of whom, like the proverbial piano player in the sporting house, is completely ignorant of what goes on upstairs. And how lucky I feel to be working in the clear atmosphere of Europe, where our classes are clean-cut, our parties shrewd and perceptive of their own interests, our political philosophy real and earnest. It is true that according to this picture the socialism we have is not quite as real as the feudalism we used to have, but then, nothing in the historical world is quite perfect. Indeed, Mr. Hartz' view of European history is, if anything, too perfect. It is reminiscent of a Rube Goldberg mechanism in which a fat nobleman opens the door at one end of a corridor and sets off a chain reaction which explodes Nicolai Lenin out the door at the other end.

The aspect of Professor Hartz's book which I find particularly challenging, but with which I cannot wholly agree, is his view that American politics is characterized by an absence of fundamental conflicts. I do agree that American political struggles have been different from those of Europe, and that this difference can be aptly characterized as a consequence of the fact that, in the Tocquevilleian formula, we have arrived at a state of democracy without having had to endure a democratic revolution. Americans have seldom experienced the particular passions engendered by the impact of the idea of equality upon class distinctions derived from a feudal regime. But it seems to me that the conflicts of American politics, while in one sense attenuated by the comparative absence of a feudal inheritance, in another sense have been intensified by this very fact, by reason of the immediacy of the demands of equality. If all Americans did not accept with such thoroughness. the pre-eminent “Lockeian” tenet, there would not be the persistent record of violent anger and frustration attending what each group of Americans regarded as its just inheritance from the operation of that tenet. To take the single most overpowering present-day example: where in the world but America could there be such simultaneous demands for color-blindness and color-consciousness in the regulation of all institutions patronized by law? Yet both the power and the simultaneity of these demands are assertions of the claims of equality: one side insisting that no law is valid which recognizes inequality of rights; the other insisting that none is valid which does not incorporate their uncoerced opinions or consent. Hartz does not examine the genuine difficulties which inhere in the attempt to create a society dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. He observes the virtual unanimity with which Americans have been committed to it, and he observes that they have nonetheless gone on quarreling. He concludes wrongly, however, that they have therefore quarreled over phantoms or irrelevancies. The reason for this mistaken judgment is the implicit thesis that quarrels which are genuine and profound are always quarrels in which the idea of equality is in competition with its opposite.

With an eye to their own life goals, the native peoples of Pacific Islands unwittingly present to anthropologists a generous scientific gift: an extended series of experiments in cultural adaptation and evolutionary development. They have compressed their institutions within the confines of infertile coral atolls, expanded them on volcanic islands, created with the means history gave them cultures adapted to the deserts of Australia, the mountains and warm coasts of New Guinea, the rain forests of the Solomon Islands. From the Australian Aborigines, whose hunting and gathering existence duplicates in outline the cultural life of the later Paleolithic, to the great chiefdoms of Hawaii, where society approached the formative levels of the old Fertile Crescent civilizations, almost every general phase in the progress of primitive culture is exemplified.

The accepted tripartite divisions of the formal study both of mankind's past and present are to a considerable extent based on man's development first of language and later of writing. Looked at in the perspective of time, man's biological evolution shades into prehistory when he becomes a language-using animal; add writing, and history proper begins. Looked at in a temporal perspective, man as animal is studied primarily by the zoologist, man as talking animal primarily by the anthropologist, and man as talking and writing animal primarily by the sociologist.