Even a brief passage of his writing has something about it which demands attention—a sense of stubborn, unfashionable integrity, a combination of distinction and force. His work, over the past ten years, carries an authority which commands the respect of his opponents; and the positions which he has occupied must be negotiated by critics and by historians, by educational theorists, by sociologists and by political theorists.
This is to say that his work is very important indeed, and that—so far as we can speak of a New Left—he is our best man. But, paradoxically, his influence as a socialist critic has been accompanied by—and has, to a certain degree, been the consequence of—his own partial disengagement from the socialist intellectual tradition.
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It is this problem which I wish to discuss. At times, in Culture and Society , I felt that I was being offered a procession of disembodied voices— Burke, Carlyle, Mill, Arnold—their meanings wrested out of their whole social context that French Revolution—is its full shock and recoil really felt behind Mr.
I sometimes imagine this medium and it is the churchgoing solemnity of the procession which provokes me to irreverence as an elderly gentlewoman and near relative of Mr. Eliot, so distinguished as to have become an institution: The Tradition. The first brash word, the least suspicion of laughter or polemic in her presence, and The Tradition might drop a stitch and have to start knitting all those definitions over again.
The tone in which one must speak in the presence of The Tradition has recently been indicated by Mr. You can feel the pause and effort: the necessary openness and honesty of a man listening to another, in good faith, and then replying. The point, as Mr. Williams would say, is taken: genuine communication can be like this, and this also tells us much about the strength of his own style.
