The Works of George Santayana

Category: LETTERS Page 48 of 274

Letters in Limbo ~ August 11, 1915

To Horace Meyer Kallen
C/o Brown Shipley & Co.
123 Pall Mall
London. August 11. 1915

Dear Kallen,

Your address on Nationality, for which I am much obliged, seems to put its finger on the right spot. Nationality seems to be behind the restlessness, ambition, and obduracy that brought the war about, behind the endurance and zeal of the combatants, and also before their eyes (in every camp) in so far as they see anything at all before them to aim at. But in a popular address you naturally couldn’t broach the questions that arise in the analytic mind on such a subject. If ninetenths of a man’s individuality are his nationality, nationality must cover a good deal that is common to all men, and much that is common to very few. And I hardly see how nationality, in this moral and inward sense, is to find political expression. Such national movements as the Italian, Balkan, or Irish are movements to establish what you call nationhood; so is Zionism, I suppose. Yet you hardly look to seeing the various nationalities in the U.S. establish special governments; I am not sure (I am so ignorant) whether the Pale is a district so preponderantly Jewish that a Jewish local government could be hoped for there. In these cases Nationality would have to be a voluntary and hazy thing: the degree to which anyone possessed it, the intensity and scope of his nationalism would be impossible to fix. And surely there is an American nationality as definite and potent as any other, and on the same plane as the Irish, German, Jewish, etc. Every hyphenated American will therefore have two nationalities: and I don’t understand exactly what you think should be the relation between them. In other words, aren’t you hesitating between the idea of a universal government with all nationalities free under it, and the idea of one nationality one government? It is the difficulty of realizing either of these ideals that seems to me to make nationality a problem rather than a solution.

There is no change in my life since I last described it to you.

Yours sincerely, G Santayana

From The Letters of George Santayana:  Book Two, 1910-1920.  Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2001.
Location of manuscript: YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, New York NY.

Letters in Limbo ~ August 10, 1939

250px-Cortina_belfry_aTo Matthew Hoehn
Cortina d’Ampezzo, Italy. August 10, 1939

Dear Father Hoehn,

I was christened in the Church and profess no other religion, so that from the point of view of the census-taker I am unmistakably a Catholic. My Protestant and Jewish critics also discover a good deal of Catholicism in my writings; but I have never been a practising Catholic, and my views in philosophy and history are incompatible with belief in any revelation. It would therefore be wholly misleading to classify me among “Catholic Authors”.

This is a sufficient answer to your inquiry, for the purpose of your book of biographies, in which I ought not to be included. Yet I may add, in case you are at all interested in my real relation to the Faith, that a well-grounded Catholic student might find my philosophy useful (like that of some of the ancients) in defending the moral, political and mystical doctrines of the Church. I think that all religious ideas are merely symbolical; but I think the same of the ideas of science and even of the senses: so that the way is cleared for faith, in deciding which set of symbols one will trust.

Sincerely yours,
G Santayana

From The Letters of George Santayana:  Book Six, 1937-1940.  Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2004.
Location of manuscript: Unknown.

Letters in Limbo ~ August 9, 1914

To Charles Augustus Strong
66 High Street
Oxford, England. August 9, 1914

It is useless to talk about the war, the subject is too vast, too absorbing, too imperfectly comprehensible. And yet we talk glibly about the universe, nous antres philosophers!

It seems that the line to Paris via Boulogne is still running, and if in the next two weeks events are favourable to the allies, and the way remains open, I may go back to Paris after all, to gather my things together, pack my books, and migrate Southward—very likely to Spain rather than to Italy, because the emotions of the moment make me feel the need of being near my own, and it is in Avila, with my sister, that I have the oldest and tenderest ties of my old and untender being.

From The Letters of George Santayana:  Book Two, 1910-1920.  Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2001.
Location of manuscript: Rockefeller Archive Center, Sleepy Hollow NY.

Letters in Limbo ~ August 8, 1940

To Nancy Saunders Toy
Hotel Savoia
Cortina d’Ampezzo, Italy. August 8, 1940

Since I came to Cortina, without any books, I have found another distraction of an imaginative kind for the afternoon: it is the complete works of Balzac in an excellent Italian version which I get for 30 cents a volume in a book-stall under an arch in this mountain town. I feel as I did in Oxford, where with all the books of the world at hand, I found solace from war-news in Dickens. Balzac is deeper in worldly knowledge, but never humorous or moving, and he would not serve for much comfort if I were as distressed now as I was in 1917. This picture of the world keeps politics, finance, and human perversity in general well in the foreground, without any real allegiance to any ideal compensations other than the artificial happy dénouement of some of the stories. But he gives me just what I need now, clearness in judging men and events. He is not cynical, he can even convert his villains on occasion, but he has no illusions and no prejudices, and can see the nobility or at least the humanity of all classes and parties. It is a support to philosophy at this moment when the public mind is subject to hysteria. I hope that events will soon bring us not only material peace, but the peace that comes from understanding.

I hope I may be inspired to write the verses you ask for, but poetry is even more remote from my habits than is a dinner-jacket. You wouldn’t want your little friends to laugh at me as an old dotard, who thinks he can sing.

Yours Sincerely,  G Santayana

From The Letters of George Santayana:  Book Six, 1937-1940.  Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2004.
Location of manuscript: The Houghton Library, Harvard University, Cambridge MA.

Letters in Limbo ~ August 7, 1888

old_emerson_hallTo William James
Ávila, Spain. August 7, 1888

Dear Prof. James,

Many thanks for your letter, and for your expressions of interest. I have not seen anywhere that residents can’t hold the Walker Fellowship, but if such be the case or even if it be thought that non-residents have a better claim to it, of course I am quite ready to resign. The doubt you express about my “fulfilling the purposes, etc” was a reason in my mind for returning to Harvard. I fancy that if I were there I should run less danger of being considered an unprofitable servant. Being a foreigner and coming from a rather different intellectual and moral milieu, I have a lighter and less conscience-stricken way of taking things, which produces the impression of idleness and frivolity in the absence of ocular proof that after all I do as much work as other people. You interpret my disillusions in the matter of philosophy rather too seriously. There is nothing tragic about them. I was drawn to philosophy in the beginning by curiosity and a natural taste for ingenious thinking, and my attachment to philosophy remains as firm as ever, as I said in my previous letters. These things never came to me as a personal problem, as a question of what was necessary for salvation. I was simply interested in seeing what pictures of the world and of human nature men had succeeded in sketching: and on better acquaintance I see reason to think that they are conventional and hieroglyphic in the extreme. But the interest in these delineations is no more destroyed for me by not trusting their result or their method than the charm of a play is destroyed if it is not historical. Philosophy does not cease to be a field of human activity and as such to have its significance and worth, and I cannot see why one so inclined by temperament cannot make good use of his time in that study, as in the study of art or comparative religion. Renan has said that no one can be a good historian of religion who has not been a believer and who is not a sceptic: the same may be true of philosophy. I therefore do not think that my present attitude unfits me to study philosophy or to teach it, although I can easily imagine that others may not be of my opinion in this respect. I will therefore not throw up the fellowship on the ground that I have had a moral and mental collapse, a conversion to the devil, as it were, that unfits me, as insanity might, to hold any official position. I have had nothing of the sort. My notions about the possibilities of human thought and knowledge have gradually changed, and I have become convinced that most of our scheme of doctrine is built on false or arbitrary axioms. But this has been no personal crisis, no inward transformation. There may have been moments when I have tired of certain authors, or certain problems, and in this mood I may have said something liable to be misunderstood. But the good authors, the sharp and radical thinkers, are still my delight and even my chief amusement, and I can imagine no more congenial task than to talk them over with other students. I have known all along that there was little chance of my being trusted anywhere with a professorship of philosophy: but I have taken this opportunity of study for its own sake and for mine, thinking that I could always live by teaching one thing or another, while I have not enough to live on without work.

This is frankly the way I feel about the matter. If it seems to you that under the circumstances it would be better to give up the fellowship, I am ready to do so. At any rate I intend to return to America, as it is a better country than this to get a living in, and for the present I can live with my mother. I shall probably arrive about Sept 15, when I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you.

Yours ever,
G Santayana

From The Letters of George Santayana:  Book One, [1868]-1909.  Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2001.
Location of manuscript: The Houghton Library, Harvard University, Cambridge MA.

Page 48 of 274

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