They, the standard bearers of the mind, found themselves dreading reasonas an enemy, logic as a pursuer, thought as an avenger. They, the proponentsof ideas, found themselves clinging to the belief that ideas were impotent:their choice was the futility of a charlatan or the guilt of a traitor. They werenot mediocrities when they began their careers; they were pretentiousmediocrities when they ended. The exceptions are growing rarer with everygeneration. No one can accept with psychological impunity the function of aWitch Doctor under the banner of the intellect.With nothing but quicksands to stand on—the shifting mixture of Witchdoctoryand Attila-ism as their philosophical base—the intellectuals wereunable to grasp, to identify or to evaluate the historical drama taking placebefore them: the industrial revolution and capitalism. They were like menwho did not see the splendor of a rocket bursting over their heads, becausetheir eyes were lowered in guilt. It was their job to see and to explain—to asociety of men stumbling dazedly out of a primeval dungeon—the cause andthe meaning of the events that were sweeping them faster and farther thanthe motion of all the centuries behind them. The intellectuals did not chooseto see.
