The story Menand tells - and it is very much a story, one of the book's chief strengths - is a familiar one in modern history: the attempt to reconstruct an intellectual and cultural firmament in the wake of a cataclysm in which the previous one was destroyed. Similar attempts after the World Wars have been amply studied. Likely we will see similar explorations of European culture after the Cold War; the last chapters of Tony Judt's superlative "Postwar" preview some of the directions such inquiries may take.
The events Menand covers took place on another continent and in a different century. He focuses on how a group of thinkers which briefly coalesced in the early 1870s in the eponymous Metaphysical Club, strove to assemble out of the wreckage of the Civil War a set of ideas durable enough to guide the nation out of its torment yet loose enough to prevent it from ossifying into the kinds of dogmatism they believed had propelled the United States into Civil War. Thus, ironically, abolitionists are the early villains of the piece, their moral rectitude and righteousness being exactly what this new group of thinkers believed had to be avoided.
The protagonists are Oliver Wendell Holmes, C. S. Peirce, John Dewey, and William James. They are supported by a cast of dozens of other thinkers, writers, and characters, some important, some obscure. Each gets more or less a whole section to himself, as Menand explains the social and intellectual contexts out of which they emerged and those which they subsequently shaped. I don't want to write a detailed analysis of the book. Instead, I'd like to focus on some of its particular strengths, and one or two of its weaknesses.
Menand covers a prodigious amount of material and in a rather deceptive fashion. I say deceptive because he doesn't notify the reader that he is talking about this or that subject, or that he is going to do so. He simply does it. Among the topics he covers are: the controversies over Darwin and evolution; abolitionism and the Civil War; the advent of statistics and positivism and their incorporation into history writing; the origins and propagation of the philosophy of pragmatism; the bifurcation of psychology from the philosophy of mind; the Pullman strike; the formulation of the notion of academic freedom. These are just a few of the subjects he incorporates into his narrative, and he does so with considerable deftness.
Part of that deftness arises from Menand's self-restraint. He does not impose himself upon the reader. He has a clear authorial voice, but it does not announce itself except at the very beginning and end of the book. Otherwise, he allows the narrative to unfold of its own momentum. Menand speaks through the narrative, but it does not speak for him. There are no interjections about why this or that is important. There are no introductory passages, no pauses to summarize, no hand-holding. They are unnecessary, though. The prose is lucid and difficult, abstruse topics are presented cogently and in comprehensible, everyday terms. (Specialists perhaps might object that certain ideas are being stripped of their complexities and are not as straightforward as he makes them appear; I am not qualified to address the issue.) Citations are sufficient but not prolific; Menand surely did a lot more research than is indicated by his footnotes.
Another strength is that while there is overlap and backtracking, for the most part the narrative proceeds as did the lives of his protagonists, from beginning to end. Menand actually surveys a much larger period than expected. He starts with the Boston of such luminaries as Emerson and Oliver Holmes, Sr., and ends a century later in the 1920s. Narrative elements precede thematic ones. The ideas developed in time, and that is how Menand presents them.
What were these ideas? One that I don't think that he emphasizes enough is the notion that these thinkers were striving for a uniquely American solution to American problems. Throughout I was struck by a sense how American this was. European influences are still pronounced, but there is a maturity and confidence in the Metaphysical Club members regarding their situation and their ideas that was still nebulous even in the previous generation. It is no accident that the main period Menand treats witnessed a great boom in college and university foundations in America, and that this was the period when America got its first modern, research universities. American men were still going to Europe to get doctorates, but by the end of the nineteenth century that was a luxury, not the necessity it had been within living memory.
The chief idea of the book is pragmatism, the philosophical system which holds that the value of a belief or set of beliefs is found not in its correspondence to reality or its truth claims, but in its successful application to concrete situations. What matters is how an idea is able to help its adherent function in the world. If it works, it's useful; if it doesn't work, it is not. It does not matter if it is true or not. As Menand points out, Dewey and James came at pragmatism from opposite directions. But both were committed to finding a philosophy that would "fit" the world instead of one that would justify its proponents from making the world fit the philosophy. As Menand notes, "Pragmatism explains everything about ideas except why a person would be willing to die for one" (375).
A weakness in pragmatism, to be sure, but also the primary flaw of Menand's book. The flaw is not Menand's analysis of pragmatism; that is unobjectionable. The difficulty stems from Menand's location of pragmatism in American intellectual history. Introducing his subject, he writes that "the Civil War discredited the beliefs and assumptions of the era that preceded it." Along with slavery, the Civil War "swept away" the intellectual culture of the North. Hence the need for a replacement, the imperative to "find a set of ideas, and a way of thinking, that would help people cope with the conditions of modern life" (x).
This sets a trap from which Menand can't escape, although it's unclear he's aware of it. He never defines the "era" preceding the Civil War. He could mean that after 1800 or 1815 or 1820. He could mean that after 1828. Perhaps that after the Mexican War, although that is a short era. But it could also mean the one after 1776, which is how American historians often define the antebellum period. And the judgment that the beliefs and assumptions of the Revolution were discredited by the Civil War is dubious at best. One could argue that the Civil War was fought to affirm the validity of the beliefs and assumptions which brought the United States into being.
And here we run into Menand's other problem, his conception of "modern" America. Menand's characterization of modernity as defined by continuous change "not onward or upward, but forward, toward a future always in the making" (431) is the proper one. But by that standard modernity did not take hold of America after the Civil War, as he asserts: "The war alone did not make America modern, but the war marks the birth of modern America" (ix). No, by that standard, America was modern from its inception. The triumph of the future over the present and past was accomplished by the American Revolution. If, that is, it was not merely sanctifying the social, cultural, and intellectual forces which were already at work in the colonies in 1776, forces whose unleashing, in fact, was what had made them. But there is more to it than this. The pluralism championed by Dewey, Franz Boaz, Alain Locke, and others early in the twentieth century, Menand heralds as a modern solution to the American problem of growing ethnic and cultural diversity. That may be so for those matters, but again, pluralism itself was no new creation in America.
An earlier American pluralism (either justified or enabled by the Revolution) was that of the pursuit of the diverse goods of its citizens. The American Revolution was perhaps most revolutionary in its makers' rejection of the notion of a common good. There various goods, and society's purpose was to establish the conditions in which those goods could be pursued. It was emphatically not to prefer one vision of the good above all others and coerce the citizenry into adhering to it. In so choosing, the American Revolutionaries repudiated three (or twenty, depending on how one's counting) centuries of sociopolitical wisdom. Whatever beliefs of the antebellum period were discredited, that one assuredly was not.
Thus the chief flaw of Menand's interpretation. There are others, primarily that the last section of the book is considerably the weakest. The century turns, and the narrative's momentum flags. Partially this is due to the deaths of several of the protagonists, and partly to the fact that by the time the twentieth century rolls around, most of the hard work has been done.
Pragmatism thrived for a relatively short time, being soon eclipsed in American universities by yet another European import, the analytic school of Frege and Russell. But pragmatism persisted, and has enjoyed something of a revival lately. As well it might, being the one authentic philosophy it has contributed to the great Western philosophical tradition. No doubt its progenitors would have said it revived because circumstances were propitious for it to do so; once more, it fit. But surely it also revived because while intellectual heritages may be forgotten, they may also be remembered. Menand has remembered a critical portion of this American heritage in his American story.