THE LIVING PAST
Lewis Lapham’s Last Interview
GIULIA MARTINA WESTON
On 3rd April p.m. I had the absolute privilege of interviewing Lewis H. Lapham (1935 – 2024) in a rich conversation embracing the studia humanitatis, the past and present, and his vision for ACLA and its diverse community across the globe.
The editor and founder of Lapham’s Quarterly since 2007 and editor of Harper’s Magazine from 1975 to 2006, Lewis H. Lapham was a member of the American Society of Magazine Editors Hall of Fame. He authored fourteen books, including Money and Class in America, The Wish for Kings, Waiting for the Barbarians, Theater of War, and Age of Folly. He produced a weekly podcast, The World in Time, for Bloomberg News from 2011 through 2013. His documentary film The American Ruling Class has become part of the curriculum in many American schools and colleges. A member of the Council on Foreign Relations in New York, Lapham lectured at Yale, Princeton, Dartmouth, Stanford, the University of Michigan, and the University of Minnesota.
The saddening news of his death occurred on 23rd July 2024, reached me as I was transcribing the following passage from his The World in Time (2014, p. 16) to be included in the exhibition catalogue Legacies and Visions. From Comel to Karshan:
I look for an understanding of the human predicament to discover or rediscover how it is with man, who he is and how it is between him and other men
It is with a sense of gratitude and commitment that ACLA releases his last interview.
I look for an understanding of the human predicament to discover or rediscover how it is with man, who he is and how it is between him and other men
LEWIS LAPHAM, The World in Time (2014, p. 16)
GMW: Travelling back in time, I learnt from some informal conversations with our mutual friend Linda Karshan, distinguished artist and President of the Athenaeum Comelianum de Litteris et Artibus, that your mother read Moby Dick to you at an early age. I am told it remains an essential text for you. May I ask you why this is the case?
LHL: I just enjoy reading it. A few months ago, I probably read it four or five times. My mother read it to me when I was six years old. My family was in the shipping business, we lived in San Francisco, and the library was full of books. My parents were both readers, my father also read to me as a child. I like the sound of Melville’s prose. I was enchanted by his feeling for the language and his vocabulary, and his metaphysics, his use of metaphors.
Recently, I was asked by a college for a collection of my papers and I was surprised to find among my various papers of all kinds the drawing that I made in nursery school: a finger painting that my nursery school teacher had saved and the drawing was of Captain Ahab! So, it had made an impression upon me at a very early age. I could look at San Francisco Bay and sometimes imagine whales proceeding at a stately pace underneath the Golden Gate Bridge. Melville has always been a pleasure to re-read because each time I do I find something new in it. I find a new metaphor, I find in it the living past and history, as well as fiction. I don’t make much of a distinction between good historical non-fiction and good historical fiction: they are both aspects of the past.
Edward Gibbon had said somewhere that history is nothing more than the record of mankind’s folly, misfortune and crime. It’s the past living in the present, and the present living in the past. The voices in time are an immense resource – the founders of the American Republic were all passionate students and readers of history. History doesn’t repeat itself if you learn from it: it’s an immense storehouse of human consciousness. As we go along, we’re always making up the house of consciousness in which we live. You can’t live in the future because the future doesn’t exist, and the present comes to a close too quickly to leave a mailing address. The only present where you can find a ground of being is in the living past. I find that in Melville as I find it in Joseph Conrad, another writer that I read constantly before I was ten.
In colleges, they teach history as if it’s gateway marble, but it’s not: it’s alive. The reason I started Lapham’s Quarterly was to teach history as alive – as the past living in the present and the present living in the past, not museum-quality marble; living, not dead. It’s the same thing that Faulkner said: the past is never dead. It’s not even past. Orwell said the same thing: people know that history is a great comfort because it teaches us that we survive, that we’ve been through worse, and the living outnumber the dead. That is pretty good news!
GMW: The Athenaeum Comelianum de Litteris et Artibus is an international research centre devoted to the studia humanitatis – the arts and letters. As the author of fourteen books, including Money and Class in America, Theater of War, and Age of Folly, could you please share with us which factors chiefly contributed to bringing these works into being?
LHL: My observation of what I was seeing. In a way, it was like writing a diary. I was a writer, I was a reporter and I was a journalist. When I became editor of a magazine, I felt it was obligatory to write a column in order to tell the reader where I was coming from. In other words, to be fair and open with the reader so he or she would know what I was thinking, and I could therefore allow and encourage other writers for their magazine to write whatever they wanted to write because I was having my own say. I didn’t have to try to put words in their mouths as some editors would do with other magazines because I was free to write a kind of a diary, to write an essay.
The good thing about an essay is that you never know where it’s going to go. People who write articles or reports know how and where and why; they are going to claim the privilege of the last word. But when you write an essay you don’t know what the last word is going to be: it’s an adventure, it’s the most adventurous kind of writing because it takes you by surprise.
I taught myself to do this first becoming the editor of a magazine in 1975, so for thirty years I was teaching myself to write something new every month, which of course made me look and pay attention to what I was seeing. I guess there is one theme that holds the various books together and it’s the story of rich and poor. America was not founded as a democracy. America was founded as a plutocracy. It was founded on the dream of richness: the same glory that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome, the same dream of the Rockefeller Standards oil, and Zuckerberg’s later. Let’s get to the argument, from the beginning of the story with the Puritans in 1630 in Salem harbor.
John Winthrop, the first governor of Massachusetts Bay Colony arrived in 1630 on the ship Arabella, and before the ship dropped anchor in Salem harbor the governor preached the sermon to the Puritan faithful on board the ship and told them there was no such thing as democracy; that in God’s will some will be high in dignity, some low and in submission. That was the way the world worked, and always will. The great argument that is going on and has been going on in America for four hundred years is the story of rich and poor, in one way or another, just as [Louis D.] Brandeis, the famous supreme court justice, claimed in 1941. He was an advisor to Franklin Roosevelt, and in talking to Roosevelt about the New Deal in 1941, he says: ‘We must make our choice: we can have democracy in this country, or we can have great wealth concentrated in the hands of the few, but we can’t have both.’
That is not true. We must have both. We cannot not have both. Plutocracy and democracy are both prominent members of the human assembly, neither of them can be impeached. Sometimes democracy is not a form of government; democracy is an emotion. It is short-lived. Roosevelt says this; there are all kinds of people who say this: the story has been told and retold for four hundred years. It is the American story. In the American mind one is the supreme good from which all blessing conspicuously flows. This argument is going on now. This is in the newspapers: this is the essence of the election campaign of both parties. So, the columns and the books touch in one way or another on that ongoing debate.
GMW: The founder of the Fondazione Comel, Professor Marcello Comel (1902 – 1995), a renowned dermapathologist and physiologist, was a polymath and a prolific writer. His belief that ‘culture is a spiritual unity’ led him to build a pavillion (our current exhibition centre) to be able to host fellow professors and colleagues from all over the world. You have lectured at Yale, Princeton, Dartmouth, Stanford, the University of Michigan, and the University of Minnesota. Which are the values that should not be overlooked or underestimated in the realm of academia and beyond?
LHL: Well, I think university shouldn’t aim to present history and the arts as museum pieces, as a kind of dead letters. Then the thing is to teach them, and to present them in your exhibition space, as alive. The past living in the present, the present in the past. So being able to make in the same paragraph connections between something that you see in the newspaper that day and something that you read or have seen in a painting or a parchment or a sculpture in stone or a Chinese logograph from thousands of years ago. It’s why you can read Thucydides and he is in the same room with you, or in the same academy.
People who can do that, the kind of historians such as Hilary Mantel who wrote beautiful books about Thomas Cromwell, can talk this way. I invited these people to my podcast – you may also do that. I tried to find historians – not necessarily professional historians, but amateur historians – who are wonderful people to listen to. The more people like this you bring in a podcast or an exhibition, the more people you will attract. You will be able to put the wisdom of the past at the service of the present. That’s what I tried to do when I gave speeches, that’s what I did with the podcast. You can do the same!
GMW: Your name and, if I may, your exceptionally beautiful voice are inextricably bound to the weekly podcast you produced for Bloomberg News: The World in Time. You wrote that ‘an acquaintance with history tells us that the story painted on the old walls and printed in the old books is also our own’. Our Athenaeum devoted to the arts and letters was launched in New York earlier this year and is still very young. How would you counsel us as we go forward?
LHL: Just do more of what you are doing!
I mean, present more speakers, host more events, and read more books.
In the cover picture: Lewis Lapham speaking at Harvard, circa 1989 (Photo: Mark Medish)