Civilization in the United States: An inquiry by thirty Americans

In Short

This book is a wide-ranging symposium—a deliberate, organized effort by thirty-odd American intellectuals to examine the state of their civilization following the First World War. Edited by Harold E. Stearns, the work brings together scholars, critics, and artists to scrutinize disparate facets of American life, including education, law, journalism, music, art, and the family. These contributors argue that America, despite its vast prosperity, suffers from a profound "inner emptiness" caused by a pioneer-era focus on material conquest, which has left little room for the cultivation of a soul or a genuine national culture. The book has lasted because it provides a candid, unified diagnosis of a society struggling to reconcile its democratic ideals with the realities of industrialism, standardization, and a pervasive, lingering colonialism of the mind. It serves as a primary historical record of the disillusioned generation that sought to clear the rocks from the field so that a more mature civilization might finally take root.

The Story

The narrative arc of the book begins with the premise that the American experiment is at a crossroads. The early essays establish that the American character was forged by a frontier existence, where the primary directive was to clear land and build infrastructure. This necessary focus on physical survival and material expansion created an "uncouth and barren countryside." As the frontier closed and the nation industrialized, this survival instinct did not vanish; instead, it curdled into a relentless pursuit of profit and a worship of efficiency.

The contributors argue that this transformation has created a hollow center. The "real America," as they see it, is a restless, individualistic force that has conquered the wilderness but failed to conquer itself. The tragedy, in their view, is that even in an era of unprecedented prosperity, the nation continues to live by the pioneer's code, treating culture, art, and education as mere ornaments or tools for "service" rather than as expressions of the human spirit.

As the argument unfolds, it moves from the general to the specific. The authors examine how this materialist culture has permeated the institutions that should be fostering growth. In education, they identify a "mediæval superstition" where schools and colleges function like cathedrals, valued more for their size and prestige than for the pursuit of wisdom. In law, they observe a decline in the social pressure of homogeneous communities, leaving behind a fragmented society that only obeys the law when it is convenient. In journalism, they describe a profession that has abandoned truth for vaudeville and the manufacturing of consensus.

The middle sections of the book tackle the arts—music, literature, and painting—arguing that America is a nation that spends millions on art but produces very little of merit. The contributors suggest that American artists are caught in a cycle of either aping European traditions or indulging in a "bright futility" that lacks the "quivering soul of tradition." This cultural frustration is exacerbated by the "evangelical tyranny" of Puritanism, which they claim has invaded every corner of national life, forcing young intellectuals into a state of resentment or expatriation.

The inquiry reaches its most challenging phase when it confronts the social fabric. The analysis of the family, immigration, and racial issues reveals a society struggling to adapt to a modern world. The authors argue that the "new immigration" from Southern and Central Europe was not merely an ethnic shift but an economic one, as the closing of the public domain turned the immigrant into a cog in a monopoly-controlled industrial machine. The discussion of race reflects the deep, regional anxieties of the time, suggesting that prejudice is rooted less in racial difference than in the economic fear of competition.

The book ends without offering a tidy solution. Instead, it concludes with a call for a "change of heart" and a profound realization of the scholar’s and artist’s duty to serve thought and imagination as the "twin pillars" of spiritual life. The final message is one of cautious hope: if philosophy and art can find freedom, perhaps America can yet find its soul, though the path requires abandoning the "dead idols" of material success.

How It Unfolds

The intellectual collaboration The editor and his contributors define their mission as a "definite and tangible piece of work" to clear the rocks from the field of American civilization. They establish a shared assumption that constructive criticism is impossible until the country admits to its profound spiritual and cultural deficiencies.

The shadow of the pioneer The analysis shifts to the historical legacy of the frontier, arguing that the restless, self-assertive pioneer left behind a barren landscape. This obsession with material conquest is identified as the primary reason why Americans struggle to develop genuine regional cultures or settle into a life of grace.

The crisis in institutions The book surveys the decay of public life, from the "educational papacy" of universities that treat education as a superstition, to a press that prioritizes "vaudeville entertainment" over reality. Law is depicted as losing its vitality, becoming a set of rules that citizens follow only when it serves their personal interests.

The struggle for artistic voice Contributors argue that while Americans spend vast amounts on art, they fail to produce creative works because they remain trapped in a colonial mindset. The arts are stifled by a utilitarian need for cheapness and a lingering, repressive Puritan morality that fears the satisfaction of the senses.

The economic reality of society The narrative turns to the social cost of progress, detailing how the closing of the public domain turned the American dream into a system of industrial serfdom. It highlights how the fear of competition has fueled racial prejudices and created a society of conformists.

The call for a new faith The book concludes by reflecting on the "intrinsic generosity" of the American people, best exemplified in the prophetic vision of Walt Whitman. It urges a move away from the worship of "Service" as an end in itself, demanding a new, courageous commitment to thought and imagination.

The People

The book is less a story about specific individuals than a collection of archetypes who embody the American condition. Harold E. Stearns acts as the central orchestrator, a man who believes that his generation has a duty to articulate the truth about their country, however uncomfortable that truth may be. He and his peers, including Van Wyck Brooks, position themselves as the "young intellectuals" who are weary of the evangelical philistinism of the previous century.

Then there is the American Pioneer, a figure who looms large over the text as the ancestor of the modern businessman. He represents the restless energy of the nation, a man who saw the continent not as a home but as a resource to be "skinned" rather than cultivated. His descendants are the Metropolitans and the Suburbanites, who feel the "perpetual drag to New York" in a desperate attempt to find culture, only to find that they have merely traded one form of isolation for another.

The Educator appears as a figure of authority—a bishop or abbot in a vast, ecclesiastical hierarchy of universities—who values the "traditions" of a college as a factory values a trademark. This educator is contrasted with the Scholar, who is depicted as a "thwarted and frustrated" figure, forced to waste his energies on administrative routines and popular lecturing because the nation has no room for the higher life.

We also meet the Immigrant, particularly the "new immigrant" from Southern Europe, who arrives expecting the freedom promised by the frontier but finds instead the reality of the mine and the mill. He is a victim of an economic shift, herded into tenements and forced into a new kind of serfdom under the watchful eye of the native-born.

Finally, there is the Rebel, the rare individual who possesses the "interior moral resources" to resist the crushing weight of conformity. Whether he is a labor leader struggling against injunctions or an artist who refuses to produce "vaudeville entertainment," he is often treated as ferae naturae—a wild animal to be hunted, deported, or pilloried by a society that fears anything that threatens its fragile, standardized peace.

In Its Own Voice

"Small wonder that bathtubs and heating systems and similar apparatus play such a large part in our conception of the good life."

This remark appears in an analysis of the suburbanite’s life, highlighting the author's critique of the American preoccupation with material comfort at the expense of communal or intellectual existence.

"We have scholars without scholarship, as there are churches without religion."

This observation summarizes the book’s central argument regarding the hollowness of American institutions, suggesting that they have maintained the form of traditional intellectual and religious life while losing the inner reality that gives them meaning.

"The Muses did not reach these shores in the first-class cabin of the Aquitania."

This line is used to introduce the idea that American history and culture are often misunderstood because they have been forced to conform to a utilitarian, immigrant-status framework rather than allowed to develop naturally.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an inquiry into the "soul" of a nation. It argues that American civilization has reached a state of "shell, mask, and deep inner emptiness" because its development has been governed by a one-sided devotion to material, industrial, and practical activity. The contributors are not necessarily anti-American; rather, they are frustrated patriots who believe the country has the potential for a "valid and momentous" culture but is currently blocked by a reliance on "dead idols."

The underlying question is whether a society can survive when its definition of success is strictly economic. The authors posit that the "real America"—the America of mind and attitude—is currently suffocated by the "outer actuality" of its competitive, acquisitive system. They suggest that the "frontier" has shifted from the geography of the West to the geography of the mind, and that the new task is to reclaim the individual personality from the demands of status and conformity. Ultimately, it is a call to move from a civilization that merely functions to one that actually creates, demanding that the nation stop treating "Service" as a god and start valuing art, philosophy, and imagination as the essential pillars of human existence.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy social history, intellectual biography, or the "lost generation" literature of the 1920s will find this book an essential, if challenging, companion. It offers a rare, unflinching look at a moment when American thinkers were deeply skeptical of their country's direction, and many of their observations—about the commodification of education, the vapidity of news media, and the loneliness of the "van-dweller"—resonate with an eerie clarity today.

However, readers should be prepared for the book's density. As a collection of thirty essays, it can feel sprawling, and the language occasionally reflects the formal, sometimes haughty, academic tone of early 20th-century criticism. The authors represent a specific, educated elite, and their dismissal of certain popular attitudes can feel exclusionary to the modern reader. Furthermore, the period-specific attitudes toward race, immigration, and gender are present; while the authors are critical of the status quo, their framing of these issues often reflects the biases and the limited sociological frameworks of their time.

The book is not a light, narrative story, but rather a sustained, rigorous argument. You read it to watch a group of brilliant, frustrated minds take apart the machinery of their society to see how it works and why it feels so hollow. What stays with you is the sense of urgency—the palpable feeling of a generation that is not just observing their culture but is actively suffering from its limitations. It serves as a stark reminder that the questions we ask about "Americanization," the health of our democracy, and the role of the intellectual are not new. For those interested in the deep roots of modern American discontent, this book remains a vital, foundational piece of literature that rewards the patient reader with a clearer understanding of the "inner truth" of the American experience.