Prejudices, second series

In Short

This volume is a pugnacious collection of critical essays that functions as an intellectual manifesto for the early 20th century. Through a series of sharp, interconnected critiques, the prose attacks the prevailing American habits of "Puritanism," blind democratic conformity, and the stifling influence of academic mediocrity on the arts. It has endured as a masterclass in polemical writing, serving as a time capsule of a nation in transition, caught between its provincial origins and a desperate, often failing, attempt to define its own cultural identity.

The Story

The narrative begins by interrogating the "National Letters," questioning why American literature has historically struggled to escape the shadow of European models and the suffocating demands of local schoolmasters. The argument quickly moves from the literary to the political, mounting a scathing autopsy of Theodore Roosevelt. Roosevelt is portrayed not as a statesman, but as a "glorified longshoreman," a consummate showman who manipulated the mob’s emotions to mask a fundamental lack of intellectual depth. This critique of the "great man" leads into a broader assessment of the regional vacuum of the American South, which the prose dismisses as a "vast plain of mediocrity," devoid of the artistic impulses—symphonies, galleries, and little theaters—that elsewhere signal the stirrings of civilization.

From the South, the trajectory shifts to the "Allied Arts," where music is examined as both a source of genuine beauty and a victim of public misunderstanding. The prose pivots from the technical appreciation of Wagner and Strauss to the sociological implications of popular music, suggesting that the waltz is a uniquely dangerous, "sneaking, insidious" force that threatens the rigid moral order. This leads into the "Dry Millennium," a blistering indictment of Prohibition. Here, the argument is that the enforcement of moral purity is merely a vehicle for the "sadistic overtones" inherent in the American religious character, allowing the "inferior man" to exercise power by punishing his neighbor for harmless indulgences.

The final arc of the volume delves into the "Appendix on a Tender Theme," which serves as a blunt meditation on the nature of love and the relations between men and women. The argument here is cynical yet romantic, positioning women as the "incomparable buzzsaw"—dangerous, essential, and the only truly grand hazard left in a world otherwise flattened by industrial comfort and middle-class security. The book concludes by stripping away the veneer of sentimentality from human experience, treating existence as a "supreme comedy" where the individual artist, in his pursuit of truth, remains a permanent, alienated outsider. The final movement is an examination of the "ontogenetic process" of death, which the prose describes as a series of indignities—a "raucous prose" of physical decay that mocks the vanity of the species and the pretenses of the "Sunday-school superintendent" facing an ultimate tribunal that is likely indifferent to human morality.

How It Unfolds

The literary audit The collection opens by challenging the inherited wisdom of New England's prophets and the subsequent failure of universities to foster genuine artistic freedom. It argues that American critics act as schoolmasters rather than thinkers, enforcing "correctness" while ignoring the most vital, rebellious writers of the age.

The political autopsy The focus shifts to the national stage, stripping away the mythology surrounding Theodore Roosevelt to expose the mechanics of democratic showmanship. This section maps how populist leaders use rhetoric to "bamboozle" the masses, thereby avoiding the difficult work of governance in favor of theatrical conflict.

The regional wasteland The argument travels south of the Mason-Dixon line to diagnose a total absence of aesthetic life, contrasting the Southern desert with the nascent, if clumsy, artistic efforts of the Northern states. It posits that a culture without the "impulse to seek beauty" is essentially dead.

The moral crusade The prose turns toward Prohibition, framing it as a psychological manifestation of the American penchant for persecution. It describes the Prohibitionist not as a reformer, but as a person who finds a perverted thrill in the "Holy War" against the pleasures of his fellow citizens.

The final vanity The closing chapters bridge the personal and the biological, moving from a defense of the "duel of sex" to a cold, scientific account of human dissolution. It leaves the reader with the lingering thought that all earthly struggles are brief, often absurd, and ultimately subject to the indifferent laws of biology.

The People

The book is populated by a cast of historical and cultural archetypes rather than traditional characters. Theodore Roosevelt stands as the central villain of the American political scene; he is depicted as a man who played to the "worst idiocies of the mob" and whose lack of fairness revealed the inherent flaws of democracy. In contrast, figures like Dreiser represent the "lonesome artist," the solitary individual whose high purpose and commitment to reality render him an outcast in a society that prefers the comfort of "Sunday-school drama." Mark Twain appears as a tragic figure—a writer of immense talent who was constantly thwarted by the "decent householder" within him, leading him to oscillate between profound honesty and cowardly conformity. Behind these names, the "Puritan" looms as a ghost, a recurring antagonist who serves as the embodiment of everything that stifles change, experiment, and intellectual courage. The author himself acts as the primary voice of the collection—a dispassionate, often sharp-tongued observer who refuses to offer solace, viewing the reader’s need for "hope" as a failure of the intellect.

In Its Own Voice

"The man of reflective habit cannot conceivably take any passionate interest in the conflicts it deals with; he doesn't want to marry the daughter of the owner of the hook-and-eye factory; he would probably burn down the factory itself if it ever came into his hands."

This passage serves as a sharp contrast to the "popular" American fiction of the day, which the author dismisses as puerile and unimaginative.

"To the average man, doomed to some banal and sordid drudgery all his life long, they offer the only grand hazard that he ever encounters."

This observation, appearing in the final section, explains why the author considers the "duel of sex" to be the most essential and enduring aspect of human life.

What It's Really About

The central theme is the tension between the "salient individual" and the crushing weight of the democratic mob. The book asks whether a culture that prizes equality, industrial success, and moral conformity can ever truly produce art that is profound, honest, or "civilized." It argues that the American reliance on "bogus idealism" and "schoolmastering" criticism prevents the nation from reaching true maturity. Beneath the sharp prose lies a deep, consistent skepticism toward the belief that human progress is inevitable or that the "common man" is the rightful arbiter of truth. Ultimately, the question is how one maintains intellectual integrity—the "divine right to be his own man"—in a landscape that views dissent as a personal affront to the collective order.

Why Read It Today

Readers who value muscular, unapologetic prose and have a taste for historical polemic will find this collection endlessly stimulating. It is not a gentle read; the author’s tone is consistently acerbic, and his dismissal of democratic institutions and "Puritan" values is bound to challenge modern sensitivities. You will encounter language that is distinctly of its period, reflecting the prejudices and the harsh, often elitist, vocabulary of a 1920s intellectual. However, the experience of reading these essays feels remarkably fresh. The author’s ability to pinpoint the dangers of celebrity politics and the hollowness of corporate-driven culture makes him feel like a contemporary observer. You will not walk away with a sense of comfort or a reinforced worldview. Instead, you will be left with the unsettling, exhilarating sensation that you are looking at American society through a lens that refuses to blur the edges. It is a book for those who prefer a "clean" argument to a polite one, and who recognize that the "lonesome artist" is still, perhaps, the most important voice in any society that claims to value freedom.