movement through this century by great writings which resonatento its principles. It would be wrong to say of either Joycenor Borges that they were “conservative” novelists—^yet theynare immensely feared by the liberal imagination. They are freenand skeptical, belonging to no party, stating no doctrine, interestednin and detached by art. In another interview Borgesnonce responded to the quintessential question of our times:n”What should the role of the artist be in a society as threatenednas ours?” Clearly the implication was that he should speaknout—perhaps, as the phrase goes, make a statement—on thenenvironment or the draft or nuclear disarmament. But he saidninstead, resisting praise, “I think that poetry and beauty willnprevail. I have no use for politics. I am not politically minded. Inam aesthetically minded, philosophically perhaps. I don’t belongnto any party. In fact, I disbelieve in politics and in nations.nI disbelieve also in richness, in poverty. Those things are illusions.nBut I believe in my own destiny as a good or bad or indifferentnwriter.”nX he class of 1899 have been wonderfully indifferent tonliberal politics, like Gulliver in Lilliput. And for that they remainna mystery unsolved for the liberal mind. But of course theynknew what they were doing: Joyce said that one of the weaponsnof the artist was silence, and Borges, that another was disbeliefnWhen we honor their art it is not because there is occasionalnagreement to be found in it—only faithfulness to nature andnhistory.n—Ronald BermannDr. Berman gave this address during the presentation of thenfirst Ingersoll Prizes in Literature and the Humanities,nDecembers, 1983.n• ON CONSERVATIVE MODERNISTS •nnnIlrrliiiif truthsn.’XtLirJ Inc. (!h:iimiaiiJoseph MlM’;;:!!! iiuini.-vvsp:ipc’i’ivpi)rt:ih()iuntill- liiLl llwt I^K I is i-.xpitlcd to Ix- -.1 tvoiril i-:n- ti)r ihi- MIII- ofnll01IH.-l.’l)llipUlCTS:nNiliMii.’ i’l li:is^iM’n IIK imblii’ :ioiiiipilliii)’ iv;iv>ii. OUKTtluinn(.•lii.;i|iiiosciiri;ir. iiilHiy.ihomiionipiiirr.n: nibhil’s loot or o’licr i:ili.sm:ui i’:iri lie .simihirlv jii.sljlii-il. :iii(lnwonl [•c’i|iihVM)liw.iri.-. piTiplKMMl.s. oieM-iu-kni”icil ti)»;ii”tloirnwlnili-vir it is ll);il :ill olliiosf pi-opli- ;ire worrii-il :il>ciiii.n^. otablesnThe Lyricism o/.MIn\ IH’II l.oiiis Ariiistroii}^ iMiprovLsi’d. he lokl ;i sUiry. I k- nil};lilnhave hi-i-n repiiitioiis on oicLsion. and was soini-tiiiics lv.a:il. hiilni”ari’l’ was he liTek”:ui!. intcihcrfnt, iniomprclifiisibk-. or—loiilniDiiii—l)ori[i};. Koiitiiii’ly. his lisicni-rs lollowed him with tuoreornless (.-motioiul involvi-[iu-iit ami satisl’ailion. >X hen .Miles DavisniniproNi.si’s. he’s also li’lliii}> sonH’thiii};. hut sonu-lhlii}; that canniieviT he i-xpre.ssed in one adjective, lor il is sonK-lhinji like anreport on his very own skill. ;i virtuoso iiuereoiir.si- hclwi-i-nn.sound, in.slruirient. and the one who pretends to control holh. Onenmay like his altenipl.s to liirnnilaie this n.-|)orl. hut—in all honestynand deep down in oni-‘s heart–oni- i.annot li};ht olTannoverpowerin}; tedium.nThiiigsare nuieh worse in lileralure. I’oe. .Maupassant. Twain. ().nIk-nry. (Iliekliov. Ileminj’way. dreene. even Maugham—lhe allnknew how to provide at li-asi three pajjesol’print that wvE’e loadednwith onlologieal my stcry. worlil iews. emotions.and tk-slieil-outneharaeters. Thcv wen-iellin}> stories. tla.shin};humannrss:uul mininor mai trajji-tlii-s. Ihi-y wire r.iri’ly dull. Ilu-n eame niodernistii.navant }>arde. Dada. tormalism. T/.ara. stream ol’eonseiousness.ninlerior nionolo}{iie. Un-ton. surrc:ilism. and—ultimately—Icn>uinrc‘ork irenilsi-tters. literary sausage makers, blurbnwritiTs.iind.New >ink’ Tiincsb