I am tempted to begin my commemoration of William Buckley, who died last week, with the expected qualification that I disagree with many of his views. As a matter of fact, this would not be a bad way to begin, but I shall leap to my main point, which is that he has gone unappreciated as one of our great performance artists. The idea may sound a bit flippant, but I really do mean to say that as a public intellectual–one whose broad vocabulary and often witty turn of phrase, not to mention his often-imitated (see, for example, Robin Williams) manner of speech–he has brought both a seriousness and sense of play to our public discourse. In an interview on The Charlie Rose Show, Buckley made the point that it cannot be ignored that Reagan’s presidency was “coterminous” with the collapse of the Soviet Union, any more than it can be ignored that Lincoln’s presidency was coterminous with the slaves being “manumitted.” Indeed, this latter term, which at its root means ‘to be released from the hand,’ is the technical term for being freed from slavery, but who else would have used the term in the course of a conversation on presidential history?
Anyone who has seen the documentary “What Happened to Kerouac?” will also have seen an example of Buckley’s grace under pressure. “Our topic today is the hippies,” Buckley begins, and the show (an installment of “Firing Line”) gets pretty chaotic from there. On the stage with him are Jack Kerouac and Ed Sanders. Kerouac, who is pretty clearly wasted, denounces Sanders and his ilk for wanting to demonstrate in public and get themselves on TV while he, Kerouac, is concerned to create literature. At one point Kerouac even breaks into a chorus of “Flat Foot Floogie with a Floy, Floy,” and Buckley does not once break character.
On another episode of “Firing Line,” Buckley interviewed his coreligionist Malcom Muggeridge (1903-1990), perhaps best known for his book about Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Something Beautiful for God (1971). Although one might have expected a high level of agreement between the two–and on a certain level of abstraction, indeed there was–the interivew showed something of a clash of styles. For example, when Buckley asked whether a certain piece of music by Bach wasn’t a grand achievement, Muggeridge replied that while of course it is great from our perspective, he could also imagine Bach, from his perspective in the hereafter, looking upon his composition as the most absurdly inadequate piece of music ever written. Pressing further for human achievement, Buckley asked whether Mother Teresa did not aspire to be good. Muggeridge replied that the whole language of aspiration is really inappropriate to Mother Teresa, who does not so much aspire to be good as she abandons herself to God in a life of love and trust. It’s not that Muggeridge sought to belittle human struggles or achievement–one will encounter plenty of both in his book about Mother Teresa–but rather to discuss how they are transformed in a life of trust in the divine. By the end of the show, Buckley seemed to be out of words and maybe a bit perplexed. I take it as a sign of great integrity that he allowed himself to come to such a state.
This latter Buckley is the one who appears, somewhere around his 80th birthday, on another Installment of The Charlie Rose Show. Buckley is still quite alert, he speaks with alacrity and wit, but he also speaks with a certain readiness to go on to the next stage–in short, with a readiness to die. He speaks of the tedium of life as more of the same. He speaks with a sense of having lived fully but at the same time of not having done so much after all. (Who does, in the course of a single life?) He speaks with a kind of detachment, but with nothing of despair–far from it. If there is a certain resignation in his discourse on this occasion, it is a resignation that sparkles with his characteristic hope and faith. It is largely this sparkle and wit of faith and hope that, disagree with him however much I might in matters of politics, has me remembering him with deep gratitude and affection.