Why Bryan Magee's Memoir Was Pulped

The Curious Tale of a Libel Action

The philosopher Bryan Magee rose to prominence in the UK in the 1970s and 1980s primarily through the mechanism of chatting with other philosophers about philosophy on radio and television. Conversations with Philosophers was broadcast on BBC Radio 3 in the early 1970s; Men of Ideas was broadcast on BBC Television in 1978; and a final set of conversations, Great Philosophers, also a BBC Television production, was broadcast in 1987.

These broadcasts, along with decades moving in elite philosophical circles, had put Magee at the very heart of British academic philosophy. Therefore, he was ideally placed, especially given his personal friendships with many of the era’s leading thinkers, to write what promised to be the definitive philosophical memoir of the late twentieth century. However, when Confessions of a Philosopher appeared in 1997, it quickly became notable for reasons beyond its philosophical content.

The source of the trouble was a section that Magee wrote about his friendship with Bertrand Russell, and, in particular, the part that deals with the final decade of Russell’s life, when the grandee of British philosophy came under the influence of Ralph Schoenman, a young American political agitator. Magee was not Schoenman’s biggest fan:

[He] was an appallingly sinister figure, like an evil dwarf out of Wagner's Ring, and his motivations were unquestionably calculated and manipulative. [Magee, 1997, p. 211]

It’s not entirely clear how Magee could be so certain about Schoenman’s motivations given that he only ever spoke to him on the phone, but, regardless, the story he relates about Russell and Schoenman bears retelling.

In effect, it is Magee’s claim that Schoenman exercised what would now be called coercive control over Bertrand Russell in the last years of Russell’s life. He describes how his “easy and pleasurable contact with Russell”, which had included regular correspondence and conversations, was abruptly terminated. Schoenman, having installed himself in Russell’s home as his private secretary, intercepted all phone calls, demanding to know the purpose of each call, before invariably declaring Russell to be too busy to talk. If Magee wrote to Russell, then the reply would come from Schoenman. According to Magee, the situation became "Kafkaesque," with Schoenman effectively blocking all communication channels. Magee claims that he wasn’t alone in being stonewalled in this way, with similar stories circulating among Russell’s friends.

On its face, this story has a certain plausibility, but Magee is careless in the telling of it. In particular, if the details of the story are true, then Magee cannot know what he claims to know: specifically, that Bertrand Russell had no idea what was going on—that he hadn’t seen Magee’s letters or been told about the phone calls. Put simply, to know all this, Magee would have had to have had the sort of contact with Russell he claims not to have had.

Magee makes a further claim, also careless and almost certainly just false:

Meanwhile public declarations began to appear over Russell's signature that he could not possibly have written (if only because of their inadequate literacy) and which did not represent his views. [Magee, 1997, p. 211]

It is certainly true that Russell signed public declarations that he did not write. He said as much himself in his autobiography. However, he categorically denied that he hadn’t read these declarations and that they did not represent his views:

Another charge… is that I myself compose neither speeches nor articles nor statements put out over my name. It is a curious thing that the public utterances of almost all Government officials and important business executives are known to be composed by secretaries or colleagues, and yet this is held unobjectionable. Why should it be considered heinous in an ordinary layman? In point of fact, what goes out over my name is usually composed by me. When it is not, it still presents my opinion and thought. I sign nothing–letters or more formal documents–that I have not discussed, read and approved. [Russell, 2009, loc: 14445]

This idea that Russell wasn’t responsible for the juvenalia that came out of his mouth in the 1960s is further undermined by the fact that a lot of it literally came out of his mouth. For example, here he is engaging in a bit of moral philosophy at a CND meeting in Birmingham in April 1961:

We used to think that Hitler was wicked when he wanted to kill all the Jews, but Kennedy and Macmillan and others both in the East and in the West pursue policies which will probably lead to killing not only all the Jews but all the rest of us too. They are much more wicked than Hitler [...] We cannot obey these murderers. They are wicked and abominable. They are the wickedest people that ever lived in the history of man. [Russell, 2009, loc: 14024]

So let’s get this straight, Jack Kennedy and Harold Macmillan are the wickedest people ever to have lived, wickeder than Hitler, Stalin, Lavrentiy Beria, Julius Streicher, Genghis Khan, and so on. It is ludicrous, of course, but there’s no doubt that Russell, not Schoenman, said it, even if its being said at all was a reflection of Schoenman’s influence upon Russell at this time.

Bernard Levin, in an article published in the New York Times Magazine in 1967, offered a much more realistic assessment of the dynamic that existed between Russell and Schoenman:

It is clear that Schoenman exercises enormous influence on Russell. The 94-year-old philosopher trusts his young helper absolutely (one attempt by a former friend and associate of Russell's to tell him that his concurrence in Schoenman's views and activities was doing his reputation harm ended with the friend being permanently barred), and Schoenman's hand can be easily discerned in some of the statements Russell puts out.

Yet even this will not do as a complete explanation of Russell's present confusion. For even if Schoenman prepares singlehanded all the documents, all the statements, all the protests, it is beyond dispute that Russell agrees to them. Schoenman may be Mephistopheles, but he is not Svengali; he may have persuaded Russell to believe in, and propagate, the most curious rubbish, but the fact remains that Russell does believe it, and is not just a mindless puppet, good for nothing but holding the pen. Russell must be held responsible for his words and his deeds. [Levin, New York Times Magazine, February 19, 1967]

This is precisely the sort of analysis that Magee fails to provide in his memoir, perhaps out of an understandable desire to wash away the sins of his friend. However, he really should have tried a bit harder to get things right and to avoid defaming a living person. This is how he concluded his chapter on Bertrand Russell:

Schoenman was an appallingly sinister figure, like an evil dwarf out of Wagner's Ring, and his motivations were unquestionably calculated and manipulative… Many thought he was motivated by what later came to be called loony-left views plus an unbalanced hatred of his own country, the United States. [...] But at least as many people suspected that Schoenman had been planted on Russell by the CIA with the mission of discrediting him internationally as the world's most prominent spokesman for unilateral nuclear disarmament–and certainly this was what occurred as a direct result of Schoenman's handling of him. If I had to bet on one of these alternatives I would opt for the latter… [Magee, 1997, pp. 211-12]

Unsurprisingly, Schoenman, very much alive, and living in the United States, was not best pleased when he found out about all this.

He said I was like an evil dwarf out of Wagner’s “Ring Cycle”. At 5-11, I’m probably the largest dwarf on record. The passages were clearly intended to reinvent and incite prejudice and to create a climate of distrust of me and my relationship with Russell. This was a full-board attempt at character assassination… [Magee] made no effort to contact me before, during or after the publication of the book. [The Guardian, November 11, 1999]

The result was a libel action, which Magee comprehensively lost - in fact, he offered no defence at all. The case was settled in November 1999, at the cost of a full retraction, an estimated £100,000 in damages, and an undertaking to pulp existing copies of his memoir.

The statement read in court by Schoenman’s lawyer, Liz Hartley, was damning. On the accusation that Schoenman was a CIA plant, she had this to say:

The Defendants accept that this allegation was entirely without foundation, is absolutely untrue and should never have been published, since neither the author nor the publishers ever had any evidence, nor are they aware of any evidence, that supports such a serious allegation. The allegation could not have been more damaging to the Claimant's reputation and standing with colleagues and has caused the Claimant considerable distress.

On the claim that Schoenman had run interference to prevent Magee from contacting Russell, she reported that Magee now said that he “misinterpreted his own experiences at that time” and he withdrew the allegation without reservation.

She summed up as follows:

The Defendants accept their serious error in publishing these libels and recognise the considerable damage they have done to the Claimant. The Defendants are here today by their Solicitor to withdraw all of these allegations and to apologise publicly to the Claimant. The Defendants have recalled for destruction unsold copies of both the hardback and paperback editions of the book and have given their undertaking not to distribute or otherwise publish or cause to be published any future editions containing the passages objected to by the Claimant. They have also agreed to pay to the Claimant a very substantial sum by way of damages and to pay his legal costs.

What a fiasco.

References

Magee, Confessions of a Philosophy, Random House, 1997.

Russell, Autobiography, Taylor and Francis e-Library, 2009.