ABSTRACT
George Santayana’s position at Harvard is peculiar. To thousands of students he is little more than a name to be mispronounced; to many, it must be confessed, he is the Mephistophelian intellect, the head and front of Denial, the reason that insidiously destroys faith. I am not exaggerating. I have talked to these men. Their fear is as genuine as that of Englishmen before Bradlaugh, of many Americans before [Robert] Ingersoll. The fact that they know Santayana by hearsay only increases their apprehension. Finally there is a very small group of men—perhaps ten in a class of four hundred— to whom Santayana is a cult.
