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| Jonathan Schell (Image: thenation.com) |
For better or worse, Schell was largely known for two nonfiction works, The Fate of the Earth and The Village of Ben Suc. Often lumped together into "an exploration of war," the books shared Schell's desire to explore the nature and consequences of evil as manifested through organized armed conflict. In that sense, Schell followed in the footsteps of one of his mentors, Hannah Arendt.
Another mentor in Schell's professional and personal life was William Shawn, The New Yorker's second editor. My understanding was that the Schells and the Shawn household were muy simpatico, with young Jonathan a close friend of one of The New Yorker editor's sons. Harvard and The New Yorker seemed natural fits for the well-connected Schell. However, what was striking about Jonathan in person, whom I met when I worked at The New Yorker, was his constant courtesy and his appealing modesty. He was genuinely surprised that The Fate of the Earth became a best-seller. (So were a lot of other people.) He was much more heartened by the public interest in an issue he found so compelling and urgent. It's easy to forget that the book's publication coincided with Ronald Reagan's thoughtless nuclear sabre-rattling that downplayed modern war's human and planetary consequences. Schell's work gave articulate voice to a fragmented anti-militarist movement. For those who assert that books, especially works on important topics, have diminished impact in a visual age, one should consider Schell's courageous effort and its useful results.
I once asked Schell whether he had seen the movie Apocalypse Now. He had not. Why? He didn't view depictions of war -- especially the Vietnam War, which Schell had witnessed -- as suitable entertainment choices. I didn't agree with his opinion, but saw his point. I've never forgotten it, either.
Jonathan Schell was generally considered William Shawn's personal preference as his successor to The New Yorker's throne. That sentiment was not shared by all senior editorial staff members. As it happened, destiny intervened: The New Yorker was sold to Si Newhouse. The magazine world's Sun King preferred a different editorial direction and leadership than those Shawn and Schell represented. Schell soon realized he wanted to publish his work elsewhere. He did so, and slowly slipped from the heights of public prominence.
With Jonathan Schell's passing, one more voice from an era spawned by the Vietnam War, the Civil Rights movement, and the triumph of liberal politics is no longer among us. What and who will replace the moral conscience Schell and others so bravely advanced?
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