Harry Overstreet
Harry Allen Overstreet was born in San Francisco, California, on 25th October, 1875. He attended the University of California receiving his B.A. degree in 1899. He taught at Berkeley until 1911 when he became chairman of the Department of Philosophy and Psychology at the College of the City of New York. Overstreet also taught in the continuing education program of the New School for Social Research.
Overstreet had a considerable influence over the intellectual development of Sidney Hook. He later recalled that he introduced him to the ideas of John Dewey. "Professor Harry Overstreet, chairman of the Department of Philosophy... had been converted to John Dewey's conception of philosophy, but unfortunately he did not hold up his end of the technical arguments when challenged by philosophy students... Nor was he highly regarded by fanatical young Socialists, to whom he was a mere social reformer whose ineffectual programs made more difficult the radicalization of the working class."
Hook was impressed by the character of Overstreet. Hook recorded in his autobiography, Out of Step: An Unquiet Life in the 20th Century (1987): "Harry Overstreet was a man of an extraordinarily sweet and generous disposition. He had genuine dramatic talent that enabled him to personalize the situations and problems out of which the conflict of human values developed. During his sabbatical year, he had worked anonymously as an unskilled laborer in a Midwest factory and was one of the first persons who tried to come to grips with a problem that only decades later became central in discussions of social philosophy. This was the nature of work in any industrial society and the difficulties of achieving self-fulfillment in tending the assembly lines of mass production. Unfortunately he could not do justice to his own insights, but instead entertained us with autobiographical tidbits and vivid accounts of his own family life and the difficulties of growing up."
Overstreet was strongly opposed to the policies of A. Mitchell Palmer, the recently appointed as attorney general. Palmer became convinced that Communist agents were planning to overthrow the American government. His view was reinforced by the discovery of thirty-eight bombs sent to leading politicians and the Italian anarchist who blew himself up outside Palmer's Washington home. Palmer recruited John Edgar Hoover as his special assistant and together they used the Espionage Act (1917) and the Sedition Act (1918) to launch a campaign against radicals and left-wing organizations.
Hook later recalled how Overstreet reacted to what became known as the Red Scare: "Overstreet would flare up with an eloquent outburst of denunciation at some particularly outrageous act of oppression. This was especially hazardous during the days of the Palmer raids and subsequent deportations. There were few organized protests against these brutal highhanded measures that crassly violated the key provisions of the Bill of Rights. The general public reacted to the excesses as if they were a passing heat wave. In the postwar hysteria of the time, it seemed as if the public either supported these measures or, more likely, was indifferent to them."
A. Mitchell Palmer claimed that Communist agents from Russia were planning to overthrow the American government. On 7th November, 1919, the second anniversary of the Russian Revolution, over 10,000 suspected communists and anarchists were arrested. Palmer and Hoover found no evidence of a proposed revolution but large number of these suspects were held without trial for a long time. The vast majority were eventually released but Emma Goldman, Alexander Berkman, Mollie Steimer, and 245 other people, were deported to Russia.
Sidney Hook pointed out in his autobiography: "The general public reacted to the excesses as if they were a passing heat wave. In the postwar hysteria of the time, it seemed as if the public either supported these measures or, more likely, was indifferent to them. One case that moved me profoundly was that of Emma Goldman and Alexander Berkman. Goldman and Berkman had been unjustly convicted on the flimsiest evidence of conspiring to prevent young men from registering for the draft. What they had done was merely to express their opposition to conscription, which they had every right to do. After a caricature of a trial, they were sentenced to two years in jail, heavily fined, and ordered deported to Russia, from which they had emigrated as children, at the expiration of their sentence. The case against these truly noble idealists, whose chief failing was an incurable naivete, should have been thrown out of court. The day the S.S. Buford sailed with them and 239 others on board was one of the darkest days of my life. Several days after the Buford left port, Professor Overstreet, in a large lecture section, made an impassioned reference to the Buford as the Ark of Liberty on the high seas. A hush fell over the class. Suddenly a student known to us for his right wing sentiments rushed from the room. In the atmosphere of the moment, we were convinced that he was reporting Overstreet's subversive utterance to someone in authority."
Morris Cohen was another lecturer in philosophy at the College of the City of New York. In his autobiography, A Dreamer’s Journey (1949): "The fact is that my teaching bore many resemblances to the instructional methods of a drill sergeant. Not only had my childhood experiences with education been filled with whippings and the fear of whippings, but my student days at City College itself had been dominated by the harsh standards approved by the first presidents of the College, both West Point graduates. . .It took me a long time before I could rid myself of my drill-sergeant attitude. I have always been grateful to Harry Overstreet, who came to the College without a trace of that attitude. Under his influence I found my teaching methods gradually becoming less harsh." However, in private Cohen told colleagues: "Don't misunderstand me. Overstreet's a big man. After all, it takes a big man to resign himself to living with a still bigger man under him."
In 1924 he began teaching adult education courses for the International Ladies' Garment Workers Union. Overstreet did this for the next twelve years. After the divorce from his first wife he married poet and psychologist Bonaro Wilkerson (1902-1985) in 1932. Both separately and together, the Overstreets wrote books covering such topics as psychology, philosophy, sociological studies, political science, adult education, and poetry.
Overstreet published the best-selling, The Mature Mind, in 1949. The book included what became a famous quotation: "One of the most important phases of maturing is that of growth from self-centering to an understanding relationship to others. A person is not mature until he has both an ability and a willingness to see himself as one among others and to do unto those others as he would have them do to him."
Clifton Fadiman wrote in the New Yorker Magazine: "The Mature Mind is not to be confused with the usual shallow self-help and inspirational books. It is the considered and, to date, the most important work of a responsible educator and philosopher... many books entertain, some instruct. This one, we think, really helps." It sold over 500,000 copies over the next first three years. In the book Overstreet was highly critical of the effects of newspapers, radio, movies and advertising. For example, he wrote of advertising, “To put the matter succinctly, advertising halts our psychological growth to the extent that it makes us do too much wanting and makes us want things for the wrong reasons.”
Overstreet wrote a series of popular books with his wife, Bonaro Overstreet. This included The Mind Alive (1954), What We Must Know About Communism (1958), The War Called Peace: Khrushchev's Communism (1961), The Iron Curtain: Where Freedom's Offensive Begins (1963), The Strange Tactics of Extremism (1964) and The FBI in our Open Society (1969).
Harry Overstreet died on 17th August, 1970.
Primary Sources
(1) Morris Cohen, A Dreamer’s Journey (1949)
The fact is that my teaching bore many resemblances to the instructional methods of a drill sergeant. Not only had my childhood experiences with education been filled with whippings and the fear of whippings, but my student days at City College itself had been dominated by the harsh standards approved by the first presidents of the College, both West Point graduates. . .It took me a long time before I could rid myself of my drill-sergeant attitude. I have always been grateful to Harry Overstreet, who came to the College without a trace of that attitude. Under his influence I found my teaching methods gradually becoming less harsh.
(2) Sidney Hook, Out of Step: An Unquiet Life in the 20th Century (1987)
Professor Harry Overstreet, chairman of the Department of Philosophy... had been converted to John Dewey's conception of philosophy, but unfortunately he did not hold up his end of the technical arguments when challenged by philosophy students whose dialectical razors had been honed in the classes of Morris Cohen. Nor was he highly regarded by fanatical young Socialists, to whom he was a mere social reformer whose ineffectual programs made more difficult the radicalization of the working class. The virtuous barbarism of the latter group and the intellectual arrogance of the former prevented them from properly appreciating and profiting from his instruction.
Harry Overstreet was a man of an extraordinarily sweet and generous disposition. He had genuine dramatic talent that enabled him to personalize the situations and problems out of which the conflict of human values developed. During his sabbatical year, he had worked anonymously as an unskilled laborer in a Midwest factory and was one of the first persons who tried to come to grips with a problem that only decades later became central in discussions of social philosophy. This was the nature of "work" in any industrial society and the difficulties of achieving self-fulfillment in tending the assembly lines of mass production. Unfortunately he could not do justice to his own insights, but instead entertained us with autobiographical tidbits and vivid accounts of his own family life and the difficulties of growing up.
Or he would regale the class with readings from H. L. Mencken. Those who took his courses to complete a requirement didn't mind, but there was not enough substance in them to challenge the serious students of philosophy.
On occasion, however, Overstreet would flare up with an eloquent outburst of denunciation at some particularly outrageous act of oppression. This was especially hazardous during the days of the Palmer raids and subsequent deportations. There were few organized protests against these brutal highhanded measures that crassly violated the key provisions of the Bill of Rights.
(3) Harry Overstreet, The Faculty Bulletin (1947)
I have been in almost daily contact with him (Morris Cohen) for the entire time of his service in the Department, and yet when I try to reduce him to a formula, to say what I have discovered in him, I find I am at a loss for words that will exactly turn the trick.
And yet it is not that Cohen is an enigma. The difficulty is that he is a phenomenon. If you listen to him expounding an idea - and he is generally doing that - you will be astonished at the ease with which he moves on intimate terms with the worthies and unworthies of all the ages. He brings forth their wisdom or their folly as familiarly as if he had just met them at breakfast.
We love him for his courage, his passion for the philosophic life, his deep and never faltering interest in his students, his wise counsel, his profound insight into the difficult problems of our time.