At first it seemed that his book was a mighty polemic against that type, the intellectual hypocrite, but, in a more analytic moment several years later, it became evident to me that he was simply a gossip who was unaware he was describing, not the enemies of freedom, not even his own enemies, but himself. The tragedy of propounding a vociferous critique is that the reasons behind one's invective are, in the end, trivial, personal, and bound to our infantile need for redress, and that is why wisdom is alloyed with silence.