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First published in 2011 by The Penguin Press,
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Copyright © John Lewis Gaddis, 2011
All rights reserved
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING IN PUBLICATION DATA
Gaddis, John Lewis.
George F. Kennan : an American life / John Lewis Gaddis.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN : 978-1-101-54810-3
1. Kennan, George F. (George Frost), 1904–2005. 2. United States—Foreign relations—1945–1989. 3. World
politics—1945–1989. 4. United States—Foreign relations—Soviet Union. 5. Soviet Union—Foreign
relations—United States. 6. Cold war—Diplomatic history. 7. Diplomats— United States—
Biography. 8. Ambassadors—United States—Biography. I. Title.
E748.K374G34 2011
327.730092—dc23
[B] 2011021786
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PREFACE
“I HAVE SOMETIMES WONDERED WHETHER YOU WOULD BE ABLE TO see your way to going through with it,” George Kennan wrote me in 1995, fourteen years after I became his biographer, sixteen years before the book would appear. “But,” he added, “I comfort myself with the reflection that I have, after all, deservedly or otherwise, become something closer to a national figure in recent years.... I do not expect to live to see the results of your efforts; and I am not sure that I ought to see them, even if I lived to do it. But write them, if you will, on the confident assumption that no account need be taken of my own reaction to them, either in this world or the next.”1
Kennan had, of course, already secured an international reputation as a diplomat, grand strategist, historian, memoirist, cultural critic, and antiwar activist when, in 1981 at the age of seventy-eight, he agreed to cooperate in the writing of this biography. We both assumed that it would appear a few years after his death. Neither of us foresaw how far into the future that would be: Kennan would not die until March 17, 2005, at the age of a hundred and one. Characteristically, he blamed himself for the delay.
He saw no signs that the biography was in progress, Kennan wrote in his diary after I paid him a visit in 1997, but “I don’t find this surprising. [Gaddis] would no doubt have preferred to write it when I am dead, as I should, in the natural order of things, long since have been.” Perhaps “I should do him the favor of dying immediately.” His failure to do so did not diminish the guilt he felt. “My unnatural longevity is now becoming a serious burden to others,” he lamented in 2003. “Poor John Gaddis has seen his undertaking being put off for years while he waits for me to make way for it.”2
I assured Kennan, on many occasions, that I didn’t mind, that I had other things to keep me occupied, and that I would make the biography my chief priority, apart from teaching, after his death. Our strange relationship went on long enough, though, for my students—who tend to see anyone over forty as having a foot in the grave—to begin speculating somberly about which of us might go first.
From my perspective (assuming survival), the relationship could not have been better. Kennan granted me unrestricted access to himself, his papers, and his mostly handwritten diaries, which alone fill twelve of the 330 boxes of Kennan materials now open for research at Princeton University’s Seeley G. Mudd Manuscript Library. With Kennan’s encouragement, many of his friends and most of his family talked with me soon after I began this project—fortunately, as it happened, because he outlived almost all of them. I saw him for interviews, and later less formal visits, about once a year for a quarter of a century: he found it a relief, he once told me, that “you’re not always around and under foot.”
Kennan also gave me, from the outset, the greatest gift an authorized biographer can receive, which was the complete freedom to say what I pleased. The only portion of this book he ever read is a single paragraph in the Epilogue, drawn from a talk I delivered when Princeton opened its centennial exhibition on his life in November 2003. Would it be all right, he asked me that morning, if he afterward saw a copy of what I was going to say? Of course, I replied, I would send it to him. He thanked me, but added that I shouldn’t do so if I felt this to be in any way an attempt to “influence” the biography.3
He and I originally thought of the book as more political than personal, but when we explained this to George’s wife, Annelise, she strongly objected. His writings, she reminded us, were full of gloom and doom: I must get to know him well enough to see that he was not always this way. That, in turn, allowed me to glimpse the stabilizing
