William F. Buckley Jr. was only 25 when he decided to blow up his own reputation. Or, more accurately, he decided to blow up the reputation of the university that had just handed him a degree. It was 1951. The book was God and Man at Yale. Most people today think they know what it’s about—basically a rich kid complaining about liberals—but that's a massive oversimplification that misses why the book actually matters in 2026.
Buckley wasn't just venting. He was accusing Yale of a bait-and-switch. He argued that the university took money from wealthy, conservative, Christian alumni while simultaneously teaching their children that those exact values were "superstitious" and "reactionary."
It was a total bloodbath.
The faculty hated it. The administration tried to bury it. And yet, seventy-five years later, we are still having the exact same argument about academic freedom, donor intent, and whether a university should have a "mission" at all. Honestly, if you look at the headlines about campus protests or donor withdrawals today, it’s like Buckley wrote the script three-quarters of a century ago.
The 1950s Cancel Culture
Back then, "cancel culture" wasn't a phrase, but the reaction to Buckley was basically the blueprint for it. The university’s response wasn't to debate him; it was to imply he was a bit of a fanatic.
McGeorge Bundy, who later became a JFK advisor, wrote a scathing review in The Atlantic. He basically called Buckley a "twisted and ignorant young man." That’s high-level academic shade. But what really stung was Buckley's specific data. He didn't just say "professors are liberal." He named names.
He pointed at the Department of Economics. He looked at the Department of Religion. He argued that while Yale claimed to be a Christian institution, the actual classroom teaching was pushing a blend of collectivism and secular agnosticism.
Buckley’s thesis was simple, though some found it dangerous: The alumni pay the bills, so the alumni should decide what is taught. To a modern ear, that sounds like a violation of "academic freedom." To Buckley, "academic freedom" was just a convenient shield that professors used to prevent anyone from holding them accountable to the people who actually funded their research.
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It Wasn't Just About Religion
Despite the title, God and Man at Yale was arguably more concerned with "Man" (specifically, the economic systems man creates). Buckley was a disciple of individual liberty. He saw the rise of the New Deal and Keynesian economics as a slow slide toward socialism.
You have to remember the context. 1951. The Cold War was freezing over. The "Red Scare" was a very real social anxiety. Buckley’s genius—or his villainy, depending on who you ask—was linking the classroom to the Kremlin. He didn't say his professors were spies. He said they were "philosophically" aligned with a worldview that made the West weak.
He focused heavily on a textbook by Paul Samuelson. At the time, Samuelson’s Economics was the gold standard. Buckley hated it. He thought it gave too much credit to government intervention. This is where the book stops being a theological treatise and starts being the foundation of the modern conservative movement.
Before this book, American conservatism was a disjointed mess of country club Republicans and isolated libertarians. Buckley gave them a common enemy: the "Academic Elite."
The Myth of the Neutral University
One of the biggest misconceptions about the book is that Buckley wanted "neutrality." He didn't. He was very upfront about that. He thought "neutrality" was a lie.
He believed that every institution has a bias, and if Yale was going to call itself a Christian, pro-liberty school in its brochures, it should damn well be one in its lecture halls. He wrote, "I believe that the duel between Christianity and atheism is the most important in the world. I further believe that the struggle between individualism and collectivism is the same struggle reproduced on another level."
That is a heavy take.
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Critics like Dwight Macdonald argued that Buckley was essentially calling for an "educational Inquisition." They weren't entirely wrong. Buckley was literally suggesting that the Board of Overseers should fire professors who didn't align with the school's "founding mission."
Why the Ivy League Still Has a Buckley Problem
Fast forward to today. Look at the recent turmoil at Harvard, Penn, and yes, Yale. When donors like Marc Rowan or Bill Ackman started pulling funding recently because they disagreed with the "moral direction" of their alma maters, they were walking the path Buckley cleared.
The core question remains: Who owns a university?
- Is it the faculty, who provide the expertise?
- Is it the students, who pay the tuition?
- Or is it the donors and the "tradition," as Buckley argued?
Yale’s official response in 1952 was a report that basically said the university's primary job is the "search for truth," and that this search cannot be dictated by outsiders. It’s a beautiful sentiment. But Buckley’s counter was more cynical: If you’re searching for "truth" but you’ve already decided that certain "truths" (like religion or capitalism) are off-limits, are you actually searching for anything?
What Most People Get Wrong About the Aftermath
People think Buckley was an outcast after the book. In reality, it made him a superstar. It led directly to the founding of National Review in 1955. It gave him the platform to launch Firing Line.
But here is the twist: Buckley eventually softened on some of his most radical "God and Man" stances. Later in life, he acknowledged that his idea of alumni controlling the curriculum was probably "unworkable." He realized that if you give donors total control, you don't get a "great university," you get a corporate training center or a Sunday school.
However, he never backed down on the idea that the "L-word" (Liberalism) had become a state religion in the Ivy League.
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Specific Examples of Buckley’s Evidence
If you actually read the text, he’s surprisingly granular. He cites specific courses like Sociology 10. He quotes Professor Raymond Kennedy, who apparently told students that "religion is a substitute for sex." He mentions Professor Ralph Turner, who was known for being vocally anti-religious.
These weren't just vibes. They were receipts.
Whether those receipts proved a "conspiracy" or just reflected the changing intellectual tide of the post-WWII era is the real debate. The 1950s was a time of massive secularization in the American intellect. Buckley was trying to hold back the tide with a bucket.
Moving Past the Rhetoric
If you're trying to understand the current "culture war" in education, you kind of have to read this book. Not because it’s "right," but because it defines the battlefield.
It’s a short read. Punchy. Precocious. It’s written with the confidence that only a 25-year-old Yale grad who knows he’s about to become famous can muster. It’s also incredibly snobbish in places, which is part of the Buckley charm (or lack thereof).
How to Apply These Insights Today
If you are a student, a parent, or an alum concerned about the state of higher education, don't just complain about "wokeism" or "intolerance." Do what Buckley did:
- Look at the Syllabi. Stop talking about "vibes" and start looking at the actual reading lists. Are they balanced?
- Follow the Money. Understand where the endowments come from and what the "mission statement" of the school actually promises.
- Engage the Administration. Buckley didn't just write a diary entry; he wrote a manifesto and sent it to every prominent alum he could find.
The lesson of God and Man at Yale isn't necessarily that the "right wing" should take over schools. It's that transparency is the only way to keep a massive, wealthy institution honest. When there is a gap between what a school says it is and what it actually teaches, someone is going to point it out. Buckley just happened to be the first one to do it with a megaphone.
For those interested in the primary documents, the Yale University Library still maintains archives of the correspondence between the administration and outraged alumni from the 1951-1952 period. It’s a fascinating look at an institution in a defensive crouch.
The book didn't change Yale's curriculum—if anything, Yale became more secular and more liberal in the decades that followed. But it changed the way Americans look at their institutions. It broke the spell of the "neutral" university. Once you see the bias, you can’t unsee it. That is the true legacy of William F. Buckley’s first big swing.