Leo Strauss and the Straussians

转自朝圣山之思

Until quite recently, Leo Strauss and his disciples were considered (insofar as
anyone took any notice of them) just a particular variety of conservative
intellectuals, with a special interest in political philosophy and American
constitutional history. Now we are beginning to discover that something peculiar has
been going on all this time.

The greatest peculiarity of Straussianism is that there is such a thing. Not a
single other "conservative" thinker has inspired a following remotely comparable, in
size, continuity, and influence, to that of Leo Strauss. There is a Straussian
school as there is no Weaveran or Burnhamite or Meyeran or Kendallist or Voegelinist
school. And this school has its own interests, ideas, and purposes, which are
clearly distinct from mainstream conservatism, however close to their collective
chest they play their cards.

The Straussians are also the only group of "conservatives" ever to amount to
anything in the academic world. They have reportedly been gradually, quietly
infiltrating and taking over political-science departments, making that discipline
characteristically theirs, as Marxists have done with sociology, and libertarians
with economics.

Then along came Allan Bloom, who was catapulted to momentary fame by The Closing of
the American Mind (1987), briefly becoming one of the most publicly-
recognized "conservative" figures ... second only to William F. Buckley, Jr., who
had spent decades making his name as the liberal establishment's token conservative.
Curiously (and characteristically) enough, in Bloom's famous (or infamous) book, he
only mentions his master once, and in passing, so that the vast majority of his
readers remained blissfully ignorant of any connection (probably never having heard
of Leo Strauss anyway); yet those in the know could immediately recognize Bloom's
intellectual affiliation.

Strauss and the Straussians began to attract more attention, both journalistic and
scholastic. One liberal scholar, Shadia Drury, has made a career of writing anti-
Straussian exposés: The Political Ideas of Leo Strauss (1988), Alexandre Kojeve: the
Roots of Postmodern Politics (1994), Leo Strauss and the American Right (1997).

The distinctively Straussian approach to political philosophy is, quite simply, to
take premodern philosophers seriously, and to try to understand them as they
understood themselves. This is, by itself, a radical challenge to modern historicism
(i.e. historical relativism), which holds that the thoughts of premodern
philosophers are "outmoded" and irrelevant; they were mental prisoners of their
epoch -- usually ignoring the implication that we, too, are mental prisoners of our
own epoch, so that contemporary prejudices are no better than "outmoded" ones.

But this is only a prelude to an even more radical challenge to modern thought: the
Straussians believe that premodern philosophy is better than modern philosophy. This
turns the whole "progressive" view of history topsy-turvy, and provides a very
distinctive point of view, and line of criticism, about modernity. The Straussians
are pre-modern and anti-modern, not in the name of religion (like the various forms
of religious fundamentalism all over the world) or of tradition (like conservatives
since Edmund Burke), but in the name of reason, of philosophy: an understanding of
reason and philosophy different from the Enlightenment's.

The teaching of Leo Strauss is "political philosophy" in a very special sense: his
primary, if not exclusive, concern is the relation of philosophy (and the
philosophers themselves) to society as a whole. Moreover, he imputes this primary
concern to the premodern and early modern philosophers.

The lesson of the trial and execution of Socrates is that Socrates was guilty as
charged: philosophy is a threat to society. By questioning the gods and the ethos of
the city, philosophy undermines the citizens' loyalty, and thus the basis of normal
social life. Yet philosophy is also the highest, the worthiest, of all human
endeavors. The resolution of this conflict is that the philosophers should, and in
fact did, keep their teachings secret, passing them on by the esoteric art of
writing "between the lines." Strauss believed that he alone had recovered the true,
hidden message contained in the "Great Tradition" of philosophy from Plato to Hobbes
and Locke: the message that there are no gods, that morality is ungrounded
prejudice, and that society is not grounded in nature.

With Machiavelli, however, there came a shift in emphasis. He was the first to
deviate from the esoteric tradition that began with Plato, thereby initiating the
Enlightenment. Machiavelli de-moralized political philosophy, and thereby
created "political science." Virtue, whether defined in classical or Christian
terms, was dethroned, because no regime could live up to its demands. Instead, a new
regime could and should be created, by accepting, understanding, and harnessing
men's lower, self-interested nature.

The modern world is held to be the deliberate creation (with some unintended
consequences) of the modern philosophers -- namely, the Enlightenment, which gave
birth to both scientific-technological progress and the liberal ideology of social-
political progress. The Enlighteners argued (though still covertly) that instead of
hiding philosophy, philosophers should reform society to make it more hospitable to
philosophy: in particular, by undertaking the "project" of modern science, by which
reason masters nature and provides material gratifications -- safety, health and
wealth -- to common men, bribing them into acquiescence to philosophy. Physical
science and technology would provide the know-how, while a new kind of regime,
liberalism, would provide the conditions of liberty and equality enabling men to
pursue their self-interest.

The problem with this (in the Straussian view) is that it exposed philosophy once
more, and ultimately prostituted philosophy itself into the service of common men.
The esoteric tradition was forgotten, and with it philosophy as such. At the same
time, philosophy inadvertently exposed men to certain hard truths, truths too hard
for them to bear: that there are no gods to reward good or punish evil; that no
one's patria is really any better than anyone else's; that one's ancestral ways are
merely conventional. This leads to nihilism, epitomized by the listless, meaningless
life of bourgeois man, or to dangerous experiments with new gods -- gods like the
race and the Fuehrer.

Strauss, an ethnic Jew and refugee from Nazi Germany, looked at the regnant
liberalism of mid-century America, and saw the Weimar Republic: morally weak,
incapable of self-preservation. His prophecy was fulfilled by the ignominious
collapse of the liberal establishment, both political and academic, in the face of
the New Left.

Now, this unique interpretation of Western history depends on the existence of
a "hidden agenda" in the history of philosophy. If there was, in fact, such an
esoteric tradition, it has escaped the attention of most scholars. Of course, that
might only prove how well-hidden it is ... which goes to show how seductive
esotericism can be, once you start flirting with it. But in the end, what really
matters is the philosophical questions Strauss raised, whether or not he was correct
in ascribing them to the historic philosophers.

There are several problems with his "teaching." First, is the philosopher (in the
original, literal sense: a "lover of wisdom") really a superior type of person? I
think that he is -- but not that he is a superior being. The difference between the
philosopher and the ordinary person is one of degree, not of kind. His impulses are
the same, but ordered differently. No matter how rational he is, he is still a
rational animal: a sexual one, for instance, and a social one. His curiosity is more
fully developed than theirs, but unless his other faculties are at least as well
developed as theirs, this one trait does not make him better than they are.

The ancient philosophers did believe that the philosophic life is the highest and
best, but only a few are suited to it. The Straussians concur, and go on to imply
that the major evil of modern egalitarianism is that it makes philosophy impossible,
by devaluing anything that is not accessible to the common man. But philosophy is
not the only thing that suffers: so do creativity, heroism, authority, and all
other "elitist" qualities.

Bloom makes much of this, even though he regards these other "types of soul" as
rivals to philosophy, because he wants to undermine egalitarianism, and these others
are more appealing. Philosophy is all the less appealing if, as he seems to assume,
the ultimate truth is that there is no truth. It is all the more important, then, to
convey this truth through misdirection: the desire to know cannot be aroused unless
the allure of truth is held out.

The main difference between the Straussians and Left-wing nihilists is that the
former think the "truth" of value-relativism should be known only to the few. All
the philosophical problems with relativism apply to the Straussians' Right-wing
version, and in spades. Suffice it here to say that the Straussians, too, have to
introduce quasi-objective standards of judgment, covertly and unintentionally: e.g.,
the social utility of religion and patriotism. Surely, the very fact that society
requires certain things -- communal loyalty, for instance -- in itself justifies
these things: they are rooted in nature, the social nature of humanity.

Then there is an evident contradiction between the idea of philosophy as the pursuit
of truth, and the idea of philosophy as a body of esoteric lore. If the Straussian
reading is correct, it would seem that the history of philosophy consists of
practically nothing but pondering the relation of philosophy to civil society,
rather than pondering philosophical questions themselves. All the important
questions have already been answered, or declared to be unanswerable: this is what
created the tension between philosophy and civil society in the first place. So what
is there for philosophers to do? The Straussians themselves are not even
philosophers, but historians of philosophy, custodians of the esoteric lore.

The perceived need to write obscurely also tends to obscure thought. The Closing of
the American Mind is much better-written (in style, at least, if not in convoluted
structure and argumentation) than anything by Leo Strauss. But even Bloom makes his
argument complex and subtle to the point of evasiveness, as if he wants to confuse
and mislead the reader. (In particular, his critics -- those who actually did read
him -- were hardly ever able to tell when he was or was not speaking in propria
persona.) Bloom, at least, writes so well that he charms rather than repulses the
reader, so one is (if sympathetic) willing to read his book again and again, with
closer and closer attention; but not even the most sympathetic reader can really be
sure, in the end, precisely what Bloom really means, behind all the good and
important things he does say.

Bloom's analysis of our cultural predicament is so true, so profound, that there
must be some truth in his speculations as to its causes; but he all-too-carefully
avoids making clear and specific claims that can be put to the test. This is the
great weakness of the Straussian method: so careful is he to hide the point of his
argument, he nearly fails to make it. Certainly he fails to support it. Strauss puts
his students to such a mental effort to try to understand him that they are too
exhausted to make the mental effort to criticize him.

Given the inherent obscurity of the Straussian teaching, one should only be
surprised if it did not produce conflicting interpretations. There are in fact two
schools of Straussians: those like Bloom, who accept and propound this esoteric
teaching; and those, such as Harry Jaffa, who interpret Strauss in terms of a more
conventional understanding of classical philosophy. One might call them the
esoterics and the exoterics, but it is hard to tell which is which.

It may be that the seeming exoterics are just better at hiding their esotericism,
which makes them the true esoterics. Both of them challenge the prevailing
relativism of twentieth-century thought, harking back to classical standards of
truth and justice; but the esoterics only do so because truth and justice are
salutary myths, while the exoterics (perhaps) really do believe in truth and
justice.

The two schools are also divided on their interpretation of American history, and
particularly the American Founding. Both follow Strauss's division of philosophical
history into the (good) "ancients" and the (bad) "moderns." According to the
esoteric version, America was wholly modern from its inception: it is entirely the
creation of the "modern project." The exoteric Straussians, like conservatives,
prefer to emphasize America's continuity with the classical and Christian sources of
Western civilization.

The esoterics, then, basically agree with the libertarian and (pre-1960s) liberal
understanding of American history: we are a "proposition nation," liberal to the
core, and conservatism is un-American. The cult of the Founding Fathers is just a
salutary myth. The truth is that the Founders, under the tutelage of Hobbes and
Locke, deliberately created a squalid regime ruled by self-interest, sacrificing
virtue to liberty and equality, and are ultimately responsible for the philistinism,
mediocrity, and deracination of contemporary America.

Both esoterics and exoterics seem to agree that we need to try to refurbish the old
notion of "natural rights," on which the republic was founded. Bloom
regards "natural rights" as illusory, and bourgeois society as distasteful; but they
are at least preferable to the nihilism of the New Left. The question is whether the
New Left was the inevitable culmination of the ideology of liberty and equality --
and he strongly implies that it is. His only hope seems to be the cultivation of a
tiny remnant to pass on the old lore through the new Dark Age. Now, conservatism
might or might not be un-American, but this sort of quietism certainly is.

Straussianism is an extraordinarily complex and subtle body of ideas, and I am sure
that I have hardly done it justice in this small space. But in the end,
Straussianism offers more questions than answers. This is not necessarily bad: the
questions need to be asked. What is the relation of nature to culture? Can society
be founded on rational principles? Has the Enlightenment brought about its own
downfall? How did this happen? What can be salvaged from the wreck? -- etc. Strauss,
through his disciple Bloom, started me thinking about these questions, which have
preoccupied me ever since.

2000 by Karl Jahn