How
Conservatives Failed ‘The Culture’* Claes G. Ryn
Official professions to the contrary, many
self-described American
intellectual conservatives have a thinly veiled disdain for philosophy
and the arts. Even among academics indifference to what lies beyond
broad
ideas and popular culture is common. The ruling assumption of the now
dominant
strains of intellectual conservatism seems to be that the crux of
social
well-being is politics: bad politicians ruin society; good politicians
set it right. Nothing fascinates conservatives more than presidential
politics.
For social problems to be effectively remedied and for worthy
objectives
to be achieved, "our" candidate must win the next election, our people
man the government.
Many supposedly intellectual conservatives seem to consider
ideas and
culture from afar, as it were, feeling no deep personal need for or
intimate
connection with them. Some are in a way attracted to the arts or even
to
philosophical speculation, but see no significant and immediate
connection
between these and the life of practice. Ideas and the arts are mainly
pleasant
diversions. Many others have only slight interest in philosophy and
culture
for their own sake. More or less consciously, they tend to assess
either
thought or imagination from the point of view of whether it advances or
undermines the political cause that they assume to be incontestable.
Does
the book, lecture, play, movie, or song help or hinder the cause?
Although
such works may enlighten or entertain, they do not strike these
individuals
as having intrinsic and independent authority. Works of thought and
imagination
are for them not intriguing and potentially unsettling forces that
might
trigger painful self-examination and unpredictably reconstitute one's
own
accustomed views; making sense of them is not so much a matter of
soul-searching
as of locating them on the political spectrum.
One might explain these reactions as instances of the social
decline
now widely bemoaned. Schools, families, and other institutions have not
conveyed the excitement of ideas and the higher arts, leaving the young
largely "tone-deaf" and unaware of their deeper appeal and formative
influence
on civilization. For persons not strongly drawn to them in the first
place,
the element of sheer decadence in the dominant intellectual and
cultural
life of today has only reinforced existing prejudices.
A related explanation for truncated conservative approaches
to thought
and imagination is the spread of an ideological frame of mind. In this
century leftist ideology has been the most influential. It has been
often
extreme and has caused great human suffering. But the left has no
monopoly
on ideology. Even the best of ideas can start to separate from the
changeability
and complexity of real life and harden into reflexive and
reductionistic
propositions.
There is a sense in which ideology—as well as party
programs, slogans,
etc.—is not only inevitable but legitimate: to advance practical
objectives
it is frequently necessary, especially in politics, to summarize and
codify
ideas in order to mobilize support and exhort to action. Ideology in
that
sense is not necessarily incompatible with humane purposes. Neither is
there anything inherently objectionable about the popularization of
difficult
ideas. The full import of sound philosophy may be apparent only to
relatively
few, but those insights need to be communicated beyond the circle of
learned
experts. What is complex must be made simple. In the process of
transmission
there is a danger that thought will harden into ideology, but good
popularizers
will try, by means of well-chosen concrete illustrations, for example,
not to turn ideas into abstract and sweeping generalizations that
ignore
the texture of real life. 1
The health of society requires that elites
be continuously
reminded by genuine intellectuals and artists not to mistake ideology
for
eternal verities. If that indispensable task is not performed or if the
reminders are not heeded, undue influence will fall to the more
inventive
and ambitious ideologues. Their politically charged formulations may
start
to acquire a life of their own. In the absence of a vital intellectual
and aesthetical culture that challenges and breaks up the encrustations
of ideology, such persons may gather unto themselves large new
responsibilities
unsuited to their preparation and temperament. They may start acting
the
role of arbiters of goodness, truth, and beauty, perhaps establish
themselves
as authorities in the universities. Trying to meet the expectations
that
traditionally surround such roles, ideologues may acquire greater
subtlety,
but the affected disciplines and institutions are damaged by the
association.
Ideology is now rampant in the universities. Since virtually
all of
it is of the left, it might seem beneficial to have it balanced in some
small measure by ideology of the right. Yet for political correctness
of
one kind to compete with political correctness of another kind may be a
marginal intellectual advantage for the longer run. Together, the weeds
in the garden suffocate and crowd out the flowers.
The ideological mind-set, formed as it is at bottom by a desire to
dominate rather than illuminate, is an intruder in philosophy and the
arts.
It is closed in upon itself and resentful of competition. Instead of
cultivating
the openness to new influences that marks real philosophy and art and
letting
itself be exposed to the possible intellectual turmoil of fresh
insight,
ideology shunts inconvenient thought and imagination aside. Ideologues
produce propaganda, although sometimes propaganda of a sophisticated
kind.
When such individuals set the tone, the intellectual and artistic life
suffers.
In all avenues of human action, achieving particular
objectives requires
that the will be asserted and available resources marshaled. It takes
power.
The power sought and exercised in politics is but an example of an
ever-present
need of human action in general. Without power, great or small, nothing
gets done, be it for good or ill.2
Yet
a drive for power that is not substantially and integrally connected
with
the free and independent sphere of ideas and culture—to say nothing
here
of the all-important imperative of morality—becomes a merely
self-advancing
and self-gratifying manipulation of other human beings.
Who is today the paradigmatic conservative intellectual, the
kind of
individual to whom educated and reading conservatives look for
authoritative
judgments and to whom they ultimately defer? He seems to be a cross
between
an intellectual and a political activist, less a thinker concerned with
the fundamental and enduring questions of life than a "policy wonk,"
less
a learned scholar than a media pundit. Although possibly bright and
articulate,
this type cannot long be distracted from his absorbing interest:
politics
and politics-related questions and schemes. He seems untouched by
philosophical
depth or by any deeper aesthetical need or sensibility.
Individuals of this description can wield considerable
influence over
the kind of decisions that appear to them most important. But these
persons
are not so much independent agents as unwitting instruments of larger
forces—a
fate they cannot bemoan because it does not reach their consciousness.
Because of a weak grasp of the dynamic of human existence, they have
difficulty
understanding the scope of social problems. Their limited awareness of
what really shapes the long-term direction of a society or
civilization—specifically,
of the roles played by thought and imagination—leads to inadequate
analyses
of the existing political and social situation and of what might bring
real and lasting improvement. These persons are frequently surprised by
events and are prone to defeating their own stated objectives.
Unless ideas and art have some direct and obvious
relationship to politics,
many intellectual conservatives regard them as having negligible
practical
importance and to be provinces of the left in addition. Because
philosophers
and artists can be expected to favor the wrong causes, it is desirable
to mobilize opposition to them from within their own ranks; yet, apart
from this political problem, these conservatives see no large and
compelling
reason to worry about professors, writers, composers, and artists.
After
all, society is moved not by them but by individuals who pursue more
"practical"
pursuits, especially persons who affect public policy and, most
prominently,
leading politicians. To the bearer, this view of where the real power
lies
represents hard-nosed realism. In actuality, it exemplifies a narrow
and
shortsighted understanding of what shapes the future.
The decline of academia and the general culture has assumed
such blatant
forms and started to have such an obvious impact on society at large
that
nowadays the conservative political intellectuals are paying more
attention.
But the seriousness of those problems is not unrelated to the mentioned
assessment of what sets society's long-term direction, an assessment
that
is in line with the more questionable aspects of American pragmatism.
In
the last two decades especially, the "realism" of conservatives who
assume
the centrality of politics has detracted from and undermined an earlier
and rather different kind of American conservatism, which started to
gain
new momentum in the early 1950s. Its leaders saw ideas and imagination
as being at the bottom not only of the troubles of civilization but
also
of any possibility of renewal. "Realism" competed with and drew
attention
away from efforts to bring about the kind of intellectual and cultural
renaissance that eventually might have arrested or reversed ominous
developments
in academia and the arts and more deeply penetrated society.
Some brief comments on what really moves human beings and
originates
social change will help explain the seriousness of not recognizing the
actual role and importance of thought and imagination. The power of
even
the ablest and most knowledgeable wielders of political influence is
sharply
circumscribed by another power. That power does not marshal and deploy
resources in a utilitarian political fashion. It works in a more subtle
and yet efficacious manner: it shapes the fundamental sensibilities,
desires
and views of a people.
Every society and individual has a vision, however
inarticulate, of
what life is like and might become. Deep within, we carry fears and
hopes.
What we ultimately live on, and live for, are our most cherished dreams
about the future. Held and nurtured in the imagination, their vividness
and concreteness stir us to action. We live by what we thrill to, says
D. H. Lawrence. The imagination is more generally at the bottom of our
sense of the whole, of how we see human existence, its opportunities,
dangers,
joys, and sorrows.
On the basis of that concrete feel for the texture of life,
we also
form ideas. They give conceptual expression to our intuitions.
Some
individuals undertake that intellectual articulation systematically and
in depth. The result is philosophy.
Our dreams and ideas bear the distinctive imprint of our
individual
personalities, but every society has a dominant sense of its own
identity
and purpose that affects even the innermost beliefs and wishes of the
person.
Individuals are connected by ideas and intuitions that give them a
similar
outlook on life. By virtue of that commonality, certain works of
thought
or imagination—of philosophy, history, fiction, poetry, drama, music,
or
movies—can give voice to the groping needs and intuitions of their
audience;
they capture the mind or imagination of a people or its elites. Some of
these works catch on in a special way that places them among the
enduring
treasures of civilization. By the same token, the pioneering,
eye-opening
works affect how particular people view themselves and human
existence.
Great power for shaping society lies with those who make us
see life
through their eyes. Deep within our personalities are the marks left by
the imaginative and intellectual master-minds-poets, religious
visionaries,
painters, composers, and philosophers-the individuals whose intuitions
or ideas leave others changed. Directly or indirectly, those
individuals
create the tenor of an age, for good or ill. They may be long dead, but
their visions move the living.
Great works of art or thought may discuss or depict
politics, and they
always present a point of view, but their primary inspiration is never
merely political passion. They transcend the concerns of particular
historical
situations. They throw light on the human condition, sometimes on the
reality
of politics, but they do not preach and exhort. Art and didacticism are
incompatible, as are philosophy and propaganda. Still, as illuminating,
orienting statements, the great works of art or thought always carry
implications
or have consequences for practical politics, however indirect and
unanticipated.
They are typically a reaction against life going wrong and present a
vision
of new possibilities. By affecting how people imagine or think about
the
world, these works affect political attitudes.
It is objected perhaps that most people are rarely exposed
to high culture—and
do not even want to be. Only a small minority becomes familiar with the
great works of art or thought and is substantially influenced by them.
It may be said of some of these works, in fact, that in particular
generations
only a handful of persons, perhaps only one or two, can be said really
to have absorbed them. How, then, could they have any impact on society
in general?
The answer is that the elite culture—including works that
are fully
accessible to but a few—is transmitted to others by those who have felt
its power. Individuals inspired by a great work apply and diversify its
vision in their own artistic or intellectual efforts, spreading it to
new
audiences at different levels of refinement. The transformative power
of
the great work eventually affects the sensibilities, dreams, or
thoughts
of all, even if it does so very indirectly and in watered-down form.
The
perspectives of the seminal works eventually find their way into the
general
culture—schools, newspapers, movies, television soap operas, novels,
and,
not least, the imagery of advertising.
Those who enter our minds and imaginations are in a position
to make
particular ideas, attitudes, behaviors, and experiences seem inviting
or
repulsive. They can affect our notions of what to admire, what to fear,
what to scorn, and what to laugh at, and they can incline us to action
that corresponds to these responses.
Especially over time, the power of all the politicians in
the nation's
capital is dwarfed by the power of those who influence us through
teaching,
writing, preaching, art, and entertainment. Even if the latter group
represents
a variety of viewpoints, a particular cultural and intellectual ethos
tends
to predominate that can be traced back to ground-breaking works of art
and thought. In our own time, egalitarian pressures and mass
communication
have produced a perhaps more thoroughgoing likemindedness than seen
before.
Behind what counts as moral sensibility today, for example, who but the
ignorant and dull-witted could fail to discern the deep and brilliant,
if deleterious, influence of the thought and imagination of
Jean-Jacques
Rousseau? 3
Whatever the dominant fundamental mind-set
that artists
and intellectuals have cultivated, it has planted in us certain
expectations and desires. It has prepared the ground for or
built
obstacles to political action of a certain type. Politicians who run
afoul
of the prevailing sensibilities and ideas of their time risk their
political
lives. In other words, they are at the mercy of a power that is not of
their own making. Only marginally can they change the "rules of the
game"
that are determined deep within the consciousness of a people.
Many conservatives believe that intellectuals and artists
are naturally
and almost inevitably on the left. If this were the case, all efforts
to
move society in a different direction would be condemned to failure.
There
simply is no overcoming those who can shape our sense of what makes
life
worth living. 4
Conservatives whose culturally and
intellectually
"unmusical" natures make them indifferent to philosophy and the higher
arts do nevertheless have minds and imaginations. They, too, live by
what
they thrill to. Their fascination with Washington, D.C., and
presidential
politics has been nurtured by images of power and corresponding ideas
in
the popular culture. Imaginative and intellectual impulses subversive
of
general trends have also made them critical of the powers-that-be, but,
to a far greater extent than they know, they live within the patterns
of
sensibility and thought that define the ethos of their troubled
civilization.
A disparagement of thought and imagination is discernible
also among
intellectuals on the right who are critical of the now dominant strains
of conservatism. Although sometimes perceptive in other respects, they
tend to view ideas and culture "sociologically," as the expressions of
group interest. The fundamental reality of politics is for them the
conflict
between "us" and "them." Ideas and art may be influential but do not
rise
above conflict; they are essentially instruments whereby people who
seek
power advance their cause (a perspective not unlike that of Karl
Marx).
Writers of this persuasion consider themselves consummate
realists.
They see conservatives for whom literature, art, and philosophy are
keys
to social renewal as not quite attuned to the hard facts of life. This
complaint is not wholly unjustified in that some conservatives are
attracted
to thought and imagination—and, for that matter, religion—more as
avenues
of comforting escape than as sustenance for living in the world as it
is.
What the "realists" do not recognize is that thought and imagination,
far
from being mere symptoms of power-realities, have everything to do with
the very definition of "us" and "them" and that they can either mute or
intensify hostilities. That thought and imagination are often vehicles
for partisan interest has been here not only acknowledged but
highlighted,
but it is also the case that political passions and patterns of strife
originate deep within the mind and the imagination. One may recognize
and
even underscore the element of truth in a Niccolò Machiavelli
or a Thomas Hobbes and still insist that culture and philosophy—no less
than morality—can transcend and therefore modify the boundaries
of political conflict. Realism is highly desirable, but to be more than
superficially such it must understand the scope and power of art and
ideas.
In the decades just after World War II several leading
American conservative
intellectuals understood well the historical origins of civilization
and
the great influence of thought and imagination. Russell Kirk and Peter
Viereck are good examples. The two differed politically, Viereck being
less opposed than Kirk to the budding federal welfare state inherited
from
Franklin Roosevelt and now managed by the Eisenhower administration.
Although
sharply critical of the Eastern intellectual-cultural-political elites
in important respects, Viereck also felt a stronger bond with them than
Kirk. But the two men agreed on the primacy of the "pre-political"
sphere
of ethics, ideas, and culture. There could be no real recovery of
Western
civilization without a renewal of mind and imagination. 5
Kirk and Viereck were inspired by a
seminal American
thinker, Irving Babbitt (1865-1933), the Harvard professor of French
and
comparative literature who founded the so-called New Humanism or
American
Humanism. Babbitt had diagnosed a deepening crisis of civilization. If
there were to be any chance of overcoming it, the foundations must be
laid
for a reorientation of the ethical, aesthetical and intellectual life.
Babbitt was particularly concerned to unmask certain moral-imaginative
habits—the "sham spirituality" of Rousseauistic sentimental pity—which
had become the hallmark of elites in the Western world, and to
demonstrate
their potentially disastrous social and political consequences. To get
to the bottom of the powerful and insidious impulse of "sentimental
humanitarianism,"
Babbitt wanted to expose its deepest roots in morally conceited and
self-indulgent
imagination. More generally, he sought a broad intellectual and
cultural
movement that might in time redirect the moral and political life of
civilization. 6
Babbitt strongly influenced the perhaps
most fertile
strain of conservative thought after the war. But, on the whole,
American
intellectual conservatism has not carried through on its most promising
potentialities. It has had difficulty accepting or understanding that
real
and lasting social change must begin deep within the mind and the
imagination
and work itself out over generations. Although paying lip-service to
the
need for ideas and imagination, many of the leaders of the movement
wanted
immediate results, by which they meant, first of all, political
victories.
Intellectual conservatism did not fully assimilate or go very far
developing
and supplementing the work of its leading minds, dead or living. It did
not develop the wide-ranging and philosophically mature intellectual
culture
that might have held and expanded its ground in academia and thence
more
deeply penetrated society. The element of intellectual and imaginative
vitality was diluted or made to seem secondary by the ever-present
concern
with practical politics and, of course, economics.
Early examples of a preoccupation with politics that
prefigured later
developments could be cited at length. The National Review
magazine,
which was founded in the mid 1950s, exhibited from the beginning a
strong
tendency to let political concerns overpower intellectual-philosophical
considerations. In 1956 Peter Viereck published a concise but broadly
informative
historical and typological survey intended primarily for students, Conservatism
from Adams to Churchill. The book conveyed the richness and variety
of the subject while presenting the author's own view of conservatism.
In National Review one of the editors, the ex-communist Frank
S.
Meyer, dismissed the book and excommunicated Viereck on grounds of
deviation
from conservative political orthodoxy, as defined by Meyer—as if issues
of practical politics must always take precedence. 7
The example is revealing in that Viereck,
whatever
the flaws of his practical politics, understood the sources of genuine
civilization a good deal better than most leading American conservative
intellectuals. It is no coincidence that, although Russell Kirk long
wrote
for National Review, he was always uncomfortable with its
editorial
regime and resisted efforts to have his name affixed to its
masthead.
In 1951 the young William F. Buckley, Jr., had published God
and Man at Yale. The book denounced "collectivist" teaching at Yale
University
and argued that the financial backers of academic institutions should
ignore
disingenuous talk about academic freedom and use their influence to
ensure
teaching favorable to "individualism" and the market. In his book Academic
Freedom (1955) Kirk offered a much different point of view,
stressing
the importance of free inquiry. He politely but firmly rejected what he
called Buckley's "program of indoctrination." 8
The politicizing trend within American
intellectual
conservatism was by no means all-encompassing, and the movement did
make
strides in many respects. It gained some ground in academia. Still, the
early signs of ambivalence about the free and independent sphere of
thought
and imagination made it not entirely unexpected that the movement would
eventually start losing its cultural-intellectual way. Feeling no deep
and continuing need to refresh itself from regenerative philosophical,
historical, and literary-artistic sources, it started to become more
formulaic,
predictable and repetitive, in short, ideological.
The importance of practical politics and public-policy
studies is undeniable;
the higher their quality, the better. But, in the last couple of
decades
especially, concentration on such matters has moved the center of
gravity
even within intellectual conservatism. The tendency was in full
view already in the early 1960s with the effort to promote Barry
Goldwater
for the presidency. It was widely assumed, in National Review,
for
example, that winning the presidency was the ultimate goal, the real
"pay-off,"
as it were, of intellectual work. With the ultimate political prize
seemingly
within reach, F. S. Meyer (who predicted Goldwater's victory) and many
other intellectuals could think of little except the coming election.
After
the defeat of Goldwater conservatives were fascinated by books and
articles
that chronicled the Goldwater campaign, analyzed what had gone wrong,
and
discussed how the campaign had set the stage for future political
gains.
In the 1970s and 1980s the tendency among intellectual
conservatives
to look to politics as the heartbeat of society only grew stronger.
Writers
gained prominence who declared that heretofore conservatism had been
intellectually
feeble and impractical. These writers, based mainly in the New
York-Washington
corridor, actually knew little of earlier conservative thought, and
philosophically
their own interests and emphases meant a narrowing of the horizons:
public
policy and related questions took center stage. Their journalistic
aptitude
and ability to appeal to the existing media and publishing elites,
together
with their success in acquiring influence within the Reagan
administration,
gained them much attention. They tipped the balance within a movement
that
remained uncertain of its cultural and intellectual identity and always
susceptible to the lure of practical politics.
Young conservative intellectuals had once to some
appreciable extent
looked to leading representatives of the mind and the imagination for
direction.
Now the kind of philosophical and scholarly work that over time might
have
brought real change in the universities and elsewhere somehow looked
less
appealing and important. It yielded increasingly to public-policy
debate
and high-level journalism, which bolstered already existing trends in
the
universities. Some of the new leaders were intelligent and articulate
but
did not read very deeply, scanning books for their political cash
value.
The movement as a whole started to get its signals, literally as well
as
figuratively, from op-ed pieces in the Wall Street Journal and
talking
heads on television. Feeling the urge to be where the real action is
and
to be close to people of real power, many left academia for government
and the public policy networks, a trend that both exacerbated and was
exacerbated
by the continuing advances of the academic left.
Because the conservative discussions of public policy and
adjoining
issues have not been inspired or informed by the kind of advanced
intellectual
and artistic culture that once seemed in the making, those discussions
have been more prone to ideological reductionism and lack of
imagination
than need have been the case. It is instructive to compare the emphasis
that now prominent intellectual conservatives place on policy analysis
and journalism with the assessments of Kirk, Viereck, and others of
where
to look for sources of renewal. The latter group did not look for the
most
needed knowledge in "that up-to-date journalism of the academic world,
the courses in current politics, economics, and other uselessly
'useful'
techniques" 9—to say nothing
of day-to-day political discussion. Vastly more important to
understanding
the prerequisites of a humane society were literature, the arts,
history,
philosophy, and ethics.
American conservatism with academic pretensions has also
undergone a
philosophical transformation, although ideas of an earlier type are
still
in evidence. Many of the academics identified in the opinion magazines
and newspapers as the main intellectual alternative to campus
radicalism
differ markedly from earlier intellectual conservatism. A well-known
representative
of the new outlook was Allan Bloom at the University of Chicago. Like
him,
many so-called conservative academics take an anti-historical approach
to ideas—a paradox, to say the least, since intellectual conservatism
long
had the reputation of distrusting abstract rationalism and of stressing
the need for joining thought to the historical sense. Many academics
called
conservatives today espouse abstract principles, or "values," according
to which they would like to see the world remade. Paradoxically, one of
their cherished principles is "equality." In fact, some of these
intellectuals
bear a striking resemblance to the eighteenth-century French
Jacobins—yet
another paradox, since the acknowledged father of modern conservatism,
Edmund Burke, focused his ire on precisely those ideologues. 10
Academics of this type may have
doctorates from and
even teach in "name" universities, but most of them seem rather thinly
educated and typically focus on political ideas narrowly understood.
They
even study works of literature from the point of view of their political
"teaching," implying that the highest import of art is its political
message.
These academics usually argue toward preconceived ideological
conclusions,
finding prestigious classical authors to be supportive of their own
modern
political prejudices. Academics of this kind are numerous, and many are
well-connected in the public policy networks, foundations, and media.
They
can expect favorable publicity and other attention, which is a source
of
influence especially in a society in which celebrity status confers
intellectual
authority.
[A few years ago extraordinary attention was given to
Bloom's The
Closing of the American Mind, which acquired the reputation of
being
a work of conservative educational philosophy. Having become a
much-discussed
best-selling writer, Bloom also became widely viewed as one of the
great
intellects of the West. 11]
In recent years individuals known as
conservatives
have taken a greater interest in the state of "the culture." In part
this
development may be a sign of an awakening to the importance of thought
and imagination. At the same time it confirms and gives new impetus to
the ideologization of American conservatism in that interest in "the
culture"
is often heavily slanted by the old fascination with political power.
Issues
of cultural decline are discussed as if the key to reversing the trend
lay in the hands of politicians and their intellectual allies.
[One celebrity, who is widely viewed as an intellectual
conservative
spokesman, has published a best-selling book of readings on "virtue."
He
has also attracted much attention for formulating "cultural indicators"
and tracking America's cultural decline (efforts that may have alerted
the deaf and blind to trouble). Regarded as an authority on culture,
morality
and philosophy, the same person has been for many years immersed in
politics,
embodying the conservative tendency to connect ideas and art with
activism.
It seems equally anomalous that an individual serving as arbiter of
culture
should be, according to his own repeated public declarations, a devotee
and collector of "rock 'n' roll."]
Much of the present conservative interest in "the culture"
is due to
a growing awareness of the political impact and propaganda potential of
the mind and the imagination. It has also become politically opportune
to bemoan cultural sleaze. Although it can certainly be salutary for
well-educated
and aesthetically discerning politicians and other public figures to
comment
on a harmful cultural and academic situation, the fact that such a task
has fallen to, or been seized by, politicians and political
intellectuals
is a sign of the failure of intellectuals and artists. Criticisms of
cultural,
intellectual and moral decadence that politicians address to large
audiences
are likely to be simplistic and heavy-handed. They may also feed the
spurious
and dangerous notion that the key to social health is political
action.
The Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives, a person
with some
credentials as an intellectual, has complained, on good grounds, about
a lack of shame in American society. Public discussion of the Speaker's
concern showed wide support for promoting shame by having political and
civic leaders set moral and other standards and start campaigns to
elicit
the desired reaction. It seemed out of place to point out that shame of
the kind that formed part of an older Western morality is not so easily
manufactured. It had origins deep within the personality of Western
man,
as shaped by the long moral, religious, aesthetical, and intellectual
history
of his society. Shame of that type could not be replaced through civic
boosterism.
Does it need to be said that the views about culture, truth,
and morality
that are put forth by intellectuals who live and breathe political
strategy
and tactics are no real alternative to the thinking now dominant in
academia
and beyond?
An authentic revitalization of will, imagination and reason
would deepen
and enrich human existence as an end in itself, not serve a particular
political agenda. A characteristic of a creative civilization is that
you
cannot fully predict where it might lead in thought, art, ethics, and
politics.
Many purported conservative intellectuals currently concerned about
"the
culture" seem to know exactly what will be the political-ideological
consequences
of "improving" it: more "capitalism," "democracy," and "equality."
Perhaps
in some future Washington administration there will be appointed a
"culture
czar." A more appropriate title might be "commissar."
Rather than submit to a reign of conservative political
correctness,
a cultural and intellectual movement worthy of the name would take its
chances with poets, artists, philosophers, and men and women of
conscience.
Notes
1 For a trenchant discussion of different
meanings
of the term "ideology" and of how to distinguish between acceptable and
unacceptable forms, see Joseph Baldacchino, "Babbitt and the Question
of
Ideology,"
in George A. Panichas and Claes G. Ryn, eds., Irving Babbitt in Our
Time (Washington, D.C., 1986). [Back]
2 It is common, not least among
professed religious
believers, to view power as inherently subversive of morality, but one
must question a form of moralism or spirituality that always casts
aspersions
on asserting the will in this world. A good, if not sufficient,
antidote
to dubious "otherworldliness" or "mysticism" is Benedetto Croce, The
Philosophy of the Practical (New York, 1967). Unfortunately, the
available
English translation of this work is far from flawless. [Back]
3 The most penetrating analysis of
Rousseau's imagination
and the nature of its influence remains Irving Babbitt, Rousseau
and
Romanticism (New Brunswick, 1991). For an analysis of some of the
political
effects of Rousseauistic "virtue," see Claes G. Ryn, The New
Jacobinism:
Can Democracy Survive? (Washington, D.C., 1991). [Back]
4 For a systematic and more technically
philosophical
discussion of the role of thought and imagination, and their relation
to
morality, see Claes G. Ryn, Will, Imagination and Reason
(Chicago
and Washington, 1986). [Back]
5 A dozen works from the early to the
mid 1950s
by the two authors set forth the view that sound ideas and culture must
prepare the ground for healthy social and political change. These books
include Russell Kirk's well-known The Conservative Mind
(Chicago
and Washington, D.C., 7th. rev. ed. 1986; first published in 1953), the
lesser known Academic Freedom (Chicago: Henry Regnery Company,
1955)
and Beyond the Dreams of Avarice (Chicago, 1956), Peter
Viereck's Shame and Glory of the Intellectuals (New York, 1965;
first published
in 1953), Dream and Responsibility (Washington, D.C., 1953) and
The Unadjusted Man (Westport, Conn., 1973; first
published in 1956). [Back]
6 Babbitt diagnoses the moral and
cultural crisis
of the West and suggests remedies in Literature and the American
College
(Washington, D.C., 1986; first published in 1908). Rousseau and
Romanticism
explores the moral-imaginative dynamic that has tended to replace
classical
and Christian views of life in the Western world. Democracy and
Leadership
(Indianapolis, 1979; first published in 1924) examines the relationship
between politics and ethical and aesthetical developments. For a
collection
of representative essays that spans Babbitt's wide range of interests,
see Character and Culture: Essays on East and West (New
Brunswick,
N.J., 1995; first published posthumously in 1940). [Back]
7 Meyer's review of Viereck's book
appeared in National
Review, August 11, 1956. Called "Counterfeit at a Popular Price,"
it
was reprinted in Frank S. Meyer, The Conservative Mainstream
(New
Rochelle, 1969), 67-70. [Back]
8 It would be wholly misguided, Kirk
wrote of Buckley's
proposals, to have trustees and alumni conduct "a rigid surveillance of
all professors' work in the lecture room," which would create a climate
of academic "servility." Kirk, Academic Freedom, 125-26. [Back]
10 For a discussion of the Jacobin
flavor of much
contemporary political thought, see Ryn, New Jacobinism. [Back]
11 For a number of differing views of The
Closing
of the American Mind, including that of the present author, see the
symposium on the book in Modern Age, Vol. 32, No. 1 (1988). [Back]
*This article appears in modified form in
the Winter
1996 issue of Modern Age. The passages within brackets were
deleted
by the publisher. [Back]