DONALD ATWELL ZOLL - isistatic.org an early form of Christian funda- ... li,ke to call the “era of...

The Politics of the Apocalypse

D O N A L D A T W E L L Z O L L

EVEN THOSE who haven’t seen “Hair” or who are not devotees of astrology know that this is supposed to be the “Age of Aquarius.’’ This age is alleged to herald an intensification of interest in the occult, a heightened regard for supernatural and cosmic forces. This is, according to some, to be an era of magic. The original meaning of the term “apocalypseyy carried this connotation also. The apocalypse was a tumultuous total revelation marking the end of one epoch and the commencement of the next and this was to be accom- plished through an awesome display of power and the deployment of the most ele- mental forces of the cosmos. The clouds would divide and the secret wisdom of the universe would be vouchsafed.

This notion was taken quite seriously in the earliest days of Christianity. The first century, A.D., in a sense, was an “Aquari- an Age,” too. The redoubtable St. Paul be- lieved the world, as men knew it, would come to an end in the lifetime of his con- temporaries-which very likely helps to ac-

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count for some of his peculiar advice, particularly about universal celibacy. A large portion of Christendom-and some who were still pagan-fully expected the apocalypse during that first century. Thou- sands of people camped out on the deserts of the Middle East awaiting the end of the world, the final judgment, the unmasking of all the metaphysical mysteries. Among the primitive Christian communities, little thought was given to political or even philosophical problems. Why bother? Two ideas dominated the Christian faithful at this juncture: the so-called ‘‘upper room” orientation and the viability of an apocalypse. The “upper room” business was simply an early form of Christian fundamentalism and asceticism-there was no need for anything except the pristine content of the Revelation and the simplicities of small communal life. In tone, these first century Christians were not unlike the Es- senes, who we have become familiar with through the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Their mood was rather anti-intellec-

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tual, mystical and distinctly ultramon- tane. They cared not at all for philosophical speculation or reflecting on ethical or legal issues. They were very much “drop- outs” from the social and intellectual main- stream of the Roman Empire.

This “upper room” detachment was but- tressed by apocalyptical beliefs. Human problems were not to be settled by rational or deliberative means, but by the intervention of magical or occult forces, terrible and inexorable.

Another intriguing feature of the first century was the appearance of Gnosticism. This pseudo-religion fitted smoothly into an occult age, not only because numerous gnostic cults were candidly occultist, but because the first Gnostic was himself an ex- traordinary magician, Simon Magus, from whom the very word “magician” is derived, who was, incidentally, an immensely clever fellow. Not only did he perfect the magical arts-he was especially proficient, it is told, at levitation and mass hypnosis -but he also merchandized a religion whose popularity probably exceeded that of the embryonic Christianity, a religion that Magus made even more fetching by re- cruiting a spectacular-looking Byzantine whore who he paraded as the living incar- nation of the goddess Astarte.

Gnosticism is difficult to describe with brevity; it was complex, diffuse and vari- able in doctrine. Robert Grant is an excel- lent historical source and Eric Voegelin has made some most provocative compari- sons between Gnosticism and certain contemporary movements. At root, Gnosticism proclaimed the existence of a secret, super- rational knowledge, the gnosis, which was generally enjoyed only by a few. This knowledge was equivalent to power, not only social, but magical, and, indeed, in some gnostic cosmologies the world itself was a realm fought over by those employ- ing supernatural knowledge and skills,

somewhat similar in motif to the Niebe- lungenlied. Gnosticism ranged from the overtly occult (with rites, spells and incan- tations) to the more esoteric mysticisms, but several principal threads are discerni- ble: it was antirational; it was a form of cultism; it was hierarchical, in the sense that a favored elite possessed the gnosis that was denied to others; and it was predominantly conspiratorial.

That first “Aquarian Age,” then, was distinguished by an enthusiasm for primitive asceticism, magic and apocalyptical visions and prognostications and gnostic mysteries-but primarily it was notable for a substantial disinterest in intellectual activity, save, of course, in cosmopolitan Rome and in the. continuing operation of the Athenian schools.

But two of these predilections of the first century-the “upper room” mood of the early Christians and the faith in apocalyptical solutions-did not last very long. The reasons for this were simple enough: you just could not get a full-fledged religion off the ground in the sophisticated urban ten-

ters of the Mediterranean world without beefing it up in terms of its intellectual re- spectability. Second, the great apocalypse just never came. How long can one afford to sit in the desert waiting for the end of the epoch when nothing transpires? The mundane problems encroach after a while. How to feed and clothe the populace? What about law and government? How do we chisel out a functional moral code?

Out of the disappointment and frustra- tion over the nonappearance of the deus ex mchina and out of the bucolic corn- munisms of the Christian communities came a realization that hard thinking was perhaps necessary. The “Age of Aquarius” quickly passed into an era of analysis, an almost florid, rationalistic theological pre- occupation, aided and abetted by the whole- sale importation of the Greek philosophical

26 Winter 1972


tradition. Tertullian, that second century fundamentalist, lamented, “What does Athens have to do with Jerusalem?” But even as he said it, everyone knew the answer.

It is easy enough to apply the term “apocalypse” to the twentieth century. The odd-shaped cloud that rose above Hiro- shima announced the lively possibility of a contemporary apocalypse of sorts-the advent of a nuclear blow-up summons up all the gawdy imagery of the Old Testa- ment, the Book of Revelations and the wild visions of St. John of the Cross. This awful specter is now joined by the threat of some ecological disaster that would snuff out ani- mate life on the planet. But I leave these physical catastrophes to your imaginations -the “apocalypse” that now concerns me involves the realm of politics, an emerging political climate in our culture that I would li,ke to call the “era of apocalyptical poli- t i c~ .~’

To lay a foundation for explaining what I mean by this, I would like to offer three rather general comments that relate more to broadly cultural considerations than to matters explicitly political. The first of these could be designated, I think, by that an- cient term hubris-a vain and false pride. One of the most evident characteristics of contemporary culture is mankind’s persist- ent refusal to take seriously the possibility of racial disaster. By “racial,” refer to the human race, perhaps the word “species” is preferable. Contemporary man, em masse, indulges in the delusion that there are no finalities, no problems that can ultimately frustrate his engineering capabilities. He constantly “mortgages the future” to the extent that he somewhat naively assumes that the starker threats to him will somehow be eradicated by new, but as yet unknown, technological ingenuities. Man will always triumph, he contends, due to his limitless capacities for problem-solving.

Nuclear extermination will be avoided by some countertechnology, the pollution of the environment will not take place due to some last-minute scientific coup, overpopu- lation will be solved by a heretofore undis- covered source of food and space, and so on. We will create “better” people by “ge- netic engineering,” preserve sanity by chemotherapy and perhaps even defeat death by some massive research effort.

This blithely optimistic attitude I have called hubristic, because it is a flamboy- antly irrational anthropocentrism that is a variety of compulsive vanity. The human race prides itself inordinately on its sub- jugation of nature, yet the very technological innovations that have brought this to pass are the very same factors that increas- ingly drive the culture toward collective instabilities and threaten to decimate the biological base on which continued existence of the species depends. Paradoxically, man is caught between the hubris that declares him to be autonomous from the ani- mal world and his rudimentary nature that constantly rebels against the distortion of his constructed way of life.

Secondly, this hubristic cultural orientation assumes that whatever salvations are in the offing, they are not to be produced as a general cultural effort, but will be produced by some remote and unknown elite whose special skills will somehow rescue everyone in the nick of time. The assump tion goes that one can continue to behave as one wishes and has done in the past and that the race or the society will survive bio- logically and socially by the inventions of a few. Salvation can be had without incon- venience. I won’t have to stop polluting the environment, because someone will con- struct a new machine that will take care of this unpleasantness. It is this notion, by the way, that leads vast numbers of people to believe that virtually all problems eventually are resolved by the amount of money one

Modem Age 27


is willing to spend. Shall we go to Mars, cure cancer or save the cities? It is a question of allocating necessary funds-and that usually means some distant legislature painlessly “granting supply.”

You will notice, too, that this trust in the future, this disinclination to accept not only the idea of disaster but even the tragic in- evitabilities of human life, is invariably associated with the advocacy of reform by quantitative methods. Little thought is given to the qualitative dimension (which invokes, of course, factors that are ethical, spiritual and artistic) ; progress, security and prosperity are defined in quantitative terms. Current visions of the “Great Socie- ty” or its equivalents do not infer an alter- ation of individual qualitative standards os even collective ones, but, rather, the increase of the number of available artifacts and facilities. Let me cite one particularly pertinent illustration of this quantitative il- lusion.

One of the fashionable myths of our day is that peace, brotherhood and terrestial harmony will be dramatically improved by communications. By “communications,” it is meant the technological devices by which people communicate with each other. A quantitative increase in the capabilities of these instruments (such as satellites, instant electronic transmissions and so on) and an increase in their number will, it is argued, draw the world togethcr, maximize trans- cultural understanding, eliminate the causes of international suspicion and hos- tility, create, if you like, a “world village.’’

I do not wish to be antagonistic to the idea of cosmopolitanism (for which I have a pronounced sympathy), but the line of reasoning quickly sketched above is hope- lessly fallacious. Even if one was willing to jettison the historical evidence that would cause one to be highly skeptical regarding the communicationists’ hypothesis, logic alone is decisive. The sheer physical ease

of which one can communicate (a quantitative factor) insures nothing at all if it is divorced from the qualities of that which is communicated and the qualities of mind enjoyed by those involved in the communi- cating process. On logical grounds, there is nothing that would cause one not to as- sume that facility of communication would providc a degree of intimacy as likely productive of heightened cultural and individual antagonism and dislike as the con- verse. Add to that the obvious fact that the advances in the technology of communications have intensely amplified the manip- ulatory capacities of the communications media and, thus, the cultural benefits of this advanced technology hinge on the qualitative character of those having access to the media and the ethical and intellectual and artistic precepts they promote. So far the benefits of the so-called “communications revolution” are very much, as the English say, a “mixed bag.” No one could help but be fascinated by the potentialities of that electronic marvel called television, but, in the same breath, in actuality the performance of those who practically-speaking control it, qualitatively, has been a severe disappointment, particularly if you measure this performance against the possibili- ties inherent in the device itself.

Besides hubris as a motif of the culture, the twentieth century is notable for alternating extremes of political expectations. This popular expectation regarding the capabilities of the political instrumental- ity resembles the wavy lines of an electro- encephalograph-and the intervals between the high and low points are contracting. The extremes of expectation regarding what political techniques can accomplish in terms of social betterment drastically misinterpret the function of political activity. The first waves of expcctation assumed that politics was capable of answering virtually all of human needs-this was the

21) Winter 1972


politicalization” of life that Ortega warned us about. The causes of this ex- travagant faith in political remedy were relatively simple to trace : in theoretical terms, the political moods of the early decades of the century stressed reductionistic theories of human nature wedded to an environmentalism that was eventually conceived of as being an environmental setting totally under the sway of political power and design. To these dispositions, were added a revived interest in ideology and an intensification of egalitarianism. Such currents cut across the lines of political doctrine, from democratic liberalism to the more radical contentions of the Left. Particularly in the case of liberalism, which felt itself very much under siege by the end of World War I, the continuance of its largely unbroken continuity of govern- mental control rested upon, in the view of most liberals of that time, responding to mounting social unrest by offering the promise of amelioration by political means.

The difficulty in this upward thrust of public expectation was that politics as a human artifice was not capable of delivering, by itself, all the benefits that were reckless- ly guaranteed by ambitious politicians. There were many areas of social life in which political remedy was impotent or in- appropriate ; political change and reform did not, per se, make men happier or more contented or more creative or more morally enlightened. A more concrete example might be that the forms of egalitarianism enforced by political means did not really obliterate, but only modified, the hierarchical nature of society. The extension of political equality, however, radical in scope, only rearranged the social pyramid and replaced symbols and techniques of status by other ones. Even in those Western democracies that embraced the “welfare state,” political and economic leveling only shifted the basis of social discrimination to

L L perhaps more subtle but equally functional forms, such as education, tastes, language and “in-group” moris. In the Soviet Union, that presumably egalitarianist com- monwealth, an elaborately delineated bu- reaucratic hierarchy developed. In all post- industrial societies, stratification persisted.

All this was very disillusioning to many. With a characteristic emotional reaction, those who only yesterday venerated political leaders as well-nigh talismanic figures, now rejected all politicians as moronic in- competents or oligarchic manipulators and toadies. Those who had with passionate zeal put their faith in parties, movements, mani- festos and causes, now entertained an apolitical cynicism. The other extreme on the fever-chart of expectation had been reached. Politics was a fraud, it could at- tain nothing worthwhile. Political institutions were thought to be the natural enemies of all upright and honest men.

As the century grows older, these swings become more pronounced and the pendu- lum moves farther to the ends of the spec- trum. The rapidity of the shifts accelerate and the intensities mount of both enthusiasm and disillusionment. These factors, in turn, stimulate both a penchant for violence and anticonstitutionalist political techniques and, on the other hand, an increased preference for the use of public power as a device for reasserting control and security. In democratically-constituted societies, it is perfectly evident that a type of bi-level political concern and involve- ment goes on-a formal level of political enterprise that is characterized by the conventional forms and institutions (Le., parties, elections, customary interests and issues) and a lower stratum which is, growingly, both closer to the sources of public anxiety and more inclined toward a manifestation of pathological social currents. The former level appears to be becoming gradually superfluous and the latter

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represents an instability that is potentially highly explosive. I have called the root causes of this, if you will, extra-political ferment as “pathological,” because it is not explicitly either aroused by nor concerned with legitimately political problems (at least had they have been more or less historically defined). If you examine the moti- vations of these expressions of exotic social unrest, you find racism, antirationalism, sexual anxiety, environmental hysteria, the dislocations that stem from the rapid demolition of supportive social systems, such as religion, family life, communal loy. alties and forms of economic relationship. The insistence of these social anxieties will, I think, ultimately destroy the conventional mode of maintaining political arrange- ments, given the existing atrophy of the political imagination and will and we will very likely see the advent of a form of politics that is a direct reflection of social pathology.

Of course, in more specific terms, we are presently witnessing the death-agonies of liberalism-and by that label I refer to the tradition of moderate and equilibriumist political orientations that have formed the ethos of democracy since Locke-or in the American experience since Madison and Jefferson. I am aware that this is a sweep- ing generalization, but I believe one that can be substantially sustained. The moderate, centrist leaders of the West have their backs to the wall insofar as the Zeitgeist is concerned. They find themselves in this un- enviable position because they failed to cope with the drastic social upheavals that began much earlier in the century and because they lost the will in the face of these transmutations to decisively govern.

The crucial slippage of liberal authority, plus all the other variables that prompted and accompanied it, have shifted the ideological battlelines, to say nothing of the locus of political vitality. Two very power-

ful political arrays have taken to the field -and both are substantially outside the broad umbrella of democratic liberalism and both are eager contenders for the liberal-held seats of national power. a New Left and a New Right. Their respective natures have rendered the venerable nineteenth century political continuum ob- solete; Left and Right do not now mean what they have meant in the past and the principal reason for this is that on a rudimentary level these two political movements are strikingly similar.

The first similarity is that both New Left and New Right translate all political controversy into a confrontation of values, a test of moral wills, and, thus, political suc- cess is construed to be the effective imposi- tion of these values, which in both cases are doctrinaire and absolutistic. The liberal tradition, on the other hand, was not only relativistic in its own ethical predisposi- tions, but assumed that the political system did not of itself impose comprehensive moral codes, but, rather, maintained a pro- cedural frame in which various value-systems could compete. Such was liberalism’s historic dedication to pluralism. Its view- point was well-expressed by Mill and Dewey, although twentieth century liberalism had the proclivity under pressure of reifying its own relativistic and egalitarianist commitments into terms that grew markedly dogmatic.

The Left-Right attack on contemporary liberalism was not only retaliation against ethical relativism, but the counterintroduc- tion of a moral absolutism that displayed three major features:

1. Their moral precepts were unabashed- ly doctrinaire.

2. Their ethical norms were neither ra- tionally derived nor publicly disputable.

3. Their implicit moral hierarchy direct- ly suggested varieties of social and political elitism.

30 Winter 1972


It should be kept in mind, of course, that the specific values of the New Left and the New Right were vastly different in substance and content, but in terms of the mechanics of value and its inferences, they were not dissimilar. Put another way, the morality of the New Left and the New Right were contemporary forms of Gnosticism. Their ethics were creedal and even tribal, transmitted by extra-rational means and moral enlightenment was the province of only a select group, and elect who were recipients of the Revelation. Whether one deals with the sort of ethnocentric fundamentalism of the New Right or the pseudo-mysticisms of the New Left, the infallible ethic of the Rev- elation is present.

Another similarity is primitivism. On the New Left, this means the revival of the transcendental egocentrism and barbarous sentimentality of Rousseau. On the New Right, one can inspect the resurgence of the prosaic “virtuesy’ of the unlettered man, the reappearance of a frontier mentality. Both attitudes represent a regression to a sup- posedly pre-twentieth century state of af- fairs in which primitive sentiment and in- nocence are presumed to be morally superior to learning and cultivation. Both outlooks are profoundly antirational and truculently suspicious of both intellectual- ism and what has been thought of conven- tionally as civilized sophistication.

Both casts of mind are intensely en- meshed in evangelism, the propagation of beliefs by emotionalistic exhortation, coupled with a complete confidence in the supremacy of the belief proferred. While the evangelism of the New Right appears more conventional, with its frequent in- vocations of religious primitivism, the secular evangelism of the New Left is no less intense. Both are disdainful of intellectual disputation and the efficacy of grounding their appeals in rational and dis-

cursive argument. Both favor homiletics over dialectics.

The New Left and the New Right are ad- dicted to totemism, an almost occult faith in the potency of symbols, rituals and even talismanic prophets and leaders. In consequence, both are strongly inclined to cultism-quasi-mystical societies and broth- erhoods. Both tend to develop a hagi- ography of historical and contemporary “saints” who personify the “elect,” the possessors and purveyors of the gnosis. Both relish the tribalistic reassurance of mass rituals. Both acknowledge the need of a leader who embraces a well-nigh transcendental mandate.

Those who belong to the New Left and the New Right accept the indispensability of violence as a continuing political instru- mentality. This acquiescence, in part, arises from a mutual dislike of both methodical political procedures and the restraints of legalism. This willingness to continence violence has its origins in the Mannichean world-view entertained by both. Man- nicheanism, as you may recall, is a third century Christian off-shoot (condemned as heretical) which, in essence, supposed the world to be a battleground between the forces of good and evil with the final issue left in doubt. Both Left and Right are convinced that persuasion or legal inhibition cannot alone prevail against their con- genitally intractable foes and, therefore, physical force is required in order to ef- fect their social objectives and, presumably, to maintain their authority. Both possess the notion of an unredeemable Lumpen- proletariat.

Finally, both express a faith in the corn- ing of an apocalypse, not so much an ulti- mate revelation as a cataclysmic confrontation in which society will be remade in a momentous metamorphosis brought about, primarily, by the final rising of the “faithful,” aided and abetted if not by a flash of

Modern Age 31


supernatural intervention by a culmination of the forces of a historical dialectic, the ac- tualization of the gnosis. The significance of this visionary predilection is a contempt o n the part of the New Left and the New Right for partial or cumulative solutions, the gradualistic process of methodical progress and reform with its emphasis on patience, accommodation and compromise. Both are scornful, in consequence, of prudence, theoretical calculation and the speculative use of historical experience. Both possess an unquestioning trust in a sort of secularized chiliasm-a belief in a coming millenium of social control on their own terms.

Contemplate, now, two basic premises :

1. Two of the most powerful forces that may sweep forward into the vacuum of ex- piring liberalism are the New Left and the New Right.

2. These two formidable political hosts exemplify gnosticism, primitivism, evangelism, totemism, an appetite for violence and a faith in a cultural apocalypse.

The salient conclusion that is forthcom- ing is that we may be headed for an age that can be described as an era of G C apocalyptical politics,” the triumph of political irrationalism.

This gloomy prospect is made even more melancholy by the fact that the coming political climate is very probably to be characterized by experimentalism, violence and totalitarianism-“experimentalism” as a desperate effort to find a political stasis by alternating convulsions of extremist enthusiasm; violence, in terms of its use as a common means of establishing policy; and “totalitarianism” as political alternatives becoming “total” prescriptions, ideal- ogies that embrace virtually all aspects of life, breaking down our earlier divisions between the political areas of social life and the ostensibly private ones.

While there may well be this sort of frenetic tug-a-war between Left and Right in both ideological and overtly activistic spheres, it is my view that within the fore- seeable future the likelihood of a successful semi-permanent Leftist take-over is very remote. The provocations of the revolution- aries may likely stimulate quite harsh counterinitiatives, but the chances of a triumphant revolutionary coup from the Left are extremely slim, not only because its power base is too narrow, but also because it is doubtful that successful revolu- tions can now be staged in highly-developed technological societies, due, in large measure, to the decisive force monopoly of the state, resting as it does on immensely elaborate weaponry unprocurable by the insurgents. Of course, it is possible to en- vision a revolution launched against a regime whose will was so dissipated that it was unwilling to exert its power in its own defense, but I think the counterrevolution- ary pressures would be so great that mili- tary measures would be taken, even if nominal civilian authority was by-passed.

The preservation of social stability involves a precarious operation: to thwart the threat of violent revolution posed by the New Left, while, at the same time, prevent an innundation by a frightened and venge- ful Right. This can be put another way: the problem is to preserve order while avoiding repression. The years ahead call for a de- manding blend of increased firmness in the face of palpable jeopardies to social ordcr and, simultaneously, an equally solid opposition to the jettisoning of restraint, legal guarantees and a belief in civilized diversi- ty. There can be small doubt that substantial segments of the New Left, if they had their way, would abrogate many of the critical individual freedoms we still possess, both formally and informally. But in the same breath, there is little doubt, either, that elements within the New Right would

32 Winter 1972


be willing to cut libertarian corners, too, and to sharply curtail that happy heterodoxy that seems indispensable to a free society.

If one casts an eye over the disposition of political forces, what viable alternatives are there to the potential despotisms of the extreme Left and the possible neo-fascisms of the extreme Right? Is there any hope of avoiding an era of “apocalyptical politics” and its dark consequences? Three major political orientations exist of sufficient influence to play a role in the emergence of the new social struggle: democratic liberalism itself, the remains of the old, traditional Left and the conservative Right.

None of these broad coalitions can, I think, stem the tide of political irrationalism and apocalypticism, but they could conceivably be instrumental in moderating its effects. All these orientations have severe handicaps, encumbrances that restrict their effectiveness. Let me briefly try to sum- marize what I feel to be the predicament of each of them:

1. Democratic liberalism is close to being bankrupt. It has lost virtually all of its moral self-assurance. Worse, it is ob- solescent, its spirit remains still in the nineteenth century. It bears the blame, in large measure deserved, of failing to pro- vide adequate leadership in that tense transition that was involved in moving from an individualistic society to a highly complex and interdependent one. It mis- read the significance of the social malaise caused by the introduction of the auto- mated, computerized, sterilized society, so convinced, as it was, that economic pallia- tives would succeed and that quantitative, as contrasted with qualitative adjustments, would be satisfactory as a cure. Liberal. ism’s shortcomings were imaginative and intellectual; its strength, although now ebbing, was its libertarian convictions, its

inherent moderation, its legal and con- stitutional tradition (which twentieth century liberalism itself, however, gradually came to denigrate). Part of liberalism’s current paralysis is due to its smugness, its uncritical assumption of an uncontested mandate, which ill-prepares it for the intellectual turmoils and torments of the mid- twentieth century.

I do not see a revival of the fortunes of liberalism, however some of its more extreme proponents hope to revivify i t by un- mistakably returning it to its nineteenth century premises. But Herbert Spencer is as much an anachronism as Marx. The other tendency in contemporary democratic liberal thought is equally unpromising; it is to shore up the crumbling defenses by adopting a modified elitism-to redefine “participatory democracy” in terms of the participation and circulation of presumably democratically committed elites. This variation on liberalism’s customary equilibriumist formula appears not only para- doxical, but unrealistic.

2. What about the Old Left? The main difficulty here is two-fold. In the first place, the more-or-less traditional Left is badly fragmented, some elements of it having been absorbed into the liberal con- fluence as liberal theory espoused more radical ideas of social democracy in the period between the wars and yet other por- tions of the Old Left have engaged in a head-to-head struggle with the emerging ex- tremism of the New Left, hoping to tame and moderate it. Neither Old Left project has been successful ; liberalism, under mounting assault, has moved in a centrist or even a Rightist direction and the Old Left’s neo-positivistic empiricism has had little mitigating impact on the irrationalism and mysticism of the New Left.

The second shortcoming of the Old Left is that in theoretical terms its credo is pos-

Modern Age 33


sibly even more antique than that of democratic liberalism, principally because it is far more reductionistic and almost nostalgically doctrinaire, it is far more rigid than the science it declares it ad- mires. Socialism, which still lies near the heart of the Old Left, is no longer taken very seriously even by 05cially.designated socialist parties, particularly when they are entrusted with public power.

The main difference between the Old Left and the New Left is the willingness of the former to operate within the pluralistic perimeters of liberalism, convinced of the final efficacy of its persuasion. The Old Left, identically with liberalism, is educa- tionistically-minded, with an almost salva- tional optimism regarding the potentialities of mass education. A certain skepti- cism, not altogether cynical by any means, has arisen in the post-World War I1 milieu regarding this thesis. Both the New Left and the New Right tend to favor coercion over education and their concept of the latter is more tactile than cerebral.

3. Finally, we come to the last of these conceivably moderating forces : the conservative Right. I am aware that it is fashionable at present on the Right to employ the term “conservatism” to cover any and all rightwing groups. I see no reason to be cowered by either popular usage or the journalistic simplicities. Conservatism, as I understand it, occupies a quite small territory on the rightist continuum. I refer here to “historical” or “self-conscious” conservatism, identified in this century with an essentially intellectual orientation, well-represented by such persons as Irving Babbitt, Paul Elmer More, Santayana, Or- tega y Gasset, T. S. Eliot, Eric Voegelin and Russell Kirk, to name a few at ran- dom. I refer to a “conservatism” in the historical tradition that, if it does not trace all the way back to Aristotle, it does at least

to Edmund Burke and John Adams. It is a “conservatism” that frankly is in the business of “conservation” on a wide front, keeping alive a skein of philosophical com- mitment that is at base connected with humanism (in the original meaning of the word), the aristocratic principle (the per- sonal dedication to standards of excellence) and the objectivity and authority of ethical values.

Two points ought to be made immediate- ly clear:

a) Conservatism has had no significant political expression in North America since the early nineteenth century.

b ) The numbers of persons actually espousing the tenets of historical conservatism are quite small.

These facts alone seriously limit the potency of the conservative Right in con- tending against the tumultuous social forces of our time. Conservatism has no political idiom, let alone an organization, and the ranks of its adherents are essentially limited to intellectuals, although not necessarily only professional ones. Like the Old Left, conservatism was willing to exist under the liberal hegemony, partially because it shared some beliefs with liberalism, principally its libertarianism and legalism, and partially because it sought only to di- alectically discredit democratic liberalism, not demolish it by a coup de main. Indeed, it is fair to say that twentieth century conservatism displayed a certain hauteur regarding political proselyting in the market- place and kept its distance, choosing the more rarified air of the realm of humane letters. The so-called “conservative revival” of the 1950’s and since was really a sudden discovery by conservatives themselves that they did not exist in total isolation and they began to assiduously cultivate each other. The conservative colloquy was decidely in- tra-fraternal.

Winter 1972 34


What the historical conservative was, in political terminology, was a Tory-in the post-eighteenth century sense. What political recommendations it proferred was a contemporaneous high Toryism, with all its distinct strengths and flexibilities, as well as its limitations. But the contemporary society was not really prepared to understand, historically or presently, what Tory- ism stood for and what they thought it stood for they didn’t like. In some ways, those whose viewpoints were most an- tithetical to Toryism were the members of the domestic political Right, primarily the social Darwinistic bourgeoisie. If they grasped the fundamental assertions of Toryism, their reactions would be intensely negative.

Yet, with all these formidable liabilities taken into account, the conservative Right may play a more decisive role in combat- ing “apocalyptical politics” than either liberalism or the Old Left. This may be the case for two main reasons:

Reason One is that the New Left is an amalgam of sentiments of which only a small portion is composed of zealous ideologues and insurrectionists. A very size- able following is made up of people in intense, if not always coherent, opposition to the prevailing order. There is a distinct difference between those motivated into pro- test by social torment and those who are dedicated agents provocateurs for some alien ideology. To many, the New Left appears as the only available vehicle of social remonstrance, especially as, for good or ill, it resolutely raises the issue of moral in- junctions and priorities.

But the thrust of the New Left, nonethe- less, is both destructive in intent and lack- ing in any cogent grasp of social goals and enduring values. Its ethics are primitive and shallow ; it is, finally, an enemy of free- dom and individual creativity. Its appeal

is widespread only because it appears to the unsophisticated as the sole alternative.

I would not contend that conservatism would enlist vast legions of converts from the ranks of the New Left, but I do feel that an enhanced awareness of bona fide conservatism would dispel1 the idea of the uniqueness of the Left as morally relevant and temper the uncritical enthusiasms of many who find the status quo repulsive. Be- cause the nostrums of liberalism have been found wanting is no reason to jettison the continuity of civilized politics and, further, the present estrangement between some elements of the New Left is traceable to a mounting opposition among some of the young, particularly, to the implicit puritan- ism of the extreme Left. Whatever else the conservative or Tory tradition may pro- claim, it has been vigorously anti-puritani- cal. Indeed, if one recalls the paradigms of apocalyptical politics discussed earlier- gnosticism, primitivism, evangelism, totemism, violence and apocalypticism-the conservative political mood is a rejection of all of them.

Let me cite another example. While historical conservatism is consistently cosmopolitan, the New Left veers strongly toward what might be labeled as “conspira- torialism” and its own curious ethnocen- t r ims and the New Right, on the other side, is often candidly jingoistic. The intellectual Tory has never accepted these narrow outlooks, dismissing them as irrational and boorish. In extension, the Tory has never bifurcated the idea of the state and the idea of the community and, at the same time, any viable conception of the restora- tion of the concept of the community seems blatantly, if curiously, missing in the animadversions of the extreme Left and Right.

Reason Two concerns an even more important influence that could be exerted by conservatism: it involves the stabilizing and

I Modem Age 35


humanizing of the rightwing “backlash.” I rather think that a dominating motif in the politics of this new decade will be a pronounced shift to the Right end of the continuum. This can take a variety of forms, some of them starkly unattractive; we cannot exclude the possibility of some neo- fascist authoritarianism. The prime preven- tive of this eventuality would be the domination of the emotional excesses of the Right by the reason of a more restrained conservatism. This may be an operative possibility for three reasons :

1. True conservatism does not involve “special pleading” in terms of economic and social interest groups or the motives of social revenge, but is substantially committed to the idea of the commonweal. Conservatism’s real attractiveness to the vast public is the fact that, since Aristotle, it has sponsored the idea of the legitimacy of human happiness.

2. The non-conservative Right in the United States is largely without intellectual leadership and is frequently ameanable to the subtle influences of Tory theoreticians.

3. The central core of the Rightwing “backlash” is constituted of frightened and predominantly non-ideological people. They could and would follow a George Wallace or his facsimile, but they would not do so inevitably if more persuasive alternatives were offered.

When all is said and done, this role that might fall to conservatism hinges on the appearance of what I would like to call the “Tory politician,’’ a breed unseen in North America for a very long time. High Tory minds we have had-from Orestes Brown- son and Herman Melville to William Faulk- ner-but not as political participants. The twentieth century has as yet thrown up no Lincolns and Disraelis, but this does not necessarily mean that they will not appear. Any survey of successful Tory politicians, from Burke (who was officially a “Whig”

in the party structure of the eighteenth century) to Churchill, reveals, beyond a certain dogged perseverance, the preeminence of candor, style and intellectuality, with a dash of excitement thrown in. If one con- siders the contemporary political leaders of the Western democracies, it is the absence of these traits that is so acutely noticeable. But one detects, too, a hunger in the electorate for a refreshing change. The most dramatic impact on the public mind by recent political figures has been provided by those who enjoyed at least one or perhaps two of these qualities-even though they weren’t Tories-a John Ken- nedy or a Pierre Trudeau or even a De Gaulle. Yet there is little to be said for candor alone or style without substance or for sheer intellectual merit divorced from other political virtues and a “dash of excitement” by itself is a meager political fare. But there is no doubt in my mind that the reception of a Tory political personality with these qualities would be very consider- able. I think we have “had it up to here,” as the current slang would put it, with slickly-merchandized nonentities. I even think the passion for soothsayers and gurus may pass.

The absence of Tory politicians is not ex- clusively attributable to conservative in- hibitions about climbing down into the political bear pit, although this fastidious attitude is a factor. The primary cause is the long break in the continuity of Tory politics. A perspective Tory politician would have difficulty in knowing how to behave. His models are a bit remote. But the answer to his dilemma is probably that he should trust his instincts in these matters. One important Tory axiom is that while one must be unbending in matters of moral principle, one can be startlingly flexible in matters of political technique. The Tory has always been on the side of “politics as art” and any art requires that ineffable

36 Winter 1972


flair that eludes rationalistic analysis. Per- haps that is the opposite side of the coin of what we have referred to as “candor.” In any case, conservatism cannot hope to miti- gate the ferocity of the Right by writing learned essays and providing lectures alone -it must enter the lists as a political thesis propounded by public men. I do not think even the advent of a new genus of Tory politicians is likely to usher in an updated version of “Tory democracy” or classical Federalism, but the emergence of Tory political activity could crucially shape the directions of the rightist momentum, turn- ing it into more humanistic channels. It could save America.

In my thoughts, I return again to the matter of finality-a sort of cultural eschatology. These reflections at last boil down to utter simplicities: there are things in this world that are precious and indispensable and they are capable of being permanently destroyed. We have so much

I to rescue for posterity-from eagles and

quiet lakes to those ubiquitous virtues that redeem man from primal savagery. God knows, we have surfeited on greed and in- dulgence, but the culminating folly of our time may be to deny the patient accumula- tions of wisdom-of which the political is by no means last-in favor of some retro- gressive appetite for upheaval and apocalyptical salvation. What a tragedy it would be if we had to start all over again, what a waste. What would fly through the minds of some future anthropologists as they peruse the silent ruins of our civiliza- tion? Were we victims of some political or social madness or, rather, the objects of some awesome, physical disaster? But would there, you ask, be any inquiring anthropologists to conduct this postmortem of our vanished age? It is an unsettling question-and not a fanciful one, I fear.

Perhaps the best that can be said for US who exist in the here-and-now and still seek to preserve is (to paraphrase Tolstoy) : We suffer, we show our wounds, but we stand!

Modern Age 37


DONALD ATWELL ZOLL - isistatic.org an early form of Christian funda- ... li,ke to call the “era of...

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