Leo Strauss’s intellectual formation took place during the Weimar Republic. The Weimar Republic (1919–33) is the name given to the republic formed following the collapse of the German Reich after the First World War. Under the leadership of Otto von Bismarck in the nineteenth century, the Reich had unified Germany and defeated both the Austro-Hungarian Empire and France. In contrast to Bismarck’s Reich, however, as Leo Strauss noted, “The Weimar Republic was weak. It had a single moment of strength, if not of greatness: its strong reaction to the murder of the Jewish Minister of Foreign Affairs, Walther Rathenau, in 1922. On the whole it presented the sorry spectacle of justice without a sword or of justice unable to use the sword” (JPCM 137). It is evident from Strauss’s early writings and correspondence that he shared with many of his contemporaries a deep sense of dissatisfaction with the Weimar Republic. The world of the Weimar Republic was remarkable: vibrant, but also strife-ridden, haunted by a lingering sense of illegitimacy and decadence. It has been the subject of innumerable historical studies, novels, plays, and films, and was the seedbed of many of the most significant intellectual and cultural movements of the twentieth century. Experimental art and culture emerged during the Weimar years in a plethora of forms that sought “the new” in radical extremes. The Weimar Republic was Germany’s first liberal democracy, but it was not born out of victory, accomplishment, or liberation. Instead it came into being as if it were an imposition foisted upon a defeated Germany by the triumphant liberal democracies of Britain, France, and the United States, which themselves deeply compromised the potential of this new democratic regime by the punitive terms of the Treaty of Versailles. The very name “Weimar Republic” paid testimony to modern liberal developments within German culture, as Strauss noted: “By linking itself to Weimar the German liberal democracy proclaimed its moderate, non-radical character: its resolve to keep a balance between the dedication to the principles of 1789 and the dedication to the highest German tradition” (JPCM 137). However, over the course of just a few years, it became clear that the Weimar Republic was incapable of mediating and moderating the radical tendencies that came to life within it. In opposition to it and its connection with both the Enlightenment and the longer history of modern European thought and culture, there was everywhere a desire for radicality and new beginnings. Politically this took the form of a weakening of the liberal “center,” and the turn to destabilizing or revolutionary extremes on both the left and right. On one side, philosophically, the Weimar Republic saw the emergence of a revival and reconstruction of Marxism in groups such as the Frankfurt School. On the other side, “conservative” or right-wing forms emerged that had an existentialist character that called for religious, cultural, or philosophical recovery of the pre-modern, often mixed with an authoritarian ultra-modern or postmodern political vision. Names such as Oswald Spengler, Carl Schmitt, Ernst Jünger, and above all Martin Heidegger can be connected to the latter tendency. The overarching philosophical and literary presence informing the Weimar Republic, however, was undoubtedly Friedrich Nietzsche.
Nietzsche and the Weimar Republic
In 1941, in a public lecture entitled “German Nihilism,” Strauss told his American audience: “Of all German philosophers, and indeed of all philosophers, none exercised a greater influence on post-war Germany, none was more responsible for the emergence of German nihilism, than was Nietzsche” (GN 372). For many in Strauss’s New York audience, National Socialism was the obvious embodiment of “German nihilism.” Strauss acknowledged that this was true, but argued that the roots of German nihilism were deeper still, and that they preceded the existence of the Nazi Party. In that lecture, Strauss defined nihilism as “the rejection of the principles of civilization as such” (GN 364). For him, civilization is “the conscious culture of reason” (GN 366), above all the cultivation of science (or more generally philosophy) and morals “and both united” (GN 365). For Strauss and many of his contemporaries, there was a powerful impetus toward nihilism in their experience of the inadequacy of modern forms, especially as these were realized in the Weimar Republic.
Strauss makes this point powerfully in a section of this lecture that is worth considering at some length. He writes: “No one could be satisfied with the post-war world. German liberal democracy of all descriptions seemed to many people to be absolutely unable to cope with the difficulties with which Germany was confronted. This created a profound prejudice, or confirmed a profound prejudice already in existence, against liberal democracy as such” (GN 359). Strauss does not see nihilism as arising simply from the weakness of the liberal democracy of the Weimar Republic; rather, it emerges from the reaction of the new generation of young Germans to the Marxist or socialist solution to this situation:
Strauss describes a reaction in this younger generation in a way that is clearly inspired by Nietzsche’s account of modern egalitarianism leading to the era of the “last man”:
But, as Strauss brings out here, this negation of a secular, egalitarian, consumerist humanism was accompanied for these young Germans by no alternative positive vision:
A curious feature of this lecture, given in New York City in the middle of the Second World War, is that Strauss shows sympathy for the “very young Germans” who were drawn not into National Socialism, but into this deeper, earlier form of German nihilism. Though Strauss does not specifically say it, it is reasonable to assume that he himself felt the attraction of this German nihilism. This is evident particularly in his relation to the thought of Friedrich Nietzsche, a relationship that has been the source of great scholarly controversy.
In a letter written in June of 1935 to his friend Karl Löwith, Strauss confessed: “I can only say that Nietzsche so dominated and bewitched me between my 22nd and 30th years that I literally believed everything that I understood of him” (LC 183). Nietzsche’s declarations that “God is dead” and that the West had entered an age of nihilism were not widely taken up during his own lifetime – but at the beginning of the twentieth century, and especially in the wake of the First World War, Nietzsche’s account appeared inescapable, not only for the young Leo Strauss, but for his whole generation. The sense that the West had entered into a “crisis,” an “age of decline,” “a loss of meaning,” or “the devaluation of the highest values” was compelling (CT 41, GN 370, LI 132). For Strauss’s generation, then, the task of thinking was how to understand this state of affairs, and how to escape or get beyond this moment of darkening. By the time of this letter, Strauss could say that he had been a “Nietzschean” (LC 182). One might take this to mean that Strauss had simply repudiated Nietzsche in favor of the ancients and the cause of traditional morality. But this would be to misunderstand Strauss’s relation to Nietzsche, for it also had a positive aspect, as Strauss’s letter to Löwith goes on to establish.
Strauss explains his complex relation to Nietzsche as he responds to Löwith’s newly published book, Nietzsche’s Philosophy of the Eternal Recurrence of the Same: “My doubt concerns a tendency of your critique, which, I believe, does not do justice to Nietzsche. I begin with your splendid formulation which touches the heart of the question and which for me is spoken straight from the soul: repeating antiquity at the peak of modernity” (LC 183). Strauss makes it clear here that he identifies himself with Nietzsche’s project of “repeating antiquity at the peak of modernity.” What he argues, however, is that Nietzsche fails to complete that project: “I believe that essential difficulties of Nietzsche’s teaching are created by its polemical character, and immediately disappear when one distinguishes between polemical approach and the teaching itself” (LC 183). Such a criticism might appear to distinguish Strauss from Nietzsche in a merely external manner: Strauss is declaring himself a Nietzschean who simply uses a different, less polemical, mode of presentation. Indeed, a number of Strauss scholars have read him this way, and argue that Strauss is essentially a secret Nietzschean. But this is to misunderstand what Strauss means by “polemical”: even in his first book, Spinoza’s Critique of Religion, Strauss speaks of polemic as having a substantive effect on the content and approach of thought. Specifically, he sees that enlightened modernity – the stance of Spinoza and Hobbes – is crucially determined by a polemical relation to revealed religion, and above all to Christianity. When Strauss later argues for Machiavelli as the originator of modernity, he will continue to see a “polemical” stance – “anti-theological ire” (WIPP 44) – as crucially determining the shape of modernity. For Strauss, Nietzsche’s “teaching” remains trapped in the modernity he intended to escape. Strauss writes to Löwith:
Strauss is arguing that his own position fulfills Nietzsche’s intentions by fully achieving a repeating of “antiquity at the peak of modernity.” In a paper delivered a few years earlier to a Zionist organization, “Religious Situation of the Present” (1930), Strauss makes the same basic point:
What Strauss is indicating here is that, in his insight into the nihilistic character of the contemporary age, Nietzsche had – at the very height of modernity – in fact opened the way for a return to the ancients. Where Nietzsche had failed to realize his intentions, Strauss would endeavor to succeed. In this sense, then, Strauss’s call for a return to classical thought is not simply a reactionary move backward: it is also an outcome of modernity (SKC 48). In his letter to Löwith, Strauss makes a crucial distinction about what “repeating antiquity at the peak of modernity” means: “From this results first of all the following dualism: a) a modern approach to antiquity chiefly based on an immanent critique of modernity, b) the ancient teaching itself” (LC 183). It is important to understand this distinction if one is not only to get clear about what Strauss is saying to Löwith but at the same time to see what he is doing in establishing his own standpoint in the Weimar intellectual milieu. Strauss understands all of modern thought as being caught up in “immanent critique” or, as he puts it, in a “polemical approach.” We will look at this dynamic in much greater detail in chapter 5, but Strauss’s essential claim is that in a polemical critique the critic ...