Esotericism and Egalitarianism

1

I will begin by giving a brief outline of Strauss’s account of defensive esotericism. This account can be found in many of Strauss’s writings on esotericism and esoteric authors—Xenophon, Maimonides, Halevi, Spinoza, and Farabi, whom I will discuss in relation to Strauss’s account of aggressive esotericism. For the sake of clarity, I will focus on “Persecution and the Art of Writing,” the first essay, following the “Introduction,” in Persecution and the Art of Writing. ⁹ Strauss gives, here, a particularly clear presentation of defensive esotericism. I will distinguish between its method and its purpose.

The method of defensive esotericism is twofold. First, it involves “writing between the lines,” ¹⁰ or communicating the truth in such a way that a “minority” of readers can understand it, while remaining “silent to the majority . . . of readers.” ¹¹ This minority is philosophers, this majority non-philosophers. It communicates in this way through a number of devices: among others, stating the truth not throughout the entirety of a text, but only once or a few times; stating the truth not through the content of a text, but its arrangement; stating the truth through a disreputable character; repeating statements with telling additions or omissions; and making contradictory statements, only one of which—and the one most rarely made—is intended to be true.

Second, the method of defensive esotericism involves promulgating “noble lies” to the “nonphilosophic majority.” ¹² These noble lies are lies: they are “not . . . in all respects consonant with the truth.” Yet they are noble: they contribute to a person’s upholding his or her social responsibilities; the philosophers promulgate these lies out of a sense of “considering one’s social responsibilities.” ¹³ In light of this twofold character of the method of esotericism, Strauss writes that “[a]n exoteric book contains then two teachings: a popular teaching of an edifying character, which is in the foreground; and a philosophic teaching concerning the most important subject, which is indicated only between the lines.” ¹⁴ One can call these two teachings the exoteric and esoteric sides of esotericism. ¹⁵

The purpose of defensive esotericism is the defense of the philosophers against persecution by the non-philosophers. These philosophers hold “heterodox views,” which undermine the “orthodox” views of the non-philosophers. ¹⁶ Openly stating these views to the non-philosophers, therefore, would make the philosophers vulnerable to persecution by them—persecution which ranges from “the most cruel type, as exemplified by the Spanish Inquisition, to the mildest, which is social ostracism.” ¹⁷ Therefore, by communicating the truth only to the philosophers, and concealing it from the non-philosophers, philosophers defend themselves against persecution.

Significantly, Strauss distinguishes two ways in which, historically, philosophers who write esoterically understand this persecution. For modern philosophers, it is “accidental,” that is, a contingent feature of society. Specifically, it can be abolished by “popular education.” These philosophers “looked forward to a time when, as a result of the progress of popular education, practically complete freedom of speech would be possible, or—to exaggerate for purposes of clarification—to a time when no one would suffer any harm from hearing any truth.” ¹⁸ On the other hand, ancient and medieval philosophers understand this persecution as necessary, that is, a structural feature of society. These philosophers, Strauss explains,

believed that the gulf separating “the wise” and “the vulgar” was a basic fact of human nature which could not be influenced by any progress of popular education: philosophy, or science, was essentially a privilege of “the few.” They were convinced that philosophy as such was suspect to, and hated by, the majority of men. Even if they had had nothing to fear from any particular political quarter, those who started from that assumption would have been driven to the conclusion that public communication of the philosophic or scientific truth was impossible or undesirable, not only for the time being but for all times. ¹⁹

For the ancient and medieval philosophers, there is a natural, and therefore necessary, difference between “the wise” and “the vulgar,” the philosophers and non-philosophers. This difference entails that it is both natural and necessar that the non-philosophers persecute the philosophers: the ancient and medieval philosophers were “convinced that philosophy as such was suspect to, and hated by, the majority of men.” ²⁰

Strauss’s account of defensive esotericism has a number of inegalitarian implications. I will, in particular, mention three, distinguished according to the type of inequality to which each refers. ²¹ These implications are most clear in respect to the ancient and medieval, rather than modern, understanding of persecution, so I will, for the moment, look at them in relation to only this.

Of course, it might seem that if defensive esotericism is taken to involve not the ancient and medieval but the modern understanding of persecution, it would not have these inegalitarian implications. After all, Strauss writes that modern philosophers “looked forward to a time” when “no one would suffer any harm from hearing any truth”; this seems to imply that, for this understanding, the truth can be shared with everyone; everyone can therefore follow the same morality; and everyone is naturally capable of being told the truth.

A number of things can be said in response to this suggestion. First, Strauss only states that the modern philosophers “looked forward to a time” when “no one would suffer any harm from hearing any truth.” This precisely means that, for the time being—that is, when the modern philosophers themselves practiced esotericism—this is not the case. Furthermore, Strauss hedges on the possibility of this universal communicability. The modern philosophers looked forward to a time when “practically complete freedom of speech would be possible, or—to exaggerate . . . when no one would suffer any harm from hearing any truth.” Additionally, in Strauss’s essay on Spinoza’s esotericism, he repeatedly asserts that Spinoza distinguishes between the vulgar, on the one hand, and the philosophers (and potential philosophers), on the other, and that Spinoza attributed to the vulgar a “capacity” for hearing the truth distinct from that of the philosophers ²⁴ ; and, in Spinoza’s Critique of Religion, he writes that “Spinoza asserts that an unbridgeable gulf separates the multitude from the wise.” ²⁵ This implies that the modern understanding is closer to the ancient than might appear at first glance—unless Spinoza is not a modern philosopher. Finally, there are indications that Strauss does not believe that there exists any genuine modern esotericism. Strauss mentions—and seems to endorse—Lessing’s view that a difference between ancient and medieval political thought, on the one hand, and modern political thought, on the other, is that the former employs esotericism, whereas the latter does not. ²⁶ Indeed, in his 1939 essay on Xenophon, Strauss suggests that esotericism is practiced in the same way in all ages, and that this is, precisely, according to the ancient model. ²⁷

Ultimately, however, for my purposes, it is not relevant whether Strauss’s account of defensive esotericism, taken with the modern understanding of persecution, does not have any inegalitarian implications. For my argument is that Strauss gives another account of esotericism, which is distinct from any variety of defensive esotericism, and which does not have any of these implications.

2

This other account can be found in Strauss’s “Introduction” to Persecution and the Art of Writing. As I mentioned, the “Introduction” is based on Strauss’s earlier article “Farabi’s Plato.” As Strauss writes in the “Preface,” “for the Introduction, I have made free use of my article ‘Farabi’s Plato . . . ’” ²⁸ I will return to this “free use” below. In any case, this dependence makes sense of a peculiarity of the “Introduction.” This is that it does not, as one might expect, merely give an overview, or point of entrance, to the themes of the following chapters, but, more than that, gives a substantive account of Farabi’s own esotericism.

The specific text of Farabi’s on which Strauss focuses is the Plato, the second part of Farabi’s tripartite work On the Purposes of Plato and Aristotle, ²⁹ and whose first and third parts are entitled, respectively, The Attainment of Happiness and The Philosophy of Aristotle. At first, Strauss’s discussion of Farabi’s esotericism in the Plato takes into consideration the relation between these three parts. According to Strauss, in the first part, Farabi presents his own view of “the human things which are required for bringing about the complete happiness of nations and of cities.” ³⁰ In the second and third parts, Farabi presents not his own but Plato’s and Aristotle’s views. In other words, in the second and third parts, he “sets forth explicitly the views of another man.” ³¹ For Strauss, this gives Farabi “the specific immunity of the commentator.” In other words, he is able to state his own views—his own heterodox views—freely, because they will not be attributed to himself. Strauss mentions a number of these views. Farabi “rule[s] out any clams of cognitive value which may be raised on behalf of religion in general and of revealed religion in particular.” ³² “Through the mouth of Plato, Farabi declares that religious speculation, and religious investigation of the beings, and the religious syllogistic art, do not supply the science of the beings, in which man’s highest perfection consists, whereas philosophy does supply it.” Finally, he rejects the “doctrine of a life after death.” For Strauss, this last view in particular shows that Farabi states his own views under the name of Plato. For “precisely as a mere commentator of Plato, Farabi was compelled to embrace the doctrine of life after death.” ³³

The type of esotericism that emerges from this discussion is very close to the defensive esotericism I outlined above. Farabi communicates the truth in such a way that only the philosophers will understand it. He communicates it through another person (if not a “disreputable character”). Even more, Strauss notes that the means by which Farabi rejects the doctrine of life after death is through “silence” ³⁴ : he does not attribute any view on this matter to Plato, who professes this doctrine; only philosophers could pick this up and draw the implication. Moreover, while Strauss does not say that in the Plato Farabi promulgates lies, he does state that in other texts, in which Farabi (ostensibly) presents his own positions, “he pronounces simply orthodox views.” ³⁵ Finally, given the heterodox nature of Farabi’s views, it seems evident that Farabi’s purpose is to defend himself against persecution from the non-philosophers.

However, at this point, a problem arises. Later in the “Introduction,” in a paragraph in which Strauss seems to affirm that Farabi practices this type of esotericism in the Plato, he qualifies this affirmation. Strauss writes,

Farabi’s Plato informs us about the most obvious and the crudest reason why this antiquated or forgotten distinction [“between the exoteric and the esoteric teaching”] was needed. Philosophy and the philosophers were “in grave danger.” Society did not recognize philosophy or the right of philosophizing. . . . The exoteric teaching was needed for protecting philosophy. It was the armor in which philosophy had to appear. ³⁶

For Strauss, the defense against persecution is “the most obvious and crudest reason” for the practice of esotericism. Now, this might suggest that, for Strauss, Farabi’s own purpose for practicing esotericism—insofar as it is the defense against persecution—is obvious and crude. This, however, seems unlikely. On the other hand, one could take Strauss to mean that Farabi has, apart fromthe defense against persecution, another reason for practicing esotericism. This seems more likely. In fact, Frazer takes this view. According to him, Strauss means to say that Farabi’s purpose is not related to the defense against persecution, but rather to the “permanent gap between philosophy and society.” This gap provides a reason for practicing esotericism that “hold[s] even when persecution ends.” ³⁷ This view, however, is problematic. In the passage in which Strauss discusses this gap, he clearly states that it does not give rise to the practice of esotericism independently of persecution, but gives rise to persecution, which, in turn, gives rise to the practice of esotericism. After all, because of this gap, “philosophy as such was suspect to, and hated by, the majority of men.” ³⁸

But what, then, is Farabi’s other purpose? The “Introduction” provides a lead. Strauss, after discussing how Farabi’s esotericism consists in attributing his own views to Plato, goes on to give another discussion of Farabi’s esotericism in the Plato. This other discussion is separated from the first not only because it sequentially follows it, but also because it examines a distinct textual area in the Plato—its very end, and because the type of esotericism it identifies is not practiced by Farabi, but articulated by him.

The context of this other discussion is how, for Farabi, philosophy founds the virtuous city. According to Strauss, Farabi denies that philosophy alone can bring about this city. ³⁹ Farabi demonstrates this by “the fate of Socrates.” ⁴⁰ Now, what Farabi calls “the way of Socrates” consists in “the scientific investigation of justice and the virtues.” ⁴¹ Yet Socrates was faced with a city, Athens, in which “there was no freedom of teaching and investigation.” Socrates was therefore confronted with the alternative of giving up his way—conforming to the false opinions of Athens—or continuing to practice it, and being put to death. He chose the latter. For this reason, Socrates did not found the virtuous city. Nevertheless, Strauss asserts that, for Farabi, “Plato found a solution to the problem posed by the fate of Socrates.” At first, this solution was “founding the virtuous city in speech.” Yet Strauss rejects this solution as the one that Farabi attributes to Plato. He does not explain why; perhaps it is because a city in speech is not an actual city. However, Strauss then immediately proposes another solution. This other solution is “a correction of the Socratic way.” It is “the Platonic way,” or the “combination of the way of Socrates with the way of Thrasymachus.” It consists in

the gradual replacement of the accepted opinions by the truth or an approximation to the truth. The replacement of the accepted opinions could not be gradual, if it were not accompanied by a provisional acceptance of the accepted opinions: as Farabi elsewhere declares, conformity with the opinions of the religious community in which one is brought up, is a necessary qualification for the future philosopher. The replacement of the accepted opinions could not be gradual if it were not accompanied by the suggestion of opinions which, while pointing toward the truth, do not flagrantly contradict the accepted opinions. ⁴²

As Strauss indicates, “the gradual replacement of the accepted opinions” takes place by two means: either by replacing those opinions by the truth, simply, or by replacing them with an approximation to the truth. Strauss explains that the first means is appropriate to the “elite”—the philosophers—and the second to the “vulgar”—the non-philosophers. ⁴³ Indeed, the Platonic way is a combination of the way of Socrates and the way of Thrasymachus insofar as the way of Socrates is identical to the first means, and the way of Thrasymachus is identical to the second: the way of Socrates “is appropriate only for the philosopher’s dealing with the elite,” whereas the way of Thrasymachus “is appropriate for his dealings with the vulgar.” ⁴⁴ In any case, Strauss states that, for Farabi, because of the Platonic way,

the revolutionary quest for the other city ceased to be necessary: Plato substituted for it a more conservative way of action. . . . We may say that Farabi’s Plato eventually replaces the philosopher-king who rules openly in the virtuous city, by the secret kingship of the philosopher who . . . lives privately as a member of an imperfect society which he tries to humanize within the limits of the possible. ⁴⁵

The Platonic way founds the virtuous city. To be sure, the philosopher who practices it lives as a member of an imperfect society. Nevertheless, Strauss states that it is a form of “kingship,” and a kingship which “replaces” the kingship of “the philosopher-king who rules openly in the virtuous city.” One could, therefore, say that it founds the virtuous city “within the limits of the possible.” Indeed, that it is not “revolutionary” but “a more conservative way of action” does not mean that it does not found the virtuous city, but only qualifies how it does so. ⁴⁶

In this foregoing discussion, Strauss elaborates a type of esotericism. This esotericism is the Platonic way. To be sure, Strauss does not explicitly state this; however, in “Farabi’s Plato,” he does: he writes that the kingship that is the Platonic way “is exercised by means of an exoteric teaching.” ⁴⁷ This esotericism can be characterized in terms of both its purpose and its method. Its purpose is the founding of the virtuous city. And its method is the replacement of the accepted opinions with the truth, for the philosophers, and an approximation to the truth, for the non-philosophers. In this respect, this esotericism is distinct from the esotericism that Strauss elaborates in reference to Farabi’s stating his own views under the name of Plato; in other words, it is distinct from defensive esotericism. Its purpose is not the defense against persecution; and its method does not involve being silent to non-philosophers, or concealing the truth from them. It is especially in this latter respect that it differs from defensive esotericism. It shows the truth to non-philosophers. In light of this, I would like to call this esotericism “aggressive esotericism.” It is “aggressive” insofar as it actively brings about the virtuous city, and actively replaces people’s accepted opinions with the truth or its approximation. I suggest that it is to this type of esotericism that Strauss alludes when he writes that the defense against persecution is “the most obvious and crudest reason” for Farabi’s esotericism. Indeed, in the “Introduction,” after describing Farabi’s account of the Platonic way, Strauss writes that “Farabi’s remarks on Plato’s policy define the general character of the activity of the falāsifa.” ⁴⁸

It is worth noting that, while Strauss states that Farabi does not “speak his mind” “in the works in which he speaks in his own name,” ⁴⁹ in The Attainment of Happiness, the first part of On the Purposes of Plato and Aristotle, and the only part in which Farabi is not a “commentator,” Farabi articulates precisely this aggressive esotericism. Farabi comments that the perfect philosopher not only possesses the “theoretical sciences” but also the “faculty for exploiting them for the benefit of all others according to their capacity.” ⁵⁰ In this way, the perfect philosopher is able to “bring about” theoretical virtue—and even, according to Farabi, practical virtue—“in nations and cities in the manner and the measure possible with reference to each.” ⁵¹ Farabi then distinguishes two types of “instruction” by which this theoretical virtue can be brought about. The first is philosophy, by which knowledge of the beings is achieved by demonstration. The second is religion, by which knowledge of the beings is achieved “by imagining them through similitudes which imitate them.” ⁵² Farabi then comments that “if those intelligibles are adopted, and persuasive methods are used, then the religion comprising them is called popular, generally accepted, and external philosophy.” ⁵³ This “external philosophy” is aggressive esotericism. ⁵⁴

This aggressive esotericism, which, I am claiming, emerges from Strauss’s discussion of Farabi, might be taken to be the same as what Arthur Melzer calls “political esotericism.” Indeed, Melzer distinguishes political esotericism from what he terms “defensive esotericism.” ⁵⁵ Defensive esotericism “is essentially passive or defensive”; its purpose is “to hide from persecution or hold it at bay.” ⁵⁶ On the other hand, political esotericism is “an activist, transformative rhetoric”; it “aims to subvert and rebuild society.” This subversion and rebuilding might be equated with the Platonic way’s active replacement of everyone’s accepted religious opinions with the truth or its approximation. ⁵⁷ However, there are important differences between aggressive and political esotericism. First, Melzer associates political esotericism with the Enlightenment philosophers, whereas I am claiming that, for Strauss, aggressive esotericism is found in the medieval period—in Farabi. On the other hand, this does not mean that Melzer’s historical division is incorrect. Rather, aggressive esotericism is simply a different type of esotericism from political esotericism. According to Melzer, the method of political esotericism is the total replacement of accepted opinions with the truth:

The [Enlightenment] philosopher, once liberated from society and its prejudices, can, through a process of popular enlightenment, eventually liberate society itself from its illusions and bring it into final harmony with reason, including the public embrace of the philosophic or scientific enterprise. ⁵⁸

This recalls Strauss’s statement that Enlightenment philosophers believed “that the kingdom of general darkness could be replaced by the republic of universal light.” ⁵⁹ Yet the method of aggressive esotericism is not such a total replacement of accepted opinions with the truth. Rather, it brings about this total replacement only in respect to philosophers, whereas, in respect to non-philosophers, it brings about a partial replacement—an approximation to the truth. In this respect, whereas aggressive esotericism, like political esotericism, is distinct from defensive esotericism in that it is not “passive or defensive,” but “aims to subvert and rebuild society,” its means are different: not the total replacement of opinion by truth, but the partial replacement of opinion by truth, or, one could say, the illumination of opinion by truth.

I would now like to suggest that Strauss’s account of aggressive esotericism does not have the same inegalitarian implications that defensive esotericism does. Rather, it has two egalitarian implications, and one which, while it is inegalitarian, is so in a practically meaningless way.

3

Strauss, I have argued, gives two accounts of two types of esotericism: defensive esotericism, which has inegalitarian implications, and aggressive esotericism, which does not. But what, then, is the relation between these accounts? Do they designate two historically distinct types of esotericism? Or does Strauss endorse one, and not endorse the other? What I would like to suggest is that Strauss’s account of defensive esotericism is his explicit account, and his account of aggressive esotericism is his esoteric account. As I mentioned, a number of commentators have proposed that Strauss’s account of esotericism is itself esoteric. I will begin by looking at Frazer’s view, since Frazer, like myself, argues that Strauss’s esoteric account does not have inegalitarian implications.

According to Frazer, Strauss explicitly endorses “ancient esotericism,” which Frazer understands as the practice of esotericism rooted in the belief that there is a “permanent gap” between the wise and the vulgar. ⁶⁰ (I criticized this view above; however, here, this criticism is irrelevant.) Yet “[n]o teaching of Strauss’s deserves to be exempted from critical scrutiny; upon such scrutiny, any one of these teachings, even Strauss’s teaching on esotericism itself, may reveal itself to be an exoteric mask hiding a deeper, esoteric truth.” ⁶¹ Strauss’s endorsement of ancient esotericism is such an “exoteric mask.” An indication of this is his well-known contravention of its principles. He reveals the secrets of writers who used the ancient model of esotericism, or, more precisely, reveals the way in which their secrets can be revealed. For example, in Strauss’s essays on Maimonides, he provides readers with an explicit methodology for uncovering Maimonides’s secrets. ⁶²

Frazer suggests that Strauss’s purpose in giving a methodology for revealing secrets is to provoke people to think philosophically. Strauss “seems to be inviting anyone who is willing to make the effort to become one of the philosophers.” ⁶³ For Frazer, this provides the clue to Strauss’s endorsement of ancient esotericism. This endorsement is exoteric, that is, it is a lie, and yet a lie which provokes people to think for themselves:

Esoteric communication has the pedagogic advantage of forcing students to think for themselves, to consider whether a philosopher’s reasoning at any given time is sound and reveals his true teaching or is merely exoteric. In this way, students may almost be said to discover the truth through their own reasoning—that is, almost to be practicing genuine philosophy. ⁶⁴

For Frazer, this is the “exoteric use of the ancient model of esotericism,” ⁶⁵ and he calls it the “educational account of esotericism.” “It seems to be the best candidate for Strauss’s true teaching on the subject” ⁶⁶ : it is Strauss’s esoteric esotericism.

Frazer points out that this “educational account of esotericism” does not have the same inegalitarian implications that ancient esotericism does. On this account, ancient esotericism is exoteric, and therefore it is not committed to the view that people are unequal in respect of their capacity to discover the truth. To be sure, it does not hold that everyone will discover the truth, or that society in general can be enlightened. Yet it does hold that everyone is capable of discovering the truth—if only they make the effort:

Nowhere [in Strauss’s commentaries] are secrets presented in a manner suitable for acceptance by the masses, for serving as “true opinions” from which an enlightened society can be built. Instead, the student of Strauss, whoever he or she may be, is compelled to become a student of the philosophical masters that Strauss analyzes. . . . Strauss’s goal thus seems neither to be for the philosophers to enlighten all of humanity by reshaping society, nor for the philosophers to forever hide their secret teachings from all but a chosen few. Instead, he seems to be inviting anyone who is willing to make the effort to become one of the philosophers. ⁶⁷

Frazer’s account has two major problems. First, it does not adequately explain why Strauss exoterically endorses ancient esotericism. For Frazer, Strauss exoterically endorses ancient esotericism to accomplish an educational purpose. Yet Strauss could just as easily accomplish this purpose by not exoterically endorsing ancient esotericism. For example, he could (non-exoterically) reject it, and yet still claim that, unlike himself, past writers endorsed it. This would provoke students to think for themselves—precisely in order to understand those past writers. In fact, this seems to be precisely what Strauss does, and accomplishes, in the majority of his texts on esotericism. He claims that past writers endorsed it and gives students the tools to understand those past writers’ texts. This provokes students to think for themselves—in order to understand those past writers. On Frazer’s view, therefore, Strauss’s exoteric endorsement of ancient esotericism is insufficiently motivated.

Second, the type of esotericism that Frazer attributes to Strauss is radically limited. Its exoteric side consists of a single lie—the endorsement of ancient esotericism. And its esoteric side consists of a single truth—that this exoteric endorsement is a lie, and that it has an educational purpose. This is a threadbare type of esotericism. For Strauss, as well as most writers on esotericism, its exoteric and esoteric sides consist in substantive political, moral, or scientific ideas; for Frazer, Strauss’s esotericism involves none of these. In fact, it is unclear that on Frazer’s view, this esotericism is a genuine type of esotericism at all. Its exoteric side serves the pragmatic role of bringing about an educational effect. Yet, for this reason, it does not conceal or reveal anything. How, then, is it “exoteric”? Similarly, its esoteric side consists in the truth that its exoteric side functions in the foregoing way. But how is this truth concealed or revealed? For the reason just given, not by its exoteric side; and Frazer does not indicate any other way. How, then, is it “esoteric”? Ultimately, the esotericism that Frazer ascribes to Strauss seems to be nothing more than purposeful lying. Yet purposeful lying is not esotericism.

I will now turn to my own view. As I mentioned, for Strauss, one of the major techniques by which defensive esotericism esoterically communicates the truth is repetition. ⁶⁸ An account of a subject is repeated; yet there are changes—omissions or additions; and these changes reveal the truth. Repetition plays a significant role in the “Introduction” and, precisely, in his account of aggressive esotericism. As I explained, in the “Introduction,” Strauss first describes how Farabi exploits the “immunity of the commentator” by attributing his own views to Plato. Yet, after this, he describes how, for Farabi, Plato supplemented the way of Socrates with the way of Thrasymachus. In this respect, Strauss’s account of Farabi’s aggressive esotericism is a repetition of his account of Farabi’s defensive esotericism. Indeed, after giving his account of Farabi’s aggressive esotericism, Strauss states that “it would appear to be rash to identify the teaching of the falāsifa with what they taught most frequently or most conspicuously,” and then adds that the defense against persecution is “the most obvious and crudest reason” for the practice of esotericism. ⁶⁹ This suggests that Strauss’s first account of Farabi’s esotericism does not give the genuine purpose of esotericism, but, perhaps, the repeated account does.

Yet this is not the only case of repetition in the “Introduction.” As I noted, in the “Preface” to Persecution, Strauss writes that in the “Introduction” he “made free use” of his earlier article, “Farabi’s Plato.” This “free use,” it turns out, consists in the reproduction of text from the earlier article, as well as specific changes to that text. This “free use” is, therefore, a repetition. Strauss draws explicit attention to this—precisely by stating that he “made free use” of the earlier article. Indeed, given the emphasis on repetition throughout Persecution, this comment is conspicuous. Even more, the reader who looks up “Farabi’s Plato” will discover that Strauss published it in a difficult-to-access place—a jubilee volume for Louis Ginzberg. ⁷⁰ This raises the possibility that Strauss is, here, referring to an arcanum. ⁷¹

The majority of the text in the “Introduction” that Strauss reproduces from “Farabi’s Plato” is from the second section, “Philosophy and Politics,” which deals directly with Farabi’s esotericism. ⁷² This section includes the discussion of the Platonic way. In the “Introduction,” Strauss reproduces much of this discussion nearly verbatim. There are, however, a number of changes. First, in the “Introduction,” Strauss does not state explicitly that the Platonic way is a type of esotericism. In “Farabi’s Plato,” however, he states this explicitly. Describing the Platonic way ⁷³ as a “secret kingship,” he writes that “that kingship is exercised by means of an exoteric teaching.” ⁷⁴ Second, in the “Introduction,” Strauss does not specify what the purpose of this esotericism is. In the first sentence of the paragraph in which he discusses it, Strauss writes, “in fact, it is by no means certain that the purpose of Plato or of Aristotle, as Farabi understood it, required the actualization of the best political order.” ⁷⁵ What this “purpose” is, is unclear. In “Farabi’s Plato,” however, Strauss openly states the identity of this purpose. At the very beginning of the text, he writes that, for Farabi, “the final question which [Plato] raised, concerned the way in which the cities of his time could be gradually converted to the life of the perfect city.” ⁷⁶ Third, in the “Introduction,” Strauss describes the method of aggressive esotericism as

the gradual replacement of the accepted opinions by the truth or an approximation to the truth. The replacement of the accepted opinions could not be gradual if it were not accompanied by the suggestion of opinions which, while pointing toward the truth, do not too flagrantly contradict the accepted opinions. ⁷⁷

The passage in “Farabi’s Plato” on which this is based is the following:

The replacement, however gradual, of the accepted opinions is of course a destruction of the accepted opinions. But being emphatically gradual, it is best described as an undermining of the accepted opinions. For it would not be gradual, if it were not combined with a provisional acceptance of the accepted opinions. ⁷⁸

Strauss later adds that “the goal of the gradual destruction of the accepted opinions is the truth,” ⁷⁹ another formulation which is missing from the “Introduction.” There is, then, in the “Introduction,” an omission of the fact that the method of aggressive esotericism involves the destruction of accepted religious opinions. Further evidence of this omission is that, in the Plato, Farabi openly states this aspect of aggressive esotericism—or openly states it in the name of Plato; Strauss, however, neither quotes nor cites this passage:

[Plato stated that] one ought to devise a plan for moving them [the multitude] away from their ways of life and opinions to the truth and to the virtuous ways of life, or closer to them. In some Letters he composed he gave an account of how to abolish the ways of life of nations and the corrupt laws that prevail in the cities, how to move the cities and nations away from them, and how to reform their ways of life. . . . As an example of this, he mentioned the Athenians (his own people) and their ways of life. He described how to abolish their laws and how to turn them away from them. He described his view regarding the way in which they could be moved gradually, and he described the opinions and the laws toward which they should be moved after the abolition of their ways of life and laws. ⁸⁰

Strauss’s account of aggressive esotericism is, then, esoteric. However, by this, I do not mean to suggest that his account of defensive esotericism is “exoteric,” in the sense that it is a lie or that he only—as Frazer proposes—exoterically endorses it. Rather, I suggest that Strauss’s account of defensive esotericism is his explicit account—it is in the foreground—whereas he only provides hints that point towards his account of aggressive esotericism. After all, Strauss does, in a sense, endorse defensive esotericism: he uses techniques characteristic of it, especially repetition, in order to hint at his account of aggressive esotericism. In fact, in this, Strauss follows Farabi, who avails himself of the “immunity of the commentator” in order to give his own account of aggressive esotericism.

There are, I believe, two reasons why Strauss presents his account of aggressive esotericism esoterically. First, if it is to accomplish its goal, it must be esoteric. That is, if it is to replace accepted opinions with the truth or its approximation, it cannot “flagrantly contradict” those opinions, that is, openly state that it is replacing them. It is a “secret kingship.” Second, it is dangerous to declare that one is practicing this type of esotericism. For what one is declaring is that one is destroying people’s religious opinions. Indeed, this makes sense of a peculiarity of my view, namely, that Strauss’s esoteric account of esotericism is egalitarian, whereas his explicit account is not. At first glance, it would make sense if it were just the other way around; it would seem to be less dangerous to explicitly present an egalitarian esotericism and to esoterically present an inegalitarian one. However, it is far more dangerous to explicitly state that one is destroying people’s religious opinions, than it is to explicitly state that one is concealing one’s true views from them, for inegalitarian reasons.

4

One of the central questions posed by Strauss’s writing on esotericism is what practical use that esotericism could have, under the conditions in which Strauss writes about it. Strauss poses this question himself. He states that esotericism is practiced specifically under political conditions in which there is no freedom of discussion. ⁸¹ Yet he also states that he writes about esotericism under political conditions in which this freedom exists. ⁸² The implication seems to be that, for Strauss, at the time he writes about esotericism, it is practically useless.

Significantly, however, this line of reasoning depends on the view that, for Strauss, esotericism is defensive esotericism. For only if the purpose of esotericism is the defense against persecution, is it practically useless under political conditions—freedom of discussion—in which there is no persecution against which to defend. Additionally, if, alternatively, Strauss understands esotericism as aggressive esotericism—whose purpose is not the defense against persecution—then, under these political conditions, it may have a practical use. I would here like to pursue this latter possibility.

In fact, Strauss situates the practice of aggressive esotericism within a conflict. This conflict, however, is not between philosophy and persecution, but rather between philosophy and the imagination. The accepted opinions that the philosopher, through aggressive esotericism, replaces, are religious opinions, and these opinions are rooted in the imagination. ⁸³ In his essay on Spinoza’s esotericism, Strauss describes this conflict in the following way:

According to Spinoza, the natural obstacle to philosophy is man’s imaginative and passionate life, which tries to secure itself against its breakdown by producing what Spinoza calls superstition. The alternative that confronts man by nature, is then that of a superstitious account of the whole on the one hand, and of the philosophic account on the other. In spite of their radical antagonism, superstition and philosophy have this in common, that both attempt to give a final account of the whole, and both consider such an account indispensable for the guidance of human life. ⁸⁴

The conflict between philosophy and the imagination is a conflict over truth: whether the “account of the whole” is true or false, philosophical or superstitious. At the same time, this conflict does not occur simply in a person’s own soul. Rather, it is political. It is a “radical antagonism,” or the two sides fight with one another “for the guidance of human life.” That this conflict is distinct from that between philosophy and persecution can be seen in the fact that it can persist even when there is freedom of discussion. For even when such freedom exists, it might only be the freedom of the imagination. ⁸⁵ In this case, for the majority of people, the exercise of this freedom will issue in exclusively imaginary beliefs. And, for this reason, imagination will prevail over philosophy, or the imaginary account of the whole will prevail over the philosophical account of the whole.

One way in which philosophy may deal with this antagonism is to reject the imagination, that is, to treat it as simply irrational. As Kenneth Hart Green shows, Strauss associates this rejection with the Enlightenment. ⁸⁶ However, the problem with this approach is that, rather than overcoming the “radical antagonism” between philosophy and the imagination, it intensifies it. For if the imagination is simply irrational, there is no hope of reforming or changing it, that is, bringing it into concordance with philosophy. Furthermore, if there are people who are fundamentally wedded to their imagination, there is no hope of reforming or changing them, that is, giving them a glimpse of the philosophical truth or a way of attaining it. This approach leads to an impasse between philosophy and the imagination: war or, particularly within liberal societies, fruitless expressions of contempt. ⁸⁷

Aggressive esotericism offers a different approach to this conflict. To its eyes, the imagination is not simply irrational. Rather, it can be either irrational or rational. Specifically, imaginary beliefs which are false can be replaced by imaginary beliefs which point towards the truth—approximations to the truth. In this way, aggressive esotericism does not lead to war or fruitless expressions of contempt. Rather, it has a task, and a viable task, to reform or the content of the imagination. It may not replace “the kingdom of general darkness” with “the republic of universal light,” but it can illuminate that kingdom with light.

That, for Strauss, philosophers can illuminate the imagination in this way is brought out very well by Laurence Lampert’s work on Strauss’s interpretation of Nietzsche. For Lampert, Strauss finds in Nietzsche a perennial philosophical view of poetry or religion—both of which, one can say, are expressions of the imagination. According to this view, poetry or religion are not objects of hostility. Rather, they constitute the basic beliefs which underlie the majority of people’s everyday lives:

What they [religions] are good for, what they are simply indispensable for, is the structuring poetry of everyday life, that web of beliefs and values lived spontaneously by any and every human community as its testament of the useful, the good, and the holy. From Plato to Nietzsche, philosophers have regarded religion, without invidious intent, as the poetry of the multitude, group persuasions dyed into the community as almost involuntary beliefs. ⁸⁸

For Lampert, while these basic, imaginary beliefs might at first be ill-disposed towards the truth, nevertheless, philosophers can change them in such a way that they are well-disposed towards the truth. This constitutes an “enlightenment” ⁸⁹ —although not in the manner of the modern Enlightenment. Lampert writes, in respect to the “Platonic political philosopher,” who carries out this enlightenment:

His actions aim at the replacement of opinions, with opinions dangerous to philosophy gradually being replaced by opinions more friendly to philosophy in order that the rational investigation of the whole may continue. ⁹⁰

As the language of this last passage suggests, Lampert believes that Strauss develops this conception of the Platonic political philosophy in reflecting on Farabi’s Plato. “Alfarabi’s Plato,” he writes, is “Strauss’s Plato,” the Platonic political philosopher. ⁹¹ I want to note, however, that this does not mean that Lampert’s “Platonic political philosophy” is identical to what I mean by “aggressive esotericism.” For Lampert, the ultimate purpose of Platonic political philosophy is the “defense” of philosophy. ⁹² As I have tried to show, aggressive esotericism—and, indeed, the aggressive esotericism which Strauss finds in Farabi—has a different purpose.

But it not only has a different purpose. It is also egalitarian, which Lampert’s Platonic political philosophy, like defensive esotericism in general, is not. ⁹³ Indeed, at this point, one can appreciate that it is egalitarian in a way that the Enlightenment is not. For insofar as the Enlightenment understands the imagination to be simply irrational, it excludes people who live life according to the imagination from any possibility of participating in the truth. ⁹⁴ On the other hand, for aggressive esotericism, such people can participate in the truth. One could therefore say: it respects them. In fact, it suggests that philosophy is not genuinely philosophy unless it possesses this respect. As Farabi writes in “The Attainment of Happiness”:

When the theoretical sciences are isolated and their possessor does not have the faculty for exploiting them for the benefit of others, they are defective philosophy. To be a truly perfect philosopher one has to possess both the theoretical sciences and the faculty for exploiting them for the benefit of all others according to their capacity. ⁹⁵