Leo Strauss and the Politics of American Empire
The subject of the German-born philosopher Leo Strauss (and the influence he had on his disciples, many of whom became either conservative political theorists or neoconservative policymakers and writers) is an intriguing one. So far, it has been treated rather superficially. Norton, a political theorist who studied with Straussians, has written a disorderly book, studded with anecdotes, narrative leaps, and a mix of gossip and erudite analysis, that left this reader exhausted, irritated, and more than a bit saddened by the opportunity lost. Norton knows how to hit a target-her critique of Allan Bloom's Closing of the American Mind, which "takes the language of anti-Semitism ... and turns it from the Jews to the Blacks," is excellent-but the first half of the book will interest only those titillated by academic chitchat. Her brief discussion of the criticisms of modernity offered by Strauss and his disciples, Hannah Arendt, and the Egyptian thinker Sayyid Qutb is provocative, as is her detour into the Straussian cult of Winston Churchill. In her chapters on the war on terrorism, she is right to stress that neoconservatism is "a radical departure from traditional conservatism," but she subsequently returns to digressions and thumbnail sketches. Intelligent asides do not amount to a satisfactory book.
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Nineteen eighty-four has been a quiet year in U.S.-West European relations--a year during which these Western countries had the luxury of organizing a large number of conferences for intellectuals and public figures to ask themselves whether George Orwell's bleak warnings had actually been prophetic (if they had been, these colloquia could not have been held) and whether Soviet reality resembled Orwell's vision of totalitarianism. What actually happened in the relations among these nations was less interesting than what did not happen.
Antony Blinken has missed a fundamental transformation at work. America and Europe may still share values and interests, but Europe and the world have changed profoundly since the Cold War. The transatlantic relationship must change, too.
President Charles de Gaulle in discussing current Franco-American relations often focuses upon the prewar neutrality of the United States as well as upon his wartime differences with President Franklin D. Roosevelt. In doing so he conjures up the image of an unreliable American ally. His recollections have also pushed into the background of public memory the two years before France's tragic collapse in June 1940, when, in the words of former Premier Edouard Daladier, "President Roosevelt was for France a very great and noble friend." As Premier during those years, Daladier witnessed at first hand the American President's efforts to help France order some 4,000 American combat planes to rebuild French defenses against the imminent attack of Hitler's vastly superior air power. Hitherto the details of the story have been wrapped in the secrecy of American and French archives, private papers and personal memories, but it can now be seen that Roosevelt concentrated his principal effort on that aid because he believed that in no other way could the United States strengthen France so significantly. Neither Morgenthau's monetary agreements nor the sale of machine tools and raw materials would do so much to increase French capacity to resist Nazi aggression. Roosevelt was ready to go as far as possible in spite of isolationist opposition to the delivery of planes to France because of his further conviction that, despite the Neutrality Act, the frontiers of the United States extended to the Rhine.
