By Christian Alejandro Gonzalez
Wednesday, June
27, 2018
I’ve always been lucky enough to be suffered by people
much wiser than I. When I was in eighth grade, I had an English teacher, equal
parts kind and intelligent, who was ever-ready to entertain my tragically
uninformed views of President Obama. English, theology, and history teachers in
high school were similarly generous, listening to my opinions on matters of war
and empire — issues that captivated me in those days. (By “in those days” I
refer to events that happened all of four years ago. The irony of this is not
lost on me.) And many of the senior writers at National Review routinely listen with sincere interest to my
worries about the future of American democracy.
The various instructors mentioned above are a pretty
ideologically heterogeneous bunch. Most are staunch leftists, eager to
challenge (among some other things) my rejection of most feminist theory. A few
are firm traditionalists, seeking to impress on me the importance of organized
religion, personal faith, and longstanding custom.
Being exposed to a wide range of political visions
conferred on me innumerable benefits, not least of which was an ability lend
sympathetic ears to both sides of most arguments. Listening to brilliant
teachers articulate their different interpretations of the world, moreover,
slowly allowed me to grasp just how deep
are the philosophical divisions that separate the Left from the Right. That
observation might sound rather mundane — obviously, you might think, the Left
and the Right do not see eye to eye; that’s why they are taxonomically
distinguished. What I mean to say, though, is that that the magnitude of the
disagreement is enormous.
I am generalizing, of course, and losing exactitude
because of it. Not every thinker fits neatly into the paradigm I propose.
Still, the essences of leftist and
rightist worldviews are irreconcilably different, despite the areas where
consensus does exist. Left and Right disagree over the role of the state in a
free society, over the causes of human inequality, over the speed at which
large-scale social and political change should occur, over both the means and
the ends of government activity, over what human nature truly is. The
differences are colossal, fundamental in the precise sense of the word — they
reach into the very foundations of political and social thought.
Consider, for instance, just one of the major Left–Right
disagreements — the debate over human nature. People on the left are more
likely to see human nature as fundamentally good, or at least as not inherently
bad; further, they believe it to be largely malleable, subject to change by
education and other forms of environmental conditioning. The Left is also more
likely to analyze society in terms of structures rather than in terms of
individuals. This emphasis explains why many leftists fault capitalism for
causing war, patriarchal power relations for enabling sexual violence, poverty
for engendering crime. Individuals, in this view, are but small components of a
vast social, cultural, and economic organism that is the primary shaper of
human behavior.
The Right sees human nature as rather more “constrained,”
to borrow from Thomas Sowell. Under this interpretation, governments and
institutions can’t socially engineer
humans in any which way they desire; certain human characteristics will always
reassert themselves and foil the utopian schemes of, say, a central committee.
To the leftist belief that society, capitalism, or the patriarchy is to blame
for the problems of the world, a conservative might reply: Well, but what is
the most basic element of a “society” if not the individual? And if individuals
are flawed, does this not imply that societies are sure to be flawed too? How
can we fashion a perfect society if all its constituent parts are imperfect?
The human-nature debate is unlikely to be settled
conclusively. But I am here interested in something else. My education, such as
it was, led me to recognize that titanic intellects have stood on opposing
sides of great political fault lines — Burke and Paine, Mill and Marx, and so
on. I was fortunate, therefore, to have had teachers from all across the
spectrum, the better to hear firsthand some forceful advocates of the various
positions that make up the dizzying array of human intellectual diversity.
And yet, the more I progress in my college career, the
less I encounter professors who subscribe to the constrained view of human
nature specifically, or to the conservative vision of politics and society more
generally. Statistically, my experience is hardly surprising: I study political
science and history, academic fields that are today nearly bereft of
conservatives.
I do not mean to overstate the problem. While most of my
instructors have left no doubt in my mind as to where their sympathies lie, I
have never been subjected to fire-breathing radical professors who discriminate
against right-leaning students who dare to dissent. Even at Columbia, that high
citadel of academic leftism, the conservative caricature of intolerant
professors who give out bad grades to wrong-thinking students is just that — a
caricature. That is not to say that such people do not exist; it is merely to
suggest that they are not the majority.
More concerning, as Jonathan Haidt has labored to point
out, is the ossification of leftist orthodoxies in our universities. Bigoted
professors are unnecessary for such orthodoxies to become entrenched. To
establish an orthodoxy and put certain beliefs above contestation, one need
only create academic departments staffed entirely by people who believe
similarly. And that is in effect what American universities have done.
What emerge, then, are places of learning where only one
vision of the world is given a rigorous, scholarly justification; meanwhile,
opposing theories are dismissed, at times with contempt, as reactionary,
uninteresting, devoid of intellectual seriousness. As conservatives are (for
various reasons) slowly pushed out of faculties, every facet of intellectual
life at the modern university begins to bend toward the left and thereby to
favor analyses that prefer the structural over the individual, the materialist
over the spiritual, the state over the market, the unitary over the federalist.
In such circumstances, conservative students are compelled to withdraw from
university culture. They content themselves by lodging silent complaints
against the hegemony of acceptable opinion, by enjoying Jordan Peterson’s
lectures in places hidden from the thoughtcrime police, by carrying around in
secret the forbidden literature of Burke and Hayek. (Alternatively, they become
trolls and devote all their energies to “owning the libs.”) So it is that the
orthodoxy persists, undisturbed.
Which brings me back to the lamentable scarcity of
conservative professors, and to the fact that today’s students are for the most
part prevented from attaining their insight. Among other shortcomings,
including an ever-rising cost of tuition, the dearth of conservatives in the
professoriate is one of the modern academy’s great failures. It calls out for
redress.
Imparting a diverse set of ideas and broadening the
intellectual horizons of its students should not be the sole function of a university. Universities also provide people
with a means to climb the social ladder. But insofar as higher education is
concerned with nourishing the minds of the young, few things would contribute
more to that enterprise than cultivating intellectually diverse faculties.
Hearing conservative voices defend tradition, the free-market system, incremental
rather than revolutionary change, a politics of virtue, the importance of faith
— or really any conservative principle — would better educate students, better
allow them them to compare the weight of the evidence that Left and Right each
brings to bear on its positions. It will demonstrate that people can be
conservative for reasons other than to rationalize away their racial or sexual
prejudices. It will improve the quality of all the research produced. And it
will convince students that conservative beliefs are held by people who are
just as decent — and just as thoughtful — as their leftist counterparts. A more
balanced professoriate would smash orthodoxies in the spaces where they do not
belong, enable students to pursue their intellectual curiosities more freely,
and make room for a more constructive discourse.
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