What we need are conservatives with roots and wings—rooted in the enduring wisdom of the ancients, knowing that character matters, and recognizing that the values of truth, goodness, and beauty still beckon us, and yet open to the creative, life-giving possibilities the future might bring. Too often we either cling to the past or chase novelty, when what we truly need is a vision that does both: honors tradition and embraces renewal. That’s why I am a Straussian Whiteheadian."
—Fred, imagined professor of political philosophy at a liberal arts college in Nebraska
Strauss and Whitehead
Fred is a fellow Whiteheadian who is also deeply influenced by the political philosophy of Leo Strauss. He thinks of himself as a Straussian. He is a Straussian Whiteheadian.
If you are unfamiliar with Strauss; the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, written by Straussian scholar and Princeton professor Leora Batnitzky, offers an excellent, detailed introduction; click here. [1] It also offers a bibliography and links to many resources.
Fred is a fellow Whiteheadian who is also deeply influenced by the political philosophy of Strauss. Fred is not attracted to all aspects of Strauss’s thought: his emphasis on esotericism and his tendencies toward elitism, but Fred is especially drawn to:
- Strauss’s conviction that the future of Western civilization depends, in part, on a return to the ancients and a serious critique of modernity, including the enlightenment ideal of the isolated individual who operates only upon self-interest.
- Strauss’s critique of what Whitehead calls (and criticizes as) “scientific materialism”—the view that reduces all of nature to lifeless matter in motion and separates human beings from a larger context and sees nature as value-free.
- Strauss’s idea that Western peoples must rediscover humanity’s place within a more organic, value-filled cosmos.
- Strauss’s belief that education should center on the great texts and enduring questions of the human condition, cultivating the virtues needed for human flourishing and civic responsibility.
- Strauss' conviction that the great texts of the past should be approached with reverence—not as relics of their time, but as living sources of wisdom that raise timeless questions not reducible to a single historical context, and that speak to perennial concerns about justice, courage, friendship, love, and the good life.
A staunch opponent of Donald Trump, Fred recently asked if I would write a short, accessible piece for the general reader that brings Strauss and Whitehead into dialogue. He hopes to share it with fellow conservatives to encourage a more reflective, spiritually serious, and imaginatively generous form of conservatism. In his vision, Strauss offers the roots, and Whitehead the wings.
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Fred is drawn to Whitehead not in spite of his metaphysical vision but because of it. He finds in Whitehead:
- A robust metaphysical alternative to scientific materialism, one that sees the universe as alive with potentiality, value, and creativity.
- An affirmation of process and becoming—a world not frozen in fixed forms but always in motion, always open to novelty.
- A vision of God not as an authoritarian ruler, but as the source of fresh possibilities and the companion to all suffering.
- A redefinition of reason—not merely as instrumental calculation, but as a deeper responsiveness to the question of why things are as they are, and as an openness to the ideals of truth, beauty, and goodness by which we might live.
- A sense of intellectual adventure that invites philosophy to engage not just with ancient texts, but with the sciences, the arts, and lived experience.
- A cosmology that gives wings—offering a way of thinking that is faithful to the complexity of the modern world while remaining spiritually serious and ethically grounded.
Fred’s hope is that, in dialogue, Strauss and Whitehead might help shape a kind of conservatism that looks backward with reverence and forward with imagination.
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I do so with trepidation. One of the leading Whitehead scholars of twentieth and early decades of the twenty-first centur, David Ray Griffin, argues that the Strauss and Whitehead are "diametrically opposed." He writes: "Unless Straussian political philosophy is replaced by Whiteheadian political philosophy, or something similar, there is little hope that civilization will long survive." (Click here for Griffin's article.)
I can only note that Griffin's reading, based primarily on a single book by Shadia Drury, is controversial and, I believe, overly contentious. I am not interested in holding Strauss responsible for neo-conservatism. Nor, for that matter, is Leora Batnitzky. She writes:
"The claim that Strauss is in some way responsible for the Bush administration’s decision to invade Iraq has little merit. As should be clear from the above, Strauss’s work does not concern policy issues of any sort. If others have adapted his philosophical ideas in the pursuit of policy questions, they themselves are responsible for those policy decisions, not Strauss. Moreover, few, if any, real arguments have been advanced that conclude Bush administration policy makers who studied with Strauss’s students ever consciously applied his ideas when making decisions concerning the war in Iraq. In the context of such claims about Strauss’s influence on the Bush administration’s policies on Iraq and the Middle East more generally, there is an irony, namely, that Strauss himself was devoted to revitalizing Islamic philosophy, as opposed to Christian thought, for the very sake of the future of western civilization."
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One thing is certain. There are many more followers of the political philosopher Leo Strauss today than of Alfred North Whitehead. While the Whiteheadian tradition is intellectually rich, it remains a relatively small and often marginal presence, both nationally and internationally—especially when compared to the institutional influence of Straussian thought. Whitehead's philosophy of becoming is not a living option in modern philosophy.
Straussians, by contrast, have established a strong foothold in political theory departments, policy institutes, and conservative intellectual circles. Most lean right in their politics, and some—particularly those affiliated with the Claremont Institute, founded in 1979—have helped shape the intellectual foundations of Trumpism, with emphases on nationalism, a return to founding principles, and strong executive leadership.
That said, the Claremont Institute does not represent the entirety of the Straussian movement. In the U.S., a common distinction is made between West Coast Straussianism and East Coast Straussianism. West Coast Straussians are known for their politically engaged and often activist orientation, interpreting Strauss’s teachings through the lens of American political traditions and contemporary concerns. In contrast, East Coast Straussians tend to adopt a more scholarly and philosophical approach, emphasizing close engagement with classical texts and maintaining a certain distance from present-day political movements. While the West Coast group highlights the relevance of Strauss’s ideas to debates about the American founding and modern governance, the East Coast group focuses more on the philosophical underpinnings and historical contexts of Strauss’s work.
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In my experience, many within the Whiteheadian world identify as liberal or progressive, often committed to social and ecological justice, pluralism, and process-oriented spirituality. From that vantage point, Strauss and his heirs can appear rigid, elitist, and politically reactionary—or dangerously nationalistic in a populist vein, bordering on fascism. Conversely, most Straussians have little familiarity with Whitehead, and if they know him at all, they will dismiss his philosophy as speculative, overly metaphysical, spiritually diffuse, or lacking political relevance. To them, Whitehead’s thought will seem too removed from the concrete task of grounding political order and virtue or, for that matter, helping reclaim the traditions of liberal arts education with their emphases on a study of classical texts.
A creative conversation between Strauss and Whitehead can help cultivate a form of conservatism that is spiritually serious, philosophically rigorous, and imaginatively open to the complexity of our time. Strauss offers the recovery of classical rationalism and moral seriousness; Whitehead offers a relational cosmology in which value, novelty, and process are integral to the very structure of reality. Together, they may illuminate new possibilities for a conservatism that is grounded without being nostalgic, principled without being dogmatic, and creative without surrendering to relativism.
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Strauss reminds us that philosophy begins in wonder and that political life, at its best, is oriented toward the good, the true, and the beautiful. He recovers the centrality of the great questions—What is justice? What is the good life? What is the proper order of the soul and society? What does it mean to live a virtuous life? —and directs our attention to the classical texts that keep these questions alive. Yet while Strauss retrieves ancient wisdom for political life, he does not offer a metaphysics to undergird it. Nor is he interested in metaphysics. His interest is in the thoughtful practice of political philosophy.
Whitehead, himself a devoted admirer of Plato, does offer a metaphysic. His process philosophy affirms that the universe is not a dead mechanism, but a living, value-laden unfolding of relational events. He offers a metaphysical vision that conserves what Strauss seeks to preserve—reverence for order, the pursuit of wisdom, the depth of moral and aesthetic value —while also emphasizing creativity, novelty, and the mutual becoming of all things. In this way, Whitehead can provide conservatives in the Straussian spirit with a cosmology capable of resisting both nihilism and reductive materialism.
A creative conservatism, then, is one that honors tradition without being trapped by it, values order without denying change, seeks wisdom without fear of wonder, and looks to the past and future with reverence, responsibility, and hope. The ten points that follow aim to sketch the contours of such a vision.
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1. Human Beings Are Social (and Thus Political) Creatures
Human beings are inherently social. As Aristotle observed, we are politikon zoon—political animals—drawn by nature to live in community. We do not thrive in isolation but emerge through relationships—with one another and with the wider world. Our identities are formed not in solitude but through a web of interactions, both personal and cultural. To be human is to belong, to speak, to deliberate, and to seek the good together. Politics, in its deepest sense, is not merely about governance or power; it is about the shared pursuit of a flourishing life within the bonds of mutual care and common purpose.
2. The Universe is Alive with Value
The universe is not a lifeless expanse of matter in motion, governed solely by impersonal laws. Within its depths are lures toward truth, goodness, beauty, adventure, and peace—values that beckon us not as illusions, but as real features of the cosmos. We live not in a value-free environment, but in a norm-giving universe—a cosmos that does not merely permit value, but gently proposes it. These values invite participation; they call us toward richer, more meaningful forms of life.
The old division between “facts” and “values,” in which values are treated as mere human projections onto a neutral world, misses the mark. Value is not an afterthought—it is woven into the fabric of being. We do not simply invent meaning; we also discover it. The universe speaks not in commands, but in possibilities—possibilities that nudge, invite, and orient us toward the good.
3. We are Beckoned to live the Well-Lived Life
Our full humanity is revealed not merely by asking how things work or how we might manipulate them for private gain, but by engaging enduring questions of meaning and purpose. A well-lived life seeks to respond to the deeper callings of existence: What is the good? What is truth? What is beauty? How might we live justly, love wisely, and dwell in peace with others and the Earth?
These are not abstract or optional questions—they are central to human flourishing. To live well is to live thoughtfully, relationally, and in alignment with values that transcend ego and utility.
4. Education is Moral Formation
At its best, education is a process of formation. It invites us to cultivate virtuous lives attuned to the universe’s deepest possibilities—wonder, compassion, wisdom, and creativity. Education can and should be formation in the virtues: those habits of heart and mind that enable us to live justly, love generously, and think clearly in a complex world. It is not merely about acquiring skills or credentials; it is about becoming more fully human. True education shapes character as well as intellect, awakening the desire not just to succeed, but to serve, to seek truth, and to live meaningfully with others.
5. Reading the Classics
One of the ways education performs this formative work is by engaging us with classic texts—works that endure because they ask deep questions and speak to the human condition. These include Plato’s Dialogues, which cultivate the art of philosophical inquiry; The Analects of Confucius, exploring virtue and social harmony; the Bhagavad Gita, wrestling with duty and spiritual insight; the Hebrew Bible and New Testament, reflecting on justice, mercy, and moral struggle; the Qur’an, calling for surrender and ethical life; Homer’s epics, dramatizing fate and freedom; Dante’s Divine Comedy, mapping the soul’s journey through despair and toward love; Shakespeare’s plays, illuminating conscience, ambition, and desire; and the Tao Te Ching, speaking to the mystery of being and the wisdom of yielding.
6. Beyond Historicism
Engaging these texts need not mean reducing them to historical artifacts. While it is important to understand their original contexts—following, for instance, the methods of Max Weber—we can also approach them with philosophical and existential openness, as living voices that still speak. These texts are not relics but companions in inquiry. They offer us new worlds, challenge our assumptions, and invite us into truths we have yet to discover.
7. The Problem of Modernity
Modernity has brought immense gains—scientific understanding, technological advancement, expanded rights and freedoms. But it has also led to fragmentation and alienation. By privileging mechanism over meaning, efficiency over wisdom, and consumption over contemplation, modern culture often forgets the deeper questions.
Education becomes job training. Persons are reduced to economic agents. The universe becomes a machine, devoid of purpose. The result is a crisis of meaning: a loss of shared values, moral orientation, and spiritual depth.
One way to begin healing this wound is to remember the ancients—not by romanticizing the past, but by retrieving its wisdom. The classical traditions of East and West offer enduring insights into the art of living, the cultivation of virtue, and the search for the good. Thinkers like Plato, Aristotle, Confucius, Laozi, and the Hebrew prophets remind us that knowledge is not merely instrumental but moral and spiritual in character. Their voices can help us recover a vision of the human person as a seeker of meaning, embedded in a cosmos alive with value.
The challenge, then, is not to reject modernity but to integrate its achievements within a deeper framework of wisdom—one that honors both science and soul, both progress and perennial truths.
8. The Common Good
At the heart of any healthy society lies the idea of the common good—the recognition that our lives are bound together, and that individual flourishing is inseparable from the well-being of others.
Modern culture, with its emphasis on autonomy and private gain, often weakens this sense of shared purpose. We are encouraged to pursue success as isolated individuals rather than as members of a moral and ecological community.
Yet the truth remains: we belong to one another. The common good is not uniformity or enforced consensus. It is the evolving harmony of diverse lives, woven together by mutual care, civic responsibility, and ecological awareness. It includes not only human communities but also the more-than-human world—the land, waters, and creatures with whom we share life.
Recovering the common good means reimagining our institutions, economies, and educational systems in light of this interdependence. It means nurturing empathy, justice, and cooperation—values grounded not in abstraction but in the lived realities of neighborhood, culture, and Earth. It calls us beyond the lonely pursuit of private advantage, toward a deeper sense of shared destiny.
9. The Limitations of Liberal Democracy
Liberal democracy has provided essential goods: rights, freedoms, the rule of law. But when severed from deeper sources of meaning, it risks becoming hollow.
When liberal democracy forgets that the universe is alive with value, that human beings are social by nature, that we are called to ask life’s deepest questions, and that we belong to each other through the common good—it begins to drift. It becomes vulnerable to cynicism, polarization, and the commodification of everything.
This drift is rooted in the very intellectual foundations of liberal democracy, especially in the atomistic and self-interested images of human nature in Machiavelli, Hobbes, and Locke. Here, the individual is imagined as a rational actor pursuing private interests, with society functioning mainly as a safeguard against threat. Left unchallenged, these assumptions reduce politics to a negotiation of competing desires, rather than a shared pursuit of the good, the true, and the beautiful.
A politics based solely on procedure, rights, and markets cannot carry the moral weight demanded by today’s crises—climate collapse, spiritual alienation, rising inequality, and cultural decay. What is needed is a renewed moral and metaphysical imagination: one that views democracy not only as governance but as a way of being with others.
Democracy must be nourished by a culture that remembers the sacredness of life, the necessity of community, the reality of value, and the call to justice. Without these roots, it cannot flourish—no matter how elegantly its systems are designed.
10. Conservatism with Roots and Wings
The renewal of political philosophy—and culture itself—requires a vision that is at once rooted and reaching, conserving and creative. Creative conservatism does not mean a return to a golden past, nor a refusal of change. It means conserving what is worth preserving: the dignity of persons, the search for wisdom, the value of community, the integrity of the Earth, and the spiritual depth of life.
It means honoring limits, drawing from tradition, and asking again the ancient questions—not to freeze time, but to deepen our understanding of what it means to be human in a changing world.
The way forward lies in forming persons capable of wonder and wisdom, equipped not only with skills but with souls, and communities that hold together through shared inquiry into the good. It lies in a vision of education that unites science and spirit, fact and value, critique and care. Such education must be formation in the virtues—courage, justice, temperance, humility, compassion—so that individuals and societies alike can respond wisely to the challenges of our age.
It lies in reviving a sense of the sacred—not in a narrow, sectarian sense, but in the recognition that life exceeds what can be measured or owned.
To draw from Strauss and Whitehead together is to bring political philosophy and metaphysics into vital conversation. Strauss offers the seriousness of classical inquiry and the recovery of virtue; Whitehead offers a living cosmology—a universe dynamic, relational, and value-filled. Each tempers the other. Together, they provide a path beyond relativism and reaction, technocracy and nostalgia.
This is the promise of creative conservatism: not to retreat into the past, but to move forward with reverence, imagination, and courage.
[1] Batnitzky, Leora, "Leo Strauss", The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2021 Edition), Edward N. Zalta (ed.), URL = <https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/sum2021/entries/strauss-leo/>.
Leo Strauss is increasingly recognized as one of the most important thinkers of the twentieth century. His research stimulated significant developments in the study of ancient and modern political philosophy, American political thought (especially the founding), classics, Jewish studies, and Islamic studies. He is widely known for defending natural right, especially in its classical form, against the challenges of relativism and historicism, reopening the quarrel between the ancients and the moderns in political philosophy, emphasizing philosophy as a way of life, sharply criticizing value-free social science, stressing the centrality of the theological-political problem, and distinguishing between the exoteric and esoteric teachings of writers of the past.
- The Leo Strauss Center, University of Chicago