By Noah Rothman
Friday, January 15, 2016
For the moment, Conservatism seems to have gone out of
fashion.
Let’s back up. First, we should perhaps define
conservatism. If there is one determinative and persistent trait to this
ideological inclination, it is perhaps resistance to radical change for its own
sake. Conservatism is not synonymous with the Republican party, although that
is the vehicle through which conservatives in America are most likely to
achieve political power and can realize their vision. The ideas of
conservatism, however — its philosophical moorings — seem to have lost much of
their appeal.
The philosophy of conservatism does not refer to the
conservative governing program, although that, too, has shed some of its
popularity even among those who might consider themselves Republicans. If you
were to hop in a DeLorean and tell the 2012 version of yourself that the two
most popular Republican presidential candidates in 2016 would be respectively
championing nation building at home and a punitive tax policy aimed at cutting
greedy “millionaires and billionaires” down to size, you would probably have
your future self locked up. No, to the extent that philosophy still matters for
conservatives, it is the kind that is generally divorced from granular and
fleeting policy concerns.
Conservative political thought benefits from its inherent
interest in protecting and preserving. Conservative values and philosophical
attachments haven’t evolved anywhere near as rapidly as have those associated
with progressivism. The centuries are replete with great men and women who have
contributed to the intellectual vibrancy of this ideological affiliation. There
is one giant intellect that is widely considered the father of the modern
conservative movement, and anyone invested in the outcome of the current
Republican presidential primary would be well-served to review his works. The
writings of the Irish statesman and British parliamentarian Edmund Burke should
help guide conservatives, who are currently wrestling over the direction in
which they should take their timeless movement.
Burke is perhaps best remembered as a man of
contradictions; despite his support for the Crown, he was also steadfastly
behind the American Revolution. It was, however, his opposition to the French
Revolution that set many of the intellectual foundations of modern
conservatism. For passionate American revolutionaries like Thomas Paine and
Thomas Jefferson, to refuse to support the popular, anti-monarchist rebellion
in Paris was tantamount to betraying the values of their own republican
revolution. For his part, however, Burke declined to defend his inconsistency
and, in fact, embraced it. Consistency is no virtue if it leads to the
justification of anti-democratic ideals, he reasoned. In the autumn of 1790,
with the king still alive and the French Revolution having not yet evolved its
bloody and retributive character, Burke’s was a controversial position to take.
Still, he foresaw that France’s rebellion was a threat to the British order to
which he had devoted his life. The French experience, he believed, would be
unlike the English experience with the bloodless deposition of James II in the
Glorious Revolution of 1688 because it had no constitutional framework toward
which to look and be guided.
This sheds some light on why the American Revolution was
an intellectual as well as military and political triumph. It, too, was guided
by Anglo traditions, but it was also informed by, in a sense, a rather harsh
judgement about the nature of man. The new American government did not seek to
remake and perfect the rough character of humanity, as did France’s
revolutionary idealists and as have many failed political revolutions since.
American governing principles, guided by both the heady ideals of the
Enlightenment and the practical lessons learned in the efforts of Englishmen to
constrain their monarchs, held no illusions about the nature of human ambition
and sought to impose as many checks on that often ugly attribute as possible.
Burke was not only right about France; he was right about
the vengeful and petty character of mankind. In a letter to his son on the eve
of an Irish rebellion in 1798, Burke acknowledged that the Irish had suffered
duly for the crime of rebellion against the Crown and Parliament. He also
suggested that, if the British were inclined to avenge that crime well after
those responsible had passed, it would only precipitate future rebellions.
“History records many things which ought to make us hate evil actions,” Burke
wrote, “but neither history, nor morals, nor policy can teach us to punish
innocent men on that account.”
“What lesson does the inequality of prevalent faction
read to us?” he asked. “It ought to lesson us into an abhorrence of the abuse
of our own power in our own day; when we hate its excesses so much in other
persons and in other times. To that school true statesmen ought to be satisfied
to leave mankind. They ought not to call from the dead all the discussions and
litigations which formerly inflamed the furious faction which had torn their
country to pieces; they ought not to rake into the hideous and abominable things
which were done in the turbulent fury of an injured, robbed, and persecuted
people, and which were afterwards cruelly revenged in the execution, and as
outrageously and shamefully exaggerated in the representation, in order, a
hundred and fifty years after, to find some color for justifying them in the
eternal proscription and civil excommunication of a whole people.”
In this passage, Burke elucidates the value of
reconciliation not out of some attachment to noble altruism but self-interest.
His prescription for comity, in this case, is to resist the temptation toward
vengefulness and spite.
Conservatives who are in the midst of their own defining
civil struggle would do well to consider these words. Amid the primary,
factional differences can take on significance disproportionate to their
objective importance. To a neutral observer, there are more beliefs that unite
conservatives than divide them. That is not to say that the present internecine
dispute is not real and that it can perhaps only be resolved through bitterly
fought contest. This is, however, a struggle similar to that which Burke
cautioned against waging indefinitely.
Movement conservatives perceive themselves to have been
taken advantage of by their elected leaders, who not only do not share their
values or priorities but also appear to dislike them intensely. Big “R”
Republicans see the more activist members of their coalition as hopelessly
impulsive and imprudent, and who would gladly sacrifice the opportunity to see
their preferred policies enacted rather than to suffer even the most modest of
compromises. These are real grievances that deserve to be reconciled. That
reckoning might only be achieved at the ballot box.
Once a new equilibrium is established and grievances are
thoroughly litigated, however, it would serve conservatives well to return to
Burke. In the prosecution of this conflict, conservatives of all stripes would
do well to consider that men are by nature fallible, weak, corruptible, subject
to temptation and vice; that men of ambition are rarely also possessed of a
commensurate level of principle. Also, that magnanimity is a virtue, and that
the offenses attributable to one generation do not justify meting out vengeance
upon another. Conservatives who stand athwart the revolution do so with the
knowledge of their own limitations. These things have a habit of unfolding in
unexpected ways.
Progressivism, which has forever sought to remake man
into something he is not, is far less suited toward conflict resolution and
longevity than is the conservative movement. If it returns to its philosophical
roots, conservatism and its governing vehicle will endure. So before we engage
in tearing down the old, it’s worth considering that which is worth preserving.
That is, after all, the essence of conservatism.
No comments:
Post a Comment