All of this is chronicled in Laura Field’s new book, Furious Minds (reviewed earlier for Law & Liberty by John Grove). The volume is basically a book of highbrow gossip, and it has its faults. But it also provides a fairly accurate account of the past ten years. Field completed her PhD in (Straussian) political philosophy at the University of Texas in 2011. During her student years and afterward, she existed on the margins of intellectual conservatism. She watched many of the movement’s major players as they engaged in activism, wrote provocative essays, and instigated revolution on the Right. [...]
The problem in 2026 is that many of the most prominent intellectual conservatives have sold their birthrights for the fleeting fame promised by social media, podcasts, and coverage in The New York Times, The New Yorker, and other prestige outlets. They appear more interested in making names for themselves or “blowing up the system” than in doing the quiet, unobserved, humble work of renewing the institutions that are so vital to civil society. They are, at root, interested in winning the culture wars, and winning requires fighting. It’s what a friend has called “punch-in-the-face conservatism.” In borrowing methods from the cultural Left, many of them have become right-wing Gramscians. These men (and they are nearly all men) sense that America has arrived at an eschatological moment, and they definitely want everyone else to know it too.
I also think they find it exciting and invigorating. At last we have come to a crisis point that demands strategy and action! Enough with all the subsidiarity, little platoons, and institutional reform. Conservatives should be bold enough to grasp the levers of power and use them against the Left, just as the Left has used them against us. As one Claremont Institute commentator has written, breathlessly, “Practically speaking, there is almost nothing left to conserve. What is actually required now is a recovery, or even a refounding of America.” Helen Andrews has imagined a parallel crisis in the relations between the sexes. Her “great feminization” thesis lays the blame for “wokeness” on all those overachieving and schoolmarmish women who now dominate the white-collar professions. In her words, they are a “potential threat to civilization.” And on and on. It’s easy to adduce multiple examples of this overheated rhetoric.
To be fair, there are (of course) elements of truth in many of the scathing critiques leveled by the New Right. Andrews is correct that, in the aggregate, there are differences between men’s and women’s leadership styles. Christopher Rufo and others aren’t wrong that advocates of “Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion” greatly overplayed their hands. And much of the extreme reaction on the Right is undoubtedly a response to the provocations of the Left, whose activists haven’t exactly been models of self-restraint over the past few decades.
Unlike those on the New Right, though, I’m not sure that we’re at an eschatological moment in Western culture. We might be. But whether or not we’ve arrived at a civilizational crisis, there are alternative ways of responding to this moment, ways far more authentically conservative than what is now playing out in so many contemporary institutions.
In thinking about what conservatism means, and about how to respond to our cultural moment, two courses of action come to mind. The first is to recalibrate our view of the world; the second, to engage in practices that don’t incite battles but preserve and rejuvenate culture. Work like this is not likely to be praised or even recognized, and it asks for quiet self-assurance, not loud declarations on social media. Cultivating a positive and hopeful vision in the midst of disorder simply is the primary obligation of conservatives, especially if we’re Christians, whose hopes lie not in the rise or fall of any particular worldly power.
Why is it so difficult, and so unpopular, to embrace this hopeful, alternative vision, and why are conflict and battle so enduringly attractive? William Hazlitt offers an answer in his shrewd essay from 1826 entitled “On the Pleasure of Hating.” There is a “secret affinity, a hankering after, evil in the human mind,” he writes, which “takes a perverse, but a fortunate delight in mischief, since it is a never-failing source of satisfaction.” Life would “turn to a stagnant pool, were it not ruffled by the jarring interests, the unruly passions, of men. The white streak in our own fortunes is brightened (or just rendered visible) by making all around it as dark as possible.”
Most of us will recognize this universal human tendency to take perverse pleasure in hating, and in dwelling on ugly and disordered things. The desire to see awfulness helps to explain the market for polemics and declension narratives rather than subtle and qualified arguments. Who has not felt, in a moment of crisis, a sudden sharpening of the will, a vision of exactly the path forward?
The pleasure of critique also provides a sense of superiority, both intellectually—because we have seen things as they truly are—and morally. Deny it though we do, it is pleasant to think oneself smarter than others and to imagine that we, not they, stand on a solid foundation of truth. Similarly, in the moral sphere, if we are part of an unappreciated or persecuted minority, there is solace in knowing that our way of life is simply better than that of our opponents, even if the world at large does not agree.
And then there is the boredom factor. Temperance, civility, politeness, and all the other virtues that accompany political moderation can seem boring and mundane. Even if we mostly depend on norms of civility and respect in daily life, it is exciting to have a firebrand in the room—someone who will stir things up and throw rhetorical bombs. This is as true in a seminar room as in a board meeting. We admire and emulate the provocateur, the celebrity, and the radical, and are drawn to those with outrageous and “cutting-edge” views.
Yet these moral and intellectual eccentrics depend for their existence on an unseen foundation of equanimity, careful argument, civility, and self-control. They themselves may neglect or disparage this foundation, but it is nevertheless vital that somebody shore it up. Traditionally, this has been a job for conservatives.
So should conservatives be warriors or maintainers? Part of the answer will undoubtedly depend on temperament. Everyone knows people who are thoroughly pacific and disengaged or, on the other hand, full of spirit and always ready to argue. The latter disposition is what one sees far more often in the new conservatives I have been identifying, those who clamor to fight and win the culture wars with snark, meanness, and irony.
The tenor of the alternative—of a more gracious conservatism—is not adversarial but generative. It looks toward the present and the future, though not in the way that progressivism does, with its hopes of constant political improvement. Instead, this conservatism focuses on the things that are being conserved by living them fully, and by engaging in practices delivered from the past. It asks us to act within our own small spheres of influence, doing good where it is real, tangible, and visible, at levels much less national and much less public. While most of us aren’t prodigies, we all possess talents, aptitudes, and loves, which we would do well to use and develop. And this will make some difference, or all the difference, to those who live around us.
[ed. This is a conservative perspective I can get behind, but one that minimizes and outright avoids describing the 'tactics' involved in the fighting the so-called good fight. Tactics that are frequently dishonest, threatening, sleazy if not outright illegal. No valor in that, whatever rationalizations conservatives use for the ends justifying the means. By the way, the Hazlitt link (Pleasure of Hating) is well worth a good read.]
