The Making of a PaleoCon
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Who Are the Paleos?
Lately the Republican Party has described itself as conservative -- or at least their demogogues in the media have turned the ancient and honorable word "liberal" into something like an obscenity.
Needless to say, this has little or nothing to do with the tradition of conservative thought explored by Russell Kirk in 1953 and popularized to some degree by Senator Barry Goldwater a decade later.
As a result, many people who once called themselves conservative now call themselves paleoconservative. I am one of them.
The term itself came into general use during the Reagan years, in contrast to the neoconservatives. The paleoconservatives supported the distinguished Southern scholar M. E. Bradford for chair of the National Endowment for the Humanities. Reagan picked William Bennett, the candidate of Irving Kristol, who claimed and claims to be the leader of the neoconservatives. Paleoconservatives defended the magazine Chronicles against the bitter attacks of Kristol protege Richard John Neuhaus.
In domestic policy paleocons are libertarian, neocons, statist. Paleos celebrate the uniqueness of the American people, their history, and culture. Neos sneer at such parochialism, and celebrate America only in so far as it can be taken to represent the Enlightenment in arms. In foreign affairs paleos think that American power should be projected in the world only to to protect clearly and narrowly defined American interests. Neos want to subordinate the world to an American hegemony in which Israel has a leading role.
In 2007 I wrote several longish essays on my own education as a paleoconservative, and the legendary Taki was gracious enough to publish these along with a few others on his website. This lens is focused on my life as a paleocon as reflected there, with a few later remarks.
Enjoy your visit.
Needless to say, this has little or nothing to do with the tradition of conservative thought explored by Russell Kirk in 1953 and popularized to some degree by Senator Barry Goldwater a decade later.
As a result, many people who once called themselves conservative now call themselves paleoconservative. I am one of them.
The term itself came into general use during the Reagan years, in contrast to the neoconservatives. The paleoconservatives supported the distinguished Southern scholar M. E. Bradford for chair of the National Endowment for the Humanities. Reagan picked William Bennett, the candidate of Irving Kristol, who claimed and claims to be the leader of the neoconservatives. Paleoconservatives defended the magazine Chronicles against the bitter attacks of Kristol protege Richard John Neuhaus.
In domestic policy paleocons are libertarian, neocons, statist. Paleos celebrate the uniqueness of the American people, their history, and culture. Neos sneer at such parochialism, and celebrate America only in so far as it can be taken to represent the Enlightenment in arms. In foreign affairs paleos think that American power should be projected in the world only to to protect clearly and narrowly defined American interests. Neos want to subordinate the world to an American hegemony in which Israel has a leading role.
In 2007 I wrote several longish essays on my own education as a paleoconservative, and the legendary Taki was gracious enough to publish these along with a few others on his website. This lens is focused on my life as a paleocon as reflected there, with a few later remarks.
Enjoy your visit.
The Old-Fashioned Patriot
To the patriots of my youth, the United States stood for, in Superman's words, truth, justice, and the American way. The American way could not be imposed on folks who weren't American, but people who weren't American could become Americans-as many had-and still remain themselves on Sunday mornings, and even (we are a generous people) all day Saturday. It was a live and let live patriotism. On Memorial Day, my town publicly honored those fallen in war, but I did not attend the parade regularly until I joined the band; it was a day for each family to tend its own graves and put down fresh flowers; for that reason it was generally called Decoration Day. The big patriotic celebration was the Fourth of July, and, though the local National Guard provided suitably noisy tanks to delight the little boys, the volunteer fire department was the centerpiece, with the oldest member, white-bearded, driving the lovingly maintained horse-drawn truck, giving rides to the children after the parade. It was multicultural in a small way, the Masons marching in their white gloves and top hats and the Knights of Columbus with their swords and capes and magnificent plumes, and the Lions Club with a man capering about in a lion suit, which must have been awfully hot.
The Conservative Mind
The American of conservative disposition and sentiment finds himself at a bit of a loss these days. Words that once meant something to him have become slogans of profoundly alien import. He needs Russell Kirk, among others, to recover the true resonance of conservative thought. He also needs to find ways to relate himself and the tradition in which he stands to the postmodern culture of the day, and, indeed, to the broad sweep of American life and thought over the last century and a half. I have argued here that Kirk can help us do this, once we see him as an embodiment of what is best in the mainstream of the American philosophical tradition, a school of thought rightly called pragmatism however the Rortys may misappropriate the term. When we have claimed the pragmatic movement for Kirkian conservatism, we have rich resources at our disposal, not only Peirce, Royce, and Santayana, but such lesser known (alas) figures as Ernest Hocking, Clarence Lewis, and Brand Blanshard, and the Quaker philosopher, educator, and mystic Rufus Jones. When we freely embrace an American intellectual past of all but unbelievable richness, the future will be ours. If we can do this we must thank Russell Kirk, and we owe it to him to make a start.
Ideas Have Consequences
Weaverville. The ancestral home of Richard Weaver, author of Ideas Have Consequences, a title Charles Sanders Peirce could have used, but also the virtual reality of all who share his conviction that the General Semantics that was sweeping the college scene as he was driven to write, the nominalism that GS so well expressed and lay behind the last sorry century's descent into the maelstrom of madness, that this metaphysical presumption was, and is now, and evermore shall be wrong, wrong, wrong.
Weaver of Weaverville ... postmodern? The mind boggles, though not as much as when that trendy term was recently and convincing applied to our other father in the faith, Russell Kirk. And of course given the definition of modernity above, the term postmodern is entirely appropriate to both men. On the other hand, no, the same hand, who could be more "pomo" than Marshall McLuhan? Marshall McLuhan, the interdisciplinary gadfly and Catholic, devoutly Catholic philosopher, who happened to be in Chicago as Ideas Have Consequences was in the writing, and who downed more than one beer with Weaver in the process.
Weaver of Weaverville ... postmodern? The mind boggles, though not as much as when that trendy term was recently and convincing applied to our other father in the faith, Russell Kirk. And of course given the definition of modernity above, the term postmodern is entirely appropriate to both men. On the other hand, no, the same hand, who could be more "pomo" than Marshall McLuhan? Marshall McLuhan, the interdisciplinary gadfly and Catholic, devoutly Catholic philosopher, who happened to be in Chicago as Ideas Have Consequences was in the writing, and who downed more than one beer with Weaver in the process.
The Nixon Betrayal
We all know that picture of the late Calvin Coolidge bedecked in a Sioux war bonnet. In my own youth, in late May thirty seven years ago, a rather less honorable man crowned himself with a construction helmet bearing the title Commander in Chief, a consolation prize for the honorary doctorate my Alma Mater withdrew at the last moment, after the invasion of Cambodia. Richard Nixon was king at least of the building trades, laborers in which had violently disrupted commemorations of the four students who died protesting the invasion.
I remembered the incident last Christmas. I was at the Bible museum near Lincoln Center for a wonderful lecture on Giotto with music by the Communion and Liberation choir, and took a tour of the current display. Featured was a copy of pop sculptor George Segal's moving depiction of the sacrifice of Isaac, intended as a memorial to those students shot by the Ohio National Guard at Kent, but now in the sculpture garden at Princeton. I was haunted by this stark reminder of my first semester of graduate school, especially because I fancied the figure of Abraham had been inspired by old photographs of philosopher William James, whose deeply misguided conception of truth, which he called pragmatism, has had such a tragic effect on American life and thought.
I remembered the incident last Christmas. I was at the Bible museum near Lincoln Center for a wonderful lecture on Giotto with music by the Communion and Liberation choir, and took a tour of the current display. Featured was a copy of pop sculptor George Segal's moving depiction of the sacrifice of Isaac, intended as a memorial to those students shot by the Ohio National Guard at Kent, but now in the sculpture garden at Princeton. I was haunted by this stark reminder of my first semester of graduate school, especially because I fancied the figure of Abraham had been inspired by old photographs of philosopher William James, whose deeply misguided conception of truth, which he called pragmatism, has had such a tragic effect on American life and thought.
September Morning
Tuesday, September 11 was a warm, bright day. I stopped at the post office to send some express mail, and reported to work as usual on the thirteenth floor of 101 Barclay Street, the technology headquarters built for the Irving Trust. From the sixteenth floor cafeteria there was an unobstructed view of the Twin Towers. Behind them stood little St. Nicholas' Church, the spiritual center of what had been one of the last of the Eastern Mediterranean neighborhoods in Manhattan. (The original Dutch Reformed St. Nicholas had been within the old wooden fortress of New Amsterdam a little downtown.) You could look across the river to the part of Jersey City where my father's father was born in 1879, and I was convinced that with binoculars I could have seen my mother's mother's house on top of the cliff in Weehawken. I could look down on what is now the Kalikow building, with the grandest Doric interior I have seen anywhere, where my father worked when it was the world headquarters of AT&T, and across to the great mechanical clock on 346 Broadway, where I had my first job after defending my dissertation, and where I got to know computers in the form of an even then antiquated DEC-11. More directly below was St. Peter's, the oldest Catholic parish in New York, where my father would often come to pray.
Halved by a Horizon
America is a unique civilization, in which people of all cultures have made homes for themselves. Not all came to suck the welfare tit. Yes, my mother's mother and my father's grandfather came for opportunity, but there is nothing wrong with that. The desire to achieve a decent life for yourself and your family is a noble one, especially when centuries of English rule and Protestant ascendancy have beaten in the lesson that as Irish and as Catholic you and yours are forever unworthy of a decent life.
The American establishment, including my mother's father's people, dreaded the arrival of my Catholic ancestors, German and French as well as Irish, expecting to be overwhelmed by starving hordes of medieval peasants. Of course nothing of the sort happened. In wishing to be free from Protestant oppression, they wished to be free to live lives open to realities not anticipated by their predefined communal identity. And such lives they have led, to the dismay of innumerable parochial school principals. The same may be said, and indeed has been said, of the children of Hindu and, yes, Muslim families in America. Even Jews complain of it, though the ghetto remains intact in parts of Brooklyn. Still, a Jewish woman may take a seat in the front of a New York city bus without taking a beating for it, as she might in Jerusalem.
The American establishment, including my mother's father's people, dreaded the arrival of my Catholic ancestors, German and French as well as Irish, expecting to be overwhelmed by starving hordes of medieval peasants. Of course nothing of the sort happened. In wishing to be free from Protestant oppression, they wished to be free to live lives open to realities not anticipated by their predefined communal identity. And such lives they have led, to the dismay of innumerable parochial school principals. The same may be said, and indeed has been said, of the children of Hindu and, yes, Muslim families in America. Even Jews complain of it, though the ghetto remains intact in parts of Brooklyn. Still, a Jewish woman may take a seat in the front of a New York city bus without taking a beating for it, as she might in Jerusalem.
White Harlem Theosis
There is no abstract man here in White Harlem tonight, and no mirthless myrmidons of the cold empire. Tyranny, torture, and terror are on the march to Armageddon, and those who resist will be assimilated because resistance itself, if it is resistance merely, is already assimilation. But here we see the futility of empire itself in the face of Theosis. The power that scatters the universes like seed into the vastness of space here begs humbly for permission to incarnate in the most fleeting thought, the most seemingly inconsequential act of the most obscure of mankind.
We are all fools-only the wise know it-the unholy fools the secret agents of the holy ones. The George to believe is not Bush but Carlin. T. Woodrow Wilson? Better Robert or Colin or Peter! Let us make the world safe for greater and holier follies. Should an Alexandr Men appear here we would no doubt do away with him as expeditiously as did our Russian friends, and with as little or as much to show for it. The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics is history. The Project for the New American Century isn't even that and never will be. The Middle East is dying to become American, but only in the most depressingly literal of senses. More to the point, we are all dying to become human, but we are not dying alone. That is the folly of the Cross, which this little storefront church is here to witness to -the all but unbelievable message that it is God who dies, with us and in us and for us so that we ourselves might be raised from the dead with God, in God, for God, and, yes, as God-and as gods.
We are all fools-only the wise know it-the unholy fools the secret agents of the holy ones. The George to believe is not Bush but Carlin. T. Woodrow Wilson? Better Robert or Colin or Peter! Let us make the world safe for greater and holier follies. Should an Alexandr Men appear here we would no doubt do away with him as expeditiously as did our Russian friends, and with as little or as much to show for it. The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics is history. The Project for the New American Century isn't even that and never will be. The Middle East is dying to become American, but only in the most depressingly literal of senses. More to the point, we are all dying to become human, but we are not dying alone. That is the folly of the Cross, which this little storefront church is here to witness to -the all but unbelievable message that it is God who dies, with us and in us and for us so that we ourselves might be raised from the dead with God, in God, for God, and, yes, as God-and as gods.
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