Conservative Thought

CAN’T GET THERE FROM iDENTITARIANISM:

St. Augustine’s Concept of Love (Agape) and Political Rule (Clifford Bates Jr., 10/21/25, Voegelin View)


Saint Augustine’s concept of agape—divine, selfless, and unconditional love—occupies a central position in both his theological vision and his political philosophy. Distinguished from other forms of love, such as eros, understood as sensual or romantic desire, and philia, which denotes affectionate friendship or companionship, agape represents the purest and most selfless form of love. For Augustine, this love originates in God, is modeled by God, and is directed toward the good of others without expectation of reciprocity. It is not merely a sentiment or feeling but a deliberate, volitional expression of God’s grace. Agape manifests in concrete acts of care, service, and moral responsibility and serves as the foundation for individual ethical conduct and the structuring of communal life.


In Augustine’s reflections, particularly in The City of God, agape provides an ethical framework for political rule that contrasts sharply with classical or secular approaches. Where political authority is often measured by power, conquest, or efficiency, Augustine proposes that legitimacy should be assessed by the extent to which rulers imitate the selfless love of God. Political power, in this vision, is not a tool of self-aggrandizement or domination, but a vocation of stewardship oriented toward the common good. Leadership becomes a moral calling rather than a purely functional or instrumental endeavor. Agape thereby functions as both the ideal and the criterion of just political authority

BELIEF IN MORALITY IS MONOTHEISM:

Evidence of Objective Morality Is Hidden in Plain Sight: A new book finds this evidence in rational arguments. And in something those arguments can’t capture. (Noah M. Peterson, 9/24/25, Christianity Today)

Moral realism is the philosophical term for the view that objective morality exists. The authors’ definition has four distinct features. First, moral judgments are “truth-apt” (meaning that statements like “Murder is wrong” are capable of being true or false). Second, some moral judgments are true (murder is wrong). Third, the truth of these judgments does not depend on human attitudes (murder is wrong even if people think it’s not). And fourth, at least some clear moral truths are known.

Without this foundation, moral arguments for God’s existence can’t get off the ground. But how do we know whether moral realism is true? We can’t run lab tests on justice. Nor can we dissect the human brain and find “goodness” inside. We need a different set of tools.

Secular philosophers Terence Cuneo, Russ Shafer-Landau, and John Bengson have approached the question by identifying moral “data” in need of explanation and suggesting we let the best theory win. For example, one’s moral theory should be able to explain why there is both widespread agreement about some moral issues and widespread disagreement about others. It should be able to explain why moral judgments are thought to motivate or direct our actions. And it should be able to explain why moral demands apply regardless of what we think or feel.

Baggett and Walls agree with these criteria. They argue that moral realism, unlike its competitors, makes the best sense of what we actually experience. But as they remind us, “Moral theory is hard … and no single volume will clear everything up.” Though progress is possible, don’t expect knockout blows.

This intellectual humility is consonant with their previous books. They don’t overpromise. They don’t feign certainty. Their conclusions are modest, and their tone is winsome. They respect other thinkers and take their arguments seriously. It’s clear their goal is not to win but to woo.

The term “objective morality” is redundant. Were it subjective it would not be morality just personal preference.

THE CULTURE WARS ARE A ROUT:

Two Classics: “Crime and Punishment” and “Columbo” (Dwight Longenecker, September 16th, 2025, Imaginative Conservative)

So Columbo, like Crime and Punishment, is a classic, and rightfully so because it too penetrates to the heart of a modern heresy and exposes it for the lie that it is. This is the Nietzschean idea of the ubermensch—the superman who can transcend ordinary law. Nietzsche formalized the idea later in Thus Spoke Zarathustra, but Dostoevsky has Raskolnikov echoing proto-Nietzschean concepts: the utilitarian and Hegelian theories abroad in nineteenth-century Russia.

Columbo deflates the arrogance of his suspects; in the final scene each murderer is humbled. So Dostoevsky critiques the superman heresy by showing that Raskolnikov does not have the emotional fortitude to live with his irrevocable act. His final humiliation (and salvation) is to accept the unconditional love of Sonya and to pursue the path of repentance and reparation.

COMPLETE WITH THEIR OWN CHEETO NAPOLEON:

‘Animal Farm’ Never Gets Old: Orwell’s classic turns 80. (Cathy Young, Sep 26, 2025, The Bulwark)

The Soviet parallels in the novel, in which animals on a farm run by the drunk and abusive Mr. Jones band together to drive out their two-legged oppressors and set out to build a haven of freedom and equality for all beasts, are very explicit—right down to specific characters, events, and symbols. Napoleon, the crafty boar who eventually becomes Animal Farm’s totalitarian dictator with a personality cult, clearly represents Stalin; his rival Snowball, who co-leads the revolution but gets outmaneuvered, forced into exile, and branded a traitor—and blamed for everything that goes wrong on the farm—is Trotsky with trotters. (Early on, there’s also a Marx-Lenin mashup: Old Major, the wise boar who inspires the revolt before dying and has his skull reverentially displayed on a post, much like Lenin’s mummified body in the mausoleum in Red Square.) The farm’s flag—a white hoof and horn on a green field—echoes the red flag with the hammer and sickle. Like the early Soviet revolutionaries, the animals throw themselves into enthusiastic labor to make their experiment work, and normal practices turn into political projects: “the Egg Production Committee for the hens,” “the Clean Tails League for the cows,” and “the Whiter Wool Movement for the sheep.”

Soon, the resemblances turn much darker. In an episode that clearly echoes the Holodomor, the mostly man-made famine Stalin used to break the back of peasant resistance to collectivization (and crush Ukrainian nationalism), hens who resist orders to surrender their eggs for trading are starved into submission. Later, the purges and show trials begin. As the assembled animals watch in horror, four pigs who had criticized Napoleon earlier are dragged before him by his pack of trained hounds, confess to treasonous collaboration with Snowball, and are at once dispatched by the same dogs. […]

But in 2025, Americans may be reading this novel with somewhat different eyes than in times gone by, when strongman rule, cult-like worship of leaders, and reality-denying propaganda were things that happened somewhere else. Today, it’s hard to read Orwell’s mordant description of the extravagant panegyrics to Napoleon (“two cows, enjoying a drink at the pool, would exclaim, ‘Thanks to the leadership of Comrade Napoleon, how excellent this water tastes!’”) and not think of the examples we are witnessing daily—from the downright idolatrous sensibility common among Trump’s base to administration officials falling all over each other to heap praise on Trump at a cabinet meeting, or a member of Congress telling reporters Trump is “never wrong,” or press secretary Karoline Leavitt gushing, “Cracker Barrel is a great American company, and they made a great decision to Trust in Trump!” Likewise, when Orwell wryly notes that the animals “had nothing to go upon except Squealer’s lists of figures, which invariably demonstrated that everything was getting better and better,” one can’t help thinking of Trump firing the Bureau of Labor Statistics commissioner who wouldn’t deliver that message.

The rewriting of slogans, the insidious conspiracies invoked to explain anything that goes wrong, the propaganda chief convincing the other animals that things they saw with their own eyes didn’t happen or happened very differently: The parallels are all over the place.

While the normals keep the aspidistra flying…

HOW THE ANGLOSPHERE WAS SAVED FROM THE CONTINENT’S DISASTROUS PLUNGE INTO REASON:

Can We Truly Know Anything? Hume’s Problem of Induction (Viktoriya Sus, 8/29/25, The Collector)

Induction is a technique of reasoning in which we derive general principles from specific observations. For example, if every swan we have ever seen is white, we might conclude that all swans are white. This kind of reasoning is deeply embedded in human thought and underpins a lot of science as well as our everyday decision-making.

But David Hume famously questioned this process, arguing that there is no logical justification for assuming that the future will resemble the past. Just because the sun has risen every morning up until now does not mean it will do so again tomorrow – yet this is what induction leads us to believe.

Hume’s critique is deeper than it first appears. It asks whether we can assume that the laws of nature will remain the same. For instance, how do we know gravity will work tomorrow exactly as it does today?

According to Hume, our belief in this consistency doesn’t come from logic itself. Instead, it is based on habit and custom. If something has always happened a certain way before, we expect it to happen like that again.

This raises an important question: if induction (our process of reasoning) lacks a logical foundation but our understanding of the world relies on induction, can we ever truly say we “know” anything for sure?

We ultimately choose among faiths and the best of us choose the most beautiful ones.

THE HUMAN COMEDY:

Gnostic Identity in the Therapeutic Age (Albert Norton, 7/21/25, Voegelin View)


We all feel a tragic sense, owing to awareness of mortality, and of evil, and of our own part in evil. Though we revere human life in the abstract, we’re intensely aware of the moral imperfections of humanity. We know justice is real, and so we know judgment is real, even if we don’t experience it immediately within this finite life in the body. We know we’re going to die, and this is difficult to reconcile with the weighty significance we attach to human life, especially our own.


We also know, even if we attempt to avert our eyes in the moment, that there is a moral structure to our existence, and that it is not of our own invention, individually or collectively. That structure means that what we do and fail to do in this life is consequential. It results in the heaviness of being that many find unbearable, tempting one to adopt in its place the fiction that good and evil are merely words we attach to what we collectively like and don’t like. The tragic sense springs from our awareness of moral significance, and from our moral failings, and our mortality, and the reality of justice. It is the seed of faith, but it can also motivate corrupted visions of reality, as with early Gnosticism and postmodern ideologies that Voegelin correctly identified as “Gnostic.” […]

Here is how, in his The New Science of Politics, Eric Voegelin described the sense religion leaves us with even after the Resurrection:


Uncertainty is the very essence of Christianity. The feeling of security in a “world full of gods” [i.e., the pagan world] is lost with the gods themselves; when the world is de—divinized, communication with the world-transcendent God is reduced to the tenuous bond of faith, in the sense of Hebrews 11:1, as the substance of things hoped for and the proof of things unseen. Ontologically the substance of things hoped for is nowhere to be found but in faith itself; and, epistemologically, there is no proof for things unseen but again this very faith. The bond is tenuous indeed, and may snap easily. The life of the soul in openness toward God, the waiting, the periods of aridity and dullness, guilt and despondency, contrition and repentance, forsakenness and hope against hope, the silent stirrings of love and grace, trembling on the verge of a certainty which if gained is loss—the very lightness of this fabric may prove too heavy a burden for men who lust for massively possessive experience.


These kinds of observations are attributable to many other thinkers, including but not limited to Philip Rieff, a seminal thinker on the impact of the rise of the therapeutic mentality. Voegelin is particularly relevant here, however, because he invoked “Gnosticism” to explain the advance of “speculative systems,” ideologies that supplant religious faith. As he suggests in this passage, the worldview of faith is perhaps a too-light undemanding burden; airy compared to the heavens teeming with pagan gods that preceded it. It is a relief to mankind, but it does not eliminate the tragic sense and requires much social reinforcement.

Every ism/ideology is driven by the need to escape from the reality of our Fallen nature. The fact that we are not merely imperfectable but prone to sin leads people to try and hide behind the silliest theories, lately the denial of Free Will.

CONSERVATISM SEEKS TO CONSERVE LIBERALISM:

The Concrete Humanism of Aspirational Conservatism: (Conservatism needs to rediscover its aspirational character to appeal to a rising generation. John D. Wilsey, 8/18/25, Law & Liberty)

What is the point of conservatism? Is conservatism only relevant for politics and partisanship? Is it only the neighborhood crank, the peevish uncle, or the lunatic on Facebook that has an interest in being a conservative? Or is being a conservative like being a traditionalist, resisting change for no better reason than, “we’ve always done it this way”?

In other words, can we think of any good reason to be a conservative other than politics, culture wars, or traditionalism?

Of course we can! When conservatism is only about tradition for tradition’s sake, maintaining the status quo, or fleeting partisan power mongering, it is repellent, not attractive; it is boorish, not classy; and it is misanthropic, not humanistic. In my recent book, Religious Freedom: A Conservative Primer, I attempt to lay out an alternative vision.

American conservatism is as old as the Republic, and that conservatism has always been far upstream of politics. Politics is important to conservatives, but cultivating the permanent things—the good, the true, and the beautiful—is of primary importance. Conservatism is a temperament, a disposition, an attitude that looks to conserve those things in humanity that make life worth living.

I also think of conservatism as aspirational. Conservatives do not value the permanent things like Aesop’s dog in the manger, or as a miser who stuffs a hoard of cash in the mattress. We seek the conservation of the permanent things for the sake of the freedom and flourishing of individuals, societies, and the nation. Aspirational conservatism aims for an ever-higher destiny for persons, guided by the best of American tradition, while always acknowledging human limitations, the inevitability of change, and the ubiquity of imperfection. In this way, conservatism was made for man, not man for conservatism.

CONSERVING ANGLOSPHERIC LIBERTY:

Timeless Whiggish Principles of Liberty (Mark Tooley, July 11, 2025, Providence)

These days between America’s Independence Day of July 4 and France’s Bastille Day on July 14 should provoke reflection about liberty. Whiggery is the label I prefer for the Anglo-American tradition of ordered liberty. It originates in the Anglo Protestant political ferment of the 1600s but offers universal principles to all. These principles are especially important to remember now.

In 1705 the Anglo-Irish statesman Robert Molesworth, who had lived through much of this ferment, penned “Principles of a Real Whig.” These principles helped define America. Thomas Jefferson, John Adams and James Madison had copies of his works.

Molesworth’s Whiggery calls for three balanced branches of government, legal equality for all, economic liberty, policies for social harmony, freedom of religion and conscience, legislatures controlling government expenses, naturalization of immigrants into productive citizens, liberty of the press, and legitimate public works such as highways and public buildings, plus controls against monopolies, and a strong national defense.

Whiggery is chiefly about liberty and guarding against arbitrary power. It assumes a Christian anthropology about humanity’s fallen nature and also optimistically assumes humanity’s capacity for providential improvement. It is realistic and hopeful. It assumes that society will prosper most when free people, amid their differences, can exercise their creativity and pursue virtue.

THE cHURCH WAS A MISTAKE:

The Durable Mr. Nock (Edmund A. Opitz, June 6, 2025, Modern Age)

In conversation one day with several college presidents, Nock laid down a number of stringent guidelines for running a college. One of the presidents, somewhat shocked, said, “Why Mr. Nock, if my college were to follow your advice we’d lose most of the faculty and all but about five of the students.” Nock pondered this for a moment, and then replied, “That would be just the right size for a college.” […]

Every society constructs its institutions in its own image, and thus we get the schools we deserve, the economy we deserve, and the churches we deserve. Albert Jay Nock did his graduate work in theology, and before he joined the staff of American Magazine in 1908 he had served Episcopal parishes in three states. In later life he wrote that “when Christianity became organized it immediately took on a political character radically affecting its institutional concept of religion and its institutional concept of morals; and the same tendencies observable in secular politics at once set in upon the politics of organized Christianity.” And just as schools offend against education, so churches offend against high religion.

Which is why we Baptists are disorganized.

SELF-INDULGENCE:

The Fall of Jordan Peterson (John Mac Ghlionn, May 26, 2025, Alata)

It was Peterson at his most raw, but also at his most incoherent. His metaphors collided mid-sentence. His ideas seemed to spiral. It wasn’t clear whether he was offering a roadmap or mythologizing his own self-pity. […]

What we’re witnessing is, to use Peterson-like language, the fall of a hero, a tragic story about the irony of fate. Not because external forces destroyed him, but because he crumbled under the weight of his own convictions. His view of masculinity was rooted in control, discipline, and responsibility. But what happens when a man who preaches stoicism becomes emotionally unhinged, and when the prophet of order loses the plot?

The cracks begin to show not just in his demeanour, but in his philosophical message. Nowhere is this more evident than in his refusal to answer whether or not he believes in God. That’s not a “gotcha” question. It’s a foundational one. If one has spent years creating multi-hour YouTube lectures on Genesis, Revelation, and Biblical symbolism, the question of belief is a fair one to ask, and one should be able to answer it. Yet, when asked directly, Peterson dodged it, insisting that he acts “as if God exists. That’s what I say”. It sounds clever, but it feels unfulfilling. It’s akin to claiming to live as if love is real, without having ever loved anyone. For many listeners, especially those of faith, it felt shallow and evasive. That sentiment reveals a deeper issue at play. Peterson no longer seems certain of what he believes, and there’s a reason for it.

He became the embodiment of a man trapped inside his own mythology, a teacher who has become his own cautionary tale. An example of how fate will test the courage of your convictions. He once warned about the dangers of becoming lost, irresponsible, and erratic. But today, his public persona feels just the same. He’s no longer the anchor; the boat is sailing without a destination.