Soul Searching

In his new book, Andrew Sullivan questions conservative principles.

By Josh Patashnik, Harvard University

My first hint at how much trouble American conservatism is in came from an unlikely source: the Facebook. Earlier this year, it gradually dawned on me that a number of my friends who had previously listed their political views as “Conservative” apparently had had second thoughts. Some had changed to “Libertarian,” others to “Moderate,” and still others had removed “Political Views” from their profiles entirely—the last refuge of scoundrels.

Even hung-over undergraduates, it seems, can tell which way the political winds are blowing. No one wants to be associated with America’s current governing ideology. Former NBA star Charles Barkley, for instance, told the New York Post: “I was a Republican—until they lost their minds”. Others, who have a greater stake in preserving the credibility of conservatism than does Sir Charles, have made the reverse move, trying to amputate the unpopular President Bush from the conservative movement. In May, Jonah Goldberg of the National Review delivered the kiss of death, declaring Bush a big-government liberal.

The latest book by ideologically eclectic pundit Andrew Sullivan, The Conservative Soul, is another attempt to define conservatism as something other than Bushism. It is thus tempting to lump Sullivan in with the rest of the president’s fair-weather friends. To do so would be a mistake. Sullivan was deeply critical of Bush long before it became fashionable on the right, supporting John Kerry in the 2004 election. In early 2005, before Bush’s approval rating plummeted, he wrote an article in The New Republic making many of the same points that The Conservative Soul does at greater length. More importantly, his critique of Bush goes far beyond grumblings about Iraq or pork-barrel spending. It is an indictment not so much of Bush as of the entire philosophy of knowledge of modern conservatism.

For as long as those of us in college can remember—which is, admittedly, not very long—conservatism has been imbued with a certainty that is as puzzling as it is maddening. Conservatives know that life begins at conception, that tax cuts are always good, that our most important geopolitical objectives can be achieved at gunpoint, that homosexuality is a sin. Ask your conservative friends how they know these things, and you’re likely to get a combination of circular reasoning and blank stares.

Sullivan’s main argument in The Conservative Soul is that conservatism is more properly rooted in doubt than in certainty. “The defining characteristic of the conservative is that he knows what he doesn’t know,” he writes. His conservatism “begins with the assumption that the human mind is fallible, that it can delude itself, make mistakes, or see only so far ahead.” He argues that given the unfathomable complexity of modern societies and the infinite variety of human experience, we must accept the reality that our conception of truth will always be provisional and incomplete.

Of course few will disagree in principle with Sullivan’s argument. But at a time when conservatism combines a domestic policy shaped heavily by Christian fundamentalists with a foreign policy shaped heavily by neoconservatives, epistemological humility is in short supply in Washington. Can you imagine Rick Santorum saying, “We don’t really know whether life begins at conception, but stem-cell research is wrong anyway”? Or Dick Cheney murmuring, circa 2002, “We can’t say for sure whether Iraq has weapons of mass destruction, or whether we’ll be able to rebuild an alien society, but hey, let’s give it a shot”? The thought is absurd. It’s difficult to argue with Sullivan’s contention that the conservatism in vogue today bears a closer resemblance to fundamentalism than it does to the cautious, don’t-rock-the-boat philosophy of conservatism’s patron saint, Edmund Burke.

Sullivan’s prescription is “a politics of freedom” that seems to be a watered down version of libertarianism; he remarks that “in general, a conservative will want the government to do as little as possible.” Ever doubtful of the ability of anyone—let alone the big, distant, clumsy federal government—to possess absolute knowledge, he is loath to use the coercive powers of the state for any ends other than ensuring the physical security of citizens and providing some minimal social services to the poor. Sullivan disapproves of both the right’s desire to use government to enforce moral standards and of the left’s desire to use it to redistribute wealth. He is suspicious of all forms of social engineering, both domestically and abroad (Sullivan has recanted his erstwhile support for the Iraq war). The less obtrusive government makes itself, the more room for individuals to define their own vision of truth: “The great and constant dream of the conservative is to be left alone by his own government and by his fellow humans, as much as is possible. Left alone, there is so much to explore, to do, to experience, to live and breathe and think.”

His apostasy has opened a rift between Sullivan and the more orthodox conservative commentariat that resembles nothing so much as a scene from Mean Girls. At this summer’s Aspen Ideas Festival, a panel of conservative notables, though unable to reach firm conclusions on almost any other subject, agreed unanimously that Sullivan did not merit membership in their club. “There are no conservatives I know of who consider Andrew Sullivan a conservative,” said Ramesh Ponnuru. (He will also be prohibited from riding in their limousine to prom.) In August, Ponnuru’s National Review colleague John Podhoretz took aim at Sullivan’s (admittedly substantial) proclivity for hype and self-promotion: “Who will speak truth to power now that Andrew Sullivan has gone on vacation? Who will uncover the amazing plot that Cheney and Rumsfeld actually consciously planned a failure in Iraq? … Who will publish long e-mails of tribute to Andrew Sullivan for his bravery and courage? Who? WHO?” Sullivan, for his part, has described Podhoretz as “extremely cute and immensely funny.” Who knew journalism could be so entertaining?

In all seriousness, most conservatives will not find Sullivan’s book nearly as appealing as liberals, especially on questions like gay marriage and church-state relations. This raises questions for both liberals and conservatives. Liberals will have to decide how much of Sullivan’s philosophy they want to embrace. Though Sullivan is rather vague as to precisely what sort of economic policies he favors—applauding those of Reagan, Blair, and everyone in between—the differences between his conservatism and Bill Clinton’s third-way centrism seem minimal. This moderate consensus could easily serve as the philosophical basis for a new governing majority. But liberals who were dissatisfied with Clinton’s fiscal and economic agenda, preferring more aggressive government action on issues like poverty alleviation and income distribution, will be forced to reject Sullivan’s humble, guarded approach. “Modesty is a vastly overrated virtue,” said the late John Kenneth Galbraith, idol of the New Deal left, recognizing that it implies a degree of restraint on the part of government in the realm of economic policy. Though they may share Sullivan’s policy preferences on some social issues, those who identify with Galbraith should recognize that adopting Sullivan’s ideological rationale will lead them to uncomfortable conclusions elsewhere.

The relevant question for those on the right is whether Sullivan’s treatment of conservatism is fair. The answer is: mostly, but not entirely. The most philosophically hard-hitting part of the book, Sullivan’s attack on the doctrine of natural law adhered to by many on the far right, is tough but reasonable. His central charge against conservatism, moreover, is hardly in dispute: in the wake of Iraq and the Terri Schiavo affair, even many conservatives, like former Republican Senator John Danforth, agree that the movement has fallen prey to the cockiness and intellectual laziness to which successful political coalitions are in danger of succumbing.

Nevertheless, even if fundamentalist religion and moral absolutes play too great a role in politics today, one gets the sense that Sullivan would push too far in the opposite direction. Religion has played a central role in most major reform movements in American history, from abolition to progressivism to the civil rights movement; few would argue that the country would be better off had religious groups stayed on the sidelines in those cases. The rhetoric of Martin Luther King, Jr., was couched in the very language of certainty and higher moral law whose validity Sullivan questions.

On what grounds, one might ask, could Sullivan’s conservatism have backed the civil rights movement? If it could not have—as he himself came close to conceding when he wrote on his blog, “It will never be within the conservative’s temperament to see a blinding moral cause and do all he can to bring it about as soon as possible”—that considerably diminishes the appeal of his philosophy. “‘Conservatism-of-doubt’ is the beginning of an intelligent conservative politics, but not the end of it,” wrote conservative blogger Ross Douthat. The task for conservatives, who are alienating the socially moderate voters they need to maintain a majority, is to find a way to incorporate religious argument into politics in a more inclusive, less fire-and-brimstone fashion—more King, less Dobson.

“Can a viable politics be based on doubt?” Sullivan wonders toward the end of the book. Probably not: in addition to Sullivan’s fear that doubt and modesty may seem too wishy-washy, most Americans, in an age of increasing economic insecurity, will likely demand more of a social safety net than Sullivan would like. But even if it can never come to dominate the political scene, Sullivan’s philosophy remains valuable as a timely warning to both the left and the right—especially the right. If conservatism wants to rescue itself, it had better temper the arrogance that has come to define it. And when liberals regain power, we should take care to avoid that arrogance, or else we too will one day be faced with an ideological crisis that reverberates all the way to the Facebook.

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