Conservatives have a reputation for being stalwart opponents of change. While this disposition is not always unfairly attributed to individual conservatives, conservatism itself has actually been as much a force for change as it has a guardian of tradition. As the historian Stephen Tonsor observed:

“From Burke to Buckley [conservatism] has combined conservative ideas with revolutionary politics and economics. Capitalism and personal freedom are the two most revolutionary ideas in modern society. And, even more important, we live in a revolutionary society which will not be deflected from the course of change. Technologically and socially we are in the grip of vast and constant changes. There is no turning back. Indeed, there has been no turning back in our dynamic Western society since the tenth century.”

Those who embrace the conservative worldview out of a misguided notion that it wants nothing more than to set the clocks back in search of some nostalgic era of yesteryear will soon be disappointed to learn just how much change conservatism both allows and encourages. Yet, as we have seen up to this point in the series, conservatives do not view all change aimed at addressing contemporary grievances as beneficial nor are they ambivalent about the modes of change and their likely effects.

The conservative is not trying to stop change, for that would be impossible. Rather, the conservative is trying to mitigate the potential harmful effects of too rapid a change and to direct the change in such a manner that it both respects long-established modes of adaptation and does not needlessly alter the structure of society any more than is necessary. Given a choice between them, the conservative will almost always opt for gradual reform over radical revolution.

Can We Change What We Can’t Accept?

This view stands in stark contrast to much of the mindset on the Left. The Marxist professor Angela Davis summarizes this idea nicely in the quote most often attributed to her: “I am no longer accepting the things I cannot change. I am changing the things I cannot accept.” While this may sound laudable and even sensible, the conservative recognizes it is anything but. Much evil is brought about by those who, desiring to do good, set about recklessly changing what they cannot accept.

At the heart of conservatism is gratitude for the things we have and the desire to protect the good in attempting to eradicate the bad. “A statesman ought to begin from gratitude for what works in his society, rather than from outrage at what does not work,” counters Yuval Levin, “He must begin from a sense of what he has and what is worth preserving and from there build toward what he wants and what is worth achieving.” Why? Because change often destroys both the good and the bad, though it may be difficult to perceive the ultimate outcome or possible unintended consequences when popular sentiment is demanding such change.

We are surrounded by constant change, both atrophy and improvement. But the default position is atrophy. Water finds its own level, objects left unattended will roll downhill, all lifeforms will eventually return to the dust. Beneficial change requires more than effort and a sense of justice: it requires much wisdom to understand the lasting effects and the patience to wait for those effects to take shape.

Levin elaborates on Burke’s understanding of how such change might move through society in a manner that’s ultimately beneficial:

“Social change can…be generally ameliorative if it is properly managed, though it is not simply progressive: it does not move in only one direction. Burke’s idea of a just society is not an end state that is the ultimate goal of all political change. Rather, a just society provides space for thriving private lives and a thriving national life within the bounds of the constitution by allowing for some balance of order and freedom. Political life occurs within that space, and political change sustains and defends that space and therefore moves in various directions as events warrant—sometimes restraining or strengthening one element of the constitution, and sometimes another…The statesman’s task is therefore not to drive society toward some particular ultimate and just condition but to create and constantly sustain a space in which the people may exercise their freedom and enjoy the benefits of life in society.”

Generational Links

For Burke, this method of gradual, careful change is not mere preference or even best practices, but justice in action; justice found not only in the ends but even in the means by which we arrive at those ends. Burke viewed society as a connection between generations living, dead, and unborn and the needs of each should be considered and their views consulted before we proceed. While the efficacy of séances with the dead is debatable, Burke suggested a far surer method for understanding the positions of those who are not currently with us:

“A nation is not an idea only of local extent and individual momentary aggregation, but it is an idea of continuity which extends in time as well as in numbers and in space. And this is a choice not of one day or one set of people, not a tumultuary and giddy choice; it is a deliberate election of ages and of generations; it is a constitution made by what is ten thousand times better than choice; it is made by the peculiar circumstances, occasions, tempers, dispositions, and moral, civil, and social habitudes of the people, which disclose themselves only in a long space of time.”

Those traditions conservatives are always yammering on about are not just stuffy relics for those stuck in the past, but invaluable information for what those who are not among us might have to say. Roger Scruton described this as a “line of obligation that connects us to those who gave us what we have; and our concern for the future is an extension of that line.” We do not have the right, or even the ability, to make our nation completely anew for the simple reason the nation was here long before we arrived, and it will be here long after we are gone.

We might envision this idea as those of us alive today occupying a single neighborhood. We are but temporary residents who no more possess the neighborhood than the previous occupants or those who will occupy it in days to come. That slow children at play sign or community center may serve no practical, immediate purpose for us, but those who come after us may see the benefits in the things left by the prior residents. Perhaps some day we may have children of our own or participate in a group that meets at the community center. Or perhaps we may never get a use out of these things, but we still seek to maintain them out of the belief that they serve some purpose beyond our own needs or perhaps even our comprehension.

“As Burke sees it,” continues Levin, “each man is in society not by choice but by birth. And the facts of his birth—the family, the station, and the nation he is born into—exert inescapable demands on him, while also granting him some privileges and protections that the newborn has, of course, done nothing to earn.” The brute fact of our own existence in a world that was here before we arrived must chasten all of our beliefs about justice, duty, individuality, liberty, and, most especially, our limitations at “liberating” ourselves from the world as we find it. In other words, change must take into account not only how we want the world to be but how it actually is.

The Great Filter

But I don’t want to give the impression that we ought to anchor change in a respect for the past merely because of some begrudging obligation we have to dead loved ones. It’s also often the surest, safest, and most just way to arrive at a desired end. Tethering change to societal obligations and respect for norms is, in effect, a refining process that blunts the jagged edges of change so that it does not cause harmful, unintended consequences. By consulting generations past and yet to come we are able to see beyond our own generational blind spots. Change goes through a great filtering process so that what emerges out the other end may fit squarely with the long-established norms of the spaces we inhabit.

Burke was a strong champion of the British system of government as he believed the complexities that had evolved over the centuries resulted in a strong filtering process whereby radical change could be properly tempered into gradual reform. As Burke puts it, in his 18th century prose:

“Our political system is placed in a just correspondence and symmetry with the order of the world, and with the mode of existence decreed to a permanent body composed of transitory parts; wherein, by the disposition of a stupendous wisdom, molding together the great mysterious incorporation of the human race, the whole, at one time, is never old, or middle-aged, or young, but in a condition of unchangeable constancy, moves on through the varies tenor of perpetual decay, fall, renovation, and progression.”

Centuries later, Sir Roger Scruton, another subject of the British monarch, would offer a similar endorsement: “In the English law there are valid statues and leading cases that date from the thirteenth century, and progressive people would regard this as an absurdity. For me, it was proof that the English law is the property of the English people, not the weapon of their rulers.” Burke and Scruton both felt a sense of obligation, even affection, for the English system they were born into. While there were things to criticize—Burke himself was a member of the British Parliament and worked tirelessly to bring about reforms that were conducive to liberty and order—their critiques came from a place of devotion and love for their inheritance and a strong desire to make it even better.

Unfiltered Change

Burke knew all too well the dangers in justifying change on the basis of an imagined future instead of an actual past. “A spirit of innovation is generally the result of a selfish temper and confined views,” he argued. “People will not look forward to posterity, who never look backward to their ancestors.” A strong desire for justice that breaks the generational link risks radical change aimed at a fictious future that cannot be realized in a world of limits and imperfections. The advantage of looking towards the past to understand how change might occur is that the past is anchored in something real.

The culture we’ve inherited was not provided to us by a highly intelligent elite shaping the world in their image. Rather, all cultures are a sort of survival of the fittest in which the great filtering process smooths out the rough edges so that what survives squares with reality. There may be much to criticize about our culture. Change may very well be warranted. But change that recognizes the evolutionary process whereby our culture has learned to adapt to the harsh conditions reality throws our way seeks first to restore the culture, not to pull it apart. As Thomas Sowell explains:

“While history is an explicit legacy of the past, cultural patterns and traditions are its inarticulate legacy in the differential survival of varying practices. Many who seek to subordinate history to current visions and agendas likewise seek to replace this cultural legacy. Those who regard the accumulated experiences of successive generations, distilled in social traditions, as mere ‘constructions’—on the same plan as alternative ‘constructions’ that they excogitate—are ignoring the consequential processes through which those traditions have been filtered and from which they have emerged. The viability of these traditions is attested to by the mere fact that they are still here to be criticized, while the viability of alternative ‘constructions’ has yet to be proved and they may be able to survive only in the minds of those who put them together. Notions and knowledge are different precisely because the former have not passed through the verification process, while the latter has.”

Thus, conservatism embraces change, but change shorn of its radical elements. As such, the conservative aims to progress society to an ever-greater level of liberty, order, and justice. Change must be slowed so as not to wreck the forms long-established by societal norms. But change must not be slowed to such a degree that gradual reform becomes no longer tolerable for an impatient public. And that is where we’ll pick things up in the final part to this series.

“To be relevant to our times, history must not be controlled by our times,” warns Thomas Sowell, “Its integrity as a record of the past is what allows us to draw lessons from it.” As we saw in Part 4, we do not approach history with a completely open mind, judiciously evaluating each data point we encounter with absolute objectivity. As fallible humans we are reliant upon philosophical interpretations of the historical record to make sense of “history”.

This does not mean we can’t approach history honestly. But it does mean an honest approach of history will incorporate at least some understanding of our historical “lens” so that we are not guilty of “controlling” history to squeeze out of it our preconceived notion of how the world works.

To that end, Russell Kirk wrote that there are four predominant schools of historical thought that shape how we approach history and what we believe history provides us. In Part 4 we discussed three of these schools at length:

• The nihilist school, which holds that history has no meaning.
• The cyclical school, which believes history shows inescapable cycles of growth, maturity, decadence, and downfall.
• The progressive school, which looks to history as a force for good that is forever advancing humanity towards an eventual terrestrial utopia.

None of these schools are compatible with a conservative mindset.

The Burkean School of History

Kirk describes the final school as the transcendentalist school of history. But he isn’t particularly sold on that term as he expresses concerns it may become confused with the transcendentalist movement promulgated by Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and other nineteenth century thinkers. He goes on to change the name to the Christian school of history as what follows in his essay is a largely Biblical-based understanding. I believe that term worked for Kirk’s purposes, but it may confuse matters here as this final school is compatible with, though not exclusive to, Christianity.

“Transcendence is not a preserve of revealed religion,” insists Leo Strauss, “In a very important sense it was implied in the original meaning of political philosophy as the quest for the natural or best political order.” In that same spirit, and at the risk of sounding a little on the nose, let’s call this fourth school the Burkean school of history. In Burke’s own words:

“In history a great volume is unrolled for our instruction, drawing the materials of future wisdom from the past errors and infirmities of mankind. It may, in the perversion, serve for a magazine, furnishing offensive and defensive weapons…and supplying the means of keeping alive, or reviving, dissensions and animosities, and adding fuel to civil fury.”

Here Burke hints at the uses, and misuses, of this “great volume”. We can derive wisdom from history that benefits humanity, or we can weaponize history for ideological pursuits or to stir up old grievances. “To look at history as a matter of taking sides is to turn the human failing of bias, which mars what we do to a greater or lesser extent, into a principle that is to permeate—and pollute—our whole endeavor,” Sowell further cautions. “It is an all-or-nothing argument, that if we cannot completely eliminate bias, then we should give it free rein, perhaps even congratulating ourselves for having admitted our biases.” History ought to sharpen us and challenge our biases. It is not a weapon to enforce our biases on others.

“History, Burke suggests, is…a process of clarification through experience, and political change is among its constant features,” suggests Yuval Levin. What history reveals comes by pragmatic practice, not by developing the perfect theory. To employ history to bolster our fidelity to a political cause or ideological theory is to get the process exactly backwards. History is meant to challenge and sharpen our politics; it is not a tool to be manipulated to our political likings. To the extent history can even be thought of as a tool it’s certainly not of our own making, nor is it entirely in our ability to comprehend.

The Burkean school is chastened by the belief that the truths presented to us by history are clouded by human fallibility. History comes to us as ancient scrolls, written in an extinct language of which we only have a limited understanding. No one among us speaks this language fluently, and we are reduced to fragmented interpretations to make sense of the dark meanings contained in the scrolls. The truth in the scroll is there, but our ability to interpret what is written is limited. “History is a reality,” explains Kirk, “but a veiled reality, of which our knowledge always is imperfect and upon which our mundane designs can operate only slightly. History is our tool only in the sense that we employ our knowledge of history to bring ourselves to an understanding and realization, so far as we may, of the principles of private and public order.”

Summarizing the Burkean School

Kirk’s explanation reiterates Burke’s historical understanding: 1) history reveals truth, 2) the truth revealed is not fully comprehensible, 3) as such, history is a tool that aids our feeble efforts at grasping truth and nothing beyond this, and 4) these truths can be applied to our private and political spheres in a continual process of experimentation, examination, and critical analysis that may sharpen our politics but never fully justify our political ideology.

To this we might add a fifth element: the Burkean school of history views history as a record of God’s Providence at work in the world. This is the most explicitly religious element of the Burkean school. To use an admittedly groan-worthy dad joke: the word “history” comes from the words “His story”. Cliché though this may be, it does capture the central idea of the Burkean school. If history is to be understood as God’s Providence (a concept we covered at length in Part 3) then it would certainly follow that it is a tool not of our own making and our understanding is limited because we cannot comprehend the fullness of God’s work.

Now, laying aside the theistic elements of the Burkean school of history, I don’t want to imply that the other three schools discussed in Part 4 are at complete odds with the other elements here. Surely adherents of these schools would not deny history contains truth or that humanity might profit by seeking out these truths and applying them to the political order. To better understand how the other schools differ from the Burkean school, let’s take a look at how they understand the future.

What History Tells Us About the Future

As we saw in Part 4, the progressive school sees history as relentlessly advancing to some ultimate, deterministic end. As such, it is easily compatible with a multitude of Leftist ideologies (and some ideologies on the Right) that prescribe certain policies or attitudes to bring about a “progress”. The progressive school has faith in a predetermined future and looks to history as evidence for their faith. To be fair, those who hold religious convictions may also possess faith in some predestined future. But the key distinction here is that the progressive school holds that this inevitable future will take place on this material earth, not in some intangible afterlife. Thus, the progressive school is optimistic about the future.

The cyclical school is fatalistic about the future for it holds that humanity is forever trapped in cycles of growth and decay with no end in sight. The nihilistic school is apathetic about the future as there is no reason to believe the future will be any better or worse than the past or present. In both cases, the cyclical and nihilistic schools do not show that humanity bears much responsibility or even has the ability to impact the future.

The Burkean school, in contrast, is neither optimistic, fatalistic, nor apathetic about the future. Rather, the Burkean school is hopeful about the future. Hope and optimism are often confused as interchangeable, but they are, in fact, quite different. As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks explains, optimism “is the belief that things are going to get better.” Whereas hope, “is the belief that we can make things better. Optimism is a passive virtue; hope is an active one. It takes no courage to be an optimist, but it does need courage to hope.”

Where the progressive school finds reasons to be optimistic about the future by studying history, the Burkean school is persuaded that history shows a brighter future is possible, and certainly worth striving towards, but is not guaranteed nor entirely in our control in this present reality. As Kirk further elaborates on Burkes’ views:

“History, for Burke, was the gradual revelation of a Supreme design—often shadowy and subtle to our eyes, but quite resistless, wholly just. Burke stops far short of Hegel’s mystical determinism, for his adherence to the doctrine of free will tells him that it is not arbitrary, unreasoning will, not material force or racial destiny, which make history, but rather human character and conduct. God makes history through the medium of human souls. It may become impious to resist the grand design, when once its character is irrefutably manifested; but a full comprehension of God’s ends we are rarely vouchsafed.”

History Encourages Hope, Humility, Courage, and Selflessness

Thus, the Burkean school of history encourages a humble and hopeful approach. Humble in that we are not in control or even capable of full comprehension as we are but the vessels of a Supreme design. Hopeful in that we have faith in God’s Providence for humanity and that whatever happens in this life, it is ultimately working towards God’s greater purposes. Burke recognized that the same God who promised to make a great nation out of Abraham’s seed also allowed that nation to dwell in captivity in the land of Egypt for four hundred and thirty years. Hope, therefore, does not mean we are dismayed when life does not bring us good health and great prosperity. But it does mean we have the right—and duty—to work towards those things. Kirk continues:

“History is the record of human existence under God, meaningful only so far as it reflects and explains and illustrates the order in the soul and in society which emanates from divine purpose. The aim of history, in the eyes of this school, is not antiquarian, nor yet programmatic: that purpose is to reveal to existing men and societies the true nature of being…History is not law, in the sense of fixed fate, foreknowledge absolute; nor does it have ‘meaning’ in the sense of providing a Grand Design for immanent improvement. A study of history reveals the general principles to which men and societies, in all ages, are subject; but it cannot confer upon the scholar a prophetic afflatus; it cannot describe the wave of the future.”

What, then, does the Burkean school advise we do if it offers us no assurance in a political program? If the hope offered by this school rests in the faith that we are created by a good God who has destined good things for the human race but who has also given us free wills and a material world of moral consequences, then the implication would be that we ought to strive to create the best conditions possible whereby change may occur for the better. By searching out and laboring to live within the moral order God has created for humanity, we will greatly increase the potential for a strong and vibrant society. And if that does not happen—if natural disasters or pandemics or warfare or any number of other calamities seemingly outside of our control devastate our lives—we are still invited to participate in God’s grand design for humanity in the faith that even our sufferings and loses are consecrated in something greater than ourselves.

And because of this, the Burkean school requires a great deal of courage and selflessness to look beyond the progressive promise of a terrestrial paradise or the cyclical or nihilistic schools which require nothing of their adherents. History, to the Burkean school, becomes a source of comfort, instruction, and admonition for those with the moral maturity to hold this view. “We are products of our national history,” writes Sir Roger Scruton, “and to the extent that we find in the past the traces of a spirit that presently moves us, to that extent are we rightly moved, and to that extent are we heartened by our community with the men and women who have gone before.” History is there for our encouragement to walk the path of virtue.

This series is on the conservative’s understanding of change and progress. Understanding how the conservative views history helps us anchor notions of change and progress in a better context. In Part 6 we will examine how these ideas can be put into practice.

Host of the Leading Questions podcast Calvin Moore joins Josh to discuss his journey away from the Evangelical faith and a traditional, conservative, Republican culture. Calvin became disillusioned with the Christianity of his upbringing and dissuaded from the politics commonly attached to it over many years of wrestling with hypocrisies and disingenuous arguments. His story is an excellent example of the dangers in short-sighted political strategies and belief systems that fail to take the experiences of others into account.

About Calvin Moore

Calvin Moore is the host of Leading Questions with Calvin Moore, a weekly moderated roundtable discussion about ongoing issues in our culture. The podcast brings together disparate voices on a particular issue, discusses disagreements, considers one another's positions and, at the very least, leaves the table with a measure of respect for the person on the other side of the debate as they strive to create a space for passionate, yet healthy dialogue.

Always the inquisitive, skeptical member of his family, Calvin has consistently pushed the boundaries of accepted conventions in his search for truth and understanding. With the rise of new media, he noticed the degradation of dialogue between disparate viewpoints, which led to the creation of this program.

Calvin earned his Bachelor of Science in History Education at Rochester University in Rochester Hills, Michigan. His focus is on the African-American experience in the Early American Republic and Presidential History.

Calvin resides in Michigan with his wife, Jennifer.

Women on the Right have an invisibility problem. It’s not that they’re nonexistent, it’s that they’re often overlooked by the Fox News stereotype of what is believed to constitute a conservative woman. So says Leslie Loftis, longtime curator of publications from conservative women.

Leslie and Saving Elephants host Josh Lewis delve into the challenges women on the Right face and what unique strengths they might bring to the Republican party and conservatism in general if they were more visible. Leslie also shares her thoughts on the role of feminism in advancing women’s concerns, what unifies conservative women, the challenges social media present to our civil discourse, and how we might ultimately improve our political dialogue across the ideological spectrum.

About Leslie Loftis

Leslie Loftis is a recovering lawyer and political writer. She started writing back in the blog boom of the early 2000’s with an expat blog, An American Housewife in London. By 2012, Leslie had moved back to Texas and was brought on to write for an expanding PJMedia. Soon thereafter, she became one of the original Senior Contributors for The Federalist and published in local newspapers, The Conservative Woman UK, and US News and World Report, among others.

By mid-2017, Leslie was publishing exclusively at Arc Digital and for her own start-up magazine and newsletter, Iron Ladies. When disillusionment and burnout after the Kavenaugh Hearings dampened any writing desires, Leslie took a temporary (as it turns out) break from writing to start a long-intended project, teaching life administration. (Think household budgets and management, the kind of practical skills few seem to learn anymore until they already need them.) She revived the Iron Ladies newsletter a year ago, which you can subscribe to here:

https://mailchi.mp/b3a6caef7f85/ironladiescollectionsignup

Leslie lives in Houston with her husband and their four teenagers and four dogs. You can find her on Twitter @LeslieLoftisTX