On a visit to Russell Kirk’s Michigan home, where the ‘permanent things’ are alive and well.
On a visit to Russell Kirk’s Michigan home, where the ‘permanent things’ are alive and well
E arlier this fall, as part of the Fund for American Studies’ Public Policy Fellowship, I visited Piety Hill, the ancestral home of preeminent 20th-century conservative intellectual and original National Review columnist Russell Kirk, in Mecosta, Mich.
Kirk’s life was consumed with the recuperation and preservation of what he called “permanent things.” As he put it:
There are certain permanent things in society: the health of the family, inherited political institutions that ensure a measure of order and justice and freedom, a life of diversity and independence, a life marked by widespread possession of private property. These permanent things guarantee against arbitrary interference by the state.
Kirk’s great insight was his identification of these foundational covenants. To be conservative is to champion their cause and to attempt to secure their longevity.
On this three-day trip, I enjoyed the company of other sympathetic young political aspirants — enterprising junior Hill staffers, prospective pundits, and wannabe policy wonks. We work in various positions in and around the nation’s capital, united, on paper, only by our belonging to the political Right. We all began our journey with different priors, perspectives, expectations, and objectives.
When departing Washington for Mecosta, flying over the hinterlands of Appalachia and the Midwest, I soon realized that where I live has left me woefully disconnected from pastoral beauty. Perhaps more than any city, D.C. deprives its inhabitants of a sense of place that Kirk cherished. Its urban dwellers are largely transient, brought to the city by the promise of influence and notoriety. I came to Washington for school, but I can’t pretend the temptation hasn’t led me astray on occasion.
We landed in Grand Rapids — the closest major city to Mecosta — and drove an hour north into the West Michigan countryside. Upon arrival in the village, we quickly realized that this was a special place. With its bucolic charm, it seems almost enchanted, especially when ablaze in luminous orange and yellow foliage.
Kirk’s home, a gothic structure steeped in tradition, is an anachronism. The house abounds with remnants of the past and mementos of yesteryear. It’s also an eccentric place. The zany and idiosyncratic architecture contrasts starkly with the generic aesthetic of five-over-one subdivisions and the cookie-cutter cul-de-sacs of suburbia. This place informed Kirk’s worldview more than any other. He wrote prolifically in this idyllic setting. Free from the “mechanical Jacobins” of modern life, he was able to contemplate the big questions.
The focus of our retreat was one of Kirk’s foremost works, The Roots of American Order. In the book, Kirk argues that the foundational ideas that underlie the American project can be traced to ancient Jerusalem, Athens, Rome, and London, transmitted to the Founding Fathers through their British forebears. In Kirk’s view, the Israelites birthed Western civilization with “a purposeful moral existence under God.” The Greeks strengthened these roots with their proto-scientific philosophy and political self-awareness. The Romans, in turn, gave us law and political administration. Christianity then posited an “understanding of human duties and human hopes.” The project was refined and given its finality by a great political experiment in self-governance centered on London and, eventually, Philadelphia.
Amid all the talk of antiquity, Western civilization, and our constitutional system, it was hard to ignore the parallels between the topics of conversation and the setting of our discussion. We had literally and figuratively gone back to our roots, to a place where country living was the norm, family and community were the loci of life, and everyone knew the name of the town bookseller. It was George Bailey’s America — an America Kirk knew and loved. It’s why he returned to Mecosta after leaving behind the “dull dogs” of academia.
Our days in Mecosta were spent in a formalized yet open-ended seminar delving into our reading material and entertaining each participant’s digressions. Session after session was filled with digging through the contents of The Roots of American Order. Each of us was given ample speaking time as we probed the foundations of our self-professed worldviews with greater depth and focus than ever before.
But the conversation was much more than a glorified book-club meeting. The organizers gave us the space to make sense of the philosophical and attitudinal fissures tearing the Right asunder in the post-Trump era. For some of us, this was the first time we had the chance to do so in an off-the-record setting. We often found ourselves locked in fierce yet congenial debates with other fellows. Luckily, we all approached these conversations in good faith and with sincerity. We by no means came close to resolving any of these disputes. We weren’t going to hash out these major divisions overnight. But at least we learned that our positions were not necessarily irreconcilable and that what unites us is stronger than what pulls us apart.
On our last night in Mecosta, we got to hear from Kirk’s wife, Annette, co-founder of the Russell Kirk Center for Cultural Renewal and a bluestocking in her own right. She regaled us with stories from her late husband’s life, filled with memories about his fascination with the occult and providing shelter to vagabonds, political refugees, and other castoffs. Hearing from Mrs. Kirk gave us insights into the human side of the man who called Piety Hill home.
As we loaded into the van that would take us back to the hotel from which we’d leave for the District the next day, we were met with the sounds of Scotland: bagpipes. Kirk studied at the University of St. Andrews, and one of the center’s distinguished Wilbur Fellows, Wesley Reynolds, is a piping aficionado. As the music echoed through the quaint thoroughfares of Mecosta, locals came out of their homes to watch our ceremonial send-off.
As we watched the people of Mecosta congregate to bid us goodbye, I was reminded of Kirk’s permanent things. Eternal concepts such as family, tradition, and community — the stuff of life — sustained this place for generations. As we enter this holiday season, conservatives can take solace in knowing that we’re fighting for what really matters.