What’s Really Dividing the Right?

S ince the advent of national conservatism, a great deal of ink has been spilled over the ideological fissure emerging on the right. There are those, such as Christopher DeMuth, who believe there needs to be a clean break from the old conservative consensus. In his view, the Right must depart from the calcified intelligentsia and the mantras of the past so it can meaningfully address the plight of those left behind at the End of History. Others, such as Matthew Continetti, see no need for a schism, citing the lack of changes in the national character sufficiently drastic to warrant such a rift.

Though it is partly a contest of ideas, in a deeper sense, the internecine strife on the right is attitudinal. Debates between the two dominant factions may, on the surface, turn on the consequences of free trade or foreign-policy adventurism; on building a multiracial, multiethnic, working-class coalition; or on what the proper role of the state should be in enforcing Judeo-Christian social mores. But much more fundamental than these policy disagreements is the clash between fatalism, or call it “desperationism,” and optimism — an outlook on the current state of the nation and how to solve its problems.

For the desperationist, Western civilization is facing an unprecedented existential crisis. America, beset with barbarians from within, has lost her way. God has been purged from public life, crime runs rampant in the streets, and the country doesn’t resemble its former glory. In this decadent spiritual wasteland, individuals live atomistic lives far removed from the basic familial and communal bonds that once held society together. Michael Anton’s The Stakes: America at the Point of No Return is an example of this tendency.

Faced with this Hobbesian reality, the desperationist believes that any attempt to resuscitate the republic without getting one’s hands dirty is doomed to fail. When the house is on fire, you focus on putting it out before you think about the water damage the hose might cause. DeMuth has argued that it is necessary to scrap the fusionism that has guided conservatism for decades. At the extreme end, others go further, even endorsing the overturning of elections and shredding the Constitution in the process. (Ironically, in seeking meaning in the ephemeral realm of politics, the “counterrevolutionary” has become the archetypal liberal man he often decries.)

The optimist sees a radically different picture. He recognizes that the post-industrial economy hasn’t worked for everyone and that the “bowling alone” phenomenon is real. However, his sense of history is more refined. The optimist’s perspective allows him to recognize that we’ve encountered more formidable trials before and to feel confident that the country’s best days lie ahead. Most important, the optimist hasn’t forsaken his patriotism. He loves his country for what it is today, not what it was decades ago. He understands that adherence to first principles isn’t discretionary. If one’s convictions are genuine, then one’s allegiance to the ideas of the nation’s founding does not crumble on first sight of trouble. And indeed, relying on those principles is the best way forward. As Continetti puts it, the optimist’s conservatism remains “constitutionalist, market-oriented, and unapologetically American.”

When confronted with this opposing narrative, the desperationist portrays himself as a contemporary Cassandra, his warnings unheeded. He dismisses the optimist as a stooge for the status quo. Don’t let his sanctimony fool you — you can still be an optimist about America without being a Pollyanna.

The truth is that America can still prevail in the 21st century. The challenges she confronts are significant but not insurmountable. The danger of desperationism is that it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Let’s step back from the brink.